Lia DeAngelo makes her author debut in the Highland Press anthology, Holiday Op. She began her love affair with writing fiction when she set pen to paper writing LADY PATRIOT, a historical romance set in eighteenth century America, which was awarded second place in the historical category of NEORWA's 2004 Romancing The Novel Contest, third in the SVRWA's 2004 GOTCHA contest, and third in the NTRWA's 2005 Great Expectations contest. She then turned to contemporary romance and finished FOR LOVE OR RAVIOLI, which was a 2009 Golden Heart(R) Finalist in the contemporary series category, won first place in RWASD's Spring into Romance contest, and took first in the 2007 RWI's Where the Magic Begins Contest. Ms. DeAngelo also owns and manages L.D. Writing and Consulting, providing business development, resume writing, and commercial writing services to small business and individual clients. She spent nine years as a Wall Street professional, holds a Bachelor of Business Administration in Finance and Economics from the University of Richmond, is a Chartered Financial Analyst (CFA), and is a Certified Professional Resume Writer (CPRW). She lives in Cave Creek, Arizona with her best friend and companion, Lucy the dog.

My wonderful Mom and Dad, who are my most ardent cheerleaders. I wouldn't be here without your loving support and understanding.

The Ls-Lona, Laurel, and Laura-for your unending patience with me, especially when I run myself around in circles over a story.

Lucy, you fill every day with joy and humor just by being you.

Anne Elizabeth, for thinking of me and being the kind of special friend that comes along but a few times in one life.

My Phoenix girls, Amanda, Donna, Jill, and Carmin, for listening to me talk about this dream and encouraging me every step of the way.

My brother, Jeff-you are in my thoughts and my heart.

The Ruby Slipper Sisterhood. There's no place like the bestseller lists!

One day we will all get there.

To the men and women of the military who put their lives on the line for our freedom and our survival, every single day.

Petty Officer Annabelle Foster let her duffle bag drop to the ground, crossed her arms over her heavy orange jacket, and glared at the jolly holiday nightmare formerly known as a Coast Guard Patrol Boat. Decked out in flashing red and green Christmas tree lights, sporting a Charlie Brown Tree, a Menorah, a dancing Santa Claus, and the kitchen sink of holiday ornaments, the thing looked like something from a holiday episode of Pimp My Ride.

"This is the reason you called me back to base?"

She shook her head, unable to not gape.

To think she'd come rushing back to base, adrenaline pumping, heart racing, ready to jump aboard a helo destined for search and rescue in the black, freezing waters of the Bering Sea. Instead, the only soul drowning on this December, Alaska night was Annabelle-in a sea of holiday hoopla.

George Stanton, her new commander, smiled and puffed out his chest. “Foster, meet your very first mission for Team Kodiak."

She blinked snowflakes out of her eyes. “You can't be serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Wearing a red scarf wrapped around a navy blue bomber jacket, munching on a giant Snowman cookie, the man informally known as Stickler Stanton looked like he'd lost his mind along with all the other holiday nut jobs around this place.

Not that she would say so. The new kid should probably mind her Ps and Qs. Hardly a week had passed since she'd transferred from New Orleans to one of the most prestigious positions available to a Coast Guard Rescue Swimmer.

A post in Kodiak, Alaska.

It didn't get much more dangerous, more challenging, or more rewarding. And Annabelle was more than ready. What she wasn't ready for was this joke of a mission blinking red and green and blaring the Beach Boys Christmas Album.

"What exactly am I supposed to do here?"

Crumbs sifted down the front of his jacket as Stanton popped the last of the cookie into his mouth. “You, my friend, have been elected one of two esteemed Coast Guard representatives for the Kodiak holiday parade. You'll ride that float suited up just as you are, doing your best beauty queen wave."

Somehow she couldn't picture a beauty queen wearing an orange life vest, wet suit, and black winter cap. “Sir, do I look like a beauty queen?"

He turned his piercing eyes on her. “You'll do."

Gee, thanks. “Why me?"

"Foster, people like heroes. Especially those of the female variety."

Annabelle swore under her breath. It had been years since her name made the papers for a series of dramatic rescues performed in the eye of Hurricane Katrina. The last thing she wanted to do was strut around in her first week like some returning war hero. She wasn't here to be trotted out like a prize pony; she was here to save lives. End of story.

"Foster, hop on board and get your Christmas face on.” Dusting off the front of his jacket, he sent her a stern look. “That's an order."

What if she didn't have a Christmas face? Why did people think everyone automatically loved all things Christmas? The last time her family even halfway celebrated the overblown occasion, she was seven years old. And that year, Santa never showed up. Of course Dad carefully explained how he'd left them alone out of respect because of Mom's passing. As if Annabelle hadn't long before guessed Santa's true identity, and couldn't figure out that days and nights spent in the ICU didn't allow time for Christmas shopping.

It was just as well. All the toys and new socks, shiny red ornaments, and tinsel couldn't bring Mom back. And after that, the holidays never seemed all that bright and merry. Honestly, it was just a day. A day on which she was often called upon to help those that lost their good sense amid all the merrymaking.

But orders were orders. And Annabelle was a team player.

Muttering, she yanked off her cap, shoved it in her bag, and climbed into the boat, where the Beach Boys crooned out Merry Christmas, Saint Nick!

Blech.

The term Semper Paratus, Always Ready, had just taken on new meaning.

"Welcome aboard!” A man wearing a white chef coat and black dress pants stepped out of the cabin carrying a plate of the same cookies Stanton had been eating. Annabelle's gaze honed in on the giant white snowmen, their little blue scarves, and miniscule carrot noses. They were probably that perfect mixture of crunch on the outside, soft and buttery in the middle. Mmmmmm.

On second thought, this mission might not be so bad…

Her gaze lifted to the bearer of the tasty treats.

On third thought, this mission could be downright dangerous.

Cookie Man came bearing not only nice treats, but also the naughtiest little smile she'd ever seen. Maybe it was the way his black baseball cap shadowed a pair of intense blue eyes. Or the dark dusting of five-o'clock shadow along his jaw line. Whatever it was, he had something interesting cooking up the pristine, white sleeves of his chef jacket. Something other than iced snowmen.

"Care for a cookie?” he asked.

There was only one good thing about the holidays-the cookies. “Why thank you.” She plucked one off the plate and took a small, tentative bite. She chewed slowly, letting the flaky, yet still soft and chewy goodness flood her taste buds. It was one of the most decadent things she'd ever tasted. The Rolls Royce of sugar cookies, to say the least. Another bite. Oh my… Spectacular.

Just like those electric eyes watching her every move.