Tall, Dark and Dangerous Vol 1: Tall, Dark and FearlessTall, Dark and Devastating

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “I’m sorry about that,” he murmured.

  She glanced at him. He was watching her in the dim light from the dashboard. “You can’t help the way you feel,” she said quietly.

  He shifted in his seat, turning so that he was facing her. “You don’t think I was…” He stopped and started over. “Do you really think I would make a move on Jenny Lee at the rehearsal dinner for her wedding to my stepbrother?”

  Lucy pulled carefully up to the stop sign at the corner of Main Street and Seaside Road. “Everyone at that party was waiting for something to happen between you and Jenny Lee,” she said, taking a left onto Main Street. “Everyone at that party saw you dancing with her and came to the same conclusion—that you’re here to stir up trouble, that you want to win Jenny Lee back.”

  Blue’s face was in the shadows, but she knew that he was watching her.

  “Everyone at the party. Including you?”

  She had to be honest. “Yes.”

  “And if I told you everyone at the party was wrong? That I feel nothing for Jenny Lee…?”

  “I’d have to assume you were only saying that in a last-ditch effort to get me to spend the night with you,” Lucy said bluntly, pulling her truck into the motel parking lot and rolling to a stop.

  “That’s not true,” Blue said quietly. “Yes, I want you in my bed, but I wouldn’t lie to get you there. Come on, Yankee, let’s just leave the past in the past.” He reached out across the cab of the truck, gently touching her hair.

  Lucy shifted away from him. “Don’t.”

  “Lucy—”

  She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I thought I could, but I can’t.” She opened her eyes and looked at Blue. “I can’t be a substitute for Jenny Lee.”

  Blue laughed, a flare of impatience in his eyes. “You’re not—”

  “Look, McCoy, I’ve got to go—”

  “Why don’t we go get a beer and talk about this?” he suggested. “Is that roadhouse—what’s it called? The Rebel Yell. Is it still around? Why don’t we go there?”

  “No. Believe it or not, I’m actually on duty now. I’ve got to go back to the station and file a report.”

  “You know damn well you could do that in the morning.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said. “But I want to do it now.”

  Silence. Lucy stared out the front windshield, hoping and wishing that Blue would just open the door and climb out of the truck’s cab. She heard him sigh.

  “Damn Gerry to hell,” he said tiredly. “I should have wrung his neck while I had the chance.”

  He opened the door and climbed out of the truck. “It was a genuine pleasure seeing you again, Lucy Tait,” he said in his soft drawl. “I’ve got to tell you—I wish it could have been an even bigger pleasure. If you’re ever in California, give me a call.”

  She turned to look at him—she couldn’t help it. “Are you leaving town?”

  His blond hair glistened in the cab’s overhead light as he nodded. “I’m heading out on the next bus. I don’t care where it goes, as long as it’s a city big enough to have an airport.”

  He was leaving as soon as he could. Lucy looked away from him, afraid that he’d see the disappointment that surely crossed her face.

  “Bye, Lucy,” Blue whispered. He closed the cab door and was gone.

  * * *

  Lucy’s phone rang well before dawn, waking her from a restless sleep.

  It was Annabella Sawyer, the police dispatcher. “You better get down to the station,” she said in her raspy voice, without any words of greeting. “All hell has broken loose. The chief is calling in all available manpower.”

  Lucy rolled over and looked at her clock. It was a few minutes after 4 a.m. “What’s going on?”

  “It started as a 10-65,” Annabella said. “Jenny Beaumont called in at 2:11 a.m., reporting Gerry McCoy missing. He hadn’t come home. Fifteen minutes ago, Tom Harper came across Gerry’s motor vehicle by the side of Gate’s Hill Road. Shortly after that, the 10-65 became a 10-54. At 3:56, Doc Harrington verified it. We’ve got ourselves a 187.”

  Lucy tiredly closed her eyes. “You mind translating that for me, Annabella?”

  “The missing person became a report of a dead body,” Annabella said. “We’ve got a homicide on our hands.”

  Lucy sat up. “What?”

  “Gerry McCoy is dead,” Annabella intoned. “He’s been murdered.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LUCY RUSHED INTO the police station, pulling her hair back into a ponytail and trying to rein in her growing sense of dread. Gerry McCoy was dead, and Lucy was almost positive that the tragedy wasn’t over yet.

  Officer Frank Redfield was behind the front desk, on the phone, but he nodded to her, holding up one finger, signaling her to wait.

  “All right,” he said into the telephone. His thinning brown hair was standing up straight, as if he’d rolled directly out of bed. “I understand, Chief. I’ll get right on it.” He hung up the receiver and turned to Lucy. “Hell of a situation,” he said to her, taking a long swig of black coffee. “You been filled in on the specifics?”

  “I’ve heard that Gerry McCoy’s body was found up off Gate’s Hill Road,” Lucy said, pouring her own mug of coffee from the urn in the lobby. “I don’t know any of the details. How did he die? Gunshot?” Nearly all the deaths in the county were gun related.

  “Come on,” Frank said, gesturing for her to follow him. “I’ve got to put out an all-points bulletin, but I’ll try to bring you up to speed while I’m entering the info into the computer.”

  Lucy hurried down the hall after him. Frank was about four inches shorter than she was, and thin as a rail. But what he lacked in weight, he made up for in speed and good nature. It certainly wasn’t his fault that, standing next to him, Lucy felt like some kind of Amazon. He was always friendly and respectful. In fact, Frank and his best friend, Tom Harper—tall and black and built like a defensive lineman—were the only men on the Hatboro Creek police force who hadn’t muttered and complained about Lucy joining their previously exclusively male organization.

  “First of all,” Frank said in his thick South Carolina accent, “cause of death wasn’t gun related. Gerry McCoy died from a broken neck.”

  “We’re certain it wasn’t accidental?” Lucy asked. “Sustained in a fall?”

  “Gerry’s body was found in the middle of a clearing,” he said. “Unless he fell out of the sky, there was no way his injuries were accidental.” He sat down at the computer desk, glancing up at her and grimacing. “Doc Harrington reported that his neck was broke clean through. Snapped like a twig.” He shuddered. “Doc estimated time of death to be a little bit after eleven. We’ll get a more accurate time when the forensics guy gets out here in the morning.”

  “Who’s the APB for?”

  “The stepbrother,” Frank said, typing the information into the computer, fingers moving at his usual breathtaking speed.

  Lucy’s dread deepened. “Blue McCoy.” Of course they were going to want to talk to Gerry’s stepbrother—particularly since Blue was seen publicly arguing with the deceased hours before the estimated time of death. Family members were always high on the suspect list early on in a murder investigation. Statistically, most murders were committed by someone near and dear to the victim. Yet Blue wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He was a soldier, a warrior, but not a murderer.

  Still, damn Gerry to hell, Blue had said. I should have wrung his neck while I had the chance.

  Wrung his neck, he’d said. And now here Gerry was, dead—that very same neck snapped in two.

  My God, was it possible…?

  No, Lucy couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.

  “We want to bring him in for questioning,” Frank said.

  “You don’t need an APB for that,” Lucy said. Questioning. Being brought in for questioning was marginally better than being brought in with charges already filed. “Blue McCoy is staying
over at the Lighthouse Motel.”

  “Not any more,” Frank said. “Chief just called in and reported that Gerry’s brother checked out of the motel at around 1 a.m. Jedd Southeby over at the Lighthouse said Blue paid his bill and just walked out of there with some kind of heavy duffel bag over his shoulder.” He looked up at Lucy. “In fact, now that you know as much as we know, you better get on the ball and join the search. A man on foot carrying a heavy load couldn’t have gotten far.”

  What was it Blue had said as they were saying goodbye? I’m heading out on the next bus. I don’t care where it goes…

  Lucy picked up the phone and dialed information. “Yeah, I need the number of the bus station in Georgetown.” She scribbled it on a piece of paper as Frank glanced over at her in barely concealed disbelief.

  “There’s no way in hell the stepbrother could’ve gone to Georgetown,” he said. “It’s nearly fifteen miles away. Use your head, Luce. This time of night the roads are quiet. He couldn’t even get there by hitching. Nobody is around to pick him up.”

  “Georgetown has the nearest all-night bus station,” Lucy said, dialing the number she was given. “And fifteen miles is an after-dinner stroll to a Navy SEAL.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Frank said in a singsong voice.

  After nearly seventeen rings, the phone at the Georgetown bus station was picked up. Lucy identified herself and was forwarded to the manager. “I need the schedule of all buses that have left or are leaving your terminal, starting at 3:00 a.m.,” she said. It was unlikely that Blue had arrived in Georgetown that early, but she wanted to be safe.

  “No buses left between 2:00 a.m. and 3:55,” the bus station manager told her. “At 3:55, we had a departure for Columbia and Greenville. At 4:20, just a few minutes ago, a bus left for Charleston, and the next bus…Let’s see—”

  “Isn’t there a naval base in Charleston?” Lucy asked Frank.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “That’s the bus,” Lucy said. It had to be the one Blue would take. He’d ride the bus to Charleston, and at the naval base he’d catch the next flight out of state, probably back to California. “Is there any way to contact the bus driver?”

  “Not short of chasing him and flagging him down. The local buses aren’t equipped with radios,” the manager told her. “We can contact the bus depot in Charleston, but that’s about it.”

  “What time does that bus get in?”

  “It’s not an express,” the manager said, “so it stops in nearly every town along Route 17 from here to Charleston. It won’t arrive at the final destination until 6:45 p.m. That’s if they’re running on time.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said, hanging up the phone. “I’m going to Charleston,” she said to Frank.

  “What you’re going on is a wild-goose chase,” he told her.

  “Aren’t my orders to join in the search to find Blue McCoy?” Lucy asked.

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “I’m joining in,” Lucy said, heading for the door.

  “Chief is gonna get riled—”

  “Tell the chief,” Lucy said, “that I’ll be back before eight o’clock—with Blue McCoy.”

  * * *

  Blue was drifting in and out of sleep. It seemed incredible that he had spent most of last night hiking to the bus station in Georgetown. It seemed amazing that he had worked so hard just to get on this crummy old bus.

  It seemed particularly incredible that he had worked so hard to leave Hatboro Creek, because for the first time in his life, Hatboro Creek was precisely where he wanted to be.

  Because a woman named Lucy Tait was there, and try as he might, he couldn’t get her off his mind.

  She still lived in the same big, old house that she’d shared with her mother back when Blue had been in high school. Unable to sleep, he’d gone for a walk last night and found himself standing and staring at her darkened windows, wanting to go up to her door and knowing that he shouldn’t.

  He could have rung her doorbell, finagled an invitation inside. Once in Lucy’s living room, it wouldn’t have taken much to seduce her. He already knew that she found the attraction between them nearly impossible to resist.

  He’d forced himself to turn around, to turn his back on the paradise that making love to Lucy Tait would bring. Why? He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected his motivation was due to wariness. There was something inside that warned him that maybe, just maybe, this Lucy Tait was someone special. And Blue knew, plain as day, that he had no room in his life for anyone, particularly not someone who was special.

  He knew from watching Joe Catalanotto, the commander of SEAL Team Ten’s Alpha Squad and Blue’s closest friend, that finding someone special wasn’t all hearts and flowers. Yeah, Joe seemed happy most of the time. Yeah, in general he smiled more and got irritated and frustrated less. But during the times when Alpha Squad was on a mission, when it had been weeks since Joe had seen his wife, Veronica, and weeks, possibly even months, until he’d get a chance to see her again, Joe would grow quieter and quieter. Joe never complained, never spoke about it, but Blue knew his friend. He knew that Joe missed the woman he loved, and that he worried about her when he was gone for so long.

  Blue didn’t want that, didn’t need that. No, sir—no, thanks.

  So why was he sitting here on this bus, dozing and fantasizing about Lucy Tait, as if he could conjure her up just by wishing and wanting? When he pulled into Charleston, he’d look up one of the women he knew from back when he’d been stationed at the naval base, and…

  “What the hell…?” he heard someone say. “Why are we pulling over here?”

  “This stop ain’t on the route,” another voice said.

  Blue opened his eyes. Sure enough, the bus was moving to the side of the road. Two men in work clothes, sitting across the aisle and several seats toward the front, were the only ones on the sparsely filled bus who were talking.

  “Aw, hell,” the first man said. “Driver must’ve been speeding. We’re getting pulled over by a cop.”

  “If I don’t get to Charleston by 7:00, I’m going to lose my job,” the second voice complained. “I’ve been late too many times before.”

  Blue tried to see out of his window, but couldn’t see a police cruiser, couldn’t see anything, so he closed his eyes again. It didn’t matter to him if this took five minutes or an hour. He’d get to Charleston when he got there.

  He heard the hiss as the driver opened the door, heard the murmur of voices from the front of the bus.

  “Oh, sugar,” the first man said. “Come and arrest me.”

  “Where do I sign up to get frisked?” the other man asked with a giggle.

  “I’ve heard that one before,” a third voice said, “so unless you can come up with something original, why don’t you just keep your mouths shut?”

  Lucy?

  Blue opened his eyes, and sure enough, there she was, standing in the aisle, looking down at him.

  “McCoy, you’ve got to grab your stuff and come off the bus with me,” she said.

  She looked tired, and her face had been wiped clean of last night’s makeup. Her hair was up in a utilitarian ponytail, and her uniform shirt hid the soft curves of her body. Still, she looked damn good and Blue felt his mouth curve up into a smile of pleasure.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice rusty from sleep. He cleared his throat. “Yankee. Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “Come on, we’re holding these people up,” Lucy said.

  She wouldn’t look him in the eye, as if she were afraid of the inferno of attraction he knew was burning there.

  “Am I under arrest?” he teased, tilting his head so that she was forced to meet his gaze.

  But she didn’t smile. “No,” she said. “Not yet.”

  Blue felt his own smile fade as he searched her eyes. She wasn’t kidding when she’d said “not yet.” Whatever Lucy was doing here, it wasn’t gonna be good. “What happened?” he asked, suddenly conce
rned. Clearly she hadn’t followed him halfway to Charleston because of their unconsummated, sizzling attraction to each other. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

  She gestured with her head toward the front of the bus. “Get off the bus and I’ll fill you in.”

  Blue stood up and swung his duffel bag down from the overhead rack. He followed Lucy down the aisle and out the narrow stairs onto the dusty road. Something was going on here. Something bad.

  As the bus pulled back onto Route 17, he dropped his duffel bag onto the street. “Spill it.”

  “Why don’t you get into the car?” she suggested.

  Blue didn’t move. “Don’t play games, Lucy. It’s not your style. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’ve got bad news,” she said tightly. “I’d like you to sit down.”

  Bad news.

  Bad news meant death or the equivalent.

  Last time Blue got “bad news,” he’d been in the hospital, waiting with the rest of Alpha Squad for word about Frisco. For hours, they didn’t know if he was going to live or die. And I’ve got bad news was what the doctor had said when he’d come out of surgery. Frisco was going to live, but he wasn’t going to walk ever again.

  That doctor knew about Navy SEALs. He knew that losing mobility, losing the ability to run and jump and even walk, was bad news akin to death.

  And in a way, Frisco had died in Baghdad. The unsmiling man lying in that hospital bed with lines of pain around his eyes and mouth was nothing like the laughing, upbeat SEAL Blue had once known.

  Bad news.

  Someone had died. He could see it in Lucy’s eyes. But who? Blue didn’t want to guess. He just wanted her to tell him.

  Lucy felt a rush of relief as she looked at Blue. He was gazing into her eyes as if he were trying to read her mind. He honestly didn’t know what she was about to tell him. He didn’t know—he honestly didn’t know that Gerry was dead. He couldn’t possibly be the killer. No one was that good a liar.

  “I don’t need to sit down to get bad news,” Blue said in his soft drawl.

  Lucy knew that she was just supposed to tell him that his stepbrother was dead. That way she could gauge his reaction, further verify that he didn’t know anything about the killing. But it seemed so cruel, so heartless. Although recently Blue and Gerry hadn’t been on the best of terms, they had been friends in their youth.