Suzanne Brockmann - Team Ten 09 - Get Lucky

by Suzanne Brockmann -

  As Lucky sat down, Syd was silent.

  "Do you remember that night?" Lana persisted. "You were nearly knocked over by the man coming down the stairs."

  "Kevin Manse," Syd said. Her eyes were still tightly shut, but her voice was strong and clear.

  "That's right," Lana said. "He reminded you of Kevin Manse. Can you see him, Syd?"

  Sydney nodded. "He nearly knocks me over on the stairs. He's angry. And drunk. I know he's drunk. I'm drunk, too. It's my first frat-house party."

  “What the—"

  Lana silenced Lucky with one swift motion. "How old are you, Sydney?"

  "I'm eighteen," she told them, her husky voice breathless and young-sounding. "He apologizes—oh, God, he's so cute, and we start talking. He's an honors student as well as the star of the football team and I can't believe he's talking to me."

  "Now it's more than ten years later," Lana interrupted gently, "and the man on the stairs only reminds you of Kevin."

  "I'm so dizzy," Syd continued, as if she hadn't heard Lana. "And the stairs are so crowded. Kevin tells me his room's upstairs. I can lie down for a while on his bed. And he kisses me and..." She sighed and smiled. "And I know he doesn't mean alone."

  "Oh, God," Lucky said. He didn't want to hear this.

  "Sydney," Lana said firmly. "I need you to come back to the present day now."

  "I pretend not to be nervous when he locks the door

  behind us," Syd continued. "His books are out on his desk. Calculus and physics. And he kisses me again and..."

  She made a soft noise of pleasure, and Lucky rocketed out of his seat. "Why won't she listen to you?"

  Lana shrugged. "Could be any number of reasons. She's clearly strong-willed. And this could well have been a pivotal moment in her life. Whatever her reasons, she doesn't want to leave it right now."

  Syd moved slightly on the couch, her head back, her lips slightly parted as she made another of those intense little sounds. Dear God.

  "Why don't we see if we can get to the end of this episode," Lana suggested. "Maybe she'll be more receptive to moving into the more recent past if we let her take her time."

  "What," Lucky said, "we're just going to sit here while she relives having sex with this guy?"

  "I've never done this before," Syd whispered. "Not really, and— Oh!"

  Lucky couldn't look at her, couldn't not look at her. She was breathing hard, with a slight sheen of perspiration on her face. "Okay," he said, unable to stand this another second. "Okay, Syd. You do the deed with Mr. Wonderful. It's over. Let's move on."

  "He's so sweet," Syd sighed. "He says he's afraid people will talk if I stay there all night, so he asks a friend to drive me back to my dorm. He says he'll call me, and he kisses me good night and I'm.. .I'm so amazed at how good that felt, at how much I love him— I can't wait to do it again."

  Okay. So now he knew that not only was Sydney hot, she was hot-blooded as well.

  "Sydney," Lana's voice left no room for argument. "Now it's just a little less than a week ago. You're on the stairs, in your apartment building. You're coming home from the movies—"

  "God." Sydney laughed aloud. "Did that movie suck. I can't believe I spent all that money on it. The highlight was that pop singer who used to be a model who now thinks he's an actor. And I'm not talking about his acting. I'm talking about the scene that featured his bare butt. It alone was truly worthy of the big screen. And," she laughed again, a rich, sexy sound, "if you want to know the truth, these days the movies is the closest I seem to be able to get to a naked man."

  Lucky knew one easy way to change that, fast. But he kept his mouth shut and let Lana do her shrink thing.

  "You're climbing the stairs to your apartment," she told Syd. "It's late, and you're heading home and you hear a noise."

  "Footsteps," Syd responded. "Someone's coming down the stairs. Kevin Manse—no, he just looks for half a second like Kevin Manse, but he's not."

  "Can you mentally push a pause button," Lana asked, "and hold him in a freeze-frame?"

  Syd nodded. "He's not Kevin Manse."

  “Can you describe his face? Is he wearing a mask? Panty hose over his head?''

  "No, but he's in shadow," Syd told them. "The light's behind him. He's got a short crew cut, I can see the hair on his head sticking straight up, lit the way he is. But his face is dark. I can't really see him, but I know he's not Kevin. He moves differently. He's more muscle-bound— you know, top-heavy from lifting weights. Kevin was just big all over."

  Lucky could well imagine. God, this was stupid. He was jealous of this Kevin Manse guy.

  "Let him move toward you," Lana suggested, "but in slow motion, if you can. Does the light ever hit his face?"

  Syd was frowning now, her eyes still closed, concentrating intensely. "No," she finally said. "He swerves around me, hits me with his shoulder. Sorry, bud. He turns

  his face toward me and I can see that he's white. His hair looks golden, but maybe it's just brown, just the reflected light."

  "Are you sure he's not wearing a mask?" Lana asked.

  "No. He's still moving down the stairs, but he's turning his head to look at me, and I turn away."

  "You turn away," Lana repeated. "Why?"

  Syd laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm embarrassed," she admitted. "He thought I was a man. It's happened to me before, and it's worse when they realize they've made a mistake. I hate the apologies. That's when it's humiliating."

  "So why do you dress that way?" Lucky had to ask.

  Lana shot him an appalled "what are you doing?" look. He didn't give a damn. He wanted to know.

  "It's safe," Syd told him.

  "Safe."

  "Lieutenant," Lana said sternly.

  "Back to the guy on the stairs," Lucky said. "What's he wearing?"

  "Jeans," Syd said without hesitating. "And a plain dark sweatshirt."

  "Tattoos?" Lucky asked.

  "His sleeves are down."

  "On his feet?"

  She was silent for several long seconds. "I don't know."

  "You turn away," Lana said. "But do you look back at him as he goes down the stairs?"

  "No. I hear him, though. He slams the front door on his way out. I'm glad—it sometimes doesn't latch and then anyone can get in."

  "Do you hear anything else?" Lucky asked. "Stop and listen carefully."

  Syd was silent. "A car starts. And then pulls away. A fan belt must be loose or old or something because it squeals a little. I'm glad when it's gone. It's an annoying

  sound—it's not an expensive part, and it doesn't take much to learn how to—"

  "When you're home, do you park in a garage," Lucky interrupted, "or on the street?"

  "Street," she told him.

  "When you pulled up," he asked, "after the movie, were there any cars near your apartment building that you didn't recognize?"

  Syd chewed on her lip, frowning slightly. "I don't remember."

  Lucky looked at Lana. "Can you take her back there?"

  "I can try, but..."

  "Gina's door is open," Syd said.

  "Syd, let's try to backtrack a few minutes," Lana said, "Let's go back to your car, after you've left the movie theater. You're driving home."

  "Why is her door open?" Syd asked, and Lana glanced at Lucky, shaking her head.

  "Her boyfriend must've left it open," Syd continued. "Figures a guy can't replace a fan belt also can't manage to shut a door and..." She sat up suddenly, her eyes wide open. She was looking straight at Lucky, but through him, or in front of him, not at him. She didn't see him. Instead, she saw something else, something he couldn't see. "Oh, my God!"

  Her hair was damp with perspiration, and she reached up with a shaking hand to push it away from her eyes.

  Lana leaned forward. "Sydney, let's go back—"

  "Oh, my God, Gina! She's in the corner of the living room, and her face is bleeding! Her eye's swollen shut and... oh, God, oh, God. She wasn't just b
eaten. Her clothes are torn and..." Her voice changed, calmer, more controlled. "Yes, I need the police to come here right away." She recited the address as if she were talking on the telephone. "We'll need an ambulance, too. And a policewoman, please. My neighbor's been...raped." Her voice

  broke, and she took a deep breath. "Gina, here's your robe. I think it would be okay if you put it around yourself. Let me help you, hon..."

  "Sydney," Lana said gently. “I’m going to bring you back now. It's time to go."

  "Go?" Syd's voice cracked. "I can't leave Gina. How could you even think that I could just leave Gina? God, it's bad enough I have to pretend everything's going to be okay. Look at her! Look at her!" She started to cry; deep, wracking sobs that shook her entire body, a fountain of emotion brimming over and spilling down her cheeks. "What kind of monster could have done this to this girl? Look in her eyes—all of her hopes, her dreams, her life, they're gone! And you know with that mother of hers, she's going to live the rest of her life hiding from the world, too afraid ever to come back out again. And why? Because she left the window in the kitchen unlocked. She wasn't careful, because nobody had bothered to warn any of us that this son of a bitch was out there! They knew, the police knew, but nobody said a single word!"

  Lucky couldn't stop himself. He sat next to Sydney, and pulled her into his arms. "Oh, Syd, I'm sorry," he said.

  But she pushed him away, curling into herself, turning into a small ball in the corner of the couch, completely inconsolable.

  Lucky looked at Lana helplessly.

  "Syd," she said loudly. "I'm going to clap my hands twice, and you're going to fall asleep. You'll wake up in one minute, feeling completely refreshed. You won't remember any of this."

  Lana clapped her hands, and just like that, Syd's body relaxed. The room was suddenly very silent.

  Lucky sat back, resting his head against the back of the couch. He drew in a deep breath and let it out with a whoosh. "I had no idea," he said. Syd was always so strong, so in control.... He remembered that message he'd

  found on his answering machine last night when he'd gotten home. The way she hadn't quite managed to hide the fear in her voice when she'd called him for help, thinking she was being followed by a stranger. You scared me to death, she'd told him, but he hadn't really believed it until he'd heard that phone message.

  What else was she hiding?

  "She clearly considers her stake in this to be personal," Lana said quietly. She stood up. "I think it would be better if you were in the waiting room when she wakes up."

  Chapter

  “Where are we going?" Syd asked, following Luke down toward the beach.

  "I want to show you something," he said.

  He'd been quiet ever since they'd left Lana Quinn's office—not just quiet, but subdued. Introspective. Brooding.

  It made her nervous. What exactly had she said and done while under the hypnotist's spell to make the ever-smiling Navy Ken brood?

  Syd had come out of the session feeling a little disoriented. At first she'd thought the hypnosis hadn't worked, but then she'd realized that about half an hour had passed from the time she'd first sat down. A half hour of which she remembered nothing.

  To Syd's disappointment, Lana told her she hadn't got a clear look at the rapist's unmasked face as he'd come down the stairs. They weren't any closer to identifying the man.

  Luke O'Donlon hadn't said a word to her. Not in Lana's office, not in his truck as they'd headed back here to the

  base. He'd parked by the beach and gotten out, saying only, “Come on."

  They stood now at the edge of the sand, watching the activity. And there was a great deal of activity on this beach, although there was nary a beach ball, a bikini-clad girl, a picnic basket or a colorful umbrella in sight.

  There were men on the beach, lots of men, dressed in long pants and combat boots despite the heat. One group ran down by the water at a pounding pace. The other group was split into smaller teams of six or seven, each of which wrestled a huge, heavy-looking, ungainly rubber raft toward the water, carrying it high above their heads while men with bullhorns shouted at them.

  ''This is part of BUD/S," Luke told her. "SEAL training. These men are SEAL candidates. If they make it through all the phases of this training, they'll go on to join one of the teams."

  Syd nodded. "I've read about this," she said. "There's a drop-out rate of something incredible, like fifty percent, right?"

  "Sometimes more." He pointed down the beach toward the group of men that were running through the surf. "Those guys are in phase two, which is mostly diving instruction, along with additional PT. That particular class started with a hundred men and today they're down to twenty-two. Most guys ring out in the first few days of phase one, which consists mostly of intense PT—that's physical training."

  "I'd kind of figured that out."

  "Navyspeak contains a lot of shorthand," he told her, "Let me know if you need anything explained."

  Why was he being so nice? He could have managed to sound patronizing, but he just sounded...nice. "Thanks," Syd managed.

  "Anyway, this class," he pointed again to the beach, "is down to only twenty-two because they had a string of bad

  luck—some kind of stomach flu hit during the start of Hell Week, and a record number of men were evac-ed out." He smiled, as if in fond memory. "If it was just a matter of barf and keep going, most of 'em probably would've stayed in, but this flu came with a dangerously high fever. Medical wouldn't let them stay. Those guys were rolled back to the next class—most of them are going through the first weeks of phase one again right now. To top that off, this particular class also just lost six men in the fallout from that diving accident. So their number's low."

  Syd watched the men who were running through the water—the candidates Luke had said were in the second phase of BUD/S training. "Somehow I was under the impression that the physical training ended after Hell Week."

  Luke laughed. "Are you kidding? PT never ends. Being a SEAL is kind of like being a continuous work in progress. You always keep running—every day. You've got to be able to do consistent seven-and-a-half-minute miles tomorrow and next month—and next year. If you let it slip, your whole team suffers. See, a SEAL team can only move as fast as its slowest man when it's moving as a unit."

  He gestured toward the men still carrying the black rubber boats above their heads. "That's what these guys are starting to learn. Teamwork. Identify an individual's strengths and weaknesses and use that information to keep your team operating at its highest potential."

  A red-haired girl on a bicycle rode into the parking lot. She skidded to a stop in the soft sand a few yards away from Luke and Syd, and sat down, watching the men on the beach.

  "Yo, Tash!" Luke called to her.

  She barely even glanced up, barely waved, so intent was she on watching the men on the beach. It was the girl Syd had met yesterday, the one who'd been at the base with Lieutenant Commander Francisco's wife. She was looking

  for someone, searching the beach, shading her eyes with her hand.

  "Frisco's not out here right now," Luke called to her.

  "I know," she said and went right on looking.

  Luke shrugged and turned back to Syd. "Check out this group here." He pointed at the men with the boats. "See this team with the short guy? He's not pulling his weight, right? He's not carrying much of the IBS—the inflatable boat—because he can hardly reach the damn thing. The taller men have to compensate for him. But you better believe that the vertically challenged dude will make up for it somewhere down the road. He's light, probably fast. Maybe he's good at climbing. Or he can fit into tight places—places the bigger men can't. Shorty may not help too much when it comes to carrying something like an IBS, but, guaranteed, he'll do more than his share in the long run."

  He was quiet then, just watching the SEAL candidates, The group of runners—the candidates in the second phase of BUD/S training—collapsed on the sand.


  "Five minutes," Syd heard distantly but distinctly through a bullhorn. "And then, ladies, we do it all over again."

  The instructor with the bullhorn was Bobby Taylor, his long dark hair pulled back into a braid.

  As Syd watched, one of the candidates approached Bobby, pointing up toward the edge of the beach, toward them. Bobby seemed to shrug, and the candidate took off, running toward them through the soft sand.

  He was young and black, and the short, nearly shaved hairstyle that all the candidates sported served to emphasize the sharp angles of his face. He had a few scars, one disrupting the line of his right eyebrow, the other on his cheek, and they added to his aura of danger.

  Syd thought he was coming to talk to Luke, but he headed straight for the little girl on the bike.

  "Are you crazy?" His less-than-friendly greeting was accompanied by a scowl. "What did I tell you about riding your bike out here alone? And that was before this psycho-on-the-loose crap."

  "No one wanted to ride all the way out here with me." Tasha lifted her chin. They were both speaking loudly enough for Syd to easily overhear. "Besides, I'm fast. If I see any weirdos, I can get away, no problem."

  Sweat was literally pouring off the young man's face as he bent over to catch his breath, hands on his knees. "You're fast," he repeated skeptically. "Faster than a car?"

  She was exasperated. "No."

  "No." He glared at her. "Then it's not no problem, is it?"

  "I don't see what the big deal—"

  The black man exploded. "The big deal is that there's some son-of-a-bitch psycho running around town raping and beating the hell out of women. The big deal is that, as a female, you're a potential target. As a pretty, young female who's riding her bike alone, you're an attractive, easy target. You might as well wear a sign around your neck that says victim."

  "I read this guy breaks into women's homes," Tasha countered. "I don't see what that has to do with me riding my bike."