Suzanne Brockmann - Team Ten 09 - Get Lucky

by Suzanne Brockmann -

  He turned to look at her again. "You live alone. Doesn't that scare you, even a little bit?"

  Syd thought about last night. About that noise she thought she'd heard as she was brushing her teeth. She'd locked herself in the bathroom, and if she'd had the cell phone with her, she would have called Luke in a complete panic.

  But she hadn't had her phone—in hindsight she could say thank God—and she'd sat, silently, fear coursing through her veins, for nearly thirty minutes, barely breathing as she waited, listening to hear that noise outside the bathroom door again.

  Fight or submit.

  She'd thought about little else for all thirty of those minutes.

  And fight pretty much won.

  There was nothing in the bathroom that could be used as a weapon except for the heavy ceramic lid to the back of the toilet. She'd brandished it high over her head as she'd finally emerged from the bathroom to find she was, indeed, alone in her apartment. But she'd turned on every lamp in the place, checked all the window locks twice, and slept—badly—with the lights blazing.

  "Nah," she said now. "I'm just not the type that scares easily."

  He smiled as if he knew she was lying. "What, did you get spooked and sleep with all the lights on last night?" he asked.

  "Me?" She tried to sound affronted. "No way."

  "That's funny," he said. "Because when I drove past your place at about : a.m. it sure looked as if you had about four million watts of electricity working."

  She was taken aback. "You drove past my apartment...?"

  He realized he'd given himself away. "Well, yeah...I was in the neighborhood...."

  "How many nights have you been spending your time

  cruising the streets of San Felipe instead of sleeping?" she asked.

  He looked away, and she realized she'd collided with the truth. "No wonder you nearly fainted last night," she said. No wonder he'd looked as if he hadn't been pulled from bed.

  "I wasn't going to faint," he protested.

  "You were so going to faint."

  "No way. I was just a little dizzy."

  She glared at him. "How on earth do you expect to catch this guy if you don't take care of yourself—if you don't get a good night's sleep?"

  "How on earth can I get a good night's sleep," he said through gritted teeth, "until I catch this guy?"

  He was serious. He was completely serious. "My God," Syd said slowly. "It's the real you."

  "The real me?" he repeated, obviously not understanding. Or at least pretending that he didn't understand.

  "The insensitive macho thing's just an act," she accused him. She was certain of that now. "Mr. Aren't-I-Wonderful? in a gleaming uniform—a little bit dumb, but with too many other enticements to care. Most people can't see beyond that, can they?"

  "Well," he said modestly, "I don't have that much to offer...."

  The truth was, he was a superhero for the new millenium. "You're a great guy—a really intriguing mix of alpha male and sensitive beta. Why do you feel that you have to hide that?"

  "I'm not sure," he said, "but I think you're insulting me."

  "Cut the crap," she commanded. "Because I also know you've got a beta's IQ, smart boy."

  "Smart boy," he mused. "Much better than Ken, huh, Midge?"

  Syd tried not to blush. How many times had she slipped

  and actually addressed him as Ken? Too many, obviously. “What can I say? You had me fooled with the ultraplastic veneer."

  "As long as we're doing the Invasion of the Body-Snatchers thing and pointing fingers at the non-pod people, I'd like to do the same to you." He extended his arm so that his index finger nearly touched her face, and let out an awful-sounding squawk.

  Syd raised one eyebrow as she gazed silently at him.

  "There," he said, triumphantly. "That look. That disdained dismay. You hide behind that all the time."

  "Right," she said. "And what exactly is it that I'm bothering to hide from you?"

  "I think you're hiding," he paused dramatically, "the fact that you cry at movies."

  She gave him her best "you must be crazy" look. "I do not."

  "Or maybe I should just say you cry. You pretend to be so tough. So...unmovable. Methodically going about trying to find a connection between the rape victims, as if it's all just a giant puzzle to be solved, another step in the road to success which starts with you writing an exclusive story about the capture of the San Felipe Rapist. As if the human part of the story—these poor, traumatized women—doesn't make you want to cry."

  She couldn't meet his gaze. "Even if I were the type of person who cried, there's no time," she said as briskly as she possibly could. She didn't want him to know she'd cried buckets for Gina and all of the other victims in the safety and privacy of her shower.

  "I think you're secretly a softy," he continued. "I think you can't resist giving to every charity that sends you a piece of junk mail. But I also think someone once told you that you'll be bulldozed over for being too nice, so you try to be tough, when in truth you're a pushover."

  Syd rolled her eyes. "If you really need to think that about me, go right a—"

  "So what are you doing this afternoon?"

  Syd opened the door to the cab, ready to end this conversation. How had it gotten so out of hand? "Nothing. Working. Learning all there is to know about serial rapists. Trying to figure out what it is I'm missing that ties the victims together."

  “Frisco told me you asked his permission to bring Gina Sokoloski onto the base."

  Busted. Syd shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I need to talk to her, get more information. Find out if there's anyone connecting her to the Navy—anyone we might have missed."

  "You could have done that over the phone."

  Syd climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. Luke followed. "Yeah, well, I thought it would be a good idea if Gina actually left her mother's house. It's nearly been two weeks, and she still won't open her bedroom curtains. I may not even be able to convince her to come with me."

  "See?" he said. "You're nice. In fact, that's not just regular nice, that's gooey nice. It's prize-winning nice. It's—"

  She turned toward him, ready to gag him if necessary. "All right! Enough! I'm nice. Thank you!"

  "Sweet," he said. "You're sweet."

  "Grrrr," said Syd.

  But he just laughed, clearly unafraid.

  Lucky stood on the beach, about a dozen yards behind the blanket Syd had spread on the sand. She'd brought

  wide-brimmed hats—one for Gina and one for herself, no

  doubt to shade the younger woman's still-battered face

  from the hot afternoon sun. Syd had bought sunglasses, too.

  Big ones that helped hide Gina's bruised eyes. Together

  they looked like a pair of exotic movie stars who'd filtered through some time portal direct from the s.

  Syd had brought a cooler with cans of soda, one of which she was sipping delicately through a straw. No doubt Syd had thought of the straws on account of Gina's recently split lips.

  Gina clutched her soda tightly, her legs pulled in to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her head down. It was as close to a fetal position as she could get. She was a picture of tension and fear.

  But Syd was undaunted. She sprawled on her stomach, elbows propping up her chin, keeping up a nearly continuous stream of chatter.

  Down on the beach, the phase-one SEAL candidates were doing a teamwork exercise with telephone poles. And, just for kicks, during a so-called break, Wes and Aztec and the other instructors had them do a set of sugar-cookie drills—running into the surf to get soaked, and then rolling over and over so that the white powdery sand stuck to every available inch of them, faces included. Faces in particular. Then it was back to the telephone poles.

  Syd gestured toward the hard-working, sand-covered men with her cola can, and Lucky knew she was telling Gina about BUD/S. About Hell Week. About the willpower the men needed to get throug
h the relentless discomfort and physical pain day after day after day after day, with only four blessed hours of sleep the whole week long.

  Perseverance. If you had enough of that mysterious quality that made you persevere, you'd survive. You'd make it through.

  You'd be wet, you'd be cold, you'd be shaking with fatigue, muscles cramping and aching, blisters not just on your feet, but in places you didn't ever imagine you could get blisters, and you'd break it all down into the tiniest segments possible. Life became not a day or an hour or even a minute.

  It became a footstep. Right foot. Then left. Then right again.

  It became a heartbeat, a lungful of air, a nanosecond of existence to be endured and triumphed over.

  Lucky knew what Syd was telling Gina, because she'd asked him—and Bobby, and Rio, Thomas and Michael— countless questions about BUD/S, and about Hell Week in particular.

  As he watched, whatever precisely Syd was saying caught Gina's attention. As he watched, the younger woman lifted her head and seemed to focus on the men on the beach. As he watched, Syd, with her gentle magic, helped Gina take the first shaky steps back to life.

  Gina, like the SEAL candidates in BUD/S, needed to persevere. Yeah, being assaulted sucked. Life had given her a completely unfair, losing hand to play—a deal that was about as bad as it could get. But she needed to keep going, to move forward, to work through it one painful step at a time, instead of ringing out and quitting life.

  And Syd, sweet, kind Syd, was trying to help her do just that.

  Lucky leaned against Syd's ridiculous excuse for a car, knowing he should get back to work, but wanting nothing more than to spend a few more minutes here in the warm sun. Wishing he were on that blanket with Syd, wishing she had brought a soda for him, wishing he could lose himself in the fabulously textured richness of her eyes, wishing she would lean toward him and lift her mouth and...

  Ooo-kay.

  It was definitely time to go. Definitely time to...

  Over on the blanket, Syd leapt to her feet. As Lucky watched, she danced in a circle around Gina, spinning and jumping. Miracle of miracles, Gina was actually laughing at her.

  But then Syd turned and spotted him.

  Yeesh. Caught spying.

  But Syd seemed happy to see him. She ran a few steps toward him, but then ran back to Gina, leaning over to say something to the young woman.

  And then she was flying toward him, holding on to that silly floppy hat with one hand, her sunglasses falling into the sand. Her feet were bare and she hopped awkwardly and painfully over the gravel at the edge of the parking area to get closer to him.

  "Luke, I think I've found it!"

  He immediately knew which it she was talking about. The elusive connection among the rape victims.

  "I've got to take Gina back home," she said, talking a mile a minute. "I need you to get some information for me. The two other women who had no obvious ties to the base? I need you to find out if they have or had a close relationship with someone who was stationed here four years ago."

  She was so revved up, he hated to be a wet blanket, but he didn't get it. She looked at the expression on his face and laughed. "You think I'm nuts."

  "I think it's a possibility."

  "I'm not. Remember Mary Beth Hollis?"

  "Yeah." He was never going to forget Mary Beth Hollis, The sight of her being carried to the ambulance was one he'd carry with him to his dying day.

  "Remember she dated Captain Horowitz four years ago, before she was married?"

  He remembered hearing about the woman's romantic connection to the navy doctor, but he hadn't committed the details to memory.

  "Gina just told me that her mother's second husband was a master chief in the regular Navy," Syd continued. "Stationed where? Stationed here. He was transferred to the east coast when he and Gina's mom were divorced—when? Four years ago. Four. Years. Ago."

  Understanding dawned. "You think all these women are connected in that they know someone who was stationed here—"

  "Four years ago," she finished for him, her entire face glowing with excitement. "Or maybe it's not exactly four years ago, maybe it's more or less than that. What we need to do is talk to the two victims who've got no obvious connection to the base, see if they had a connection, past tense. Call Lucy McCoy," she ordered him. "What are you waiting for? Go. Hurry! I'll meet you in the office as soon as I drive Gina home."

  She started hopping back over the rocks, and Lucky couldn't resist. He scooped her up and carried her the few feet to the soft sand. Problem was, once he had her in his arms, he didn't want to put her down. Especially when she looked up at him with such surprised laughter in her eyes.

  "Thank you," she said. "Actually, my feet thank you."

  She squirmed, and he released her, and then it was his turn to be surprised when she threw her arms around his neck and gave him an exuberant hug.

  "Oh, baby, this is it," she said. "This is the connection! It's going to help us identify and protect the women this guy is targeting."

  Lucky closed his eyes as he held her tightly, breathing in the sweet scent of her sunblock.

  She pulled free far too soon. "Hurry," she said again, pushing him in the direction of the administration building.

  Lucky went, breaking into an obedient trot, even though he was far from convinced they'd find anything new. He hoped with all of his heart that Syd wouldn't be too disappointed.

  Of course, if she was, he could always comfort her. He was good at providing comfort—particularly the kind that slid neatly into seduction.

  God, what was he thinking? This was Syd.

  Syd—who'd kissed him as if the world were coming to

  an end. Syd—whose body had felt so tempting beneath his just this morning. Syd—whose lit-up windows he'd stared at for nearly an hour last night, dying to ring her bell for more reasons than simply to make sure she was safe.

  Okay. True confession time. Yes, it was Syd, and yes, he wanted to seduce her. But he liked her. A lot. Too much to trade in their solid friendship for his typical two-week, molten-lava, short-term fling.

  He wasn't going to do it.

  He was going to stay away from her, keep it platonic.

  Yeah. Right.

  Chapter

  Another former boyfriend and a father who's since died," Luke said to Syd as she hurried into the office.

  She stopped short. "Oh, my God, I'm right?"

  "You're amazingly, perfectly, brilliantly right." He grabbed her and danced her around the room.

  It was a lot like this morning in Lana Quinn's waiting room. One minute she was standing there and the next she was in motion. She clung to him for dear life as he spun her around and around.

  "Finally," he said, "something that we might be able to go on."

  She looked up at him breathlessly. "Only might?"

  "I'm trying to be restrained." He narrowly avoided a head-on collision with a file cabinet.

  She had to laugh at that. "This is you, restrained?"

  Luke laughed, too, as he finally slowed to a stop, as he once more let her feet touch the ground. “This is me, extremely restrained."

  He was still holding her as tightly as she was holding

  him, and suddenly, as he gazed into her eyes, he wasn't laughing anymore.

  She was pressed against him from her shoulders to her thighs and the fit felt impossibly good. He was warm and solid and he smelled good, too.

  He was looking down at her, her face tipped up to his, his mouth mere inches from hers, and for several long, heart-stopping moments, Syd was certain that he was going to kiss her.

  Like the last time he'd kissed her, she saw it coming, but this go-round seemed so much more unrehearsed. The shift of emotions and the heightened awareness in his eyes couldn't possibly be an act, could it? Or the way his gaze dropped for just an instant to her lips, the way his own lips parted just a tiny bit, the tip of his tongue wetting them slightly in an unconscious move.

&n
bsp; But then, instead of planting a big knee-weakening one on her, he released her. He let her go and even stepped back.

  Whoa, what just happened here?

  Luke grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the main computer. "Check this out. Show her the thing," he commanded the SEAL candidates.

  Thomas was at the keyboard with Rio hovering over his shoulder, and they both moved slightly to the side so that Syd could see the screen. As if her eyes could focus on the screen.

  She still felt completely disoriented. Luke hadn't kissed her. Of course, this was an office in a building on a U.S. naval base, she told herself, and he was the team's commanding officer. This was the U.S. Navy and there were probably rules about kissing.

  Restrained, he'd said, indeed. Syd had to smile. Funny, she wouldn't have thought he'd have had it in him.

  Thomas was talking to her, explaining what they'd done on the computer. "We pulled up the personnel files of all

  twelve of the servicemen and women—living and dead, active duty and retired—who're connected to the victims."

  "All twelve," Rio chimed in, "were stationed here in Coronado during the same eight-week period in ."

  Eight weeks, four years ago. That couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Syd leaned closer to look at the numbers on the screen for herself.

  "According to the information we've been given directly from the women who were attacked, the servicemen and woman also all knew their corresponding victim during that time," Thomas pointed out.

  "We've pulled a complete list of personnel who were here during that eight-week period," Luke said handing her a thick tome that was stapled together with what looked like a railroad spike. "Even if they were only here for a day during that time, their name's on this list. Mike's out delivering a copy to Lucy McCoy. She's going to run these names through the police computer, see if anyone left the service and ended up with a police record—particularly one that includes charges of sexual assault."