Suzanne Brockmann - Team Ten 09 - Get Lucky

by Suzanne Brockmann -

  Luke laughed in disbelief. "Is that really what you think this was? Things getting out of hand?"

  Syd staunchly forced herself to meet his gaze. "Wasn't it?"

  "No," he said flatly. "And as far as neither of us expecting this, well, I sure as hell did. I planned for it. I counted on it. I wanted it." He kissed her hard, on the mouth. "I wanted you. I still want you. But more than that, I want you to be safe."

  Syd was dizzy. "You planned..."

  "I've been hot for you for weeks, baby cakes."

  "We've only known each other a few weeks."

  "Exactly."

  Syd was looking into his eyes, and she believed him. My God, she really believed him. I've been hot for you for weeks.... She had no idea. Except for all the times he'd kissed her. Playing the pretend girlfriend game, he'd called it. Those kisses had seemed so real.

  "I thought you were making up some stupid excuse to break up because you didn't want me around," she admitted. "I thought..."

  He knew what she'd thought. "That this was just a one-nighter?" He flopped back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "You honestly thought I'd do that to you? After you told me about...the football player who shall remain

  nameless because the mere mention of his name enrages me?"

  "Well..."

  He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes suddenly sharp.

  “Did you mean for this to be a one-nighter?"

  “I didn't think it would ever really happen," she told him honestly. “I mean, until it was happening, and then..." She didn't know what to tell him. "We probably shouldn't have done this, because it's really going to screw up our friendship. You know, I really like you, Luke. I mean, as a friend..."

  Oh, brother, could she sound any more stupid? And she was lying, too, by great big omission. Yeah, she really liked him as a friend, but she loved him as a lover, too.

  Loved.

  L-O-V-E-D.

  As in, here, take my heart and crush it into a thousand tiny pieces. As in, here, take my heart and leave me here, emotionally bleeding to death as you move on to bigger and better things. As in, here, take my heart even though you don't really want it.

  It was stupid, really. She was stupid. She'd realized it when she was having sex with the guy. The fact that she was having sex with the guy should have been a dead giveaway that she'd fallen for him in the first place. But, no, she had been too dumb to realize that those warm feelings she felt every time she looked at Luke O'Donlon were far more than feelings of friendship.

  She'd gone and let herself fall in love with a Ken doll. Except, Luke wasn't really plastic. He was real, and he was perfect. Well, not perfect perfect, but perfect for her. Perfect except for the fact that he didn't do serious—he'd warned her about that himself—and that his usual girl-friends had had larger bra sizes back when they were twelve than Syd had now.

  Perfect except for the fact that, if she let him, he would

  crush her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. Not intentionally. But it didn't have to be intentional to hurt.

  "I like you, too," he told her quietly. "But as more than a friend. Way more."

  When he said things like that, lying back in his bed, naked and gorgeous, all blue eyes and golden hair and tan skin, it was like playing her older sister's Mystery Date game and opening the door to the picture of the perfect, blond, tuxedo-clad young Mr. Right. It was like finding the "win a free year's supply" coupon in her bag of M&M's. It was like living the perfect Hollywood movie, the kind of romantic comedy that ended with two complete opposites in each other's arms, locked in a kiss. The kind of romantic comedy that ended way before the divorce two years later,

  Divorce. God, what was she thinking? It wasn't as if Luke had asked her to marry him. There was a long, long road between, "Honey, I like you as more than a friend," and "Will you marry me?"

  Syd cleared her throat. "It won't make any difference if we pretend to break up," she told him, "because our guy has gone after ex-girlfriends, too, remember? He's not picky. I wouldn't be any safer."

  "You would be if you left town," he countered.

  She was dumbstruck. "You want me to leave town?"

  "Yeah." He was serious.

  "No. No way. Absolutely not." Syd couldn't sit still, so she leapt out of bed. "I'm part of this task force, part of your team, remember?"

  She was standing there naked, glaring at him, and she grabbed the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around herself.

  Luke was trying not to smile. "I don't know," he said, "The argumentative stance worked better for me without the sheet."

  "Don't change the subject, because I'm not leaving."

  "Syd, baby, I've been trying to think of another way this could work and—"

  "Don't you dare baby me! Sheesh, sleep with a guy once, and he thinks he's got the right to tell you what to do! Sleep with a guy once, and suddenly you're in Patronizing City! I'm not leaving town, Luke, baby, so just forget about it!"

  "All right!" His temper snapped, too, and he sat forward, the muscles in his shoulders taut as he pushed himself up. "Great. I'll forget about it. I'll forget about the fact that the thought of you ending up in a hospital bed in a coma like Lucy is making me freaking crazy!"

  He was serious. He really was scared to death for her. As Syd gazed into his eyes, her anger instantly deflated. She sat on the edge of the bed, wishing she could compromise, but knowing that this was one fight she had to win.

  "I'm sorry," she said, reaching for him. "But I can't leave, Luke. This story is too important to me."

  "Is it really worth risking your life?"

  She touched his hair, his shoulder, traced the definition of the powerful muscles in his arm. "You're a fine one to talk about risking your life and whether a job is worth it."

  "I'm trained for it," he said. "You're not. You're a writer."

  She met his gaze. "And what if I never wrote anything that I thought was important? What if I always played it safe? I could be very safe, you know, and write copy for the back of cereal boxes. Do you really think that's what I should do for the rest of my life?"

  It was hard for him, but he shook his head, no.

  "I have a great opportunity here," she told him. "There's a job I really, really want as an editor and staff writer of a magazine I really, really admire. Think Maga-

  zine.

  “I've never heard of it," Luke admitted.

  “It's targeted to young women," Syd told him, "as kind

  of an alternative to all those fashion magazines that tell you that you need to make yourself beautiful and thin if you want to win Mr. Right's heart—and also send you the message that you'll never be beautiful enough or thin enough."

  "Is that your dream job?" he asked. "To write for this magazine?''

  "My dream job is to write a book. I'd love to be able to afford to take a year or two and try writing fiction," she admitted. "But at the rate I'm saving, I'm going to be ninety before that happens. I either have to win the lottery or find a patron. And the odds of either of those things happening is like four billion to one. This job with Think is the next best thing." They'd somehow gotten off the topic. "This story," Syd said, steering them back onto track, "when I write it, is going to help me get that job. But that's just part of why I don't want to leave, Luke. You need to understand—the other part is intensely personal. The other part comes from knowing that I can help catch this guy. I can help!"

  "You've already helped," he told her.

  "If I leave, you're back to square one. You've got to start from scratch. Establish a new relationship—with whom, Luke? Some policewoman? You don't think that would look really suspicious? You don't think this guy pays attention to things like that? A guy who probably follows his victim around for days, searching for patterns, learning her schedule, watching for times when she's all alone...?"

  She had him, and she knew it, as he flopped back onto the bed, put his arm over his eyes and swore.

  "He's probably
too smart, too suspicious to come near me anyway," she told him.

  He lifted his arm to look at her. "You don't believe that any more than I do." He reached for her, pulling her close, holding her tightly. "Promise me you won't go anywhere

  by yourself. Promise you'll always make sure someone from the team is watching you."

  "I promise," Syd said.

  "I'm talking about running down to the convenience store for some milk. It doesn't happen until we catch this guy, do you understand? I'm either right here, right next to you, or Bobby's breathing down your neck."

  "I got it," Syd said. "Although, personally, I'd prefer you breathing down my neck."

  "That can definitely be arranged." He kissed her, hard. "You will be safe. I'm going to make damn sure of it."

  He kissed her again—her throat, her breasts, her stomach, moving even lower, his breath hot against her skin. That wasn't her neck he was breathing down, but Syd didn't bother to tell him. She figured he probably knew.

  She closed her eyes, losing herself in the torrents of pleasure that rushed past her, over her, through her. Pleasure and emotion—thick, rich, deep emotion that surrounded her completely and made her feel as if she were drowning.

  When it came to the things Luke O'Donlon could make her feel, she was in way over her head.

  Sounds of laughter rang from Lucy McCoy's hospital room.

  Hope expanded inside Lucky as he ran the last few steps and pushed open the door and...

  He stopped short, and Syd, who was right behind him, bumped into him.

  Lucy still lay motionless in her hospital bed, breathing with the help of a respirator.

  But she was surrounded by her friends. The room was filled with women. Veronica Catalanotto sat by Lucy's bed and held her hand. Mia Francisco sat nearby, using her enormously rounded belly as a table for a bowl of raw vegetables, her legs propped up on another chair. Melody Jones, Cowboy's wife, was perched on the windowsill, her

  feet bare, next to Mitch Shaw's wife, Becca, who'd kept on her cowboy boots. It figured they'd sit together, be close friends. They both looked like something out of a very wholesome country music video.

  Melody waved at him. “Hey, Lucky. I was just telling Wes that my sister, Brittany, came out here with me. She and Andy, my nephew, are watching the kids, so that Ronnie and I can both be here. I was just suggesting that as long as Brittany's in town, we try to set her up with Wes-ley."

  Lucky realized that Wes Skelly was in the room, too, sitting on the floor by Lucy's bed, next to Nell Hawken, Crash's wife. They both had their backs to the wall.

  Wes rolled his eyes. "Why is it always me?" he complained. "Why don't you women torment Bobby for a change?"

  "For a change?" Bobby deadpanned. He was there, too, sitting cross-legged in front of young Tasha, who was putting his long black hair into dozens of braids of varying sizes.

  There was more laughter, and Veronica leaned over Lucy, as if she were hoping for something. A smile. A movement. A twitch. She looked up, caught Lucky watching her and shook her head. Nothing. The strain that was just below the surface on all of their faces showed through at the tight edges of her mouth.

  But she forced a smile. "Hey, Lucy, Lucky's here with Syd." She looked around the room. "Who here hasn't met Sydney Jameson? Brace yourself, ladies, no fainting please, I know we all thought it would never happen, but our Luke has been smitten at last. Syd's moving in with him."

  The noise of all those female voices talking at once as introductions were made and congratulations given—along with hugs and kisses—should have been enough to wake the dead, but Lucy still didn't move.

  And Syd was embarrassed. Lucky met her eyes, and

  knew exactly what she was thinking. The moving in together thing wasn't real. It was part of the girlfriend game. Despite the fact that their relationship had become intimate, he hadn't asked her to move in with him.

  And she hadn't accepted.

  He tried to imagine asking such a thing. How did a man go about it? It wasn't a marriage proposal, so there wasn't any need to get down on your knees, was there? Would you do it casually? While you were making dinner? Or maybe over breakfast? "Hey, babe, by the way...it's occurred to me that as long as you're here all the time..."

  It didn't seem very romantic, far more like a convenience than a commitment.

  PJ Becker stuck her head in the door. "O'Donlon. About time you graced us with your appearance. Anyone in here given him a sit-rep yet?"

  "Situation report," Tasha told Syd. "They talk in code, but don't worry. You'll learn it in no time."

  "Well, I found out that Melody wants to set Wes up with her sister," Lucky said to PJ, "but I doubt that's what you meant."

  "Mitch left last night," Mitch's wife Becca said quietly. "As soon as Admiral Robinson called. He's going to find Blue, and send him back here, but it's probably going to take some time."

  "We've decided to take turns sitting with Lucy," Veronica reported. "One of us is going to be here around the clock until Blue gets back. We've worked out a schedule."

  "Her doctor said it was good if we talked to her and held her hand—tried to establish some kind of contact," Nell Hawken, Crash's wife, blond and delicately pretty, added. "We thought we'd try getting together—all of us, like this—in the early evening, right before dinnertime. We figured we'd have sort of a party, tell stories and talk—see if maybe Lucy would want to wake up and join us."

  "So far it hasn't worked," Mia said, "but we've just got

  to be patient. The doctor said the procedure they did to relieve the pressure from the subdural injury has made the swelling go down significantly. That's a good sign."

  It was amazing. Lucky was standing in a room filled with beautiful women—the wives of some of his best friends in the world. He'd had crushes on most of them at one time or another, and he'd never dated anyone—even the illustrious Miss Georgia—that he didn't compare to them and find lacking.

  Until now.

  Until Syd, with her sleek dark hair, and her heart-shaped face. He'd made her wear another of his shirts today—one that was missing the top two buttons, and the collar gapped open, revealing her throat and her incredibly delicate collarbones.

  But the truth was, it wasn't her body that put her into the same league as these incomparable women he adored. It was her sense of humor, her sharp wit, her brilliance— all of which shone clearly through in her incredible smile and her amazing brown eyes.

  Across the room, Melody Jones slid down off the win-dowsill, slipping her feet into a pair of sneakers. "I better get back. Tyler's probably driving my sister nuts." She looked at Veronica. "Take your time coming over, Ron. Frankie will be fine. In fact, he can just spend the night in the baby's room, if you want."

  "Thanks," Veronica said. "That would be great."

  Melody turned to Becca. "You don't need a ride, right? You've got your own car...?"

  On the other side of the room, Nell stood up and stretched. "I've got to go, too. I'll be back tomorrow, Lucy."

  "Whoa," Lucky said, blocking the door. "Wait a minute. Where are you going?"

  "Home," they said in unison.

  "No, you're not," he said. "There's no way in hell I'm

  letting any of you just go home. You're all potential targets. You're not walking out of here without protection."

  Melody looked at Veronica. Veronica looked at Nell and Becca. Mia stood up gracefully—no small feat—and they all turned to look at her.

  “He's right," she said.

  God, it was a logistical nightmare. All these women going in all these different directions....

  Melody didn't look convinced. "It's not like I'm alone at home. My sister and the kids are there."

  "And I certainly don't need protection," PJ added.

  "My ranch is way out of town," Becca said. "I'm not really worried."

  Mutiny. No way was he going to let them mutiny. Lucky bristled, ready to let them know in no uncertain terms that they were al
l, star FInCOM agent PJ Becker included, going to follow the law that he was about to lay down.

  But Syd put her hand on his arm.

  "I'm worried," she said to the other women. She looked down at Lucy, lying there so still and silent in that bed. "And I'm betting that if Lucy really can hear everything we're saying, that she's worried, too."

  She leaned over the bed. "This would be a really perfect time for you to wake up, detective," she continued, "because your friends need a crash course in exactly who this monster is we're all up against. Of course, if you don't mind, I can speak for you. I saw the way he came into your house through a locked living-room window—the way he bypassed your fancy alarm system."

  Syd looked up, looked directly at Melody. "I saw the blood in your bed and on your bedroom wall—your blood."

  She looked at Becca and her voice shook. "I saw the second-story window you dove through, risking a broken neck from the fall, because you knew that if he got his I hands around your throat again, he would kill you."

  She looked at PJ through the tears that brimmed in her eyes. Her voice was just a whisper now. "And I saw the gun you kept just under your bed, thinking that it—and your training as a police detective—made you safe. The gun you never even got a chance to use."

  The room was dead silent.

  Syd looked around at all of them. "If you're still not worried, think about your husbands. Think about the men who love you receiving the same awful message that Blue McCoy's going to get in just a few days, in just a few hours. Think about Blue, finding out that he may have lost Lucy forever."

  "Oh, my God," Veronica breathed. "Lucy just squeezed my hand!"