Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  He took four syringes from his battle vest and moved si­lently through the room, giving each of the guards a care­fully dosed guaranteed good night's sleep. He sealed the needles back up and packaged the now-empty syringes in a bag marked Biohazardous Waste. A quick search of the cabin convinced him that no other guards were lurking, so he moved toward the senator's daughter.

  He flicked on his penlight, shielding the light in the palm of one hand as he looked down at the sleeping girl. She was curled in a fetal position, knees tucked into her chest, one arm up, wrist attached by handcuffs to the brass head­board of the bed. Her hair was tangled and knotted, and dirt and blood from abrasions streaked her face and bare arms and legs. She was wearing a pair of blue shorts and a sleeveless top. Both were badly torn.

  The bastards had hurt her. Karen. Her name was Karen Branford. They'd beaten her. Probably raped her. Christ, she was fifteen years old.

  Rage filled him. Hot, molten and deadly, Blue felt it seep through his body, under his skin, spreading out all the way to his fingers and toes. It was a familiar sensation in his line of business. Normally he welcomed it. But tonight his job wasn't to fight back. Tonight his job was to take this bat­tered little girl out of here and get her to safety.

  When he adjusted his headset, pulling the lip micro­phone closer to his mouth, his voice was steady. "Cat," he said almost silently to his commanding officer. "They hurt her."

  Joe Catalanotto cursed. "Bad?"

  "Yeah."

  "Can she walk?"

  "I don't know," Blue said.

  He turned toward the girl again, sensing from the change in the sound of her breathing that she was awake. Awake and terrified.

  Quickly he knelt down next to her, holding the penlight so that it lit his camouflaged face.

  "I'm Lieutenant Blue McCoy, miss," he said in a low voice. "I'm a U.S. Navy SEAL, and I'm here to bring you home."

  She stared at him, eyes wide, taking in his uniform, his gun, and he knew she didn't understand.

  "I'm an American sailor, Karen," he said. "I'm a friend of your daddy's, and I'm gonna get you outta here."

  At the mention of her father, understanding and hope flared simultaneously in her brown eyes. She had been clutching at her torn shirt in a futile attempt at modesty, but now she removed her hand to cover his light.

  "Shh," she whispered. "You'll wake the guards."

  "No, I won't," Blue said. "They're not going to wake up for a while. And when they do, they're going to be in jail." He extracted his lock pick from the waterproof case in his vest and set to work on her cuffs. Three seconds was all it took, and the lock snapped open.

  As she rubbed her wrist, Blue slipped off his pack and battle vest and quickly unbuttoned the camouflage shirt he wore underneath it. It was damp with perspiration and probably didn't smell too good, but it was the best he could offer her under the circumstances.

  She accepted it silently, slipping it on and buttoning it clear up to her neck.

  Blue had to give her credit. After her initial surprise and fear, she now gazed back at him unflinchingly. Her eyes were clear and brave. He'd seen brown eyes like hers some­where before, a lifetime ago. The owner of those eyes had been fifteen years old, too—

  Lucy. Little Lucy Tait. Hell, he hadn't thought about her in years.

  Blue glanced at his watch, double-checking to make sure his pack was secure. According to the plan, diversionary tactics should be just about ready to start. Blue took a deep breath, looked down at Karen and quietly asked, "Can you walk?"

  The young girl stood up. The tail of Blue's shirt came all the way down to her knees. "Better than that," she said stoutly, "I can run."

  Blue smiled for the first time in what seemed like hours. "Well, all right. Let's go."

  They were halfway through the brush, when Blue heard the first shots ring out. Joe Cat and H. were right behind him, and he sensed them both turning toward the sounds of the skirmish, wondering which men of Alpha Squad were involved, wishing they could go toward the fighting and provide backup.

  "This is the wrong way," Blue heard Karen gasp. She pulled free from his grasp, looking wildly around.

  He took her arm again. "No, it's not—"

  "Yes, it is," she insisted. "I tried running this way be­fore. There are nothing but cliffs. There's no path down to the ocean. We'll be trapped!"

  The kid had tried to escape. Blue marveled at her guts. She was tough. Again he couldn't help but think about Lucy Tait. He'd been a senior and Lucy had been a little fresh­man, and the first time they met, she had been getting the stuff kicked out of her by a gang of kids. She was bloody and clearly the odds were against her, but she had a defiant lift to her chin and a "you can't beat me" glint in her brown eyes.

  Cowboy's voice came in over Blue's headset. "Cat! About four tangos broke free. They're heading in your di­rection!"

  "Copy that," Cat replied. He turned to Blue. "Go."

  "We're going to parasail down to the water," Blue told Karen. "There's a boat waiting for us."

  She didn't understand. "Parasail? How?"

  "Trust me," he said.

  Karen hesitated only a fraction of a second, then nod­ded.

  Then they were running again, this time without Cat and Harvard on their heels.

  The forest opened up into a field, and Blue felt vulner­able and exposed. If one of the terrorists broke through Cat and Harvard's ambush... But they wouldn't.

  "Knock the hell out of them for me," he said into his lip microphone, and he heard Joe Catalanotto chuckle.

  "You bet, buddy."

  Blue stopped at the edge of the cliff and made adjust­ments to his pack so that Karen could be latched against him and they could parasail down to the water together.

  She didn't complain, didn't say a word, although he knew that the proximity of his body to hers had to remind her of the brutalities she'd endured over the past four days.

  But he couldn't think about that; couldn't wonder, couldn't focus on her pain. He had to think about that ship bobbing in the darkness, made invisible by the night.

  He flipped on the homing device in his vest, reassured by the series of blips and beeps that told him the ship was in­deed out there.

  "Hold on," he said to the girl, and then he jumped.

  Blue was on the deck of the USS Franklin when the chopper carrying the rest of Alpha Squad touched down.

  He looked closer, trying for a quick head count. It was a reflex from the time all those years ago when Frisco had gone down. He hadn't been KLA—killed in action—but he may as well have been. He still hadn't recovered from his injuries. His leg had damn near been blown off and he was still in a wheelchair—and still mad as hell about it.

  Frisco had been Alpha Squad's unofficial goodwill am­bassador. He had been friendly and lighthearted, quick to talk and to make friends with everyone around him. He had a sharp sense of humor and a fast wit—he soon had strang­ers laughing and smiling wherever he went. And his friend­liness was sincere. He was a walking party. He always had a good time, whatever the situation.

  In fact, Alan "Frisco" Francisco was the only SEAL Blue knew who actually enjoyed basic training's endurance test called Hell Week.

  But when Frisco was told that he could never walk again, he'd stopped smiling. To Frisco, losing the use of his leg was the worst thing that ever could have happened to him. Even worse, maybe, than dying.

  Blue watched the men jump down from the big bay doors of the helicopter. Joe Cat—his dark hair worn longer and tied back in a ponytail, his stern face relaxed in a smile nearly all the time now that he was married. Harvard—his shaved head gleaming like a coffee-colored bowling ball, looking big and mean and scary as hell. Bobby and Wes— unidentical twins, one big and tall, the other wiry and short, yet they moved in unison, finished each other's sentences. Lucky O'Donlon—Frisco's swim buddy. And the new guy—Cowboy. Harlan "Cowboy" Jones—temporary re­placement first for Lucky on the same rescue mission that had inju
red Frisco, then temporary replacement for Frisco. Except it had been years and years, and it sure as hell looked as though temporary had turned pretty damned perma­nent.

  They were all there, and they were all walking and breathing.

  Joe Cat spotted Blue and moved in his direction.

  "Everything okay?" he asked.

  Blue nodded, heading with Joe toward the stairs leading below deck. "The doctor checked out the girl," he drawled. "She's with the shrink and the support staff right now." He shook his head. "Four days, Cat. Why the hell did it take them so long to let us go in after her?"

  "Because the average politician and top-brass pencil pusher doesn't have a clue what a SEAL team can do." Joe Cat unfastened his battle vest, heading directly toward the .mess hall.

  "So a fifteen-year-old girl is brutalized for four days while we sit around with our thumbs up our—"

  Cat stopped walking, turning to face Blue. "Yeah, it bugs me too," he said. "But it's over now. Let it go."

  "You think Karen Branford is gonna just let it go?"

  Blue could see from Cat's dark eyes that the CO didn't like the answer to that question. "She's alive," he said qui­etly. "That's much better than the alternative."

  Blue took a deep breath. He was right. Cat was right. He exhaled loudly. "Sorry." They started walking again. "It's just... The girl reminded me of someone I used to know back in Hatboro Creek. A girl named Lucy. Lucy Tait."

  Joe Cat eyed him with feigned astonishment as they turned the corner into the mess hall. "Yo," he said. "Am I hearing you correctly? You actually knew other girls be­sides Jenny Lee Beaumont in Hatboro Creek? I thought the sun rose and set with Jenny Lee, and all other girls were rendered invisible by her magnificent shine."

  Blue staunchly ignored Cat's teasing tone. "Lucy wasn't a girl," he said, pouring black, steaming coffee into a pa­per cup. "She was just... a kid."

  "Maybe you should look her up while you're back in South Carolina for the wedding."

  Blue shook his head. "I don't think so."

  Cat took a mug from the rack, regarding Blue specula-tively. "You sure you want to go to this wedding?" he asked. "You know, I can arrange for Alpha Squad to be part of some vital training mission if you need an excuse not to be there."

  "It's my brother's wedding."

  "Gerry's your stepbrother," Cat noted, "and he hap­pens to be marrying Jenny Lee, your high-school sweet­heart and the only woman I've ever heard you talk about— with the exception now of this Lucy Tait."

  Blue took a swallow of the coffee. It was strong and hot and it burned all the way down. "I told him I'd be his best man."

  Joe Cat's teeth were clenched as he gazed at Blue. The muscle worked in his jaw. "He shouldn't have asked you for that," he said. "He wants you there, giving him your stamp of approval, so he can stop feeling guilty about stealing Jenny Lee from you."

  Blue crumpled up his empty paper cup, then tossed it into the garbage. "He didn't steal her," he said. "She was in love with him right from the start."

  Chapter 1

  It was going to be the wedding of the year—-shoot, it was going to be the wedding of the decade. And Lucy Tait was going to be there.

  Oh, not that she'd be invited. No, Lucy wasn't going to get one of those fancy, gold-lettered invitations printed on heavy, cream-colored stock, no way. She was going to this wedding as a hired hand—first to keep the traffic moving outside Hatboro Creek's posh country club and then to stand inside the ballroom, guarding the pile of expensive wedding gifts.

  Lucy adjusted the collar of her police uniform as she cruised Main Street in her patrol car, searching for a park­ing spot near Bobby Joe's Grill.

  Not that she'd expected to be invited to Jenny Lee Beau­mont's nuptials. She'd never run with that crowd, not even back in high school. But man, back then, back when Lucy was a scrawny freshman and blond, beautiful homecoming queen Jenny Lee had been a senior, Lucy had desperately wanted to join Jenny's exclusive club.

  She would never have admitted it. The same way she would never have admitted the reason she wanted so des­perately to be close to Jenny Lee-—namely, Blue McCoy.

  Blue McCoy.

  Rumor had it he was coming back to town for his step­brother's wedding.

  Blue McCoy.

  With dark blond hair and dark blue eyes that burned with an intensity that made her heart stand still, Blue McCoy had haunted all of Lucy's adolescent dreams. He was the hero of her teenaged years—a loner, quiet, dark and dangerous, capable of just about anything.

  Including winning beautiful Jenny Lee Beaumont's heart.

  Except Jenny Lee wasn't going to marry Blue McCoy on Saturday afternoon. She was marrying his stepbrother, Gerry. He was two years older than Blue, with a quicksilver smile, movie-star good looks and a happy-go-lucky atti­tude. Some people might have found Gerry the more at­tractive of the McCoy boys.

  Apparently Jenny Lee had.

  Lucy found a parking place a block down from the Grill and turned off the patrol car's powerful engine. On second thought, she turned the key again and pushed the buttons to raise the power windows. The summer sky looked threat­ening. Lucy was willing to bet it was going to pour before she finished her lunch.

  She checked to make sure her sidearm was secured in her belt holster as she hurried down the sidewalk. She was al­ready ten minutes late, and her friend Sarah's self-imposed work schedule didn't allow her to take more than a hour for lunch.

  The Grill was crowded, as usual, but Sarah was saving a table. Lucy slid into the booth, across from her friend.

  “I'm sorry I'm late."

  Sarah just smiled. "I would have ordered lunch," she said. "But Iris hasn't worked her way around to this part of the room.”

  Lucy leaned back against the plastic cushion of the bench seat. She let out a burst of air that lifted her bangs up off her forehead. "I haven't stopped running since 7 a.m." She eyed her friend. Sarah looked tired and hot, her dark hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail, dark circles under her ha­zel eyes. "How are you?"

  "I'm nine months pregnant with a child that has obvi­ously decided not to be born until he's old enough to vote," Sarah said dryly. "It's ninety-seven degrees in the shade, my back hurts when I lie down, my sciatic nerve acts up when I sit, I have a review deadline that I can't possibly make be­cause I've spent the past three days cooking instead of writ­ing, my husband has been home from his shift at the hospital four hours in the past forty-eight, my mother-in-law calls every five minutes to see if my water has broken, I miss living in Boston and this is the first chance I've had in nearly a week to complain."

  Lucy grinned. "Then don't stop now."

  "No, no, I'm done," Sarah said, fanning herself with her napkin.

  "Afternoon, ladies." Iris took her pen from behind her ear and held it poised over her ordering pad. "What can I get you today?"

  "I'd like some marzipan," Sarah said.

  Iris sighed good-naturedly, pushing a stray red curl back up into her bun. "Honey, I told you before, if it's not on the menu..."

  "I need some marzipan," Sarah said almost desperately. "Almond paste. Or maybe a piece of my mother's fruit­cake. I haven't been able to think about anything else for days...."

  "We'll both take a turkey club," Lucy said smoothly, "on whole wheat, mustard, no mayo, extra pickles."

  "Sorry, hon," Iris murmured to Sarah as she moved on to the next table.

  "My life," Sarah intoned dramatically, "is an endless string of disappointments."

  Lucy had to laugh. "You're married to the nicest guy in town, you're about to have a baby, you just won a prize for your music and you're disappointed?"

  Sarah leaned forward. "I'm insanely jealous of you," she said. "You still have a waistline. You can see your feet without craning your neck. You—" She broke off, staring across the room toward the door. "Don't look now, but I think we're being invaded."

  Lucy turned around as the glass door to the grill swung open and a man in gre
en army fatigues, carrying a heavy-looking green duffel bag casually over one shoulder, came inside.

  He was clearly a soldier, except on second glance his uni­form wasn't quite inspection ready. The first thing Lucy noticed was his arms. The sleeves had been torn from his green shirt at the shoulders and his arms were muscular and strong. He looked as if he could easily bench-press three times his body weight. He wore his shirt open at the collar and unbuttoned halfway down his broad chest. His fatigue pants fit him comfortably, but instead of clunky black army boots, he wore only sandals on his feet.

  He had sunglasses on, but his gaze swept quickly around the room and Lucy imagined that he didn't miss much.

  His hair was thick and a dark, sandy blond.

  And his face was one she recognized.

  Lucy would have known Blue McCoy anywhere. That strong chin, his firm, unsmiling mouth, those rugged cheekbones and straight nose. Twelve years of living had added power and strength to his already strong face. The lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, adding a sense of compassion or wisdom to his unforgivingly stern features.

  He had been good-looking as a teenaged boy. As a man, he was impossibly handsome.

  Lucy was staring. She couldn't help herself. Blue McCoy was back in town, larger than life.

  He finished his quick inspection of the room and his eyes returned to her. As Lucy watched, Blue took off his sun­glasses. His eyes were still the brightest shade of blue she'd ever seen in her life, and as he met her gaze she felt frozen in place, hypnotized.

  He nodded at her, just once, still unsmiling, and then Iris breezed past him.

  "Sit anywhere, hon!" she called out to him.

  The spell was broken. Blue looked away from Lucy and she turned back to the table and Sarah.