Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  "Do you know him?" Sarah asked, her sharp eyes miss­ing nothing—particularly not the blush that was heating Lucy's cheeks. "You do, don't you?"

  "Not really, no," Lucy said, then admitted, "I mean, I know who he is, but..." She shook her head.

  "Who is he?"

  Lucy glanced up again, but Blue was busy stashing his duffel bag underneath a table on the far side of the room. "Blue McCoy." Lucy spoke softly, as if he might overhear even from across the noisy restaurant.

  "That's Gerry McCoy's brother? He looks nothing like him."

  "They're stepbrothers," Lucy explained. "Blue's mother married Gerry's father, only she died about five months af­ter the wedding. Mr. McCoy adopted Blue shortly after that. The way I hear it, neither Mr. McCoy nor Blue was happy with that arrangement. Apparently they didn't get along too well, but Blue had nowhere else to go."

  "I guess not, since he didn't make it back into town when Mr. McCoy died a few years ago," Sarah commented.

  "Gerry told me Blue was part of Desert Storm," Lucy said. "He couldn't get leave, not then, and Gerry didn't want to hold up the funeral, not indefinitely like that."

  "Gerry's brother is in the army?"

  "Navy," Lucy corrected her. "He's in the Special Forces—a Navy SEAL."

  "A what?"

  "SEAL," Lucy said. "It stands for Sea, Air and Land. SEALs are like supercommandos. They're experts in every­thing from... I don't know... underwater demolition to parachute assaults to... piloting state-of-the-art jets. They have these insane training sessions where they learn to work as a team under incredible stress. There's this one week-Hell Week—where they're allowed only four hours of sleep all week. They have to sleep in fifteen-minute segments, while air-raid sirens are wailing. If they quit during Hell week, they're out of the program. It's pretty scary stuff. Only the toughest and most determined men make the grade and become SEALs. It's a real status symbol—for obvious reasons."

  Sarah was gazing across the room, a speculative light in her eyes. "You seem to have acquired an awful lot of infor­mation about a man you claim you don't know."

  "I've read about SEALs and the training they go through. That's all."

  "Hmm." Sarah lifted one delicate eyebrow. "Before or after Gerry's brother joined the navy?"

  Lucy shrugged, trying hard to look casual. "So I had a crush on the guy in high school. Big deal."

  Sarah rested her chin in her hand. "Out of all the people in this place, he nods at you," she remarked. "Did you date him?"

  Lucy couldn't help laughing. "Not a chance. I was three years younger, and he was..."

  "What?"

  Iris approached the table, carrying two enormous sand­wiches and a basket of French fries. Lucy smiled her thanks at the waitress, but waited for her to leave before answering Sarah's question.

  "He was going out with Jenny Lee."

  "Beaumont... ?" Sarah's eyes lit up. "You mean the same Jenny Lee who's marrying his brother on Saturday?" At Lucy's nod, she chuckled. "This is getting too good."

  "You didn't know?" Lucy asked. "I thought everyone in town knew. It seems it's all anyone's talking about— whether or not Blue McCoy will show up to the wedding of his stepbrother and his high-school sweetheart."

  "Apparently the answer to that question is yes," Sarah said, glancing across the room at the man in uniform.

  Lucy took a bite of her turkey sandwich, carefully not turning around to look at this man she found so fascinat­ing. Sarah was right. The question about whether or not Blue would attend Gerry's wedding had been answered, Now the town would be abuzz in speculation, wondering if Blue was going to create a disturbance or rise to his feet when the preacher said "speak now or forever hold your peace."

  The temptation proved too intense, and Lucy glanced over her shoulder. Blue was eating his lunch and reading the past week's edition of the Hatboro Creek Gazette. His blond hair fell across his forehead, almost into his eyes, and he pushed it back with a smooth motion that caused the muscles in his right arm to ripple. As if he could feel her watching him, he looked up and directly into her eyes.

  Lucy's stomach did circus tricks as she quickly, guiltily, looked away. God, you would think she was fifteen again and sneaking around the marina where Blue worked, hop­ing for a peek at him. But he hadn't noticed her then and he certainly wouldn't notice her now. She was still decidedly not the Jenny Lee Beaumont type.

  "What was his mother thinking when she named him Blue?" Sarah wondered aloud.

  "His real name is Carter," Lucy said. "Blue is a nick­name—it's short for 'Blue Streak.'"

  "Don't tell me," Sarah said. "He talks all the time."

  Lucy had to laugh at that. Blue McCoy was not known for running on at the mouth. "I don't know when he first got the nickname," she said, "but he's a runner. He broke all kinds of speed records for sprinting and long-distance races back in junior high and high school."

  Sarah nodded, peering around Lucy to get another peek at Blue.

  Lucy's police walkie-talkie went off at nearly the exact instant the skies opened up with a crash of thunder.

  "Report of a 415 in progress at the corner of Main and Willow," Annabella's voice squawked over the radio's tinny speaker. "Possible 10-91 A. Lucy, what's your location?"

  Main and Willow was less than a block and a half from the Grill, in the opposite direction of her patrol car. It would take her less time to jog over there than it would to get to her car and drive. Lucy quickly swallowed a half-chewed bite of her sandwich and thumbed the talk switch to her radio.

  "The Grill," she said, already halfway out of the booth. "I’m on it. But unless you want me to stop at my car to check my code book, you better tell me what a 10-91A is."

  The police dispatcher, Annabella Sawyer, was overly fond of the California police ten code. Never mind that they were in South Carolina. Never mind the fact that Hatboro Creek was so small that they didn't need half the codes most of the time. Never mind that the police officers weren't required to memorize any kind of code. Annabella liked using them. She clearly had watched too many episodes of "Top Cops."

  Lucy knew what a 415 was, though. A disturbance. She'd heard that number enough times. Even a town as tiny as Hatboro Creek had plenty of those.

  "A 10-91A is a report of a vicious animal," Annabella's voice squawked back.

  Lucy swore under her breath. Leroy Hurley's brute of a dog had no doubt gotten loose again.

  "Be careful," Sarah said.

  "I'll wrap your sandwich," Iris called as Lucy pushed open the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  The rain soaked her instantly, as if someone had turned a fire hose on her from above. Her hat was back in her car, and Lucy wished for both of them—hat and car—as she headed toward Willow Street at a quick trot.

  With any luck, this sudden skyburst had sent that 10-91A scurrying for shelter. With any luck, the 415 had ceased to exist. With any luck...

  No such luck. Leroy Hurley's snarling Doberman had treed Merle Groggin on Andy Hayes's front lawn. Andy was shouting for Merle to get the hell out of his expensive Jap­anese maple. Merle was brandishing his hunting knife and shouting for Leroy to get his damned dog locked up or put down, and Leroy was laughing his size forty-six-waist pants off.

  It was decidedly a bonafide 415.

  As Lucy approached Leroy Hurley, his huge dog caught sight of her and turned. Her stomach tightened at the ani­mal's threatening growl. She liked dogs. Most dogs. But this one had one mean streak. Just like his master.

  "Leroy," Lucy said, nodding a greeting to the big man, as if they weren't both standing in a torrential downpour. "What did I tell you last week about keeping your dog chained in your yard?"

  The Doberman shifted its weight, glancing from Lucy to Merle Groggin, as if deciding who would make a tastier lunch.

  Leroy shrugged and grinned. "Can't help it if he breaks free."

  She could smell the unmistakable scent of whiskey on his breath. Damn, he got meaner than ever
when he'd been drinking.

  "Yes, you can," Lucy said, taking her ticket pad from her pocket. It was instantly soaked. "He's your dog. You're re­sponsible for him. And in fact, to help you remember that, I'm going to slap you with a fifty-dollar fine."

  The big man's smile faded. "I'm the only thing standing between you walking away from here in one piece and you getting chewed," he said, "and you're gonna fine me?"

  Lucy stared at Leroy. "Are you threatening me, Hur­ley?" she asked, her voice low and tight but carrying clearly over the sound of the rain. "Because if you're threatening me, I'll run both you and your dog in so fast your head will spin."

  Something in Leroy's eyes shifted, and Lucy felt a surge of triumph. He believed her. She'd called his bluff, he be­lieved her and was going to back down, despite the whiskey that was screwing up the very small amount of good judg­ment he had to begin with.

  "Call your dog off," Lucy said calmly.

  But before Leroy could comply, all hell broke loose.

  Andy Hayes fired a booming shot from his double-barrel shotgun, sending Merle plunging down from the tree. The Doberman leaped toward the fallen man, who struck at the dog with his big knife, drawing blood. With a howl, the an­imal dashed away down the street.

  "Stay the hell away from my tree!" Andy shouted.

  "You stabbed my dog!" Leroy Hurley roared at Merle.

  "You coulda killed me," Merle shouted at Andy as he hurried out of the man's yard. "Why the hell didn't you just shoot the damned dog?"

  Leroy moved threateningly toward Merle. "If that dog dies, I’m gonna string you up by your—"

  "Hold it right there!" Lucy planted herself firmly be­tween Merle and Leroy. She raised her voice so it would carry to the house. "Andy, you know I'm going to have to bring you in—reckless endangerment and unlawful dis­charge of a firearm. And as for you two—"

  "I hope that stupid animal does kick." Merle spoke to Leroy Hurley right through Lucy, as if she wasn't even there. "Because if it doesn't, I’m gonna come after it one of these nights and finish it off."

  "I ain't going nowhere," Andy proclaimed. "I got rights! I was protecting my property!"

  "Maybe I'll just finish you off first!" Leroy's fleshy face was florid with anger as he shouted at Merle.

  Lucy keyed the thumb switch on her radio. "Dispatcher, this is Officer Tait. I need backup, corner of Willow and-"

  Leroy Hurley pushed her aside with the sweep of one beefy arm, and Lucy went down, hard, on her rear in the street, dropping the radio and her ticket pad in the mud. Leroy moved up the walkway to Andy's house with a speed surprising for such a large man, and as Lucy scrambled to her feet, he grabbed Andy's shotgun and pointed it at Merle.

  Merle ducked for cover behind Lucy, and Leroy swung the gun toward her.

  "Leroy, put that down," Lucy ordered, pushing her rain-soaked hair back from her face with her left hand as she unsnapped the safety buttons that held her sidearm in her belt holster with her right hand.

  "Freeze! Keep your hands where I can see 'em," Leroy ordered her.

  Lucy lifted her hands. Shoot. How could this have got­ten so utterly out of control? And where the hell was that backup?

  Leroy was edging toward them; Merle was cowering be­hind her, using her as a shield; and for once Andy Hayes was silent.

  "Step away from Merle," Leroy growled at her.

  "Leroy, put the gun down before this goes too far," Lucy said again, trying to sound calm, to not let the desperation she was feeling show in her voice.

  "If you don't step away from him," Leroy vowed, his eyes wild, "I'll just blast a hole right through you."

  Dear God, he was serious. He raised the shotgun higher, closing one eye as he took aim directly at Lucy's chest. Her life flashed briefly and oh, so meaninglessly through her eyes as she stared into the barrel of that gun. She could very well die at this man's hands. Right here in the rain. And what would she have to show for her life? A six-month-old police badge. A liberal-arts degree from the state univer­sity. A computer business she no longer had any interest in. An empty house at the edge of town. No family, only a few friends...

  "Don't do this, Leroy," Lucy said, inching her hand back down toward her own gun. She didn't want to die. She hadn't even begun to live. Dammit, if Leroy Hurley was going to shoot her, she was going to die trying for her gun.

  "Freeze!" Leroy told her. "I said to freeze!"

  "Leroy, I'm holding an Uzi nine-millimeter submachine gun," a soft voice drawled from over Lucy's shoulder. "It looks small and unassuming, but if I move my trigger fin­ger a fraction of an inch, with a firing rate of sixteen bullets per second, I can cut even a man as big as you in two."

  It was Blue McCoy. Lucy would have recognized his vel­vet Southern drawl anywhere.

  "You have exactly two seconds to drop that shotgun," Blue continued, "or I start firing."

  Leroy dropped the gun.

  Lucy sprang forward before the barrel had finished clat­tering on the cement walkway and scooped up the gun. She cradled it in her arms as she turned to look at Blue.

  His blond hair was drenched and plastered to his head. His clothes were as soaked as her own, and they clung to his body, outlining and emphasizing his muscular build. He squinted slightly through the downpour, but otherwise stood there holding a very deadly looking little submachine gun as if the sky were clear and the sun were shining.

  He was still watching Leroy, but his brilliant blue eyes flickered briefly in Lucy's direction. "You okay?"

  She nodded, unable to find her voice.

  There was a crowd of people down the block, she real­ized suddenly. No doubt they had all been drawn out into the wet by the sound of Andy's first gunshot. Great. She looked like a fool, unable to handle a few troublemakers, requiring a Navy SEAL to come to her rescue. Terrific.

  "Leroy, Andy, Merle," Lucy said. "You're all gonna take a ride to the station."

  "Aw, I didn't do a damned thing," Merle complained as the long-awaited police backup arrived, along with the po­lice van for transporting the three men. "You got nothing on me."

  "Carrying a concealed weapon ought to do the trick," Lucy said, deftly taking his hunting knife from him and handing it and the shotgun to Frank Redfield, one of the police officers who had finally made the scene.

  "Talk about carrying a concealed weapon," Merle snorted, gesturing with his head toward Blue McCoy as Frank led him toward the van. "What are you going to charge him with?"

  Lucy pushed her wet hair back from her face again, stopping to pick up her sodden ticket pad and the fallen walkie-talkie from the mud before she approached Blue.

  "Merle is right, you know, Lieutenant McCoy," she said to him, hoping he would mistake the shakiness in her voice as a reaction to the excitement rather than as a result of his proximity. "I'm not sure I can let you walk around town with one of those things."

  He handed the gun to her, butt first. "You let Tommy Parker walk around town with it," he said.

  Tommy Parker? Tommy Parker was nine years old— Lucy looked down at the gun she was holding. It was light- weight and... "My God,” she said. "It's plastic. It's a toy." She looked back up into Blue's eyes. "You were bluffing."

  "Of course I was bluffing," he said. "I wouldn't be caught dead with an Uzi. If I wanted an assault weapon, I'd only use a Heckler and Koch MP5-K."

  Lucy stared at him and he gazed back at her. And then he smiled. His teeth were white and even and contrasted nicely with his tanned face.

  "I'm kidding," he explained gently. "If I had to, I'd use an Uzi. It's not my weapon of choice, though."

  Great, he must think she was some kind of imbecile, the way she was staring at him. Lucy closed her eyes briefly, but when she opened them he was still watching her.

  "I'm sorry," she said, "I really owe you one. You saved my neck back there, and...well, thanks."

  He nodded, gracefully acknowledging her clumsy thanks. "You're welcome," he said. "But haven't we already had this conver
sation? I'm getting a real sense of deja vu here." His smile flashed again—pure sunshine in the pouring rain. "It seems every time I'm in Hatboro Creek, I end up sav­ing little Lucy Tait's... neck."

  Lucy was shocked. "You remember me?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth she was embarrassed. Of course he remembered her. Standing here soaking wet, re­sembling a drowned rat, she no doubt looked not too dif­ferent from the skinny fifteen-year-old girl Blue had saved from a serious thrashing out on the far side of the town baseball field all those years ago.

  "I'm a little surprised to see you," Blue drawled. "I'd have thought you would've packed up and left South Car­olina years ago, Yankee."

  Yankee. It had been her nickname all throughout high school. Lucy Tait, the Yankee girl. Moved to town with her widowed mom from someplace way up north. She was still referred to all the time as "Yankee girl." It had been twelve years. Twelve years. Her mother was no longer alive. And Lucy wasn't a girl anymore. But some things never changed.

  "No," Lucy said evenly. "I'm still here in Hatboro Creek."

  "I can see that."

  Blue gazed at Lucy, taking in her long, brown—wet— hair, tied back in a utilitarian ponytail; her unforgettable dark brown eyes; the lovely, almost delicate shape of her face; and her tall, slender body. Little Lucy Tait wasn't so little anymore. The rain had softened the stiff fabric of her police uniform, molding it against her female curves. Yes, Lucy Tait had definitely grown up. Blue felt an unmistak­able surge of physical attraction and he had to smile. At age eighteen, he never would have believed that the sight of scrawny little Lucy Tait standing in the rain could possibly turn him on.

  But if there was one thing he learned in his stint as a Navy SEAL, it was that times—and people—were always chang­ing. Nothing ever stayed the same.

  "How long have you been an officer of the law?" he asked. The crowd was gone and the police van was pulling away. The rain was relentless but warm. Blue liked the way it felt on his face, and Lucy didn't seem to be in any hurry to get to shelter.

  Lucy crossed her arms. "Six months."

  Blue nodded.

  She lifted her chin. "I'm the first woman on the Hat-boro Creek police force."