Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  It was hard to visit. It was hard to handle the guilt of knowing that he, Blue, could stand up and walk out of the hospital, while Frisco never would. It was hard to smile and offer hope in the face of Frisco's pain. And now it had been so long since Blue had visited Frisco, he wouldn't know what to say to the man.

  But Blue could still talk to Joe Catalanotto, the com­mander of Alpha Squad. And Daryl "Harvard" Becker, Alpha Squad's chief. But that was it. Hell, forget his fin­gers. These days, Blue could count the people he let in to his life on his thumbs.

  He watched the sunlight play in Lucy's long, brown hair as she opened the door to her truck and took out the micro­phone attached to her CB radio. She smiled at him—a flash of white teeth and sparkling brown eyes.

  What did he care that she wanted to sleep with him be­cause of some overblown heroic image she'd been carrying around in her head for a dozen years? The key part of that sentence was that she wanted to sleep with him. Everyone had motives. Jenny Lee's motive back in high school had been to hang around Gerry's house to catch the attention of Blue's elder brother. The women he'd had relationships with since then had had their motives, too. They wanted to break away from the boredom of their lives, live on the edge for a while, go the distance with a good-looking stranger who was going to slip out of their lives in a day or two. So what if Lucy's motive was that she wanted to sleep with Super­man?

  Of course, she wasn't entirely convinced that she should sleep with anybody. She had a solid streak of good girl run­ning through her that had been overpowered by emotions and lust and the pull of the full moon the other night at the country club.

  Blue watched Lucy radio in the information about the tire tracks he'd found. She was so alive, so animated. Even though she was speaking to the dispatcher over the radio, she talked with her hands, gesturing, shrugging, moving, smiling. He was struck again by just how beautiful she was.

  It wasn't the kind of beauty that would draw stares or whistles when she walked down the street. In fact, dressed as she was right now in her police uniform, most men wouldn't give her a second glance.

  But Blue knew better. He knew the encompassing warmth of her smile; the powerful draw of her fresh, funny, upbeat personality; the dazzling sparkle of her eyes. And he knew the seductive taste of her kisses and the unforgettable feel of her incredible body against his.

  As he watched, her body language changed, subtly, slightly. He tuned himself in to her words.

  She glanced at her watch. "I realize the time," she said. "I know it's almost eleven, but this is more important than-"

  "The chief says he'll send someone out right away," a woman's scratchy voice said over the radio, "but you bet­ter get your rear end back here to the station before noon with whatever weapons McCoy is hiding, or there'll be hell to pay."

  Whatever weapons McCoy is hiding?

  It wasn't really that much of a surprise. Blue had figured it was going to come sooner or later. They'd search him, hoping to find and take away whatever gun he had on him, hoping to make him less dangerous.

  Lucy was doing her best to postpone the inevitable. "Annabella-"

  "The chief is yelling for me, Lucy. I can't stay on and ar­gue with you right now," the dispatcher said. "Do your job. This transmission is over."

  "No, Annabella..." Lucy swore sharply, leaning into the truck to adjust the radio. "She turned it off." She hooked the microphone back into its slot and looked at Blue. "She actually turned off the police station's citizens-band ra­dio."

  "You know, Yankee, if there's something you have to do back at the station, I can hang here and wait for the crime team to show up," Blue volunteered.

  Lucy shook her head. "That won't work," she said. "Because you're what I have to do."

  Blue smiled. "While I truly like the way that sounds," he drawled, "I've got a feeling that's not exactly what you meant."

  Lucy felt her face flush. Still, she forced herself to look into his eyes. "I have to confiscate your weapons, Mc­Coy," she told him. "I need to search you. And then we have to go down to the station so you can fill out the paper­work to get your property back when this is over."

  Blue nodded slowly. 'This is easy," he said. "You're not going to find any weapons on me. We don't have to go any­where. You can just radio that information in."

  He hadn't said he didn't have any weapons. He'd said she wouldn't find them. Lucy held his gaze. "Look me in the eye and tell me you're not carrying," she said softly.

  "I'm not carrying," he said, his eyes steady.

  The rush of disappointment that went through her al­most knocked her down. "Well, damn," she said. "I guess now we've established that you will lie to me."

  Blue didn't say anything. He just watched her.

  Her eyes blazed fire as she looked up at him again. "You want to try that one more time?" she asked.

  He didn't bat an eyelash. "I'm not carrying."

  Blue thought for a moment that Lucy was going to haul back and punch him in the stomach. Instead, she crossed her arms. "Hands against the truck, and spread 'em, mister."

  "Lucy, it's not going to do any good—"

  "Because I won't find anything?" she finished for him. "You want to make a bet on that?" She gestured to the truck. "Come on, move it, McCoy. Assume the position."

  "This isn't necessary."

  Lucy exploded. "You're a SEAL, dammit," she said, slapping the side of her truck with one opened hand. The sound echoed in the stillness. "/ know you didn't come into town unarmed, and Chief Bradley knows you didn't come into town unarmed, either. He's not stupid and I'm not stupid, and—"

  "And I'm not stupid, either." Blue caught her chin in one hand, pulling her head around so that she was forced to look into his eyes. In one swift movement he was standing close to her, penning her in against the side of her truck. His thigh was pressed against hers, the sensation nearly making him forget everything but his enormous need to feel her lips against his again. Nearly. Somehow he centered his focus and returned to the task at hand.

  "You're right," he whispered. "I'm a SEAL. And I can't forget that somebody out there killed Gerry. I'm not walk­ing around unarmed—virtually naked—with a killer on the loose. And if that means I have to lie to you, Yankee, then I'm gonna have to lie to you. It's not personal. Don't think that it is. There's not a SEAL alive who wouldn't lie to Mother Teresa herself to stay armed in a potentially dan­gerous situation like this one."

  Lucy tried to pull away from him, but he held her tightly.

  "You look me in the eye," Blue continued, "and you tell me that if I admitted to you that I was armed you wouldn't insist on confiscating those weapons." His eyes were like blue steel, hard and unrelenting. "You tell me that you'd simply say, ‘Well, thank you very much, Blue. Thank you for telling me the truth. I know how much having that side-arm and that knife on your person means to you, so I won't include that information in my report to Chief Bradley.'"

  Lucy was silent.

  "Can't tell me that, huh?" Blue nodded. "In that case, I'll say it again. I'm not carrying."

  Lucy lifted her chin even higher. "And I said, hands against the truck and spread your legs, mister."

  Blue had to laugh. She was so clearly overpowered, so obviously in a position of being dominated, yet she wouldn't give in. She refused to back down. As annoying as that was, he had to like her for it. And he did. Mercy, he did like her.

  "Are you going to let go of me and do as I say, or do I have to haul you to jail first?" Her brown eyes were flash­ing again, her mouth trembling slightly in anger. It was all that Blue could do not to kiss her. Dear, sweet Lord, he wanted to kiss her something fierce. He wanted to, and dammit, he was going to.

  "Come on, Yankee," he said softly. "Let's not fight. We're on the same side here, aren't we?"

  She glared at him. "I'm not so sure of that anymore."

  "Yes,” he said definitely. "We are on the same side. So let's just kiss and make up."

  Lucy's eyes widened a
s he leaned forward, lowering his mouth to hers. His lips grazed the softness of her sweet lips and he was milliseconds from sheer, total paradise when she spoke.

  "Don't," she breathed. "Please, Blue--don't."

  He didn't. He didn't kiss her. He pulled back. Out of all the tough things he'd done in his life, it was quite possibly the toughest.

  "I can't do this," Lucy whispered. "Remember? Until I'm through investigating Gerry's murder, you're a sus­pect, and I cannot do this."

  "It's just a kiss." His voice sounded raspy and strained in his own ears.

  Lucy shook her head. "No," she said. "It most defi­nitely is not just a kiss." Somehow he'd lost his ability to hold her, and she broke free from his arms, pushing herself away from the truck and moving a safe distance away from him. She turned to face him. "It's not just a kiss, and you know that as well as I do."

  Her hand shook slightly as she pushed her hair back be­hind her ear, and she folded her arms tightly across her chest as if she had to hold herself steady. Her eyes looked big and almost bruised, and she clasped her lower lip between her front teeth. But still she gazed directly at him, her chin held high.

  "Either way, it's totally inappropriate," she added. She took a deep breath, exhaling it quickly in a loud burst of air. "So let's just get on with it, then, okay?"

  Was she talking about... ?

  Son of a bitch, she still intended to frisk him. Blue swore under his breath.

  Lucy tried to slow her hammering heart, waiting and watching as Blue slowly turned back to the truck. The mus­cles in his powerful arms flexed as he used them to support most of his weight, his feet planted and his long legs spread.

  He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Not quite a minute ago, he'd been about to kiss her, and now she was supposed to frisk him, patting him down all over his body to make sure he had no weapons concealed underneath his clothing. Or concealed in his clothing, she realized, looking at the big, metal buckle of his belt. Still, this was weird. Too weird.

  "Well, come on," he said. "Don't keep a man waiting."

  Lucy stepped forward, uncertain exactly where to begin. Blue was watching her with one of those slow, lazy half smiles on his handsome face, though, so she started with his back. It seemed a whole hell of a lot less dangerous than the long, sturdy lengths of his legs or, Lord help her, his per­fect, athletic rear end.

  Or was it less dangerous? As she ran her hands down the soft, worn cotton of his shirt, she could feel the ridges and bulges of his muscles. It was only his back. How could he have so many muscles in his back? But she wasn't supposed to be looking for muscles. She was looking for any kind of concealable weapon. A handgun. A knife. Who knows, maybe even some kind of grenade. He was carrying some­thing, and despite what he said, she was going to find it.

  Lucy could feel a bead of sweat dripping down her own back as she slid her hands around to his sides.

  Jackpot. He was wearing a shoulder holster under his left arm. Triumphantly, she slipped her hands up underneath his shirt, only to find the holster was.. .empty?

  "Where's the gun, McCoy?" she asked.

  "I told you," he said. "I'm not carrying."

  "Yeah, right," she said. She was standing there with her hands inside his shirt, the back of her fingers resting against the smooth warmth of his skin. She moved her hands quickly away. "I'm supposed to believe you wear the hol­ster empty because you're so used to wearing it you'd feel off balance if you didn't have it on, gun or no gun. Right?"

  "Exactly," Blue said with a smile. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

  Lucy humphed, searching through the contents of his shirt pockets, trying hard not to touch his satiny-smooth skin again. In his right-hand shirt pocket she came up with a Swiss Army knife.

  It was Blue's turn to humph. "That's no weapon," he scoffed. "I use the knife on that thing to spread peanut butter on my sandwiches."

  "From what I've read about Navy SEALs," Lucy said, "a shoe could be a weapon."

  "I'm not wearing shoes," Blue drawled. "Although if I were, you'd want to be sure to check for the secret SEAL submachine gun that's hidden in the soles."

  "Just be quiet and let me get this over with," Lucy mut­tered, bending to pat his right ankle, her hands moving slowly up his leg. He had disgustingly nice legs.

  "Get this over with?" Blue murmured. "Shoot, I thought you were enjoying this. I sure as hell am. I figure if you want to touch me all over, and I mean all over, well, that's more than fine with me. I'd sure prefer it if we'd do it back in the privacy of your bedroom, though, instead of out in the open like this. But... whatever turns you on."

  Lucy tried to move her hands over the hard muscles of his legs quickly and impersonally, until she realized what he was doing. He was purposely trying to fluster her, to keep her from taking her time. There was something here that he was trying to hide.

  Her hands moved up one strong thigh, all the way to the juncture of his legs. But then she hesitated. Dear Lord, how exactly did a woman search a man thoroughly without em­barrassing them both? And then there was the question of his belt—

  "Don't stop there, honey," Blue drawled.

  And Lucy suddenly knew that he only said that because he wanted her to stop there. He was trying to freak her out, make her back away.

  Well, fine. She'd play it his way—but only for a while.

  She went back to his left ankle, working her way up, again, to the top of his thigh. Again she stopped short.

  She patted his rear end and hips rather gingerly—to make him think he was winning the game.

  "Nice belt," she said, continuing with the ineffective patting around his waist. Then she dropped her bomb. "A big, metal buckle like that must set off all the bells and whistles at the airport, huh? I bet airport security makes you take that belt off and walk back through the metal detector without it on all the time."

  Blue shrugged "It's happened once or twice," he said.

  "You don't mind if I take this off and have a look at it," Lucy said, unfastening the buckle. "A much closer look?"

  She had to hand it to him. He didn't react as she pulled his belt free from the belt loops on his pants. He didn't show his surprise. He didn't sigh, didn't groan, didn't even clear his throat in acceptance of his defeat. And he had to know it was coming.

  He just said, very matter-of-factly, "That belt holds up my pants."

  "Looks like it does more than that," Lucy said, exam­ining the inside of the buckle. Sure enough, hidden inside the buckle, and extending down through part of the thick leather of the belt, was a short but very deadly looking switchblade knife.

  Blue glanced at both her and the knife over his shoulder, but still said nothing.

  "What you use this one for?" Lucy asked, putting the knife back into the belt buckle. "And don't tell me it's the grape-jelly knife."

  He met her eyes steadily. She could see no remorse on his face. "I guess I underestimated you," he said, starting to straighten.

  Lucy stopped him. "We're not done," she said, smiling sweetly. "As long as you've got your belt off, maybe you want to unfasten your pants and give me that gun I know you're hiding in your shorts."

  He smiled. Then he laughed. And then he called her bluff. "You think I'm hiding something there," he said. "But you're wrong. 'Course, feel free to check and see for your­self."

  He knew she wouldn't do it. No, he thought he knew— but he was wrong again.

  The worst that would happen was that Lucy was mis­taken and she'd end up briefly handling a man she'd day­dreamed about since she was fifteen. Of course, if she was mistaken, he'd probably never let her live it down.

  But she wasn't mistaken. She couldn't be. God only knows where the gun from his shoulder holster had gone. Still, Blue had surely had a second gun tucked into the small of his back. It wouldn't have taken too much to push it down into his shorts and then wriggle it to a place where most women wouldn't se
arch very carefully—if at all.

  Praying that she was right, she reached for him and her fingers found...

  Metal.

  "Ouch," Blue said. "Careful. Please."

  "Sorry," Lucy said sweetly. "You want to get that thing out of there, or should I? Of course, God forbid that it's loaded and I accidentally knock the safety off and—"

  Blue scowled at her, reaching into his pants. He pulled the tiny handgun out.

  And aimed it at her, dropping into a firing stance. "Hands up," he shouted, and she raised her hands in alarm.

  Stepping away from him, Lucy tripped over a tree root and went down in the dirt right on her rear end.

  Blue popped the safety back on and helped her up with one hand while handing her the gun with the other. “Dam­mit, Lucy," he said. "You ID'd a weapon on my person, and you had me get it out myself? That's damned stupid. If I were the bad guy, I would've come out shooting and you'd be dead right now. Next time you're in a similar situation, you aim your own firearm at the guy's head and order him to drop his pants and his shorts, and let his weapon fall on the ground. Whereupon you pick it up. Do you under­stand?"

  Lucy nodded. Her heart was still pounding, adrenaline surging through her veins. This was one lesson she was never going to forget. But she had one to give him, too.

  "If you ever," she said coolly, "ever aim a gun at me again in the course of this investigation, I will arrest you and hold you on charges of threatening a police officer. Do you understand?"

  Down the road she could spot a police cruiser heading in their direction. It was Frank Redfield and Tom Harper. They'd come out to take photos and a plaster casting of the tire tracks.

  Blue looked from the cruiser to Lucy and nodded. "Sounds fair to me," he said. Then he smiled. "Provided you can catch me and contain me after I do it."

  Lucy didn't smile. She just stared coldly at him. She'd triumphed by finding two weapons he hadn't thought her capable of finding, but he'd kept the upper hand by mak­ing her look a fool.