Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  "Stick my gun and my belt in your lockbox," Blue told her. "We just have time to take these guys out to see the tire prints before we have to head into the station and surrender my gear."

  Lucy picked Blue's belt with the knife hidden inside it up off the ground, praying that she wasn't about to become an even bigger fool. Instead of holding on to the belt, she handed it back to him.

  "You said you needed this to hold up your pants," she told him. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and un­locked the heavy steel box that was attached to the bed of her truck. She stashed Blue's gun and the Swiss Army knife inside and locked it back up. "I know you said never to as­sume," she added, turning to look at him, "but in this case, I'm assuming that the occupant of your shoulder holster isn't too far away. Otherwise I'd give you the gun back, too. Too bad I can't complete the scenario by thanking you for telling me the truth."

  Blue hadn't moved. He stood staring at her, just holding his belt. There was an odd mixture of surprise on his face-surprise and something else that she couldn't quite pin­point. Whatever it was, it was clear he hadn't expected her to break any rules on his account.

  Lucy walked past him, heading toward where Frank had parked the patrol car. She glanced over her shoulder at Blue. "I guess you did underestimate me," she said.

  Blue didn't say a word, but the expression in his eyes spoke volumes.

  Lucy helped Tom and Frank lug the heavy equipment and supplies they needed to make a plaster casting of the tire tracks up through the woods. The three of them huffed and puffed and sounded like an entire army crashing through the thick growth. Only Blue managed to move silently despite the fact that he carried at least as much—and maybe even more—gear.

  They were halfway up the hill, when Blue held up a hand, stopping them.

  There was a sound in the distance. It was little more than an odd buzzing, a midrange-pitched whine.

  It wasn't until Blue turned and began to run toward the tire tracks that Lucy realized what that sound was.

  Dirt bikes.

  It was the sound of a group of dirt bikes. With very little effort, the dirt bikes could obscure the tire tracks on the trail, bringing the investigation back to square one.

  Lucy dropped the bucket of dried plaster she was carry­ing and ran after Blue. She shouted over her shoulder for Frank and Tom to follow.

  Blue was moving so quickly through the trees it was nearly impossible to keep up with him. Still Lucy tried, leaping over rocks and roots as leaf-filled branches slapped her in the face and arms.

  The sound of the dirt bikes grew louder and then more distant, and when Lucy saw Blue just standing up ahead, she feared that the worst had happened. She slowed, and he surely heard her approaching, but he didn't turn around. He just stood, looking down at the trail.

  The imprint of the big tires had been totally flattened and erased. There was nothing worth saving, nothing they could use to get a match on the vehicle that had been here the night of Gerry's murder.

  Blue's face was tight, expressionless, and when he glanced at her, his eyes were cold.

  "I should have stayed up here,” he said softly. "I should have guarded the tracks until the casting was done. This was my mistake."

  "Mine, too," Lucy whispered. "Oh, Blue, I'm sorry."

  Blue was silent as they drove back to her house. He was silent as she did a cursory search of his duffel bag, silent as they drove down to the police station and turned in one of his guns to Chief Bradley.

  It wasn't until they'd left the station that he spoke.

  "Sheldon Bradley is involved," Blue said.

  Lucy turned to look at him in surprise. "Involved in what?"

  "This setup," he said. "This frame. And probably in Gerry's murder."

  "You think the chief of police," Lucy repeated skepti­cally, "murdered Gerry and is trying to pin it on you?"

  "I didn't say that," Blue said. "I said I think Bradley is somehow involved. Bradley or someone else on the police force."

  "Look, I know you're upset about this," Lucy said. "It was bad timing that those dirt bikes were up on that trail-"

  "I thought the timing was pretty damn perfect myself," Blue interrupted. "You radio in to the station, tell Bradley about the tire tracks, and not forty minutes later dirt bikers ride on that very same trail, erasing the evidence?"

  Lucy sighed. "You're right," she admitted. "It does seem a little too coincidental. But it doesn't mean that the chief is involved. Anyone listening in on channel nine could have heard that we found those tracks." She pulled her truck up in front of the Grill. "What do you say we get some lunch?"

  Blue took a five-dollar bill from his wallet. "Better get mine to go," he said, handing it to her.

  Lucy nodded. "I'll be right out."

  The Grill was crowded, as usual, but Lucy caught Iris's eye and quickly gave her an order for a couple of sand wiches. Sarah waved at her from a table in the corner, and Lucy walked over.

  "Hey," she said, sitting down across from Sarah.

  Sarah made an obvious point of looking out the win­dow, out at Lucy's truck, where Blue was sitting. "Can't he come in and order his own lunch?" she asked. "Or does he have too many Y chromosomes to do that?"

  Lucy sighed. "Last time he was in here, we almost had a riot," she said. "Most of the town has already found Blue guilty of murder."

  "Not you, though," Sarah said, watching her friend.

  "No, not me," Lucy agreed.

  "Are you sure you're not getting in too deep with this guy?"

  Lucy forced a smile. "Can we talk about something else?" she asked.

  Sarah hesitated. She clearly had more to say on the sub­ject.

  "Please?"

  "Okay," Sarah said evenly. "Here's something new-some good news. Remember that demo tape I sent to the Charleston Music Society? They want me to be part of their winter concert series as a featured artist. They've asked me to do a program of French art songs."

  Lucy smiled at her friend, her eyes alight with pleasure. "That's great! Did they give you a date?"

  "Sometime in December," Sarah said. She made a face. "That's assuming I've had the baby by then."

  Lucy had to laugh. "That's six months away. No one has ever been pregnant for fifteen months."

  "Not yet, anyway."

  "Lucy," Iris called out. "Your order is up."

  Lucy stood. "Congratulations," she said.

  "Thanks," Sarah said. "Call me later, okay?" She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Lucy, I've got to ask you if it's true what I've heard—that the superhunk is staying at your place? With you?"

  Lucy closed her eyes, swearing silently. She sat back down at Sarah's table. "You heard that?" she asked.

  Sarah nodded. "People are talking," she said, "and what they're saying isn't very nice."

  "Jedd Southeby wouldn't give Blue a room at the mo­tel," Lucy said. "What was I supposed to do, make him sleep in the jail?"

  Sarah nodded. "Yes," she said. "It's a shame, but... yes."

  Lucy shook her head, standing up again. "I can't do that," she said. "Thanks for telling me, but..." She shrugged. "I guess people are just going to have to talk."

  "Lucy, he could have done it, you know." Worry showed in Sarah's hazel eyes. "You're opening your house to a man who could very well be a killer. I know you probably don't see it that way—he's a man you've always respected and admired. Don't let that cloud your good judgment."

  "I appreciate your concern," Lucy said. "I really do."

  "But..."

  "I'll talk to you later."

  Lucy could feel Sarah's eyes on her as she paid Iris for the lunch and carried the paper bag of food with her onto the sidewalk. She started for her truck and stopped.

  Blue was gone.

  This time she didn't swear silently. She turned around, did a complete three-sixty, searching for any sign of where he might have gone.

  Tom Harper's police cruiser went past, moving faster than usual, and on a hunch, Lucy
climbed into her truck, tossed the bag with the sandwiches onto the passenger seat and followed.

  Tom's patrol car pulled up in front of the vacant lot next to the gas station, several blocks down Main Street.

  Sure enough, there was Blue. He was facing off with three men, looking as if he was intending to fight them all simul­taneously. One of the men had a chain and another had a length of two-by-four, but Blue was the one advancing. A small crowd had gathered to watch.

  As she jumped out of her truck and ran toward them, Lucy could see that one of the men was Merle Groggin. Another was Matt Parker. And the third was Leroy Hurley.

  Matt's nose was bleeding, Merle had what appeared to be the start of a black eye and Leroy was hot and sweaty. Blue didn't even look ruffled. Just mad as hell.

  "All right, break it up," Lucy called out, Tom Harper just a step behind her.

  "You call him off," Merle said, gesturing to Blue. "He's the one threatened to tear us limb from limb."

  "You jumped me," Blue drawled. "Remember?"

  "McCoy, back off," Lucy said sharply.

  He glanced at her, and she could see anger in his eyes. Real, hot, molten, deadly anger.

  "These boys just came back from a joy ride on some dirt bikes," he told her. "Shiny, brand-new dirt bikes. Who do you suppose gave them those bikes? They tell me they found 'em, that they fell off a truck that went past on the state highway. I figured they needed a little encouragement to tell me the real story—like who called them and told them to take that ride on that trail over by Gate's Hill Road—so I asked them to think a little harder. That's when they jumped me."

  "He's crazy," Leroy said. "It's the truth that we found those bikes. The packing crates are still up there on Route 17. We'll show you where, if you want. We didn't think it would do 'em any harm to take 'em for a test drive."

  Blue's voice was low, dangerous. "You are so full of gar­bage. You and your 'buddy' Merle just happened to be out for a stroll along the state highway? Or maybe you were the one who found 'em and you thought, 'Gee, maybe I should give Merle a call, see if he wants to take a ride.' Never mind the fact that two days ago you were threatening to kill him."

  Leroy brandished the two-by-four he was holding. "Are you calling me a liar?"

  "Hell, yes." Blue's eyes were shooting fire. "You're a liar and a drunk and a son of a bitch, and I aim to get the truth out of you if it's the last thing you do."

  Leroy bristled. "Call me a liar again, and I'll—"

  "You want to hit me with that stick, go on and do it, you lying sack of—"

  Leroy sprang, the two-by-four slicing down through the air.

  But Blue had moved. He was no longer where he had been standing. He spun, kicking as he turned, his foot connect­ing solidly with Leroy's arm. The piece of wood went fly­ing, and there was a loud crack that had to be the sound of breaking bone.

  Leroy screamed.

  Lucy threw herself in front of Blue, grabbing his arms, trying to hold him back. "Stop it," she hissed. "Right now!"

  Leroy was curled up on the ground, moaning and hold­ing his arm.

  "Tell me who gave you those bikes," Blue demanded.

  Leroy spit on the dirt.

  Blue looked at Lucy. His eyes were wild and he was still breathing hard. "I can make him tell me," he said.

  She shook her head. "No, you can't," she said.

  "Radio for medical assistance," Tom told her. "We bet­ter bring 'em all in."

  Lucy was angry at Blue.

  Her anger was a palpable thing that filled the inside of her truck, surrounding them both. She was angry as she pulled out of the police-station parking lot, angry as she drove down Main Street. She was still angry as she took the right-hand turn onto Fox Run Road and skidded to a stop in her gravel driveway.

  She climbed angrily down from the truck cab and stalked up the front walk and onto the porch. She unlocked the kitchen door and pushed it open.

  "I want you to go inside," she said tightly, "and I want you to stay there until I get back."

  Blue's own temper sparked. "Since when did you start telling me what to do?"

  "Since you started acting like an idiot," Lucy said. "God Almighty, McCoy, what were you thinking? Did you hon­estly figure you could beat up Leroy Hurley, make him tell you what you wanted to know and not risk imprisonment?

  I had to talk rings around Chief Bradley to keep him from locking you up." She pushed her hair off her face in frus­tration as she stalked into the kitchen and paced back and forth across the floor. "I don't know how it works in the SEALs, but in this part of America, you just can't go around terrorizing people because you're mad. Lord, I ex­pected more from you."

  / expected more from you. Her words pushed Blue over the edge, sending him down into a spiral of emotion and anger that he couldn't pull out of. He tried, but it envel­oped him completely, and he lost his temper.

  "If you expected more from me," Blue exploded, "that's your problem, Yankee, not mine. Because guess what? I'm not perfect. I never have been."

  The force of his words pushed Lucy back against the kitchen counter. He could see shock in her eyes, alarm on her face, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

  "You see me as some kind of damned hero, but I'm not. I'm flesh and blood, and just as capable of screwing up as the next guy.

  "Guess what else?" he continued. "I yell sometimes. I like to yell. I like to fight. But I don't always win, because I'm not a hero. I'm not always right. I'm not always in con­trol. I make mistakes, sometimes stupid mistakes. I get an­gry. I get hurt. I get scared. And right now I'm all three of those things." His voice got softer, and he looked away from her, out the kitchen window. "Only I can't tell you that, can I? Because... you expect more from me."

  The silence that surrounded them seemed almost unnat­ural, artificial. Blue could hear the hum of the refrigerator, the almost inaudible ticking of the clock. Outside, a breeze blew and a tree branch bumped the house.

  He heard Lucy take a step toward him and then another step, and then he felt her hand on his back. It was a touch meant to give comfort. Blue didn't know what he wanted from her, but he was almost certain it wasn't comfort. Still, when he turned and saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, he knew without a doubt that he was going to take whatever she had to offer. And maybe even then some.

  She went into his arms, holding him as tightly as he held her, and the longing that welled up inside him was sharp and painful as hell. This wasn't comfort; it was torture.

  "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

  He felt her hands on his back, in his hair, meant to soothe and calm. It wasn't working.

  "Lucy, I want you," he whispered, "and I don't think I can stand it anymore."

  He felt her stiffen at his words. She lifted her head and he gazed directly into her eyes.

  "Blue—"

  He touched her lips with one finger, silencing her.

  “I’m not what you think I am," he said. "You think I'm some kind of gentleman. You think all you have to do is tell me 'no,' and 'don't,' even though you damn well want it as much as I do. You think that because I'm some kind of hero I'll keep both of us from going too far. You think you can look at me with these big, brown eyes, not bothering to hide how much you want me, too. You think you can put me upstairs in some guest room, while you sleep one flight away, with your bedroom door unlocked and open, as if I'm strong enough to keep us apart. But guess what? You leave that door open and unlocked tonight, and I'm going to take it as the invitation that it is—because I'm not strong enough. I don't want to be strong enough anymore. I'm not a hero, Lucy, and I'm tired as hell of playing one."

  She was trembling, actually trembling, in his arms. "Blue, I can't. You're right. Part of me wants to be with you that way, but I can't—"

  "Maybe you can't, but I sure as hell can."

  Blue kissed her. He covered Lucy's mouth with his and drank her in. She tasted sweet and hot and she so abso­lutely set him on fire. If she resisted his k
iss, she resisted for all of a half a second. And then her tongue welcomed him fiercely, pulling him into her mouth, harder, deeper.

  The power of her answering passion took his breath away. He kissed her again and again, trying desperately to get even closer, to fill his senses with her, to have more, more.

  He reached for her shirt, yanking the tails up and out of the waist of her pants. He found the softness of her skin and moaned at the smooth sensation beneath his fingertips.

  And still he kissed her and she kissed him. It was wild, incredible, amazing. He couldn't get enough, would never get enough. Her hands were in his hair, on his back, on the curve of his rear end, pulling him closer to her.

  She could surely feel him pressed against her, fully aroused. He was so hard he hurt.

  Blue picked her up and her legs locked around his waist. He was dizzy, delirious with the knowledge that he was go­ing to have her. Right here and right now, he could take her and she wouldn't refuse.

  He pulled his shirt off over his head and quickly unbuck­led his shoulder holster, then tossed it onto the kitchen ta­ble. Lucy's hands were everywhere, skimming across the muscles in his shoulders and chest and back, touching him, caressing his skin, just lightly enough to drive him totally insane.

  I can't.

  Blue's eyes opened. Lucy hadn't spoken. She was still kissing him. She hadn't given voice to her protest again. But still, it echoed in his head, over and over and over.

  I can't.

  If they didn't stop, she'd lose her job and her self-respect, just as she'd told him.

  And if they did stop, he'd lose his mind. After all, he was no hero.

  But even so, how could he willingly do something that would destroy her?

  As if she felt his hesitation, Lucy lifted her head, staring with sudden shock into Blue's eyes.

  "Oh, my God," she said. "What are we doing? What am

  / doing? Blue, I can't do this"

  Blue gently set her down, away from him, on the kitchen counter. He had to look away from her—she looked too damn good with her hair messed and her clothing askew. He picked up his holster from the table and his shirt from the floor, keeping his eyes averted.