Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  Thunderous strains of pedal steel guitar came pounding out of the speakers. Old Roy and Lonnie both clapped their hands over their ears.

  "Sorry!" she shouted, turning the volume down by a full half.

  The words on the screen turned color, and she sang them into the mike. "Crazy..."

  Old Roy and Lonnie sat paying rapt attention—the pres­ident and vice-president of her personal fan club—as Zoe did her best country diva imitation, singing to an imaginary crowd of thousands.

  One song became two, then three and four. Each time it ended Roy and Lonnie gave her a standing ovation.

  "Sing mine again," Old Roy requested.

  When Zoe looked to the bartender for help, Gus just smiled. "I like that one, too."

  "Last one," Zoe said. "Last time."

  She didn't need the words on the screen this time as she sang. "Crazy..."

  It was her finale, and she went all out this time, exag­gerating all the moves. Roy and Lonnie grinned at her like a couple of two-year-olds.

  And during the instrumental break and the subsequent key change, she climbed up to sing while standing atop the sturdy wooden bar, and they gave her a two-man wave.

  Zoe knew it wasn't so much her voice that got them going. Her voice was pleasant enough, and she could cer­tainly carry a tune, but she was no Patsy Cline. No, Roy

  and Lonnie were fans of her tight blue jeans and her low-necked tank tops.

  She closed her eyes, threw her head back and struck a pose for the last chorus of the song, letting a very country-sounding cry come into her voice as she sang about being crazy for crying, crazy for trying, crazy for loving you.

  As the last strains of music faded away, the room was filled with applause. Way too much applause for just Old Roy and Lonnie.

  Zoe opened her eyes.

  And looked directly down at Christopher Vincent.

  The CRO leader was standing near the door, surrounded by about fifteen of his disciples.

  She'd had no warning, no time to prepare, but then again, she'd taken off her apron—and in it, her pager—at least five songs ago.

  'That was just beautiful," Vincent said. "Just beauti­ful."

  She gave a sweeping bow. "Thank you."

  "Someone want to give her a hand down from there?"

  "Yeah, I'd love to."

  Jake.

  He pushed his way out of the crowd and stood smiling at her.

  She didn't faint with relief, didn't gasp, didn't reveal in any way that she recognized him. Instead she looked at him very deliberately, as if she were checking out the new man, the handsome stranger in town.

  He was dressed the same as the rest of the men, in blue jeans and a worn denim work shirt. But the faded jeans hugged his thighs, and the shirt fit perfectly over his very broad shoulders. He was heart-stoppingly, impossibly beau­tiful, his eyes an incredible shade of molten hot blue.

  During the past four and a half weeks, she'd forgotten just how amazingly blue his eyes were.

  He'd been looking her over as thoroughly as she had been looking at him, and now he smiled.

  Jake Robinson had a vast collection of smiles in his rep­ertoire, but this one was very different from any she'd seen in the past. This one was as confident and self-assured as all the rest, but instead of promising friendship or protec­tion, this smile promised complete, mind-blowing ecstasy. This smile promised heaven.

  Damn, he was good. He almost had her believing that she'd lit some kind of fire inside of him.

  Christopher Vincent noticed it, too. Noticed it, and rec­ognized it. And wasn't entirely thrilled by it.

  Zoe held Jake's gaze, lifting an eyebrow in ac­knowledgment of the attraction that simmered between them and giving him an answering smile that promised maybe. A very definite maybe.

  "Zoe." Gus was completely overwhelmed behind the bar.

  Jake reached for her, and she leaned down to give the microphone to Lonnie before bracing her hands on Jake's shoulders. He held her by the waist and swung her lightly to the floor, making sure that before her feet touched the ground, every possible inch of her that could touch every possible inch of him was, indeed, doing so.

  And oh, God, it felt so incredibly good. She wanted to hold him tightly, to close her eyes and press her cheek against his shoulder, hear the steady beating of his heart beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. He was safe, he was whole, he was finally here. Thank God, thank God, thank God.

  She wanted to hold on to him for at least an hour. Maybe two. Instead she touched the side of his face and held his gaze for just a second longer, hoping he could read her mind and know how very glad she was to see him.

  His arms tightened around her for just a second in an answering embrace before he, too, let her go.

  "I'm Jake," he told her, with another of those killer smiles.

  "And I'm Zoe," she said as she went behind the bar.

  "Welcome to Mel's. I'll be your waitress tonight." She slipped her apron around her waist, and sure enough—in­side the pocket, her pager was silently shaking. She quickly shut it off. "What can I get you?"

  He sat on the bar stool directly in front of her. ' 'What kind of beer do you have on tap, Zoe?"

  He said her name in a way that called up all kinds of erotic images, in a way that made her mouth go dry.

  She leaned toward him, gesturing for him to come closer, and she felt his gaze slip down her shirt, nearly as palpable as a touch. "I recommend bottled beer," she told him. They had a little problem with roaches. She didn't know how they got into the tap hoses, but they did, and...yuck.

  "Then definitely make it bottled," Jake said. He was close enough so his breath moved her hair. "Whatever you bring me will be fine."

  As she turned around and reached into the cooler, she could feel him watching her. Make-believe, she told herself. It was all part of an act. Jake Robinson wasn't really drool­ing over her rear end. He was just pretending to.

  She opened the beer—a Canadian import—and set it down in front of him. "Glass?"

  "I don't need one, no."

  "Zoe, two pitchers, one light, one regular!" Gus called.

  "Don't go anywhere," Zoe told Jake.

  She could feel his eyes on her as she filled both pitchers. He was still watching as she carried them with a stack of plastic cups to the tables where Christopher Vincent and most of his men were sitting.

  "What brings you boys out on a Tuesday night?" she asked.

  "My friend Jake's been going a little stir-crazy," Chris­topher told her. "He's been...keeping a low profile. You don't recognize him from anywhere, do you?"

  Zoe glanced at the bar where Jake was sitting, still watching her. "He looks like a movie star. Is he a movie star?"

  "Not exactly." Chris looked around. "Where's Carol? I wanted to introduce him to Carol. I thought they would hit it off."

  "She's off tonight," Zoe said. "Some kind of program going on over at her daughter's school."

  "Maybe tomorrow then."

  "Tomorrow will definitely be too late," Zoe told him. "Finders keepers, and all that—because / definitely saw him first. He's adorable."

  Chris didn't look happy. But Chris rarely looked happy.

  Considering he was the leader of the so-called chosen race, Christopher Vincent was not a particularly attractive man, mostly due to the grim expression he wore on his face nearly all the time, and partly due to his thick, dark eye­brows, which grew almost completely together in the mid­dle. He was tall and beefy with long dark hair, which he wore pulled back into a ponytail. He kept his face hidden behind a thick, graying beard, and he usually wore tinted glasses over his dark brown eyes. He looked over the tops of them as he gazed at Zoe.

  They were definitely the eyes of a fanatic—the eyes of a man who wouldn't hesitate to use the Triple X he'd stolen if he thought it would further his cause.

  He was volatile, with a very short fuse.

  "I saw you first," he pointed out.

  Oh, brother, th
is was a complication she hadn't antici­pated. Somehow over the past few weeks, she'd managed to catch Christopher Vincent's eye. "You're married," she told him, trying to sound apologetic and even regretful. "I have a personal rule about married men. I don't touch 'em. See, I want to get married myself, and since married men are already married..." She shrugged.

  "I've been thinking about taking another wife."

  "Another...?"

  "The federal government has no right to force us to fol­low its restrictive rules about marriage and family. A man

  of power and wealth should take as many wives as he pleases."

  Oh, yeah? "What does your wife think about that?" Zoe asked.

  "All three of my wives are kept very satisfied."

  Holy Mike. If they ever got desperate, they could bust this guy for polygamy. "Wow," she said. "Well. It's hard enough being a second wife when the first one's not around. I don't think I could handle the competition."

  "Think about it."

  "I don't need to, hon," she said. "I'm the jealous type. I wouldn't want to share."

  "You could have my baby."

  And that was supposed to entice her? A baby with a single eyebrow with a complete lunatic for a father? "Well, it's tempting," she said. "But I really want to be someone's number-one wife."

  He gestured for her to lean closer. "We sometimes share wives in the CRO," he said in a low voice. "You could marry someone like Jake and still have my baby."

  Ooo-kay. "Jake doesn't strike me as the kind of man who'd want to, you know, share."

  "He's very generous," Christopher Vincent told her. He looked up, past her, and smiled. He had a smile like a wolf—lots of teeth, more vicious than happy. "Hey, buddy, we were just talking about you. Zoe here wants to marry you."

  Zoe held up her hands. "Chris. Wait. I never said that." She turned to Jake. "He's just teasing. He's crazy, you know—"

  It was the dead wrong thing to say.

  Christopher exploded, reaching out with one hand and grabbing the front of her shirt, pulling her down so that they were nose to nose, so that she was practically lying on the table in front of him, so that her tray clattered onto the floor. "Don't ever call me crazy!"

  "Hey," Jake said. "Whoa. Take it easy, Chris. Come on, pal, I'm sure she didn't mean to offend you."

  Zoe felt him right behind her, his arms around her as he tried to pry the other man's fingers from her shirt.

  Vincent released her, pushing her away from him, and she would have fallen over had Jake not been there.

  "Dammit, Chris," Zoe said, refusing to let him see how badly he'd frightened her, how completely he'd freaked her out. "You ruined my shirt." She had to hold the front against her, he'd stretched it out so badly. He'd bruised her, too, by grabbing more than just her shirt. Way to woo a new wife, baby.

  Gus had come out from behind the bar, and he was hov­ering nearby. "Everything okay over here?"

  "I don't know," Zoe said. "Chris, are you done grab­bing me?"

  Jake's hands tightened on her in warning, but she didn't give him time to answer. "I've got to go change my shirt." Pulling free from Jake, she picked up her tray and handed it to Gus, then headed for the back room.

  She sensed more than saw Jake follow her. And she wasn't surprised, after she fished a T-shirt from her back­pack, to turn around and see him standing there, door tightly shut behind him.

  He looked really upset.

  Zoe wasn't sure who moved first, and it didn't matter. As she reached for him, he lunged for her, and then, God, she was in his arms, just holding him as close as she pos­sibly could.

  "Are you all right?" He didn't release her to ask, he just kept holding her as tightly as she was holding him. "When he grabbed you like that..."

  "I'm okay," she told him. And she was. Despite the bruises Christopher Vincent had just given her, she was more okay than she'd been in a long time. She pulled back to look at him. "Are you?"

  "This isn't going to work." The tone of Jake's voice

  matched the intensity in his eyes. They'd turned into steel—hard and cold, with a razor-sharp edge. "The plan. I've got to come up with something else because I'm not letting you go in there."

  "But—"

  "He's dangerous, Zoe. He's completely unhinged. The whole organization's seriously off balance. Getting you in­side as my wife is no longer an option. I don't want you anywhere near there. Besides, it's just not feasible, from what I've found out."

  "Dammit, Jake—"

  He kissed her. One moment, he was glaring at her, and the next his mouth was hard against hers, his tongue sweep­ing past her gasp of surprise.

  Zoe felt herself sway, caught off balance for the briefest moment, before she clung to him, kissing him back with as much passion, angling her head to grant him deeper ac­cess.

  He was kissing her. Jake Robinson was kissing her be­cause he wanted to, not because he had to. Tears stung the inside of her eyelids, and for the first time she let herself acknowledge that she wanted Jake Robinson more than she'd ever wanted any man. He was her hero, her com­mander and in many ways her deity. She worshiped him, on every possible level.

  He pushed her back so she bumped against the concrete block of the storage-room wall as still he kissed her. His hands were all over her as he pressed himself hard between her legs, pulling her thigh up along his as he strained to get closer, even closer, playing out her wildest fantasy. But when he cupped her breast far more roughly than she would have expected, she opened her eyes in surprise.

  And saw Christopher Vincent standing at the half-open storage-room door, his hand on the knob as he looked in at them.

  He pulled the door shut behind him, and when he did, Jake stopped kissing her. He took his hand from her breast

  but otherwise just stood there, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead resting against the wall beside her.

  She'd been wrong. Jake hadn't really been kissing her. Somehow he must've heard the door open. Somehow he'd known that Christopher was there.

  It wasn't a want-to kiss, after all. It was a had-to kiss.

  Zoe drew in a very shaky breath. "Oh, God."

  Jake pulled away from her, his eyes dark with apology. "I'm sorry—did I hurt you?"

  She tried to joke. "Are you kidding? That was more fun than I've had in weeks."

  He turned slightly away from her, and she realized that her shirt was hanging open in the front where Chris had stretched it, revealing the entire top edge of her very low-cut bra. She picked her T-shirt up from the floor, and turn­ing her back to Jake, she quickly changed.

  "We've got too much to talk about, too much to de­cide," Jake told her. "So I'm going to go home with you tonight."

  She turned to face him, her heart in her throat despite the fact that she knew nothing would happen between them even if he did spend the night in her trailer. He'd had to kiss her. God, she was such a fool for thinking otherwise.

  "I don't think that's a good idea. Why would you marry me if you can just get some whenever you want? Besides, I've set up my cover so that everyone out there in that bar knows that I'm looking to get married. What are they going to think if I just suddenly settle for casual sex?"

  "I'm sorry," he said. "But I've changed my mind about the whole marriage thing. Zoe, this guy is nuts. The entire organization is screwy. The way they treat women is crim­inal. I can't let you do this."

  "Jake, you promised that you'd let me decide—"

  "That was before I knew how bad it would be. On top of that, Vincent's got security cameras everywhere. I found at least three in my bedroom. How the hell can I bring you

  there? Don't you think it would look a little suspicious when I don't make love to my gorgeous young wife?"

  "So bring me there and make love to me." Zoe couldn't believe she was actually bold enough to say the words aloud.

  Jake was silent, looking at her, looking hard into her eyes as if trying to see if she'd really meant what she'd just said.

&nbs
p; She held his gaze, pretending she was as flip and blase about the idea of being intimate with him, pretending she could shrug it off as just another job requirement, pretend­ing it would mean no more to her than a way to find that missing Trip X.

  It's no big deal, she told him with her smile, even as her heart was pounding.

  "Even if you would do that," he finally said, "I wouldn't. I couldn't." He turned away. "That's not an op­tion."

  Zoe felt like crying. He honestly didn't want her. Even with necessity as a solid excuse, he couldn't acknowledge that any of the passion that sparked between them when they kissed was genuine. And maybe it wasn't. Maybe he was the best actor she'd ever met, and all of the real passion was her own.

  God, she was pathetic.

  But that was just too bad. Because she had a job to do and no time to feel sorry for herself.

  She took a deep breath. "So you're just going to do this by yourself—find the Triple X on your own? All alone?"

  "I need to get a message to Harvard. I think there's a way to intercept the images from the security cameras— but I'll need some equipment from him. If I can do that, you'll be able to see inside the CRO compound from the safety of the surveillance trailer."

  "What if that's not enough? Jake, you know it's going to be easier for me to help you find the Trip X if I'm there with you. I think we've got to leave our options open. So I'm not going to let you pretend to come home with me,

  in case we need to use the marriage thing in the future." And wouldn't that be fun? Living with him twenty-four seven, pretending to be lovers, all the while knowing that she was about the farthest thing possible from the woman he truly wanted?

  She handed him her ordering pad and pen. ' 'Write Har­vard a message," she continued. "Write down whatever equipment you need. Whatever he needs to know. I'll see that he gets it."

  There was a knock on the door and old Roy stuck his head in. "Zoe, Gus is looking for you. Hal's bowling team just showed up." He frowned at Jake. "Say, young fellow, you're not supposed to be back here." He stepped farther into the room. "Everything all right, Zoe?"

  Zoe gave the old man a reassuring smile. "Everything's fine, Roy. Tell Gus I'll be right there."