"Well, what?" He laughed ruefully. "Something tells me you're not waiting for a good-night kiss."
He wasn't going to tell her. He'd had no intention of telling her, the son of a bitch.
Syd glared at him.
"What?" he said again. "Jeez, what did I do now?"
"Eleven o'clock," she reminded him as sweetly as she could manage. "Skippy's Harborside?"
Guilt and something else flickered in his eyes. Disappointment that she'd found out, no doubt. Certainly not remorse for keeping the meeting a secret. He swore softly.
"Don't make me go over your head, Lieutenant," Syd warned him. "I'm part of your team, part of this task force."
He shook his head. "That doesn't mean you need to participate in every meeting."
"Yes, it does."
He laughed. "Lucy McCoy and I are friends. This meeting is just an excuse to—"
"Exchange information about the case," she finished for him. “I heard her phone message. I would have thought it was just a lovers' tryst myself, but she mentioned what's-his-name, Bobby, would be there."
"Lovers' tryst...?" He actually looked affronted. "If you're implying that there's something improper between Lucy and me—-''
Syd rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. It's a little obvious there's something going on. I wonder if she knows what you were trying to do with me. I suppose she couldn't complain because she's married to—"
"How dare you?"
''Your... what did you call it? XO? She's married to your XO."
"Lucy and I are friends." His face was a thundercloud— his self-righteous outrage wasn't an act. "She loves her husband. And Blue...he's...he's the best."
His anger had faded, replaced by something quiet, something distant. "I'd follow Blue McCoy into hell if he asked me to," Luke said softly. "I'd never dishonor him by fooling around with his wife. Never."
"I'm sorry," Syd told him. "I guess... You just... You told me you never take anything too seriously, so I thought—"
"Yeah, well, you were wrong." He stared out the front windshield, holding tightly to the steering wheel with both hands. "Imagine that."
Syd nodded. And then she dug through her purse, coming up with a small spiral notebook and a pen. She flipped to a blank page and wrote down the date.
Luke glanced at her, frowning slightly. "What...?"
"I'm so rarely wrong," she told him. "When I am, it's worth taking note of."
She carefully kept her face expressionless as he studied her for several long moments.
Then he laughed slightly, curling one corner of his mouth up into an almost-smile. "You're making a joke."
"No," she said. "I'm not." But she smiled and gave herself away. She climbed out of the truck. "See you tonight."
"No," he said.
"Yes." She closed the door and dug in her purse for her car keys.
He leaned across the cab to roll down the passenger-side window. "No," he said. "Really. Syd, I need to be able to talk to Lucy and Bob without-—"
"Eleven o'clock," she said. "Skippy's. I'll be there."
As she got into her car and drove away, she glanced back and saw Luke's face through the windshield.
No, this meeting wasn't going to happen at Skippy's at eleven. But the time couldn't be changed—Lucy McCoy had said she was on duty until late.
But if she were Navy Ken, she'd call Lucy and Bobby what's-his-name and move the location—leaving Syd alone and fuming at Skipper's Harborside at eleven o'clock.
Bobby what's-his-name.
Syd pulled up to a red light and flipped through her notebook, looking for the man's full name. Chief Robert Taylor. Yes. Bobby Taylor. Described as an enormous SEAL, at least part Native American. She hadn't yet met the man, but maybe that was a good thing.
Yeah, this could definitely work.
Chapter 4
Lucky hadn't really expected to win, so he wasn't surprised when he followed Heather into La Cantina and saw Sydney already sitting at one of the little tables with Lucy McCoy.
He'd more than half expected the reporter to second-guess his decision to change the meeting's location and track them down, and she hadn't disappointed him. That was part of the reason he'd called Heather for dinner and then dragged her here, to this just-short-of-seedy San Felipe bar.
Syd had accused him of being desperate as she'd completely and brutally rejected his advances. The fact that she was right—that he had had a motive when he lowered his mouth to kiss her—only somehow served to make it all that much worse.
Even though he knew it was foolish, he wanted to make sure she knew just how completely non-desperate he was, and how little her rejection had mattered to him, by casually showing up with a drop-dead gorgeous, blond beauty queen on his arm.
He also wanted to make sure there was no doubt left lingering in her nosy reporter's brain that there was something going on between him and Blue McCoy's wife.
Just the thought of such a betrayal made him feel ill.
Of course, maybe it was Heather's constant, mindless prattle that was making the tuna steak he'd had for dinner do a queasy somersault in his stomach.
Still he got a brief moment of satisfaction as Syd turned and saw him. As she saw Heather.
For a fraction of a second, her eyes widened. He was glad he'd been watching her, because she quickly covered her surprise with that slightly bored, single-raised-eyebrow half-smirk she had down pat.
The smirk had stretched into a bonafide half smile of lofty amusement by the time Lucky and Heather reached their table.
Lucy's smile was far more genuine. "Right on time."
“You're early," he countered. He met Syd's gaze. "And you're here."
"I got off work thirty minutes early," Lucy told him. "I tried calling you, but I guess you'd already left."
Syd silently stirred the ice in her drink with a straw. She was wearing the same baggy pants she'd had on that afternoon, but she'd exchanged the man-size, long-sleeved, button-down shirt for a plain white T-shirt, her single concession to the relentless heat. She hadn't put on any makeup for the occasion, and her short dark hair, looked as if she'd done little more than run her fingers through it.
She looked tired. And nineteen times more real and warm than perfect, plastic Heather.
As Lucky watched, Syd lifted her drink and took a sip through the straw. With lips like that, she didn't need makeup. They were moist and soft and warm and perfect. He knew that firsthand after kissing her.
That one kiss they'd shared had been far more real and meaningful than Lucky's entire six month off-and-on, whenever-he-was-in-town, non-relationship with Heather. And yet, after kissing him as if the world were coming to an end, Syd had pushed him away.
"Heather and I had dinner at Smokey Joe's," Lucky told them. "Heather Seeley, this is Lucy McCoy and Sydney Jameson."
But Heather was already looking away, her MTV-length attention span caught by the mirrors on the wall and her distant but gorgeous reflection...
Syd finally spoke. "Gee, I had no idea we could bring a date to a task-force meeting."
"Heather's got some phone calls to make," Lucky explained. "I figured this wasn't going to take too long, and after..." He shrugged.
After, he could return to his evening with Heather, bring her home, go for a swim in the moonlight, lose himself in her perfect body. "You don't mind giving us some privacy, right, babe?" He pulled Heather close and brushed her silicon-enhanced lips with his. Her perfect, plastic body...
Sydney sharply looked away from them, suddenly completely absorbed by the circles of moisture her glass had made on the table.
And Lucky felt stupid. As Heather headed for the bar, already dialing her cell phone, he sat down next to Lucy and across from Syd and felt like a complete jackass.
He'd brought Heather here tonight to show Syd...what? That he was a jackass? Mission accomplished.
Okay, yes, he had taken Syd into his arms on his deck earlier this eve
ning in an effort to win her alliance. But somehow, some way, in the middle of that giddy, free-fall-inducing kiss, his strictly business motives had changed.
He thought it had probably happened when her mouth had opened so warmly and willingly beneath his. Or it might've been before that. It might've been the very instant his lips touched hers.
Whenever it had happened, all at once it had become very, very clear to him that he kept on kissing her purely because he wanted to.
Desperately.
Yes, there was that word again. As he ordered a beer from the bored cocktail waitress, as he pointed out Heather and told the waitress to get her whatever she wanted—on him—he tried desperately not to sound as if he were reeling from his own ego-induced stupidity in bringing Heather here. He knew Syd was listening. She was still pretending to be enthralled with the condensation on the table, but she was listening, so he referred to Heather as “that gorgeous blonde by the bar, with the body to die for."
Message sent: I don't need you to want to kiss me ever again.
Except he was lying. He needed. Maybe not quite desperately, but it was getting pretty damn close. Jeez, this entire situation was growing stupider and stupider with every breath he took.
Syd was so completely not Lucky's type. And he was forced to work with her to boot, although he was still working on ways to shake her permanently after tomorrow's session with the hypnotist.
She was opinionated, aggressive, impatient and far too intelligent—a know-it-all who made damn sure the rest of the world knew that she knew it all, too.
If she tried, even just a little bit, she'd be pretty. In a very less-endowed-than-most-women way.
Truth was, if life were a wet T-shirt contest and Heather and Syd were the contestants, Heather would win, hands down. Standing side by side, Syd would be rendered invis ible, outshone by Heather's golden glory. Standing side by
side, there should have been no contest.
Except, one of the two women made Lucky feel com- pletely alive. And it wasn't Heather.
“Hey, Lucy. Lieutenant." U.S. Navy SEAL Chief Bobby Taylor smiled at Sydney as he slipped into the fourth seat at the table. "You must be Sydney. Were my directions okay?" he asked her.
Syd nodded. She looked up at Lucky almost challeng-ingly. "I wasn't sure exactly where the bar was," she told him, "so I called Chief Taylor and asked for directions."
So that's how she found him. Well, wasn't she proud of herself? Lucky made a mental note to beat Bobby to death later.
"Call me Bob. Please." The enormous SEAL smiled at Syd again, and she smiled happily back at him, ignoring Lucky completely.
"No nickname?" she teased. "Like Hawk or Cyclops or Panther?"
And Lucky felt it. Jealousy. Stabbing and hot, like a lightning bolt to his already churning stomach. My God. Was it possible Sydney Jameson found Bob Taylor attractive? More attractive than she found Lucky?
Bobby laughed. "Just Bobby. Some guys during BUD/S tried to call me Tonto, which I objected to somewhat... forcefully." He flexed his fists meaningfully.
Bobby was a good-looking man despite the fact that his nose had been broken four or five too many times. He was darkly handsome, with high cheekbones, craggy features, and deep-brown eyes that broadcast his mother's Native American heritage. He had a quiet calmness to him, a Zen-like quality that was very attractive.
And then there was his size. Massive was the word for the man. Some women really went for that. Of course, if Bobby wasn't careful to keep up his PT and his diet, he'd quickly run to fat.
"I considered Tonto politically incorrect," Bobby said mildly. "So I made sure the name didn't stick."
Bobby's fists were the size of canned hams. No doubt he'd been extremely persuasive in his objections.
"These days the Lieutenant here is fond of calling me Stimpy," Bob continued, "which is the name of a really stupid cartoon cat." He looked down at his hands and flexed his hot-dog-sized fingers again. "I've yet to object, but it's getting old."
"No," Lucky said. "It's because Wes—" he turned to Syd. "Bobby's swim buddy is this little wiry guy named Wes Skelly, and visually, well, Ren and Stimpy just seems to fit. It's that really nasty cartoon that—"
"Wes isn't little," Lucy interrupted. "He's as tall as Blue, you know."
"Yeah, but next to Gigantor here—"
"I like Gigantor," Bobby decided.
Syd was laughing, and Lucky knew from the way the chief was smiling at her that he was completely charmed, too. Maybe that was the way to win Syd's alliance. Maybe she could be Bobby's girlfriend.
The thought was not a pleasant one, and he dismissed it out of hand. Charming women was his strength, damn it, and he was going to charm Sydney Jameson if it was the last thing he did.
Lucy got down to business. "You talk to Frisco?" she asked him.
Lucky nodded grimly. "I did. Do you think it's possible Stonegate doesn't really want us to apprehend the rapist?"
"Why? What happened?" Syd demanded.
"Lieutenant Commander Francisco got called in to meet with Admiral Stonegate," Lucy explained. "Ron Stone-gate's not exactly a big fan of the SEAL teams."
"What'd Stonehead do this time?" Bobby asked.
"Easy on the insults," Lucky murmured. He glanced at Syd, wishing she weren't a reporter, knowing that anything they said could conceivably end up in a news story. "We've been ordered by the...admiral to use this assignment as a special training operation," he said, choosing his words carefully, leaving out all the expletives and less-than-flattering adjectives he would have used had she not been there, "for a trio of SEAL candidates who are just about to finish up their second phase of BUD/S."
"King, Lee and Rosetti," Bobby said, nodding his approval.
Lucky nodded. Bobby had been working as an instructor with this particular group of candidates right from the start of phase one. He wasn't surprised the chief should knew the men in question.
"Tell me about them," Lucky commanded. He'd made a quick stop at the base and had pulled the three candidates' files after he'd talked to Frisco and before he'd picked up Heather. But you could only tell so much about a man from words on a piece of paper. He wanted to hear Bobby's opinion.
"They were all part of the same boat team during phase one," Bobby told him. "Mike Lee's the oldest and a lieutenant, Junior Grade, and he was buddied up with Ensign Thomas King—a local kid, much younger. African American. Both have IQs that are off the chart, and both have enough smarts to recognize each other's strengths and weaknesses. It was a good match. Petty Officer Rio Rosetti, on the other hand, is barely twenty-one, barely graduated from high school, struggles to spell his own name, but he can build anything out of nothing. He's magic. He was out in a skiff and the propeller snagged a line and one of the blades snapped. He took it apart, built a new propeller out of the junk, that was on board. They couldn't move fast, but they could move. It was impressive.
"Rosetti's swim buddy bailed during the second day of Hell Week," Bobby continued, "and Lee and King took him in. He returned the favor a few days later, when Lee started hallucinating. He was seeing evil spirits and not taking it well, and King and Rosetti took turns sitting on him. The three of them have been tight ever since. King and Lee spend nearly all their off time tutoring Rosetti. With their help, he's managed to stay with the classroom program." He paused. "They're good men, Lieutenant."
It was good to hear that.
Still. "Turning a mission this serious into a training op makes about as much sense as sticking the team with Lois Lane, here," Lucky said.
"Twelve hours, seventeen minutes," Syd said. "Hah."
He blinked at her, temporarily distracted. "Hah? What hah?"
"I knew when you found out that I was a reporter it was only a matter of time before you used the old Lois Lane cliche," she told him. Her attitude wasn't quite smug, but it was a touch too gleeful to be merely matter-of-fact. "I figured twenty-four, but you managed in nearly half the time. Congratulat
ions, Lieutenant."
"Lois Lane," Bobby mused. "Shoot, it's almost as bad as Tonto."
"It's not very original," even Lucy agreed.
"Can we talk about this case please?" Lucky said desperately.
"Absolutely," Lucy said. "Here's my late-breaking news. Four more women have come forward since Sydney's article appeared in the paper this morning. Four.''' She shook her head in frustration. "I don't know why some women don't report sexual assault when it happens."
"Is it our guy?" Syd asked. "Same MO?"
"Three of the women were branded with the budweiser. Those three attacks took place within the past four weeks. The fourth was earlier. I'm certain the same perp was responsible for all four attacks," Lucy told them. "And frankly, it's a little alarming that the severity of the beatings he gives his victims seems to be increasing."
"Any pattern among the victims as to location, physical appearance, anything?" Lucky asked.
"If there is, we can't find anything other than that the victims are all females between the ages of eighteen and forty-three, and the attacks all took place in either San Felipe or Coronado," the detective replied. "I'll get you the complete files first thing in the morning. You might as well try searching for a pattern, too. I don't think you're going to find one, but it sure beats sitting around waiting for this guy to strike again."
Bobby's pager went off. He glanced at it as he shut it off, then stood. "If that's all for now, Lieutenant..."
Lucky gestured with his head toward the pager. "Anything I should know about?"
"Just Wes," the bigger man said. "It's been a rough tour for him. Coronado's the last place he wanted to be, and he's been here for nearly three months now." He nodded at Sydney. "Nice meeting you. See you later, Luce." He turned back. "Do me a favor and lock your windows tonight, ladies."
"And every night until we catch this guy," Lucky added as the chief headed for the door. He stood up. "I'm going to take off, too."
"See you tomorrow." Syd barely even looked at him as she turned to Lucy. "Are you in a hurry to get home, detective? Because I have some questions I was hoping you could answer."
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