Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  "Isidro taught me a lot of things, but that was something that really stuck. Because he'd lived with that fear. Because his other family had been murdered."

  Syd was silent, just watching him.

  "He became a naturalized citizen when I was thirteen years old," he told her, letting himself lose himself a little bit in the softness of her eyes. "That's one day of my life I'll never forget. He was so proud of becoming a real Amer­ican. And God!" He laughed. "That November, on election day! He took me and Ellen to the polls with him, so we could watch him vote. And he made us both promise— even though El could barely talk—that we would vote every chance we got."

  "So your stepfather is why you became a SEAL."

  "Father," he corrected gently. "There was nothing step about him. And, yeah, the things he taught me stuck." Lucky shrugged, knowing that a cynical newspaper jour­nalist probably wouldn't see it the same way he—and Isi dro—had. Knowing that she would probably laugh, hoping she wouldn't, wanting to try to explain just the same. "I know there's a lot wrong with this country, but there's also a lot right. I believe in America. And I joined the Navy— the SEAL teams in particular—because I wanted to give something back. I wanted to be a part of making sure we remained the land of the free and the home of the brave. And I stayed in the Navy for longer than I'd ever dreamed of because I ended up getting as much as I gave."

  She laughed.

  He tried to hide his disappointment. "Yeah, I know. It sounds so hokey."

  "Oh—" she sat up "—no! I wasn't laughing because of what you said. God, you've just impressed the hell out of me—please don't think I'm laughing at you."

  "I have?" Lucky tried to sound casual. "Impressed you? Really?" Yeesh, he sounded like a dork, pathetically fish­ing for more compliments.

  She didn't seem to notice, caught up in her own intensity. Man, when she got serious, she got serious. "I was laugh­ing because back when I first met you, I thought I had you all figured out. I thought you were one of those testoster­one-laden types who'd joined the SEALs purely because they liked the idea of blowing stuff up."

  "Well, yeah." Lucky needed her to stop looking at him like that, with those blazing eyes that seemed able to look right through him and see his very soul. He needed her to lighten up so that he wouldn't do something really stupid like pull her into his arms and kiss her. "What do you think I mean when I talk about getting something back from be­ing a SEAL? What I get is to blow stuff up."

  Syd laughed. Thank God.

  "Tell me," she said, "about your sister. Ellen. She's getting married, right?"

  "In about a week," he told her. "You better put it on your calendar. It'll look really weird if we're supposedly living together but you don't attend my only sister's wed­ding."

  "Oh, no." She made a face. "That really stinks. You can't possibly want to drag me along to your sister's wed­ding."

  "I suppose we can make up some excuse for why you're not there," Lucky said. "I mean, if you really don't want to go."

  "I'd love to go," she countered, "but I know what an important day this is for you. Bobby told me how you turned down a...what did he call it? A silver bullet assign­ment—something you really, really wanted—just so you could be in town."

  "If I'm not there," he said, "who's going to walk her down the aisle? Look, just plan to go with me, okay? And if you could plan to wear a dress—something formal— while you're at it..."

  "God." She gazed at him in mock horror. "You must think I'm a complete idiot. What did you think I'd wear to a formal wedding? A clean pair of jeans?"

  "Well, yeah," he admitted. "Either jeans or your khakis. I've noticed a certain...repetitiveness to your attire."

  "Great," she said. "First I'm an idiot, and then I'm bor­ing?"

  She was laughing, so he knew she wasn't completely serious, but he still felt the need to try to explain. "That's not what I meant—''

  "Quit while you're ahead," she told him. "Just tell me about your sister."

  It was nearly oh-one hundred hours, but Lucky wasn't tired. Syd didn't look tired either.

  So he told her about his sister, ready and willing to talk all night if she wanted him to.

  He wished she wanted more than conversation from him. He wanted to touch her, to take her to his bedroom and make love to her. But he wasn't going to risk destroying this quiet intimacy they shared.

  She liked him. He knew that. But this was too new and far too fragile to gamble with.

  He wanted to touch her, but he knew he shouldn't. To­night he was going to have to settle for touching her with his words.

  "Blade," Rio Rosetti said. "Or Panther."

  "How about Hawk?" Thomas suggested, tongue firmly in cheek.

  "Yeah, Hawk's good, too."

  Rio was unhappy with his current nickname and was trying to talk his friends into calling him something else.

  "Personally, I think we should be developing a kinder, gentler group of SEALs, with kinder, gentler nicknames," Michael Lee said with a completely straight face. "How about Bunny?"

  The look on Rio's face was comical.

  Thomas cracked up. "I like it," he said. "Bunny."

  "Whoa," Rio said. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—"

  "Works for me," Lucky said.

  They were sitting in the office, waiting for Lucy's elec­tronic transmission of a list she'd got from the police com­puter.

  Out of all the many men and women who had served at the Navy base during the same few-month period four years ago, nearly thirty of them—all men—had gotten into trou­ble with law. Twenty-three had served time. Five were still incarcerated.

  The police computer had spat out names, aliases and last-known addresses for all of them. They were going to cross-reference this list again with the information they had in the navy's personnel files.

  "Lucky," Rio said. "Now there's a nickname I'd love."

  "It's taken," Mike pointed out. "Whoops, here we go. List's in. I'll print out a couple of hard copies."

  "It's not as if the luck comes with the name," Thomas told Rio. "According to legend, the lieutenant here has led a charmed existence, hence the name."

  "Charmed indeed," Rio agreed. He glanced at Lucky, who'd gone to look over Mike's shoulder at the computer screen.

  The list contained name, aliases, last-known address, and a short rap sheet of charges, convictions and jail time served—their criminal resume, so to speak.

  "I couldn't help but notice that Sydney came to work this morning wearing one of your Hawaiian shirts, sir," Rio continued. "I guess your little sleepover last night went... well."

  Lucky looked up to find Thomas and Bobby waiting for him to comment, too. Even Michael Lee had lifted his eyes from the computer screen. He laughed. "You guys are kid­ding, right? You know as well as I do that this is just a ruse to try to trap the rapist. Sure, Syd stayed over, but..." he shrugged, "...nothing happened. I mean, there's really nothing going on between us."

  "She is wearing one of your shirts," Bobby said.

  "Yeah, because last night, in a genius move, I insulted her wardrobe."

  He'd fallen asleep on the couch last night and woken to the scent of coffee brewing. He'd thrown off the blanket Syd must've put over him and staggered into the kitchen to find her already showered and dressed—and wearing one of his shirts. It was weird—and a little scary. It was his full-blown morning-after nightmare, in which a woman he barely knew and didn't particularly like would move in and make herself completely at home, right down to stealing from his closet. Except in this case, there had been no night before. And in this case, it wasn't a nightmare.

  The coffee smelled great, Syd looked amazing in his shirt, and, as she smiled at him, his stomach didn't twist with anxiety. It twisted, all right, but in anticipation.

  He liked her, liked having her in his house, liked having her be a part of his morning.

  And maybe, if he were really lucky, if he lived up to this nickname of his, he'd wake up tomorrow with her in his
bed. Mike handed him three copies of the printed list, and he handed one to Bobby, the others to Thomas and Rio.

  Rio was now looking at him as if he were mentally chal­lenged. “Let me get this straight. You had Syd alone. Syd. One of the most incredibly fascinating and sexy women in the world. And she's alone with you, all night. And instead of taking advantage of that incredible opportunity, you spent your time insulting her clothes?"

  "Hey, guys, I went to Starbuck's. Who wants coffee?"

  Syd breezed in carrying a cardboard tray filled with paper coffee cups before Lucky could tell Rio to mind his own business. "Oh, good, the list finally came in?"

  "Hot off the press," Lucky told her.

  She smiled as she set a cup down in front of him. "Spe­cial delivery. Extra sugar. I figured you could use it after last night."

  Rio cleared his throat pointedly. “Excuse me?''

  Syd smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't you dare think that—that's not what I mean, dirt brain. Luke and I are friends. I kept him up all night talking. He fell asleep on the living-room couch at about :. He's run­ning on way too little sleep and it's all my fault."

  Rio shot Lucky a disbelieving look. "You fell asleep on the living-room couch... ?"

  "Hey," Thomas said, "Here's a guy who got out of prison in Kentucky four weeks before the first attack was reported."

  "First known attack," Lucky reminded him, giving him a grateful look for changing the subject. He rolled his chair closer to the young ensign, to look over his shoulder at the list. "Kentucky's a stretch. He'd have to be motivated to reach San Diego with the amount of money he had on him."

  "Yeah, but check this out. He's already wanted again," Thomas said, "in connection with a liquor store robbery in Dallas. That happened a week after his release."

  Syd leaned over Lucky's shoulder. "Can a convict just leave the state like that? Doesn't he have to check in with a parole officer?"

  He turned his head to look at her and found himself eye to eye with her breasts. He looked away, his mind instantly blank. What was he just about to say?

  Bobby answered for him. "As far as I understand it, parole is for when a prisoner is released early. If he serves out his full sentence, there's usually no parole."

  "What's this guy's name?" Syd asked. "Where is he on the list?"

  "Owen Finn." Lucky pointed to the list and she leaned even closer to read the small print. She was wearing his deodorant. It smelled different on her. Delicate and femi­ninely fresh.

  Damn, he was nuts. He should have at least said some­thing to Syd last night. So, hey, like, what do you say we get it on? Well, maybe not that. But certainly something in between that and the great big nothing he'd uttered. Be­cause what if this attraction was mutual? What if she'd spent all night wishing they could get physical, too? What could it hurt to be honest?

  They were, after all, friends—by her own admission. As his friend, she would appreciate his honesty.

  Wouldn't she?

  "Finn was convicted of burglary," Syd said, straight­ening up. "I thought we were looking for someone with a record of sexual assault or some other violent crime."

  "Finn," Bobby reported from the Navy Computer's per­sonnel files. "Owen Franklin. Son of a medal of honor winner, entered the U.S. Naval Academy even though his grades weren't quite up to par. Rang out of BUD/S in ', given a dishonorable discharge four months later, charged and convicted of theft. Yeah, this guy definitely has sticky fingers. No mention of violence, though."

  "How about this one?" Thomas pointed to the list, and Syd leaned over Lucky again. "Martin Taus. Charged with four counts of sexual assault but never convicted. Got off on a technicality. Never served time but paid fines and did community service for damage done in a street fight back in '. His last-known address is a post-office box in San Diego."

  "How do we find these guys?" Syd asked. "Can't we just bring in everyone on this list?''

  She sat down next to him, and he resisted the urge to put his arm around her. If they were out in public, he could've gotten away with it. But here in the office they didn't need to play the girlfriend game.

  It was too bad.

  "Most of them aren't local," Lucky told her. "And their last-known addresses are probably out of date. But FInCOM's definitely looking to have them all brought in for questioning."

  "Some of them aren't going to be easy to find," Thomas pointed out. "Like this Owen Finn who's wanted in Texas, He's clearly on the move."

  “When are we going to start dangling me out there as bait?" Syd asked. "We need to establish a pattern of time that I'm home alone."

  "We'll start tonight," Lucky told her. "I spoke to Frisco this morning. The phase-one SEAL candidates are going to be doing a series of night swims over the next week. I'm going to be visible at the base from the time the exercise starts at about twenty-three hundred, right up until the point I put on my gear. Then one of the other instructors will take over for me—masked and suited up, anyone who's watching won't know it's not me. I'll leave the base cov­ertly and join Bobby and our junior frogmen, who will have concealed themselves strategically around the outside of our house. My house," he quickly corrected himself.

  Alan Francisco had been disappointed—he'd said as much—when Lucky'd admitted his relationship with Syd was just an act. But he didn't say anything more, except that he was there to talk, if Lucky wanted someone to talk to. About what, Lucky'd asked. Yeah, he was a little wor­ried about Syd putting herself in danger, but this way at least he could keep an eye on her. Everything was cool. There was nothing to talk about.

  “I’ll be going over to Luke's in about an hour to set up interior microphones," Bobby said.

  "So, I'm going to be alone in the house starting at about seven until...two or three in the morning?" she guessed.

  "No, we'll have time before the exercise starts," Lucky told her. "We can have dinner downtown. We'll leave here together at about eighteen hundred—six o'clock. After din­ner, we'll go to my place, and around twenty-two-thirty, after Bobby and the guys have moved into position, I'll make a big show of kissing you goodbye, and I'll come here. You'll be alone from then until around oh-two-hundred. About three and a half hours."

  Syd nodded. "Maybe if we're lucky, FlnCOM will round up most of the suspects on our list before tonight. And if we're really lucky, one of them will be our guy."

  Lucky nodded, hoping the golden luck for which he'd been nicknamed would, indeed, shine through.

  Chapter 10

  The meltingly perfect lobster and the hundred-dollar bottle of wine had been completely wasted on Syd.

  What with the blazing sunset, the incredible outdoor patio, the million-dollar view of the Pacific, and—last but certainly not least—the glowing golden good looks of the man sitting across the restaurant table from her, Syd had barely noticed the gourmet food or drink.

  It might as well have been peanut butter sandwiches and grape juice for all the attention she gave to it.

  She spent most of the meal wishing Luke would hold her hand. And when he finally did, reaching across the table to intertwine their fingers, she spent the rest of the meal wishing he'd kiss her again.

  He'd kissed her outside the restaurant after giving the valet his keys. Slow, lingering kisses that rendered her speechless.

  He'd kissed her in the bar, too, as they'd waited for a table. Delicate kisses. Elegant kisses. Five-star restaurant kisses.

  She wasn't dressed for this place, but no one besides her seemed to care. The maitre d' was attentive, the waiters were respectful, and Luke...

  Well, he'd nearly had her believing they were com­pletely, totally, thrillingly in love.

  "You're so quiet," he said now, his thumb tracing cir­cles on the palm of her hand as they waited for the waiter to return with Luke's credit card, sitting beneath that per­fect, color-streaked sky. The way he was looking at her, the quiet timbre of his voice—his behavior was completely that of an attentive lover. He was remarkably go
od at play­ing this part. "What are you thinking about?"

  "Kissing you," she admitted.

  For an eighth of a second, his guard dropped, his thumb stopped moving and she saw real surprise in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter returned. And all Luke did was laugh as he gently reclaimed his fingers and signed the bill. He pocketed his receipt and stood, hold­ing out his hand to her.

  "Let's walk on the beach."

  They went down the wooden steps hand in hand, and when they reached the bottom, he knelt in the sand and took off her sandals, then carried them for her, along with his own shoes. The sand was sensuously cool between her toes.

  They walked in silence for about a minute, then Luke cleared his throat. "So, when you were thinking about kiss­ing me, was it a good thought or...?"

  "It was more of an amused thought," she admitted. "Like, here I am, with the best-looking man in the state of California, and oh, just in case that's not thrilling enough, he's going to kiss me a few dozen more times before the night is through. You kiss like a dream, you know? Of course you know."

  "You're pretty good at it yourself."

  "I'm an amateur compared to you. I can't seem to do that thing you do with your eyes. And that little ‘I’m going to kiss you now' smile. Only someone with a face like yours can pull that off."

  His laughter sounded embarrassed. "Oh, come on. I'm not—"

  "Don't be coy," she reprimanded him. "You know what you look like. All you need to do is smile, and every woman within a hundred feet goes into heavy fantasy mode. Walk into any room and flash those teeth, and women start lining up for a chance to go home with you."

  "Gee, if I'd only known that was all it would take..." He gave her his best smile.

  She yawned. "Doesn't work on me. Not since I heard you snore last night."

  "I do not snore."

  Syd just smiled.