Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  She tucked the phone under her chin and took a deep breath. The line was still open. She didn't have to redial, thank God.

  "Luke?"

  "Syd, this is Alan Francisco. Lucky's in a chopper, heading toward you, fast. He gave me the phone because he was afraid he'd lose your signal moving at that kind of speed. I'm in radio contact with him, though. Are you all right? I'm sure he's going crazy...."

  Syd's heart sank. She wasn't going to get to talk to Luke. At least not directly. God, she'd wanted to hear his voice just one more time.

  "It's him," she told Frisco. "The San Felipe Rapist. In the car behind me. He pulled alongside me—he's wearing panty hose over his face. He tried to run me off the road."

  "Okay," Frisco said calmly. "Keep moving, Syd. Strad­dle the center line, don't let him get in front of you. Hang on—let me relay this information to Lucky."

  "Alan," she said. "My temperature gauge is about to go into the red zone. My car's about to overheat."

  Overheating. Syd's car was overheating.

  "Can we make this thing go any faster?" Lucky asked Harvard.

  "We're pushing it as it is," the senior chief told him. "But we're close."

  "Close isn't good enough," Lucky growled. "Frisco. Tell Syd..." Everyone was listening. Everyone but the one person he wanted to talk to more than anything. "Tell Syd to hang on. Tell her to try to keep moving. Tell her if this bastard gets out of his car, if she's got any power left at all, tell her to run the son of a bitch over. But if her car overheats and the engine dies, tell her to stay inside. Lock the doors. Make him break the windows to get to her. Tell her she should cover her head with something, a jacket or something, so she doesn't get cut by the glass. Tell her..." He had to say it. To hell with the fact that everyone was listening in. "Tell Syd I love her."

  "He said that?" Syd couldn't believe it. "He actually said those words?"

  "He said, tell Syd I love her," Frisco repeated.

  "Oh, God," Syd said, unsure whether to laugh or cry. "If he actually said that, he thinks I'm going to die, doesn't he?"

  Steam started escaping from under the front hood of her car. This was it. "My radiator's going," she told Frisco. "It's funny, all those debates about whether to fight or submit. Who knew I'd actually have to make that choice?"

  Luke wanted her to submit. He wanted her to stay in her car, wait for this behemoth to come in after her. But once he did, she wouldn't stand a chance.

  But maybe, if she were outside the car, she could use her steering wheel lock as a very literal club. Maybe, if she opened the door and came out swinging...

  "Tell Luke I'm sorry," Syd told Frisco. "But I choose fight."

  Her radiator was sending out clouds of steam, and her car was starting to slow. This was it. The beginning of the end.

  "Tell him...I love him, too."

  Syd cut the connection and let the phone drop into her lap as the car behind hit her squarely. She had to hold on to the steering wheel with both hands to keep her car in the middle of the road. She had to keep him from moving alongside her and running her off onto the soft shoulder.

  Except what would that do, really, but delay the inevi­table?

  Still, she couldn't quit. She couldn't just give up.

  He rammed her again, pushing her up and over one last rise in the long, otherwise flat road stretching out in front of her, and...

  And then Syd saw it.

  A black speck, moving toward her, growing bigger by the second. It was some kind of jet plane or... no, it was a helicopter, moving faster than she'd ever seen a helicopter move in her entire life.

  The sedan slammed into her again, this time pushing her off the road. She plowed into the soft dirt and braced herself for another impact. But the helicopter was on top of them then, swooping down like a giant, terrible, noisy hawk bent on revenge. It slowed only slightly as it turned, circling back, and Syd saw that the doors were open. There was a sharp noise—a gunshot—and the sedan swerved to a stop just in front of her. They'd shot out his front tire!

  The helicopter was hovering, and at least a dozen men, armed to the teeth with enormous guns, swarmed down ropes.

  Out her front window, Syd watched as the man who'd been terrorizing her was pulled from his car. He was big, but they were bigger, and even though he resisted, they had him down on his stomach on the pavement in a matter of seconds.

  Her cell phone rang.

  Syd picked it up. "Frisco?"

  "No." The voice was Luke's. "I borrowed the captain's phone."

  She looked up to find him walking toward her car, phone in one hand, gun in the other.

  "How's that for timing?" he asked.

  Syd dropped the phone and unlocked the door, and he pulled her up and out and into his arms.

  Chapter 16

  “His name is Owen Finn," Lucky reported to Frisco from his kitchen phone. "He was at the Academy, got into BUD/S, but didn't make it through the program. He rang out—it was during the summer of '. Apparently he was a nutcase. One of those guys who had a million opportu­nities handed to him on a platter, but he just kept on screw­ing up. And whenever he did, it was never his fault."

  "Yeah," Frisco said. "I know the type. 'I didn't mean to beat my wife until she ended up in the hospital. It wasn't my fault—she got me so mad.'"

  "Yeah, right. Four months after he quit BUD/S," Lucky told his friend, "he was charged and convicted of theft. That got him a dishonorable discharge as well as time served. When he got out, as a civilian, he got caught in a burglary attempt, did time in Kentucky as well. I guess he sat there for a few years, stewing on the fact that—in his mind at least—his abysmal record of failure started when he rang out of BUD/S. As soon as he got out of jail, he headed back to Coronado, via a short stop in Texas where he robbed a liquor store. God forbid he should actually work to earn money.”

  "The police psychologist thinks he probably came back here with some kind of vague idea of revenge—an idea that didn't gel until he got here. This psychologist told me and Syd that he thinks Finn got mileage out of being mis­taken for a SEAL in the local bars—he was built up from all those years of pumping iron in prison. He thinks Finn's first act of violence was a date rape—a woman who will­ingly left the bar with him. According to the shrink, Finn enjoyed the power and the fear, and realized how he could get his pound of flesh, so to speak. He started going down his list, hitting women who were connected to the people he wanted to hurt. Some of them were women he remem­bered from ', some he did research to find. He was al­ways careful only to go after the women who had definite patterns of time in which they were alone in their homes. Syd was an exception. And even then, he told the shrink he'd been planning to hit her in her motel room in Phoenix. She foiled his plan by heading back to California a day early. Thank God."

  Lucky closed his eyes, unable to deal with the thought of what might've happened had she stayed in Arizona as she'd first intended.

  "We're still waiting for Finn's DNA tests to come back, but this time I think we've got him," Lucky said. "He definitely smelled like cigarette smoke. As for Martin Taus, we're not sure yet how he was able to describe Lucy's attack so accurately. I think he must've met Finn in a bar."

  "How's Syd doing?" Frisco asked.

  Lucky laughed "She's writing," he said. "She locked herself in the guest room, and she's been writing from the minute we walked in the door. She's working on a short piece for USA Today about Finn—a kind of follow-up to those other articles she wrote.

  "Did she, uh..." Frisco was trying to be tactful. "Did she give you an answer yet?"

  "No." Lucky knew exactly what his friend was talking about. His marriage proposal. His incredibly stupid and all-too-public marriage proposal. It figured that Frisco would've heard about it. In fact, Mia was probably standing next to him, tugging on his sleeve, waiting for the word so that she could call Veronica with an update. And Veronica would talk to PJ, and PJ would tell Harvard, who would send out a memo to the rest of Alpha
Squad.

  The fact that Lucky had actually proposed marriage wasn't being taken lightly by his friends. In fact, it was serious business.

  Serious business.

  Serious...

  "Hang on a sec, can you?" Lucky said into the phone. He set the receiver down on the kitchen table, then went down the hall, and knocked on the closed guest-room door.

  "Yeah." Syd sounded impatient. She was writing.

  Lucky opened the door and made it quick. "Do you have an estimate for when you'll be done?"

  "Two hours," she said. "Go away. Please."

  Lucky closed the door, went back into the kitchen and picked up the phone. "Frisco, man, I need your help."

  Syd sent the article electronically, and shut down her laptop computer. She stood up, stretching out her back, knowing that she'd put it off as long as she possibly could.

  Luke was out there in his living room, waiting so that they could talk.

  To hell with your interview.... Get your butt home and marry me, damn it.

  He couldn't have been serious. She knew he wasn't se­rious.

  He'd been upset for a variety of reasons. He didn't like the idea of losing her, of losing, period. This marriage pro­posal was just a knee-jerk attempt to make her stick around.

  Tell Syd I love her.

  Yeah, sure, he loved her. He'd probably said the same three words to the four billion women who'd come before Syd. She just couldn't take it seriously.

  And she was going to have to tell him that. She couldn't—and wouldn't—take him seriously. She cared for him deeply, but she couldn't make such a big gamble. This was her life, after all. She was sorry, but she was going to take the job in New York.

  She'd leave quickly. They wanted her to start as soon as possible. So she'd pack her things and go. One sharp pain, and it would be over. Like pulling off a Band-Aid, she reminded herself.

  He probably wouldn't miss her for more than a week.

  She, on the other hand, was going to miss him for the rest of her life.

  She braced herself, squared her shoulders and opened the door.

  Luke was in the living room, standing at the front win­dow, looking out. He turned when he heard her, and she realized with a jolt of shock that he was wearing his dress uniform. His hair was combed neatly back from his face, every strand carefully in place. He wasn't wearing just his rows of ribbons on his chest, but rather the full medals. It was a wonder he could stand up with so much extra pound­age weighing him down.

  “Are you going somewhere?'' she asked him.

  "I think," he said, "that that should be my question for you." He looked so serious, standing there like that, all spit and polish, without a smile on his handsome face.

  Syd sat down on the couch. "Yes," she said. "I'm going to New York. There was a message on my machine. They made me an offer. They want me."

  "What about my offer?" Luke asked. "I want you, too."

  She searched his eyes, but he still wasn't smiling. There was no sign that he was kidding, no sign that he acknowl­edged how completely out of character this was. "You se­riously expect me to believe that you want to marry me?" She could barely say the words aloud.

  "Yes. I need to apologize for the subpar delivery, but—"

  "Luke. Marriage is forever. I take that very seriously. This isn't some game that we can play until you get bored."

  "Do I look like I'm playing a game?" he countered.

  She didn't get a chance to answer because the doorbell rang.

  "Good," Luke said. "Just in time. Excuse me."

  As Syd watched, he opened his door. Thomas King stood there, Rio Rosetti and Michael Lee right behind him. They, like Luke, were wearing their dress uniforms. Their arms were full of...flowers?

  "Great," Luke said. "Come on in. Just put those down on the table, gentlemen. Perfect."

  "Hey, Syd," Thomas said.

  "If you don't mind waiting out on the back deck...?" Luke efficiently pushed them toward the kitchen door. "I've got a cooler out there with beer, wine and soda. Help yourselves."

  Syd stared at Luke, stared at the flowers. They were gor­geous—all different kinds and colors. The bouquets com­pletely covered the coffee table. "Luke, what is this for?"

  "It's for you," he said. "And me."

  The doorbell rang again.

  This time it was Bobby Taylor and Wes Skelly. They both carried heavy boxes into the living room. Luke opened one and took out a bottle of champagne. He read the label. "Terrific," he said. "Thanks, guys."

  "There're a couple bottles of non-alcoholic stuff, too,"

  Wes told him. "For Frisco and Mia. We got it at the health food store."

  "Hi, Syd," Bobby said. He pointed to the back of the house. "Deck?" he asked Luke, who nodded. He vanished, pulling Wes with him.

  Flowers and champagne...? "Luke, what—"

  Luke interrupted her. "Today you said that you love me. Were you serious?"

  Oh, God. She was trying so hard to be realistic about this. "I thought I was going to die."

  "So...you said something that wasn't really true?" he asked, sitting down next to her on the couch. "Something that you didn't really mean?"

  Syd closed her eyes. She'd meant it, all right. She just probably wouldn't have said it if she'd known she was going to live.

  "Do you love me?" he asked.

  She couldn't lie to him. "Yes," she said. "But I don't—"

  He kissed her. "The short answer's all I want."

  Syd let herself look into his eyes. "It's just not that sim­ple."

  "It can be." He leaned forward to kiss her again, but the doorbell rang.

  It was Harvard. What a surprise. He had PJ with him. And Crash and Nell Hawken. And Cowboy and Melody Jones. And Mitch and Becca Shaw. They were all dressed up, as if they were going to the opera or...

  "Limos R Us," Cowboy announced with a grin. "Three of 'em. White, as ordered."

  "Ready to roll, Lieutenant, sir," Harvard added. "Ve­gas, here we come."

  Vegas? As in Las Vegas? Wedding capital of the world?

  Syd stood up and looked out the window. Sure enough, three stretch limos, big enough to hold a small army, were idling at the curb. Her heart began to pound, triple time, in her chest. Was it possible Luke truly was serious...?

  "Hi, Syd." PJ gave her a hug and a kiss. "You okay after this afternoon?"

  Syd didn't have time to answer. PJ disappeared with the others, pushed into the kitchen and out the back door.

  "So," Luke said when they were alone once again. "You love me. And I love you. I know this job in New York is good for your career, but you also told me that if you had a chance, if you could find a patron to support you for a year or two, you'd rather quit your day job and write a book." He spread his arms. "Well, here I—"

  The doorbell rang.

  "Excuse me."

  This time it was Frisco and Mia. They came into the living room, followed by an elderly man in a dark suit who was carrying a large briefcase.

  "This is George Majors," Frisco told Luke. "He owns that jewelry store over on Ventura."

  Luke shook the old man's hand. "This is wonderful," he said. "I really appreciate your coming out here like this. Here, you can set up over here." He pushed aside some of the flowers on the table, pulled Syd down onto the couch.

  Mr. Majors opened his briefcase, and inside was a dis­play case of rings. Diamond rings and wedding rings. Syd couldn't breathe.

  Luke got down on one knee beside her and took her hand. "Marry me, Syd." His eyes were so blue. She could drown in those eyes. She could lose herself forever.

  Frisco cleared his throat and started inching toward the kitchen door. "Maybe we should—"

  "Don't go anywhere. You guys are my best friends. If I can't grovel in front of you, who can I grovel in front of?" He pointed to the jeweler. "Him I don't really know, but I figure he's got to be a pretty cool guy to come all the way out here like this."

  He looked back at Syd. "Marr
y me," he said. "Live here with me, write your book, have my babies, make my life complete."

  Syd couldn't speak. He was serious. He was completely, totally serious. It was everything she had ever wanted. But she couldn't manage to utter even one short syllable to tell him yes.

  And he took her silence for hesitation.

  "Maybe I should put it like this," he said. "Here's the scenario, Syd. There's a guy who's never taken any ro­mantic relationship seriously before in his life. But then he meets you, and his world turns upside-down. He loves you more than life itself, and he wants to marry you. Tonight. At the Igloo of Love Wedding Chapel in Vegas. Do you fight, flee, hide or surrender?"

  Syd stared to laugh. "Igloo of Love?"

  Luke was trying his damnedest to stay serious, but he couldn't keep a smile and then a laugh from escaping. "I knew you'd like that. With me, your life's going to be high class all the way, baby."

  With Luke, her life was going to be laughter and sun­shine all the way.

  "I surrender," she whispered, and started to kiss him, but then she pulled back. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and everyone else was dressed for...a wedding. "Tonight?" she said. "God, Luke, I don't have a dress!"

  The doorbell rang.

  It was Joe Cat and Veronica. Mia let them in.

  "I have found," Veronica announced, "exactly what Luke asked me to find—the most exquisite wedding dress in all of Southern California."

  "My God," Syd whispered to Luke. "You thought of everything."

  "Damn right," he told her. "I wanted to make sure you knew I was serious. I figured if you saw that all my friends were taking me seriously, then you would, too."

  He kissed her—and it was an extremely serious kiss. "Marry me tonight," he said.

  Syd laughed. "At the Igloo of Love? Definitely." Smiling into his eyes, she knew her life would never be the same. She'd got Lucky. Permanently.

  END

  10 - Taylor’s Temptation (2001)

  In loving memory of Melinda Heifer, Romantic Times reviewer—a friend of mine, and a friend of all romance.