Night Watch

by Suzanne Brockmann

  The waiter brought their drinks to the table and vanished again. Wes took a sip of his soda and tried to like it, tried not to wish it was another bottle of beer.

  “My ex used to smoke,” Brittany told him. “I tried everything to get him to quit, and finally drew a line. I told him that if he was going to smoke, he couldn’t kiss me. And he said okay, if that’s what I wanted.”

  Wes knew what was coming from the rueful edge to her smile.

  “So he stopped kissing me,” she told him.

  The adjectives he used to describe the bastard were blistering—far worse than anything that had come out of Dustin Melero’s mouth that afternoon, but she just laughed as he winced and apologized.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “But cut him some slack. He wasn’t entirely to blame. You know, he smoked when I married him, so it was pretty unfair of me to make those kinds of demands. Bottom line, sweetie, is that you’ve got to quit smoking because you want to quit smoking.”

  “Or at the very least, I’ve got to want Julia Roberts to glue the patch onto my—”

  “Yes,” she said, laughing. “That might do it.”

  “He was a fool,” Wes told her, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Your ex.”

  The smile she gave him was stunning as she squeezed his fingers. “Thank you. I’ve always thought so, too.”

  BRITTANY TOOK A SIP of her coffee. “Melody told me you had leave for a week—”

  “Two,” Wes interjected.

  “And that you were spending that time here in L.A. as a favor to a friend?”

  “Yeah.” Wes Skelly had a nervous tell. Even sitting at the table, he was constantly in motion, kind of like a living pinball. He was always fiddling with something on the table. His spoon. The saltshaker. The tablecloth. His soda straw. But when he got nervous—at least Britt thought it was nerves he was feeling—he stopped. Stopped moving. Stopped fiddling. He got very, very still.

  He was doing it right now, but as he started to talk, he started stirring the ice in his soda. “I’m actually here as a favor to the wife of a good friend. Wizard.” He glanced up at her, and she knew it was an act. He was working overtime to pretend to be casual.

  “I don’t know if your sister ever talked about him,” he continued. “She may not know him. I don’t know. He’s with SEAL Team Six, and he’s always out of the country, so… Very hard to find. So he’s gone again, and his wife, Lana, she’s, you know, very nice, very… We’ve been friends for years, too, and… Well, she was worried about her sister. Half sister, actually. Her father’s second marriage, and… Anyway, Lana’s half sister is Amber Tierney and—”

  “Whoa.” Britt held up her hand. “Wait a sec. Information overload. Your friend Wizard’s wife Lana’s—” Lana, who was very nice, “—half sister is Amber Tierney from High Tide?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy moly.” With her heavy schedule at school and exhausting rotations in the hospital, Brittany didn’t have time to keep up with the various TV and movie stars who made headlines in L.A. But Amber Tierney had been impossible to miss. She’d been TV’s current It Girl ever since her sitcom, High Tide, had first aired last September. “Her sister’s worried…that she’s making too much money…? That Tom Cruise wants to date her…? That—”

  “She’s being stalked,” Wes finished for her.

  Britt cringed. “Sorry. That is a problem. I shouldn’t have tried to make it into a joke.”

  “I’m not sure how real the threat is,” Wes told her. “Lana says Amber’s shrugging it off, says the guy’s harmless, he wouldn’t really hurt her. But see, Lana’s a shrink, and some of this guy’s patterns of behavior are freaking her out. It’s a little too obsessive for her comfort level. So she called me, and… Well, here I am.”

  Lana, who was, you know, very nice calls and Wes jumps all the way to L.A.? Oh, Wes, please don’t be having an affair with the wife of a friend. That was just too snarky and sleazy and downright unforgivable. You’re a far better man than that.

  Brittany chose her words carefully. “I know Navy SEALs are very good at what they do, but…isn’t this a job for the L.A.P.D.?”

  Wes finished his cheesecake, and he wiped his mouth on his napkin before answering. “Amber doesn’t want to involve the police. It would be instantly all over the news—especially the tabloids. Like I said, she thinks this guy’s harmless. So Lana asked me to come to L.A. and quietly check out Amber’s security system, make sure it’s good enough, make sure she’s really safe.”

  “And the reason that what’s-his-name—Wizard—can’t do this is…?”

  “He’s out of the country. He’s been gone for—I don’t know—ten of the past twelve months.”

  “So Lana called you.”

  “Yeah.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “You must be really good friends,” Britt said. “I know you don’t get a lot of vacation time, and to spend some of it here, doing this kind of favor…”

  “Yeah, well…” Again, no eye contact.

  “Although, of course, Amber Tierney… Sheesh. She’s gorgeous. And currently single, according to the National Star. If you play your cards right…”

  Wes laughed. “Yeah, right. No, thank you. That’s the dead last thing I need. And Amber—I’m sure she doesn’t need another idiot drooling over her.”

  “You don’t think your friend Lana sent you here to set you up with her little sister?”

  He looked up at her then, seriously taken aback. “God, what a thought.”

  “Sisters do those kinds of things,” Britt said. “They know a single guy who’s really nice, they really like him a lot, they have a sister who’s single, too…”

  He was shaking his head. “I don’t know…”

  Are you sleeping with her? Brittany didn’t ask. That was definitely a question that required a friendship that was more than a few hours old. And even if she had known Wes for years, it was none of her business. She kept her mouth tightly shut.

  Although, what better way to spend a few weeks with a lover? Husband is conveniently out of town ten out of twelve months a year, but the neighbors might notice if one of his best friends starts coming over for slumber parties. Little sister needs a brave Navy SEAL to check out her security system, so Wes toddles off to L.A. Whoops, there’s some kind of a problem, Lana comes to town to “help…” And gee, there they are. Wes and Lana in L.A., away from everyone who knows that she’s married to someone else, for two blissful weeks.

  Ick. Britt hoped she was wrong.

  The waiter brought the check, saving her from asking nosy questions.

  As Wes looked it over, he took out his wallet.

  Brittany opened her purse, too. “Let’s just split it right down the middle.”

  “Nope,” he said, taking out a credit card, sliding it into the leather folder that held the bill and holding it up so the waiter could grab it on his way past. “This one’s mine.”

  “Uh-uh,” she disagreed. “This wasn’t a date.”

  “Yes, it was,” he countered. “And actually, I think it was the nicest date I’ve ever been on.”

  What a sweet thing to say. “Wow, you don’t get out much, huh?”

  He laughed.

  “Seriously, Wes,” she said. “It’s not fair that you should have to pay for my dinner just because my brother-in-law—”

  “How about I let you pick up the tab next time?”

  The waiter was back. “I’m sorry, sir. Your credit card’s expired. Would you like to use a different card?”

  Wes swore as he looked at the credit card. “I only have this one.” Brittany opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “No, you’re not going to pay. I have cash.” He looked at the waiter. “You do take cash?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He opened his wallet and just about emptied it. “Keep the change.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The waiter vanished.

  “Well, that was embarrassing.” He looked at the credit card
again. “I thought they were supposed to send me a new card before the expiration date runs out.”

  “What do you do with junk mail?” Britt asked.

  He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I throw it away. What do you do with it?”

  “Do you throw it away without opening it? Mailings from mortgage companies and insurance companies and…” She paused dramatically. “…credit card companies?”

  “Ha. You think they sent me a new card but I threw it away without even opening it,” he concluded correctly. “Well, hell, aren’t I just too efficient for my own damn good?” He forced a smile as he put the expired card back into his wallet. “Oh well.”

  Brittany suspected his expired card created a bigger snafu than he was letting on. “Where are you staying tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll drive back to San Diego. I was going to stay at a motel, but…” He shook his head and laughed in exasperation. “I’m supposed to meet Amber pretty early in the morning over at the studio, so if I go home, I won’t have time for much more than a short nap before I have to turn around and come back to L.A.”

  “If you want, you could sleep on my couch,” Britt offered.

  He looked at her, and his blue eyes were somber. “You may want to learn to be a little less generous with men you just met.”

  She laughed. “Oh, come on. I’ve been hearing about you for years. I seriously doubt you’re a serial killer. I mean, the word probably would’ve trickled down to me by now. Besides, what are your other options? Are you going to, like, sleep in your car?”

  That’s exactly what he’d been planning to do. She could see it in his eyes, in his smile. “Seriously, Brittany. You really don’t know me.”

  “I know enough,” she said quietly.

  Wes sat there looking at her for many long seconds. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, in his eyes. If she were young and foolish and prone to thinking that life was like a romance novel, she would dare to dream that this was the moment when Wes Skelly fell in love with her.

  Except they’d agreed that there wasn’t going to be anything romantic between them, she wasn’t his type, he was definitely connected in some way to the wife of his good friend Wizard, and Brittany didn’t really want anyone to be in love with her. She had too much going on with school and Andy’s college and getting used to living on the west coast and…

  Maybe the man just had gas.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “Your couch sounds great. Thank you. I appreciate it very much.”

  Brittany stood up, briskly collecting her purse and her sweater. “You can’t smoke inside the house,” she told him as he followed her to the door.

  “I told you, I quit.”

  She gave him a pointed look, and he laughed. “Really,” he said. “This time is going to be different.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “HEY, ANDY,” BRITTANY CALLED as she opened the door to her apartment.

  “Hey, Britt,” her adopted son called back. “How’d it go with the load?”

  Brittany looked at Wes, laughter in her eyes. “Um, sweetie?” she called to Andy. “The, uh, load came home with me.”

  Wes had to laugh, especially when she added, “And he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.”

  Her place was extremely small, but it was decorated with comfortable-looking furniture and bright colors. A living room, an eat-in kitchen, a hallway off the kitchen that led to the back where there were two bedrooms.

  Britt had told him on his way over that even though the place was significantly tinier than their house in Appleton, Massachusetts, it had the essential ingredient to shared housing—the bedrooms were large, and she and Andy each had their own bathroom.

  Andy emerged from the hallway, dressed down in shorts and a T-shirt, his feet bare, and his dark hair a mess. He was trying to play it cool, but the kid practically throbbed with curiosity.

  “Hey,” he said to Wes. He looked at Wes’s overnight bag, and then at Brittany. “Isn’t this outrageously unusual.”

  “He’s sleeping on the couch,” Brittany told him in her refreshingly point-blank manner. “Don’t get any ideas, devil child.”

  “Did I say anything?” Andy countered. “I didn’t say anything.” He reached out to shake Wes’s hand. “Nice to see you again, sir. Sorry about the load comment.”

  “It’s not sir, it’s chief,” Wes corrected him. “But why don’t you just call me Wes?”

  Andy nodded, looking from Wes to Brittany with unconcealed mischief in his eyes.

  “Don’t say it,” Brittany warned him, as she went to a living room trunk and removed sheets and a blanket for the couch.

  “What?” Andy played an angel, giving her big, innocent eyes. But beneath the playacting was an honestly sweet kid, who genuinely cared for his mother.

  Jeez, that was who Andy reminded him of. Ethan. Wes’s little brother. Ah, Christ.

  “There was a credit card mishap,” Brittany told Andy, putting the linens on the coffee table. “And Wes needed a place to sleep. Since we have a couch, it all seemed to line up quite nicely. I have an extra pillow on my bed that you can use,” she told Wes, before turning back to Andy. “Wes is not a candidate.”

  Wes couldn’t keep from asking. “A candidate for what?”

  Andy was watching Britt, too, waiting to see what she was going to say.

  She laughed as she led the way into the kitchen, turning on the light and taking a kettle from the stove and filling it at the sink.

  “This proves it,” she said to Andy. “I’m going to tell him the truth, which I wouldn’t do if he were any kind of real candidate—not that there are any real candidates.” She turned to Wes. “Ever since I adopted Andy, he’s been bugging me to ‘get him a father.’ It’s really just a silly joke. I mean, gosh, who’s on the candidate list right now?” she asked the kid as she put the kettle on the stove and turned on the gas.

  “Well, Bill the mailman just came out of the closet, so we’re down to the guy who works the nightshift at the convenience store….”

  “Alfonse.” Brittany crossed her arms as she leaned against the kitchen counter. “He’s about twenty-two years old and doesn’t speak more than ten words of English.”

  “But you said he was cute,” Andy interjected.

  “Yeah. The way Mrs. Feinstein’s new kitten is cute!”

  “Well, there’s also Dr. Jurrik from the hospital.”

  “Oh, he’s perfect,” Britt countered. “Except for the fact that I would rather stick needles into my eyes than get involved with another doctor.”

  “That leaves Mr. Spoons.”

  “The neighborhood bagman,” Brittany told Wes. “Be still my heart.”

  Wes laughed as he leaned again the counter at the other end of the kitchen.

  “The reason the list is so lame,” Andy told Wes, “is because she won’t go out and meet anyone for real. I mean, once every few years someone sets her up with the friend of a friend and she grits her teeth and goes, but other than that…” He shook his head in mock disgust.

  “The truth is, most men my age are loads,” Brittany said.

  “The truth is,” Andy told Wes, “she was married to a real load. I never met the guy myself, but apparently he was a piece of work. And now she’s gun-shy. So to speak.”

  “I’m sure Melody and Jones completely filled in Wes as far as my tragic romantic past goes,” Britt said to Andy as she rolled her eyes at Wes. “Don’t you have studying to do?”

  “Actually Dani just called,” Andy said. “She’s coming over.”

  “Oh, is she feeling better?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “She sounded… I don’t know. Weird. Oh, by the way, the landlord called and said he was replacing the broken glass in your bathroom window with Plexiglas.” He grinned at Wes. “There’s a group of kids down the street really into stickball and they’ve managed to break that same window three times since we’ve moved in—which is pretty impressive.”
He looked back at Britt. “The Plexiglas isn’t going to look too good, but the ball should bounce off.”

  Brittany snorted. “Ten to one says that my bedroom window breaks next.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Excuse me,” Andy said as he went into the living room.

  “He’s a good kid,” Wes said quietly. “You should be very proud.”

  “I am.” She opened one of the kitchen cabinets and took out a pair of mugs. “Want tea?”

  He laughed. “SEALs aren’t allowed to drink tea. It’s written in the BUD/S manual.”

  “BUD/S,” she repeated. “That’s the training you go through to become a SEAL, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jones had a few pretty wild stories about something called Hell Week.”

  Hell Week was the diabolically difficult segment of Phase One training, where the SEAL candidates were pushed to extremes, physically, emotionally and psychologically.

  “Yeah, you know, I don’t remember much of Hell Week,” he told her. “I think I’ve blocked most of it out. It was hard.”

  “Now, there’s an understatement.” Brittany smiled at him, and Wes wished—not for the last time this evening, he was sure—that he wasn’t sleeping on that couch tonight. Her smile was like pure sunshine—God, it was trite, but true.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said. “Like I said, I don’t remember much of it. Although, Hell Week was where Bobby Taylor and I finally stopped hating each other. The guy’s been my closest friend for years, but when we were first assigned as swim buddies—you know, we had to stick together no matter what during BUD/S—we hated each other’s guts.”

  Brittany laughed. “I had no idea. Your friendship with Bobby is legendary. I mean, Bobby and Wes. Wes and Bobby. I keep expecting him to show up.”

  “He’s on his honeymoon,” Wes told her.

  “With your sister.” Her eyes softened. “That must feel really strange. It must be hard for you—your best friend and your sister. Suddenly it’s not Bobby and Wes, it’s Bobby and Colleen.”

  It was amazing. Everyone who’d heard about Bobby’s marriage to Colleen had made noise like, how great was that? Your best friend gets to join your family. Wasn’t that terrific?