“Oh, that’s okay. I’m going to have to carry them to my car and…”
But he took them anyway. He got close enough to brush her arm with his fingers, close enough for Mary Lou to catch a whiff of his cologne. Oh, baby, he smelled terrific. Sam never wore cologne. She’d bought him a bottle back when they were first married and it was still in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, unopened.
“Thank you,” she said, as the blond man put her books and the movie on the counter. “And yes. I’ll probably be done reading those day after tomorrow.”
“No kidding.” And now he was looking at her as if she were some kind of genius. God, why couldn’t everybody be this nice? Why couldn’t Sam look at her like that? “That’s impressive.”
“I like to read.”
“Obviously. That’s wonderful.”
It was his turn at the counter. He turned away, but only for a moment, only to give the librarian his book and his card.
“I’m just getting a travel guide,” he told Mary Lou. “I’m going out to New York City and I’ve never been, so…”
New York! “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Sir.” The librarian was holding out his book and card.
“Thanks,” he said, stepping out of Mary Lou’s way as he slipped his library card back into his wallet, and his wallet back into his pants.
He was wearing a business suit with a red-and-blue tie atop a crisp white shirt. He’d loosened his tie though, and unfastened the top button of his shirt. Some men looked sloppy when they did that. He wasn’t one of them.
“I hope you have a nice trip,” she told him as the librarian checked out her stack of books.
He smiled at her. “Thanks, but I’m not leaving for another few weeks.” He reached down and gently squeezed Haley’s foot. “Be good for your mommy, sweetheart. But I’m sure you are, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Yeah, I bet you are.” He looked up at Mary Lou. “Need some help carrying that entire shelf of the library out to your car?”
She laughed. “No. Thank you. I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”
He gently shook Haley’s foot, making her smile. “Your mommy thinks that spending a little more time with two gorgeous women would impose on me. She’s crazy, isn’t she?”
Haley laughed out loud. Baby laughter was such a pure, clean sound. Even the grumpy librarian smiled.
And the man looked up at Mary Lou again. He was smiling, but she could see pain in his eyes. “Your husband is a lucky guy. My wife filed for divorce and moved to New York, taking my two-year-old son with her.” He straightened up. “I haven’t seen him in three months and it’s killing me. I used to put him to bed every night, tell him a story, take him to the park every Sunday afternoon after church…” He shook his head. “I even miss changing his diapers. Believe me when I say it’s really no imposition if I help you carry a couple of books to your car.”
It was unreal. Who in their right mind would walk away from a man like this? An attentive, handsome man who obviously loved children? Whoever his ex-wife was, she was completely addled.
He was determined to help, scooping up her books before Mary Lou could take them herself.
“Thank you,” she said.
He followed her outside and over to her car. “It’s unlocked,” she told him, and he put the books on the floor of the front passenger’s side while she strapped Haley into her car seat.
When she straightened up, he was attempting to fold her stroller. And getting it completely wrong.
“Sorry,” he said, with a laugh. “The one we had was a different model.”
She closed it with a snap. “It couldn’t have been that different.”
“My wife was into things from Europe. If it didn’t cost a thousand dollars, it wasn’t good enough for Ethan. That’s my son.”
“That’s a nice name.” Mary Lou tossed the stroller into the trunk.
Because the trunk was broken—anyone could open it by sticking their finger in the hole where the lock used to be—she had to lean on the lid a certain way to get it to latch.
Lately it had been popping open by itself. She’d come out of work just this past week to find it not quite closed. It was annoying, but not worth the money to get it fixed.
She took out her keys and turned to the blond man. “Well.”
“Well,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” But still he didn’t move.
She jingled her keys. “I have a meeting to get to.”
“Ah,” he said. “Of course. Okay. It was nice meeting you, Mrs…?”
“Starrett,” she said. “Mary Lou Starrett. And that’s my Haley in the car.”
He held out his hand and she took it and they shook. He had hands that were a lot like Sam’s. Long, masculine fingers, slightly work roughened, with a warm, firm grip.
“Bob Schwegel. Insurance sales.” If he’d been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it. “Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Starrett. You’ve certainly brightened up mine.”
And with that he walked away, blond hair gleaming.
Mary Lou got into the car and looked at Haley in the rearview mirror. “He wants to sell us life insurance, Hale,” she said, forcing herself to laugh because she would not cry in front of her baby girl. “Suddenly it all makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“We’re calling it Operation Black Lagoon,” SEAL Team Sixteen’s commanding officer, Tom Paoletti, told them from his perch on the desk at the front of the room. “We’re currently scheduled to go wheels up in about fourteen days.”
“Fourteen days? Four-fucking-teen days?”
“You got a problem with that, Mr. Collins?” Lt. Jazz Jacquette had been sitting next to the CO, but when Joel Collins couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he slid down off the desk.
Muldoon was leaning against the side wall with WildCard Karmody and Sam Starrett.
Ensign Collins—also known as TNG, or the new guy—stood up, shoulders back, head high, looking for all the world like Davy to Jacquette’s Godzilla. “Yes, sir, I do. And so does every other man in this room. We want to get back out there now, not in two weeks. Sir.”
“The new guy pisses and moans more than you do,” Sam muttered to WildCard in a voice meant to be overheard.
Everyone in the room laughed. Including the CO.
“I hear you, Mr. Collins,” Paoletti said. “But we’ve got this little thing called a presidential citation to accept—trust me, we can’t just call up the White House and say, ‘Sorry, Allen, we don’t want your medal.’
“Now, with that said, you should know that we’re doing the best we can to try to convince the visiting White House staffer that a presidential dog and pony show here on the base isn’t a wise move right now, considering potential terrorist threats.” Paoletti looked at Muldoon. “How’s that going, Lieutenant?”
“I’ll be having lunch with Joan—uh, Ms. DaCosta—tomorrow. We’ll be talking about that specifically.”
“Good work,” Sam murmured.
“Thanks,” Muldoon murmured back.
“Joan, huh?” Izzy speculated. “I’d like to be assigned to have lunch with someone named Joan. Although, wait—you say she’s from the White House? I think I’ll pass.”
“I’ve met her.” Cosmo spoke up. Cosmo, who never said a word in these briefings. “She’s all right. She looks you in the eye when she speaks to you.”
“Well, then she can’t be from the White House,” Izzy countered.
“I’ve met her, too,” Jenk said. “And I’m in love. Hey, Lieutenant, can I come to lunch with you?”
“Let’s keep this on track,” Jacquette intoned. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us. Sit down, Collins.”
Collins sat as Jacquette turned back to the commander.
“We’re going out tonight to do the first in a series of night dives,” Paoletti told them. “There’s a certain cave in an as-yet-undisclosed location that’s a big favorite of a high level al-Qaeda leader due to it
s proximity to an underground source of fresh water. A lot of fresh water. As in an entire lake’s worth.
“We’ve found what we think is an access route into that cave, via that underground lake. At least one seven-man team is going to swim in and get a read on how many al-Qaeda fighters are inside this cave. If the numbers are small enough, they’ll rise out of the lake like creatures from the Black Lagoon—hence the op’s name—and secure the cave from the inside out. If the numbers are too large, they’ll stay invisible and plant explosives.”
“In addition to night dives, we’re going to be spending a serious chunk of prep time over the next fourteen days spelunking,” Jacquette added.
“As well as practicing everyone’s favorite: close quarters combat,” Paoletti said. “Are there any questions?”
WildCard raised his hand. “I ran into a couple of members of Max Bhagat’s FBI counterterrorist team in the parking lot today. I’ve heard a lot of conflicting rumors about this that maybe you can clear up, sir. Is the Bureau going to play a major part in Black Lagoon?”
“Not that I’ve been told,” Paoletti said. “Although maybe we should ask that question of Max Bhagat himself.”
He nodded at Jenkins, who left his seat to go open the door at the back of the room.
Standing next to Muldoon, Sam got very tense as, one step behind Max, FBI agent Alyssa Locke walked in.
SEVEN
SAM HAD FULLY INTENDED to crash after the dive in the BOQ—the Bachelor Officers Quarters—on the base instead of going home.
But he changed his plans when Jules Cassidy intercepted him on his way out the door. It was right after the meeting in which Max Bhagat—who was sleeping with Alyssa—had informed them that the FBI had a source claiming San Diego was a viable target for an impending terrorist attack. That source had indicated a threat to the area’s airports.
This type of threat had been going on pretty much nonstop since 9/11, and no one in Team Sixteen was particularly perturbed. Security at the Coronado Naval Base would be moved up a notch, which meant it would take them all a little bit longer to get through the gates when they arrived in the morning as the vehicles of any strangers coming onto the base were subjected to random searches.
Max—who was sleeping with Alyssa—had asked them all to be aware of and report any suspicious behavior, and to remind their families to do the same.
The good news was that the FBI wasn’t playing any part in Operation Black Lagoon.
The bad news was that Max, Alyssa, her partner Jules, and a support team would be spending the next few weeks in the area, although not on the base, per se.
It was good they wouldn’t be hanging around, since Sam would prefer sticking needles in his eye to seeing Max and Alyssa together, day in and day out.
Jesus, she’d looked good with her hair cut short like that.
Jules was a different story. Jules was an okay guy and Sam didn’t mind him hanging around. Over the years, he’d even managed to become one of Sam’s closest friends.
Which added an interesting twist to the entire surreal situation, considering that Jules was flamboyantly homosexual.
And Sam wasn’t.
Jules had approached him after that meeting with a smile that couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. “I know you’re in a hurry, Sam, but I thought you should know that Alyssa and I ran into your wife today at the McDonald’s here on base.”
Oh, fuck. “Well, that’ll teach me to think ‘It can’t get much worse.’ Thanks for the warning.”
“It’s been a while—I’ve been meaning to call you, but…” Jules walked with him toward the boats that would take the SEALs to the dive’s location. “Are things okay with you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam said. “Everything is fucking wonderful. And now when I go home, I’m going to get four straight days of accusations on top of ‘But why do you have to leave? Why can’t you stay home this time and let someone else go?’ That’ll be loads of fun.”
“I’m sorry we went in there,” Jules said.
“Yeah, fuck sorry—you didn’t know. You just wanted a burger.”
“Actually, it was a chicken sandwich, but, yeah. We went in for lunch, not to add to your personal hell.”
There was silence then as Mike Muldoon moved into earshot. But as he glanced from Sam to Jules, he broke into a trot, quickly passing them and giving them a chance to continue talking privately.
“Be still my heart,” Jules said, gazing after him. “I don’t suppose Michael Muldoon has come out of the closet yet.”
Sam rolled his eyes. Jules knew damn well that Muldoon wasn’t gay. He was only doing this to annoy him. Or maybe distract him from his shitty home life. “Even if he was gay, I thought you and Adam were, you know…” Living together. Jesus, he couldn’t believe he was friends with a guy who was romantically involved with someone named Adam.
“Adam packed up and moved out. He went to L.A.”
Ouch. “Sorry.”
“Yeah.” Jules’s smile was forced. “Well, life goes on, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “It sure as fuck does.” But, Christ, wasn’t anyone happy anymore?
Max. Max Bhagat was happy. He had to be happy, with Alyssa Locke in his life, the lucky son of a bitch. Sam had found himself watching the man tonight, thinking that for someone who shared a bed with Alyssa, he sure as hell didn’t manage to look blissfully content.
He and Jules walked in silence for a bit, and then Sam said it. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t keep his stupid mouth closed.
“How is she?”
As soon as he said it, he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t bear to know. But now he couldn’t seem to get his mouth open to say, Ignore that. Ignore me.
Jules, of course, knew he was talking about Alyssa. “She’s all right. She’s been spending a lot of time with her sister and her niece, which is always good for her. That little kid is amazing. Lanora. I’ve met her a few times. She’s good medicine. So that’s good. And well, I’m sure you’ve heard that careerwise, Alyssa’s doing great—”
“Yeah, way to go. Sleeping with the boss’ll really make those promotions happen.”
“What’s that earthy expression you always use?” Jules said. “Oh, yeah. Fuck you. Fuck you, Sam. You dumped her and married someone else. Remember? Does that ring any bells for you?”
Sam hated arguing with Jules because the little fucker had all the answers. He was always right. But this time Sam had access to insider information. “Yeah, well, Alyssa was never serious about me anyway, so—”
“Oh, you have no clue what she went through—”
“I was just a transition out of her private ice age.” Alyssa had told him herself that she’d never intended her relationship with Sam to be anything but temporary. “She probably had her fucking eye on Bhagat the entire time. Why just have an affair when you can have an affair and a promotion, too?” God, Sam sounded like the pathetic loser that he was, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Jules stepped directly in front of Sam, getting right in his face, despite the fact that the fruitcake was seriously vertically challenged. “Double fuck you! You have no right to whine or complain or belittle the emotional support she’s found from a solid, stand-up guy who’s been nothing but good to her. Whenever she spends time with Max, I applaud. And you should, too, you dumb shit! If you really care about her, you should be happy for her.”
“Are you happy for Adam?” Sam countered.
“I’ll be happy if he falls into the La Brea tar pits with his new pretentious friend Branford,” Jules said tightly, “but that’s hardly the same situation. This was your choice.”
“I had no fucking choice.” Sam brushed past him. “I got Mary Lou pregnant.”
Jules caught his arm. “You and Mary Lou had already split up, what, four months earlier? That’s a long time, Sam. Why didn’t she tell you about the baby back when there were other options? Why did she wait so long to let you know?”
/>
“She tried,” Sam said. “All right? She didn’t manage to connect with me. I was the one who didn’t take her phone calls—I never called her back. And then I was out of the country…” And then he was with Alyssa, thinking that the rest of his life was going to be one golden, glowing, good time.
But Mary Lou’s sister called Johnny Nilsson’s wife, Meg, who called Johnny, who called Sam. And the shit hit the fan.
“Mary Lou didn’t manage to connect with you because she didn’t want any options other than the one she got.” Jules could be a regular pit bull when he was feeling self-righteous. “Marriage to a Navy SEAL. Congratulations. The bride may kiss her grand prize. The groom wins a chance to be completely miserable for the rest of his life. And the baby grows up with this really warped sense of family and—”
“Stop,” Sam ordered. “Maybe you don’t understand this, Cassidy, because you live your life however the fuck you want to, but I got Mary Lou pregnant, and I had to deal with it. I had to do the right thing.”
His words echoed in his head as he crept into his house at 0400, as he found Mary Lou asleep in the living room, curled up on the sofa, in front of the TV.
Shit.
Her makeup was smudged around her eyes and running down her face in big black streaks—obvious evidence that she’d been crying.
Maybe from watching one of those weepy romantic movies she liked so much.
But probably not.
On the TV screen, Tom Hanks, dressed in WWII combat gear, died. Saving Private Ryan. It was a long movie, but still, she must’ve started it well after midnight. Well after she usually was in bed.
Unless she was up, crying over something Sam had done, or something Sam had failed to do, or something she was afraid he might go and do.
Jesus save him, what a god-awful way for both of them to live their lives.
He’d wanted to do the right thing, but it was entirely possible he’d done the exact opposite for everyone involved.
Except maybe Max Bhagat, who was sleeping with Alyssa.
Sam wanted to cry, too. But, Jesus, he’d shed enough tears in the past few years to float a battleship. It didn’t do a damn bit of good. In fact, it only made him feel worse.
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