Get Lucky

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Syd’s pulse was just starting to drop below one hundred, but something in his voice made it kick into higher gear again. “What’s not?” she asked.

  Luke turned to look at her. “Thomas says he heard your requests for a phone call, but that he couldn’t get through. He said he called twice before he realized he couldn’t hear the phone ringing over the microphones. Something’s wrong with the phone.”

  Syd stared at him. “I got a phone call just a few minutes ago. Wes called, looking for you.”

  “Wes called here?”

  “Yeah,” Syd said. “Didn’t you hear at least my side of the conversation?”

  “I must’ve been already circling back,” he said, “driving home—pretending I was coming from the base.” He held out his hand to her. “Come here. I want you near me until we check this out.”

  Syd took his hand and he pulled her up from the couch as he spoke to Thomas once again. “Stay in position. Full alert. I want eyes open and brains working.”

  “This is probably nothing,” he said to Syd, but she knew he didn’t believe that.

  The lights were still on in the kitchen. Everything looked completely normal. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink, a newspaper open to the sports page on the kitchen table.

  As Syd watched, Luke picked up the telephone and put the receiver to his ear.

  He looked at Syd as he hung it up, as he spoke once more to Thomas over his cell phone. “Phone’s dead. Stay in position. I’m calling for backup.”

  A clean cut.

  Probably with a knife, possibly with a scissors.

  Lucky sat on his living-room sofa, trying to rub away his massive headache by massaging his forehead.

  It wasn’t working.

  Somehow, someone had gotten close enough to the house tonight to cut the phone wire. Somehow, the son of a bitch had gotten past two experienced Navy SEALs and three bright, young SEAL candidates who had been looking for him.

  He hadn’t gone inside, but his message had been clear.

  He could have.

  He’d been right there, just on the other side of a wall from Sydney. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve gone in, used that knife to kill her as dead as the phone and been gone before Lucky had ever reached the back door.

  The thought made him sick to his stomach.

  As the FInCOM and police members of the task force filtered through his house, Lucky sat with Syd on the couch, his arm securely around her shoulder—he didn’t give a damn who saw.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her for the fourteenth time. “I’ve been trying to figure out how he got past us.”

  “It’s all right,” she said.

  “No, it’s not.” He shook his head. “We were distracted pretty much all night. It started around oh-dark-fifty when Bobby got a page from Lana Quinn. She sent him an urgent code, so he called her back. The rest of us were watching the house—it should have been no big deal. So Bob calls Lana, who tells him that Wes just came by her place, completely skunked. Wes told her he needed to talk, but then left without saying anything. She managed to get his keys away from him, but he walked to a nearby bar—a place called Dandelion’s. She followed because she was worried, and sure enough, as soon as he got there, he tried to start a bar fight. She stepped in and he backed down, but he wouldn’t leave with her. So she called Bobby.”

  Lucky sighed. “Bobby called Frisco, but he’s got Mia and Tasha to worry about, he can’t just leave them home alone. Meanwhile, it’s getting later and later. Lana’s paging Bobby again, telling him she lost Wes in the crowd at Dandelion’s, and now she’s not sure where he’s gone and—”

  “Wait a minute,” Syd said. “Lana lost Wes?”

  “Well, no, not really,” Lucky told her. “She thought she’d lost him for about twenty minutes, but he was only in the men’s.”

  “He was in the men’s room for twenty minutes?”

  Lucky bristled. “No,” he said. “I know what you’re implying and no.”

  She held his gaze. “Dandelion’s is only about a four-minute drive from here.”

  “Wes is not a suspect.”

  “I’m sorry, Luke, but he’s still on my list.”

  “Lana took the keys to his bike.”

  “A clever move,” she countered. “Particularly if he wanted to establish an alibi and convince everyone that he’d actually been in the men’s room for all that time—instead of here at your house, at the exact time your phone wire was cut during a distraction that he knew about.”

  Lucky shook his head. “No,” he said. “Syd, you’ve got to go with me on this one. It’s not Wes. It can’t be. You’ve got to trust me.”

  She gazed at him, looking into his eyes. She’d been scared tonight, badly. When she’d come out of that closet, that was the closest Lucky had ever seen her come to losing it. She was tough, she was strong, she was smart and she was as afraid of all this as he was. And that made her desire to catch this bastard that much crazier. Crazier and completely admirable.

  She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “If you’re that certain…he’s off my list. It’s not Wes.”

  She wasn’t humoring him, wasn’t being patronizing. She was accepting—on faith—something that he believed in absolutely. She trusted him that much. It was a remarkably good feeling. Remarkably good.

  Lucky kissed her. Right in front of the task force, in front of Chief Zale.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll talk to Wes. See if he wouldn’t mind voluntarily giving us a DNA sample, just so we can run it by the lab and then officially take him off the suspect list.”

  “I don’t need you to do that,” she said.

  “I know.” He kissed her again, trying to make light of it despite the tight feeling that was filling his chest from the inside out. “Pissing off Wes Skelly while he’s got a killer hangover isn’t my idea of fun. But hey, I don’t have anything else to do tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Syd reminded him, “your sister’s getting married.”

  Chapter 14

  Luke O’Donlon cried at his little sister’s wedding.

  It wasn’t a surprise to Syd. In fact, she would have been surprised if he hadn’t cried.

  He looked incredible in his dress uniform—nearly as good, in fact, as he looked naked.

  Ellen, his sister, was as dramatically gorgeous as he was, except while he was golden, she was dark-haired and mocha-skinned. Her new husband, Gregory Price, however, was completely average looking, completely normal—right down to his slightly thinning hair and the glasses.

  Syd stood at the edge of the restaurant dance floor, one of a very small number of relatives and intimate friends of the bride and groom, and watched as the newlyweds danced.

  Greg made Syd feel slightly better about herself. If he could dare to marry Ellen, then Syd—also extremely average looking—could certainly have a fling with Luke.

  “Have I told you how incredibly beautiful you look tonight?”

  Syd turned around to give Luke an arched eyebrow. “That’s slinging it a little thick, don’t you think?”

  She knew what she looked like. Her dress was black and basic, and yes, maybe it did hide her imperfections and accentuate the better parts of her figure, but it was a simple illusion. And yes, she had taken time with her hair and had even put on a little makeup this evening, but she was, at best, interestingly pretty. Passable. Acceptable. But not even remotely close to incredibly anything, particularly not beautiful.

  Luke actually looked surprised. “You think I’m—” He caught himself, and laughed. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Nope. No way. I’m not going to let you pick a fight with me over the fact that I think you look great.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her, surprising her by giving her a private kiss instead of a public one. It was one of those kisses that melted her bones, turned her to jelly, and left her dizzy, dazed and clinging to him. It was one of those kisses he gave her before he scooped her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom. It
was one of those kisses he gave her when he wanted them to stop talking and start communicating in an entirely different manner. It was one of those kisses she could never, ever resist.

  “I think you look incredibly beautiful tonight,” he murmured into her ear. “Now what you do, is you say, thank you, Luke.”

  “Thank you, Luke,” she managed.

  “Was that so hard?”

  He was smiling down at her, with his heavenly blue eyes and his gorgeous face and his sunstreaked hair. He was the one who was incredibly beautiful. It seemed impossible that the heated look in his eyes could be real, but it was. He’d somehow pulled her onto the dance floor, and as they moved slowly in time to the music, he was holding her close enough for her to know that that kiss had done the exact opposite of turning him to jelly.

  He wanted her.

  At least for now.

  “You two are so perfect together.” Gregory’s mother, platinum-haired, rail-thin, with a smile as warm as her son’s, winked as she danced past them. “We’ll be dancing at your wedding next, won’t we, Luke?”

  Oh, God. How embarrassing. Syd kept her own smile pasted on as she quickly answered for Luke, saving him—and saving herself from having to listen to him stammer and choke on his hasty negative response.

  “I’m afraid it’s a little too soon for that kind of prediction, Mrs. Price,” she called to the other woman. “Luke and I haven’t really known each other for that long.”

  “Well, it’s my son’s wedding, and I’m predicting wonderful things for everyone,” Mrs. Price enthused. “And my predictions usually do come true.”

  “In that case,” Syd murmured to Luke as the older woman moved out of earshot, trying to turn this into a total joke, “maybe she could predict a lottery win for me. I could really use the cash. My car’s in serious need of a complete overhaul.”

  As she’d hoped, Luke laughed.

  Crisis averted, thank God. There was nothing that created tension quite like bringing up the subject of marriage with a man who, like Luke, was commitment-shy.

  Syd didn’t want him looking at her and feeling the walls closing in. She didn’t want him to assume that just because she was female, she wouldn’t be able to resist thinking about fairy-tale endings with wedding bells and happily-ever-afters. She didn’t want him thinking that she was even remotely thinking about such an impossibility as marriage.

  Marriage. Syd and Luke, married?

  It was absurd.

  It was insane.

  It was…

  Something she couldn’t keep herself from thinking about. Especially not today.

  There’d been a message this afternoon on her answering machine. Think magazine had called from New York. The series of pieces she’d written on women’s safety, along with her proposal for an in-depth article on catching serial criminals, had given buoyancy to the resumé she’d sent them months ago. In fact, it had floated right to the top of their pile of editorial candidates’ resumés. They wanted her to come for an interview with their publisher and managing editor, Eileen Hess. Ms. Hess was going to be in Phoenix for a few days at a conference. Perhaps it would be more convenient for Syd to meet with her there, rather than flying all the way to New York? It would be more affordable for Syd, too. They were a small magazine, and unfortunately they couldn’t afford to pay Syd’s airfare.

  Syd had called back to let them know that she wouldn’t be able to leave California until the San Felipe Rapist was apprehended. She didn’t know how long that would be, and if that meant she’d be out of the running for the job, she hoped they’d consider her in the future.

  She’d found out they were willing to wait. She could fly to New York next week or even next month. This job was virtually in her pocket, if she wanted it.

  If she wanted it.

  Of course she wanted it.

  Didn’t she?

  Luke kissed her neck, and she knew what she really wanted.

  She wanted Luke, ready and willing to spend the rest of his life with her.

  Talk about pipe dreams.

  Her problem was that she had too vivid an imagination. It was far too easy for her to take this make-believe relationship and pretend it was something real.

  Syd closed her eyes as he kissed her again, lightly this time, on the lips, and she knew what the real problem was.

  Her problem was simply that she loved him. And when she was with him—which was damn near all the time—the lines between make-believe and reality began to blur.

  Yes, they were lovers, but no, she hadn’t really moved in with him. That was just pretend. Yes, he’d told his friends that he loved her, but he’d never said those words to her, and even if he did, she wasn’t sure she’d believe him, Lothario that he was.

  Yes, she was here with him at his sister’s wedding, and yes, they looked like a real couple. But in truth, they were merely co-workers who had become friends—friends who had a good time together in bed.

  To think anything else would be a mistake.

  But, as Syd swayed to the music, held close in Luke’s arms, she knew the mistake had already been made. She was in love with him. There was nothing left to do now except endure the coming pain. And, like the removal of a Band-Aid, doing it fast and getting it over with always hurt far less in the long run.

  After they caught the rapist, she’d go to New York. As fast as she possibly could.

  The call came as Lucky and Syd were leaving the reception.

  Ellen and Gregory had left for their honeymoon and, at nearly twenty-three-hundred hours, the party was winding down.

  Lucky’s pager and cell phone went off simultaneously.

  His first thought was a bad one—that another woman had been attacked. His second thought was that it was good news. That Lucy McCoy had come out of her coma, or that they’d found Blue and he was on his way home.

  The number on the pager was Frisco’s—and so was the voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Hey,” Frisco said. “You’re there. Good news. We caught him.”

  It was a possibility Lucky hadn’t even considered, and he nearly dropped the phone. “Repeat that.”

  “Martin Taus,” Frisco said. “Ex-regular Navy, enlisted, served here at Coronado during the spring and summer of 1996. Discharged in late ’96 with lots of little dings against him—nothing big enough to warrant a dishonorable. He served time in Nevada in early ’98 for indecent exposure. He’s been picked up for sexual assault at least twice before, both times he got off on a technicality. He was brought in early this evening for questioning by the San Felipe PD. He just finished making a videotaped confession about twenty minutes ago.”

  Syd was watching him, concern in her eyes.

  “They caught the rapist,” Luke told her, hardly believing it himself.

  “Are they sure?” She asked the question exactly as Luke asked Frisco.

  “Apparently, he’s been pretty specific in describing the attacks,” Frisco said. “Chief Zale’s getting ready to give a press conference—just in time for the eleven o’clock news. I’m heading over to the police station. Can you meet me there?”

  “I’m on my way,” Lucky said, and hung up.

  Syd wasn’t smiling. In fact, she looked extremely skeptical. “Do they actually have evidence, tying this guy to—”

  “He confessed,” he told her. “Apparently in detail.”

  “Can we talk to him?” she asked.

  “Let’s go find out.”

  Syd turned off the videotape and went back to her laptop computer, unable to listen for another second as the man named Martin Taus described the way he’d slammed Lucy McCoy into the wall. He knew the names of all the victims, knew the extent of their injuries. He was the right height, the right size, had the right hair—a short crew cut.

  After Zale’s press conference, Syd and Luke had waited for hours to see Taus, only to be told that the police were limiting the people in the interview room to the three FInCOM agents from the task force. When
the police had tried to take a blood sample in order to match his DNA to that left behind during the attacks, Taus had thrown a nutty. He’d threatened a lawsuit if they so much as touched one hair on his head.

  Normally, the police would get a warrant to search his home and take a hair sample from his hairbrush for the DNA test. But Taus was homeless. He lived under a bridge down by the water. He didn’t even own a hairbrush.

  Huang, Sudenberg and Novak were in there with him now, trying to talk him into consenting to the test. Once they succeeded, there would be a wait of a number of days before the results came in. But those results, along with Martin Taus’s confession, would prove his guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. With that confession and a guilty plea, they’d skip the trial and go straight to sentencing.

  Martin Taus was going to go to jail for a long, long time.

  Luke looked over Syd’s shoulder at her laptop’s screen. She was glad she’d made him stop at home to pick it up—at his house, she corrected herself—before coming to the police station last night. During all this waiting, she’d written a variety of different articles, from features to hard news, on various aspects of the case.

  “Don’t even think about reading over my shoulder,” she warned him, her fingers flying over the keyboard, working on her story for Think magazine. She’d already sent the hard news story out electronically to the San Felipe Journal, and they’d called to tell her it was being picked up by USA Today.

  “So you buy it, huh?” Luke asked. “You believe this is really our guy and, just like that, it’s all over?”

  “It does seem a little anticlimactic,” she had to admit. “But real life isn’t always as exciting as the movies. Personally, I prefer it this way.” She looked up at him. “Are you finally ready to go?”

  He sat down wearily next to her at the interview-room table. It had been a long night, and they were both still dressed in their formal clothes despite the fact that it was well after 8:00 a.m. “Yeah, I just wanted to see him,” he said. “I just wanted to be in the same room with him for a minute. I knew if I stood there long enough, they’d eventually let me in.”