Get Lucky. Suzanne Brockmann
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long brown hair that had slipped free from her ponytail holder. She really did have remarkably pretty eyes. “Blue’s second in command of Alpha Squad.”
“Blue,” Syd repeated. “His name’s really Blue?”
“It’s a nickname,” Lucy told her with a smile. “SEALs tend to get nicknames when they first go through BUD/S training. Let’s see, we’ve got Cat, Cowboy, Frisco—” she ticked the names off on her fingers “—Blue, Lucky, Harvard, Crow, Fingers, Snakefoot, Wizard, Elmer, the Priest, Doc, Spaceman, Crash…”
“So your husband works here on the Navy base,” Syd clarified.
“Some of the time,” Lucy said. She glanced at Lucky and what that look meant, Syd couldn’t begin to guess. “Alpha Squad went wheels up while we were downtown.”
Syd couldn’t guess the meaning of Lucy’s words, either. “Wheels up?” She was starting to sound like a parrot.
“They’ve shipped out,” Lucky explained. He leaned back casually, half sitting on Lieutenant Commander Francisco’s desk. “The expression refers to a plane’s wheels leaving the ground. Alpha Squad is outta town.”
Again, Lucy and Lucky seemed to be communicating with no words—only a long, meaningful look. Was it possible that this blue-eyed blond god was having an affair with the wife of a superior officer? Anything was possible, but that seemed a little too sordid.
“What you’ve done,” Lucy said quietly, breaking the silence, “is going to mean everything to Ellen. Looking back, you know it’s going to be worth it.”
“I could still be shipped out myself,” he countered. “If something big came up, and I was needed, I wouldn’t even be able to attend my own wedding.”
Syd cleared her throat. She didn’t know what they were talking about, didn’t want to know. She wasn’t interested in Ellen—whoever she was—or what Lucky and Lucy McCoy did behind her husband’s back. She just wanted to help catch the rapist, get her story and be off to New York.
“I’m okay, you know,” Lucky told the detective. “And I’ll be even more okay if you’ll meet me for dinner one of these nights.”
Lucy gave him a quick smile, glancing at Syd, obviously aware that the two of them weren’t alone. “You’ve got my number,” she said. She sat down at the conference table that was over by the window. “Right now, we need to go over some task-force rules, talk about your team.”
Lucky sat at the head of the table. “Great. Let’s start with my rules. You let me form a team of SEALs, you don’t hammer me with a lot of useless rules and hamper me with unqualified people who will only slow us down—” he shot Syd an apologetic version of his smile “—no offense—and then we’ll catch your guy.”
Lucy didn’t blink. “The members of your team have to meet Chief Zale’s approval.”
“Oh, no way!”
“He—and I—believe that since we don’t know who we’re dealing with, and since you have plenty of alternatives for personnel, you should construct your team from SEALs or SEAL candidates who absolutely—no question—do not fit the rapist’s description.”
Syd sat down across from Lucky. “So in other words, no one white, powerfully built, with a crew cut.”
Lucky sputtered. “That eliminates the majority of the men stationed in Coronado.”
Lucy nodded serenely. “That’s right. And the majority of the men are all potential suspects.”
“You honestly think a real SEAL could have raped those women?”
“I think until we know more, we need to be conservative as to whom we allow into our information loop,” she told him. “You’d be a suspect yourself, Luke, but your hair’s too long.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“The second rule is about weapons,” Lucy continued. “We don’t want you running around town armed to the teeth. And that means knives as well as sidearms.”
“Sure,” he said. “Great. And when we apprehend this guy, we’ll throw spoons at him.”
“You won’t apprehend him,” she countered. “The task force will. Your team’s job is to help locate him. Track him down. Try to think like this son of a bitch and anticipate his next move, so we—the police and FInCOM—can be there, waiting for him.”
“Okay,” Lucky said. He pointed across the table at Sydney. “I’ll follow your rules—if you take her off my hands. After we do the hypnotist thing tomorrow afternoon, all she’s going to do is get in the way.” He looked at Syd. “No offense.”
“Too bad,” she said, “because I am offended.”
Lucky looked at her again. “I don’t know what Zale has against you, but it’s obvious he doesn’t like me. He’s trying to make it close to impossible for my team to operate by assigning me…”
“I’m a reporter,” Syd told him.
“…what amounts to little more than baby-sitting duty and…” His impossibly blue eyes widened. “A reporter.” Now he was the parrot. His eyes narrowed. “Sydney Jameson. S. Jameson. Ah, jeez, you’re not just a reporter, you’re that reporter.” He glared at her. “Where the hell do you get off making us all sound like psychotic killers?”
He was serious. He’d taken offense to the one part of her story the police had actually requested she include. “Cool your jets, Ken,” she told him. “The police wanted me to make it sound as if they actually believed the rapist was a SEAL.”
“It’s entirely likely our man is a SEAL wannabe,” Lucy interjected. “We were hoping the news story would feed his ego, maybe make him careless.”
“Ken?” Lucky asked Syd. “My name’s Luke.”
Oops, had she actually called him that? “Right. Sorry.” Syd gave him the least sorry smile she could manage.
Lucky looked at her hard before he turned to Lucy. “How the hell did a reporter get involved?”
“Her neighbor was attacked. Sydney stayed with the girl—and this was just a girl. She wasn’t more than nineteen years old, Luke. Sydney was there when I arrived, and oddly enough, I didn’t think to inquire as to whether she was with UPI or Associated Press.”
“So what did you do?” Lucky turned back to Syd. “Blackmail your way onto the task force?”
“Damn straight.” Syd lifted her chin. “Seven rapes and not a single word of warning in any of the papers. It was a story that needed to be written—desperately. I figured I’d write it—and I’ll write the exclusive behind-the-scenes story about tracking and catching the rapist, too.”
He shook his head, obviously in disgust, and Syd’s temper flared. “You know, if I were a man,” she snapped, “you’d be impressed by my assertive behavior.”
“So did you actually see this guy, or did you just make that part up?” he asked.
Syd refused to let him see how completely annoyed he made her feel. She forced her voice to sound even, controlled. “He nearly knocked me over coming down the stairs. But like I told the police, the light’s bad in the hallways. I didn’t get a real clear look at him.”
“Is there a chance it was good enough for you to look at a lineup of my men and eliminate them as potential suspects?” he demanded.
Lucy sighed. “Lucky, I don’t—”
“I want Bobby Taylor and Wes Skelly on my team.”
“Bobby’s fine. He’s Native American,” she told Syd. “Long dark hair, about eight