Alpha Squad

by Suzanne Brockmann

  He headed into the woods, and Lucy followed him through the thick underbrush.

  “I don’t think the police searched out this far from the murder site,” Blue said over his shoulder as they walked for what seemed like half a mile. “But I didn’t have anything better to do this morning, so I just kept going.”

  He stopped at a trail that was cut through the dense growth. It was little more than two tire paths, ruts worn into the side of the hill for a truck or Jeep to get through.

  Blue crouched, pointing at the damp earth. “Tire tracks,” he said. “Big tires. Wider than your average truck tires by a good four inches. And whatever it was those great big tires were attached to, it was big and heavy, too.”

  Sure enough, the tracks sank deeply into the dark soil. The mud was starting to dry. Whatever had left this track had been here directly after the last rain—probably around the time of Gerry’s death.

  “Was it some kind of monster truck?” Lucy mused, crouching next to him.

  “That or an all-terrain vehicle,” Blue said.

  “The tires look new,” Lucy remarked. “The tread is barely worn. God, we can take a print of this and make an easy match, find out who else was up here that night—if they’re still in town.”

  “And look over here,” Blue said, standing up and pointing farther down the trail. “Whoever drove this thing left in one hell of a big hurry.”

  Lucy straightened too, wiping her hands on her pants. “This is great! Let’s go back to my truck and radio for assistance. I’ll have the crime team take some photos and make a mold of these tire tracks.” She grinned. “McCoy, I think you may have just saved your own neck.”

  Blue smiled at her enthusiasm as he followed her toward the main road, where she’d parked her truck. “Careful, or folks are going to say that this isn’t an unbiased investigation.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not,” Lucy admitted.

  When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he could see a healthy dose of that simmering heat that could turn his blood boiling hot in less than a blink. But he could also see admiration shining in her eyes. He could see admiration and respect and something akin to hero worship.

  And in that instant, Blue realized that Lucy still had that old schoolgirl crush on him—no, not on him, but on some larger-than-life heroic image of him. He was a superhero who’d saved the day, chasing away her attackers twelve years ago. He was a member of the elite Navy SEALs—and he knew from the shelf of books about the Navy and the SEALs that he’d found in Lucy’s living room that she’d read all about the legendary heroism and patriotism and loyalty of the SEAL units. To Lucy, he was a living legend.

  And that made him attractive to her—probably more attractive than any normal, mortal man she’d ever known.

  The truth was, Lucy didn’t really know Blue at all. Because he was mortal. But all her powerful attraction, all her respect and admiration, was based on some idea of how he should be. It was based on an image of the way she thought he was.

  Still, what did he expect? Since he’d arrived, he’d done nothing to straighten her out. He’d told her none of his secrets, shared none of his feelings. As a matter of fact, Blue could count the people he’d shared his feelings and secrets with on the fingers of one hand.

  Frisco was one. But it had been years since Blue had really talked to the injured SEAL. He’d gone to see him in the Veterans’ Hospital and the rehab center a few times right after he’d been wounded. But Frisco didn’t want to talk. And Blue finally stopped going to see him.

  It was hard to visit. It was hard to handle the guilt of knowing that he, Blue, could stand up and walk out of the hospital, while Frisco never would. It was hard to smile and offer hope in the face of Frisco’s pain. And now it had been so long since Blue had visited Frisco, he wouldn’t know what to say to the man.

  But Blue could still talk to Joe Catalanotto, the commander of Alpha Squad. And Daryl “Harvard” Becker, Alpha Squad’s chief. But that was it. Hell, forget his fingers. These days, Blue could count the people he let in to his life on his thumbs.

  He watched the sunlight play in Lucy’s long, brown hair as she opened the door to her truck and took out the microphone attached to her radio. She smiled at him—a flash of white teeth and sparkling brown eyes.

  What did he care that she wanted to sleep with him because of some overblown heroic image she’d been carrying around in her head for a dozen years? The key part of that sentence was that she wanted to sleep with him. Everyone had motives. Jenny Lee’s motive back in high school had been to hang around Gerry’s house to catch the attention of Blue’s elder brother. The women he’d had relationships with since then had had their motives, too. They’d wanted to break away from the boredom of their lives, live on the edge for a while, go the distance with a good-looking stranger who was going to slip out of their lives in a day or two. So what if Lucy’s motive was that she wanted to sleep with Superman?

  Of course, she wasn’t entirely convinced that she should sleep with anybody. She had a solid streak of good girl running through her that had been overpowered by emotions and lust and the pull of the full moon the other night at the country club.

  Blue watched Lucy radio in the information about the tire tracks he’d found. She was so alive, so animated. Even though she was speaking to the dispatcher over the radio, she talked with her hands, gesturing, shrugging, moving, smiling. He was struck again by just how beautiful she was.

  It wasn’t the kind of beauty that would draw stares or whistles when she walked down the street. In fact, dressed as she was right now in her police uniform, most men wouldn’t give her a second glance.

  But Blue knew better. He knew the encompassing warmth of her smile; the powerful draw of her fresh, funny, upbeat personality; the dazzling sparkle of her eyes. And he knew the seductive taste of her kisses and the unforgettable feel of her incredible body against his.

  As he watched, her body language changed, subtly, slightly. He tuned himself in to her words.

  She glanced at her watch. “I realize the time,” she said. “I know it’s almost eleven, but this is more important than—”

  “The chief says he’ll send someone out right away,” a woman’s scratchy voice said over the radio, “but you better get your rear end back here to the station before noon with whatever weapons McCoy is hiding, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Whatever weapons McCoy is hiding?

  It wasn’t really that much of a surprise. Blue had figured it was going to come sooner or later. They’d search him, hoping to find and take away whatever he had on him, hoping to make him less dangerous.

  Lucy was doing her best to postpone the inevitable. “Annabella—”

  “The chief is yelling for me, Lucy. I can’t stay on and argue with you right now,” the dispatcher said. “Do your job. This transmission is over.”

  “No, Annabella…” Lucy swore sharply, leaning into the truck to adjust the radio. “She turned it off.” She hooked the microphone back into its slot and looked at Blue. “She actually turned off the police station’s radio.”

  “You know, Yankee, if there’s something you have to do back at the station, I can hang here and wait for the crime team to show up,” Blue volunteered.

  Lucy shook her head. “That won’t work,” she said. “Because you’re what I have to do.”

  Blue smiled. “While I truly like the way that sounds,” he drawled, “I’ve got a feeling that’s not exactly what you meant.”

  Lucy felt her face flush. Still, she forced herself to look into his eyes. “I have to confiscate your weapons, McCoy,” she told him. “I need to search you. And then we have to go down to the station so you can fill out the paperwork to get your property back when this is over.”

  Blue nodded slowly. “This is easy,” he said. “You’re not going to find any weapons on me. We don’t have to go anywhere. You can just radio that information in.”

  He hadn’t said he didn’t have any weapons. He�
�d said she wouldn’t find them. Lucy held his gaze. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not carrying,” she said softly.

  “I’m not carrying,” he said, his eyes steady.

  The rush of disappointment that went through her almost knocked her down. “Well, damn,” she said. “I guess now we’ve established that you will lie to me.”

  Blue didn’t say anything. He just watched her.

  Her eyes blazed fire as she looked up at him again. “You want to try that one more time?” she asked.

  He didn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m not carrying.”

  Blue thought for a moment that Lucy was going to haul back and punch him in the stomach. Instead, she crossed her arms. “Hands against the truck, and spread ‘em, mister.”

  “Lucy, it’s not going to do any good—”

  “Because I won’t find anything?” she finished for him. “You want to make a bet on that?” She gestured to the truck. “Come on, move it, McCoy. Assume the position.”

  “This isn’t necessary.”

  Lucy exploded. “You’re a SEAL, dammit,” she said, slapping the side of her truck with one opened hand. The sound echoed in the stillness. “I know you didn’t come into town unarmed, and Chief Bradley knows you didn’t come into town unarmed, either. He’s not stupid and I’m not stupid, and—”

  “And I’m not stupid, either.” Blue caught her chin in one hand, pulling her head around so that she was forced to look into his eyes. In one swift movement he was standing close to her, penning her in against the side of her truck. His thigh was pressed against hers, the sensation nearly making him forget everything but his enormous need to feel her lips against his again. Nearly. Somehow he centered his focus and returned to the task at hand.

  “You’re right,” he whispered. “I’m a SEAL. And I can’t forget that somebody out there killed Gerry. I’m not walking around unarmed—virtually naked—with a killer on the loose. And if that means I have to lie to you, Yankee, then I’m gonna have to lie to you. It’s not personal. Don’t think that it is. There’s not a SEAL alive who wouldn’t lie to Mother Teresa herself to stay armed in a potentially dangerous situation like this one.”

  Lucy tried to pull away from him, but he held her tightly.

  “You look me in the eye,” Blue continued, “and you tell me that if I admitted to you that I was armed you wouldn’t insist on confiscating those weapons.” His eyes were like blue steel, hard and unrelenting. “You tell me that you’d simply say, ‘Well, thank you very much, Blue. Thank you for telling me the truth. I know how much having that sidearm and that knife on your person means to you, so I won’t include that information in my report to Chief Bradley.’”

  Lucy was silent.

  “Can’t tell me that, huh?” Blue nodded. “In that case, I’ll say it again. I’m not carrying.”

  Lucy lifted her chin even higher. “And I said, hands against the truck and spread your legs, mister.”

  Blue had to laugh. She was so clearly overpowered, so obviously in a position of being dominated, yet she wouldn’t give in. She refused to back down. As annoying as that was, he had to like her for it. And he did. Mercy, he did like her.

  “Are you going to let go of me and do as I say, or do I have to haul you to jail first?” Her brown eyes were flashing again, her mouth trembling slightly in anger. It was all that Blue could do not to kiss her. Dear, sweet Lord, he wanted to kiss her something fierce. He wanted to, and dammit, he was going to.

  “Come on, Yankee,” he said softly. “Let’s not fight. We’re on the same side here, aren’t we?”

  She glared at him. “I’m not so sure of that anymore.”

  “Yes,” he said definitely. “We are on the same side. So let’s just kiss and make up.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened as he leaned forward, lowering his mouth to hers. His lips grazed the softness of her sweet lips and he was milliseconds from sheer, total paradise when she spoke.

  “Don’t,” she breathed. “Please, Blue—don’t.”

  He didn’t. He didn’t kiss her. He pulled back. Out of all the tough things he’d done in his life, it was quite possibly the toughest.

  “I can’t do this,” Lucy whispered. “Remember? Until I’m through investigating Gerry’s murder, you’re a suspect, and I cannot do this.”

  “It’s just a kiss.” His voice sounded raspy and strained in his own ears.

  Lucy shook her head. “No,” she said. “It most definitely is not just a kiss.” Somehow he’d lost his ability to hold her, and she broke free from his arms, pushing herself away from the truck and moving a safe distance away from him. She turned to face him. “It’s not just a kiss, and you know that as well as I do.”

  Her hand shook slightly as she pushed her hair back behind her ear, and she folded her arms tightly across her chest as if she had to hold herself steady. Her eyes looked big and almost bruised, and she clasped her lower lip between her front teeth. But still she gazed directly at him, her chin held high.

  “Either way, it’s totally inappropriate,” she added. She took a deep breath, exhaling it quickly in a loud burst of air. “So let’s just get on with it, then, okay?”

  Was she talking about…?

  Son of a bitch, she still intended to frisk him. Blue swore under his breath.

  Lucy tried to slow her hammering heart, waiting and watching as Blue slowly turned back to the truck. The muscles in his powerful arms flexed as he used them to support most of his weight, his feet planted and his long legs spread.

  He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Not quite a minute ago, he’d been about to kiss her, and now she was supposed to frisk him, patting him down all over his body to make sure he had no weapons concealed underneath his clothing. Or concealed in his clothing, she realized, looking at the big, metal buckle of his belt. Still, this was weird. Too weird.

  “Well, come on,” he said. “Don’t keep a man waiting.”

  Lucy stepped forward, uncertain exactly where to begin. Blue was watching her with one of those slow, lazy half smiles on his handsome face, though, so she started with his back. It seemed a whole hell of a lot less dangerous than the long, sturdy lengths of his legs or, Lord help her, his perfect, athletic rear end.

  Or was it less dangerous? As she ran her hands down the soft, worn cotton of his shirt, she could feel the ridges and bulges of his muscles. It was only his back. How could he have so many muscles in his back? But she wasn’t supposed to be looking for muscles. She was looking for any kind of concealable weapon. A handgun. A knife. Who knows, maybe even some kind of grenade. He was carrying something, and despite what he said, she was going to find it.

  Lucy could feel a bead of sweat dripping down her own back as she slid her hands around to his sides.

  Jackpot. He was wearing a shoulder holster under his left arm. Triumphantly, she slipped her hands up underneath his shirt, only to find the holster was…empty?

  “Where’s the gun, McCoy?” she asked.

  “I told you,” he said. “I’m not carrying.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said. She was standing there with her hands inside his shirt, the back of her fingers resting against the smooth warmth of his skin. She moved her hands quickly away. “I’m supposed to believe you wear the holster empty because you’re so used to wearing it you’d feel off balance if you didn’t have it on, gun or no gun. Right?”

  “Exactly,” Blue said with a smile. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Lucy humphed, searching through the contents of his shirt pockets, trying hard not to touch his satiny-smooth skin again. In his right-hand shirt pocket she came up with a Swiss Army knife.

  It was Blue’s turn to humph. “That’s no weapon,” he scoffed. “I use the knife on that thing to spread peanut butter on my sandwiches.”

  “From what I’ve read about Navy SEALs,” Lucy said, “a shoe could be a weapon.”

  “I’m not wearing
shoes,” Blue drawled. “Although if I were, you’d want to be sure to check for the secret SEAL submachine gun that’s hidden in the soles.”

  “Just be quiet and let me get this over with,” Lucy muttered, bending to pat his right ankle, her hands moving slowly up his leg. He had disgustingly nice legs.

  “Get this over with?” Blue murmured. “Shoot, I thought you were enjoying this. I sure as hell am. I figure if you want to touch me all over, and I mean all over, well, that’s more than fine with me. I’d sure prefer it if we’d do it back in the privacy of your bedroom, though, instead of out in the open like this. But…whatever turns you on.”

  Lucy tried to move her hands over the hard muscles of his legs quickly and impersonally, until she realized what he was doing. He was purposely trying to fluster her, to keep her from taking her time. There was something here that he was trying to hide.

  Her hands moved up one strong thigh, all the way to the juncture of his legs. But then she hesitated. Dear Lord, how exactly did a woman search a man thoroughly without embarrassing them both? And then there was the question of his belt…

  “Don’t stop there, honey,” Blue drawled.

  And Lucy suddenly knew that he only said that because he wanted her to stop there. He was trying to freak her out, make her back away.

  Well, fine. She’d play it his way—but only for a while.

  She went back to his left ankle, working her way up, again, to the top of his thigh. Again she stopped short.

  She patted his rear end and hips rather gingerly—to make him think he was winning the game.

  “Nice belt,” she said, continuing with the ineffective patting around his waist. Then she dropped her bomb. “A big, metal buckle like that must set off all the bells and whistles at the airport, huh? I bet airport security makes you take that belt off and walk back through the metal detector without it on all the time.”