Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3)

by Marliss Melton

  Jeremiah cracked a smile at the figure of speech. Considering that he buzzed his chestnut hair practically to his scalp to increase his speed in the water, there wasn't any way to let it down. Unless the bar was already open.

  "Let's go grab a drink," he suggested, leaving his suitcase for later. Maybe liquor would erase the horrifying visions from his brain.

  "Now you're talking."

  * * *

  "I bet you all of this marsh was covered in water during Hurricane Katrina," Juliet speculated, encompassing the sea grass growing on either side of the canal with a sweep of her hand. A mild afternoon breeze ruffled the brim of the straw hat she'd donned. In another twenty minutes, their cruise ship would clear the tidal marsh and head into open water where warmer temperatures awaited.

  Emma pictured the area around them in the grips of a hurricane and shuddered. Luckily, they wouldn't encounter a storm like that in April. The captain had informed them that the weather in the Western Caribbean would be mostly sunny with only a chance of rain while they were in Belize.

  Sammy tugged on her arm. "Can we go swimming now?" she begged.

  Emma glanced at Juliet, who shrugged in agreement.

  With a squeal of anticipation, the preteen turned and flew down the exterior steps leading to the pool. Trailing behind her daughter and her sister, Emma smiled wryly at Juliet's attire. They both wore hats and full-length sundresses over their swimsuits—not exactly the kind of clothing that signaled their intent to "cut loose."

  As Sammy made a beeline for the tube slide, Juliet claimed a pair of lounge chairs close to the water but still in the shade. They dumped their pool bags, spread out their towels, and sat down to watch Sammy fly off the slide and splash into the water.

  Glancing over at Juliet's stiff figure, her hands clasped tightly over her stomach, Emma shook her head. "Having fun yet?" she asked.

  "I'm getting there," Juliet replied, but she still appeared to be thinking about her work—perhaps some case she hadn't wrapped up before their flight.

  "I don't think we have the foggiest idea how to cut loose," Emma stated.

  Juliet blinked, obviously tore herself from her thoughts, and turned to frown at her. "Maybe we should get drunk or something."

  "Hey, there," said a male voice, wresting both their gazes upward.

  How had they missed the approach of Jeremiah's colleague? That was a mystery for the ages since the eyes of every other female were riveted on him. He wore a sleeveless white T-shirt that highlighted the breadth of his tanned shoulders while delineating his impressive pecs.

  Having directed his greeting at Emma, he eyed Juliet with unabashed curiosity.

  Emma recalled his name with a snap of her fingers. "Tristan."

  "You remembered," he praised her. "And you're Emma. But who is this?" he asked, gazing intently at Juliet.

  "Juliet. My sister."

  "Of course she is. Pleasure to meet you, Juliet."

  Shooting Emma a puzzled glance, Juliet sat forward to acknowledge Tristan's handshake.

  "You, too," she said, in the same terse tones she used as a private investigator.

  At this rate, they would never get anywhere, Emma thought, but then Tristan jerked a thumb toward the bar.

  "Would you ladies care to join us for a drink?" he asked.

  Us? Searching the bar, Emma's stomach clenched as she caught sight of Jeremiah sitting on a barstool with his back to them. Did he know his colleague was inviting them over? Would he welcome her company?

  But Juliet was already rolling out of her chair in one graceful, athletic motion.

  "We'd love to," she said on a determined note.

  Emma followed more slowly. Catching Sammy's eye, she pointed to the bar to indicate where they were going. They must look like easy conquests to the rest of the people around the pool, letting a handsome stranger pick them up with a mere jerk of his thumb.

  At their approach, Jeremiah glanced around, caught sight of her, and sat up straighter. His stiff spine let her know he hadn't expected company. He didn't appear to want it, either.

  Emma's step dragged. A wave of shyness overwhelmed her, and she turned to flee.

  Chapter 2

  A firm but gentle hand caught Emma's elbow and pulled her back around. "Come on, he's dying to talk to you," Tristan stated under his breath as he drew her inexorably closer to the bar.

  "Hey, I found your professor, Bullfrog," he said, positioning Emma next to Jeremiah's seat. "Turns out she has a sister."

  With a visible breath, Jeremiah swiveled on his stool to acknowledge them.

  "Juliet, this is Jeremiah," Tristan continued, undaunted by the awkward vibes emanating from both sides. "His friends call him Bullfrog."

  Jeremiah sent Juliet a restrained nod.

  "And of course you already know your English professor," Tristan blundered on.

  Juliet's head snapped in Emma's direction. "Wait. He is one of your students?"

  "Used to be," Emma explained, "years ago."

  Jeremiah stared at her a second longer, then gave his glass of liquor his undivided attention.

  Her heart sank a second time. All these years, and he still hadn't forgiven her—not that she blamed him.

  "Have a seat." Tristan gestured to the two empty stools next to Jeremiah.

  Shame and awkwardness stilted Emma's movements as she perched on the edge of the stool nearest him. Their sudden proximity left her feeling off-kilter.

  He'd always been tall. Now he seemed large and tall, with legs roped with lean muscle and dusted with soft-looking hair protruding from his board shorts. Even his bare feet in sandals looked powerful and manly.

  "What can I get you ladies to drink?" Tristan asked, undaunted by his friend's aloof behavior.

  "We have our own tokens," Juliet replied, producing the tickets they had purchased for drinks upon boarding. Sending Tristan a sweet but defiant smile, she laid them on the bar.

  "Cool," he said with a careless shrug.

  "I'll have a glass of pinot grigio," Emma said to the hovering bartender. Maybe if she gulped it down, she'd find the courage to talk to Jeremiah.

  "No, wait." Her sister sent her a pointed look. "I think you'd rather have something fun and frozen, with a little umbrella in it, wouldn't you?"

  Point taken. Frozen drinks were far more fun. "Like what?" she asked.

  "You should try their mojitos—lime, mint, and rum," Tristan suggested, lifting his glass to show what he was drinking.

  The bartender winked. "I'll put an umbrella in it," he offered.

  "Two mojitos then," Juliet decided.

  "Well," Tristan said when the bartender turned away. He spent a second examining Juliet from top to bottom, causing the faintest hint of color to appear in her cheeks. "I know what Emma does for a living, but what do you do?"

  "I'm a PI," Juliet said, in the all-business, tough-lady voice she used at work. "I run an investigative firm out of Fairfax, Virginia."

  Emma nearly sighed out loud. If Juliet could at least try to flirt, then maybe one of them might get somewhere.

  Despite her delivery, Juliet's reply ignited a spark of interest in Tristan's dark blue eyes. "Is that right? I bet you notice all the things that people miss."

  Juliet shrugged. "I sure hope so. What do you do?" she asked before he fired off another question. Her gaze flicked to Jeremiah. "I assume you work together."

  Tristan leaned an elbow on the counter. "What makes you say that?" he asked with a challenging grin.

  She considered him in the same thorough manner that he'd scrutinized her, before glancing over at Jeremiah. "You're both athletic in appearance," she stated matter-of-factly. "I'm guessing that you're military."

  "Wow." Tristan's tone reflected admiration. "That's very astute of you. Which branch would you say?"

  The bartender interrupted them, sliding two tasty-looking drinks toward the women and swiping their tokens.

  Taking her time answering, Juliet sipped her mojito while i
nspecting both men again. "I'm going to need more clues," she admitted. "Show me your tattoos if you have any."

  Tristan's eyes widened. "Right here? You sure you want me to do that?"

  Juliet blinked. His audacity pulled a rusty-sounding laugh out of her. "Depends how far down you have to strip," she qualified, on a more playful note.

  That's progress, Emma thought.

  "Just teasing you," Tristan admitted. "It's on my back."

  With that brief warning, he lifted his T-shirt, exposing a rock-hard abdomen akin to those seen on the cover of fitness magazines. It rendered every woman in the vicinity mute. Turning around, he displayed a red, black, and blue eagle emblazoned across his upper back. With wings outspread, talons extended, and a sharp beak wide open, it seemed to be attacking its prey.

  Juliet visibly swallowed. "That's—"

  "Magnificent," Emma finished, although she wasn't quite certain if the modifier described the tattoo or the body onto which it was inked.

  Tristan tugged his shirt down as he swung back around. "Does that narrow it down for you any?" he queried Juliet.

  "Only slightly," she murmured. Taking another sip of her drink, she focused on the glossy waves of his golden hair. "How long have you been on leave?"

  "Two days." He chuckled, clearly enjoying the game they were playing.

  "Then the branch in which you serve isn't too scrupulous about the length of your hair," she deduced, "even though your silent companion keeps his quite short."

  Jeremiah looked over at her glib reference to him.

  "That being the case, I would have to say... Navy."

  Tristan shook his head in disbelief. "You really are good," he marveled.

  "Except that you don't look like squids," Juliet qualified.

  He winced at the derogatory term. "Well, that's because we're more like frogs than squids," he explained, pitching his voice lower. He waited a beat then added, "Underwater ordinance, that kind of thing."

  Juliet's gray eyes widened as she divided a gaze between him and Jeremiah. "You're Navy SEALs," she guessed with confidence.

  Tristan winced and looked around. "That's not something we should advertise," he admitted. "But you're right. I have to say I'm pretty damn impressed."

  Amazement rooted Emma to her stool. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeremiah take a swig of what smelled like whiskey on the rocks.

  "It's not rocket science," Juliet demurred, but the added touch of color on her cheeks and her small smile told Emma she was pleased to have impressed him.

  As Tristan explained to them that SEALs were considered high-value targets, making discretion the better part of valor, Emma looked at Jeremiah and found him watching her reaction. His eyes were still a mix of gold and green, full of profound thoughts she found she suddenly longed to explore.

  "That's why I couldn't find you," she realized aloud.

  His eyebrows flexed. "You looked for me?"

  "Of course I looked for you." How could he think for a moment that she hadn't given him another thought? "I wanted to find out what you did after college. I never saw you again."

  He searched her gaze. "I thought that was what you wanted," he said in a slightly harder voice.

  Pain as fresh as when their friendship had abruptly ended sliced into her. She shook her head. "No. That's what had to happen," she clarified. "It's not at all what I wanted." She suffered the urge to lay a consoling hand on his shoulder.

  He seemed stunned by her assertion, sitting up straighter and looking the other way. As Emma overheard Tristan explaining to Juliet that this would be the first time he'd get to visit any resort towns in Central America as opposed to squalid, drug-infested villages, Jeremiah scrubbed a hand over his face.

  Guilt bubbled up in her. "I hope you've forgiven me, Jeremiah. I should never have led you on. You were just a kid. I should have known better."

  His big hand covered hers suddenly, silencing her apology and driving the air back into her lungs.

  "Stop," he said on a note that betrayed impatience. "You didn't lead me on. And I wasn't that young. I don't regret a damn thing that happened," he added gruffly.

  With that, he removed his hand from hers, finished off his whiskey, and stood up. "Excuse me," he said to all three of them before stalking off.

  Mortification seared Emma's cheeks. He'd accepted her apology, but it was obvious that he hadn't forgiven her. Wiping the condensation off her glass, she suffered Juliet's keen stare, knowing she would have to explain to her later.

  "Don't mind him," Tristan said, moving to stand between them. "He's in a weird mood today. Plus, he's out of practice with the ladies."

  Emma frowned at him. "What do you mean?" She cocked her head, curious to hear about his love life.

  "Oh, hell," Tristan said, realizing he was saying too much. "He's just...." He seemed to search for words, then shrugged. "He's complicated." He put a hand to his heart. "Me, I'm a much simpler guy to figure out."

  "You're admitting that you're shallow," Juliet pointed out.

  "Juliet!" Emma glanced at the nearly empty glass in her sister's hand. "Don't be rude to the man."

  He patted her shoulder in a familiar manner. "Don't worry, honey. I can hold my own." He turned to Juliet. "Shallow? No. Just easier to satisfy."

  Juliet regarded him quizzically. "Why would I want to satisfy you?"

  He belted out a good-natured laugh. "You remind me of something." He studied her a moment. "I know what it is—a type of fruit called lychee. Have you ever seen one?"

  She lifted her chin. "I believe I have."

  "Covered with a gorgeous reddish rind, the color of your lips. The lychee is rather tough on the outside, but if you take the time to strip it, the globe of flesh inside is absolutely succulent."

  Juliet visibly inhaled. "They're not very common around here," she said at last, her voice sounding a little breathy. "Perhaps you've done a bit of traveling?" she observed.

  As Tristan ticked off a list of countries he'd visited, Emma's thoughts drifted back to her brief discussion with Jeremiah.

  I don't regret a damn thing that happened, he'd said. Did that mean he cherished the memories of their time together, the way she did?

  How could he think that she'd dismissed him from her life without giving him another thought? Nothing could have been further from the truth. She'd searched for him online. Most young adults had a social media account, but regardless of how persistently she hunted, Jeremiah Winters hadn't existed anywhere on the Internet. And now she knew why: he had dropped out of college to become a Navy SEAL.

  She'd seen the documentaries on TV about the grueling training program that weeded out potential candidates until a mere handful remained. Considering the slender, intellectual young man he had been, his mental toughness alone must have kept him from ringing the bell that would have signified his quitting.

  A proud smile curled the corners of her mouth as she marveled over his accomplishment.

  A droplet of water fell on her shoulder, and she looked up to see Sammy standing behind her sopping wet. "Mom, I'm thirsty."

  The back and forth between Juliet and Tristan had shifted into a discussion on national security. At least the two seemed to be in agreement on the current administration's aggressive policy against drug cartels and terrorists.

  With nothing meaningful to add, Emma excused herself to show Sammy where to find free lemonade. Taking note of how engrossed Juliet had become in conversation, and how engaged Tristan seemed, Emma felt the sharp needle of envy prick her unexpectedly. She would have enjoyed sharing a rich exchange with Jeremiah, the way they used to back on campus.

  Stop it, she scolded herself silently. Any deep dialog with Jeremiah would have surely roused the feelings of affection she still harbored for him—and frankly those feelings terrified her.

  Love led to heartache, and heartache wasn't something she ever wanted to experience again. It was for the best that he had walked away.

  * * *

>   Juliet found herself amending her initial perception of the handsome Navy SEAL.

  Tristan the SEAL wasn't all looks and no brain—of course not. SEALs were known to have higher-than-average IQs. They endured way more mental and physical hardship than the average human and thrived in hostile environments. Tristan had traveled to places she'd never heard of, let alone wanted to visit, and he had articulated his position on national security with such sound reasoning, citing historical examples to bolster his argument, that she found herself admiring his point of view even if she didn't exactly agree with him.

  "Hey, listen," he said, leaning an elbow on the bar and dipping his head to speak in a conspiratorial murmur while his eyes tracked her sister's progress to the snack bar. "I could use your help," he stated.

  She went instantly wary. "With what?"

  When he looked directly at her with his dark blue eyes fixed on hers, her insides turned warm and fuzzy. She wasn't used to that. Where men were concerned, she called all the shots. Most of them were colleagues or criminals, men whom she never got involved with.

  "I happen to know my buddy, Bullfrog, is in love with your sister."

  She laughed out loud at the unlikely statement. "What?"

  "Seriously. All the pieces of the puzzle fell together when they ran into each other in the hallway this morning. He's always talked about this one perfect woman he loved and lost. It's her. She's the one."

  His assertion intrigued her. "But he was her student," she protested.

  "I know. And something happened between them. I heard her apologize to him just a second ago, saying she hoped he'd forgiven her."

  "And then he got up and walked away," she recollected. Turning her head, she reconsidered her sister, who was right then handing Sammy a tall glass of lemonade.

  "I think they had something going on when he was in college."

  She looked sharply back at him. "Five years ago? My sister was married back then. She would never have cheated on her husband. He was the lowlife bastard who cheated on her," she added with heat.

  "Sorry to hear that," Tristan said, looking like he meant it. But then his smile reappeared, a little crookedly, making her stomach flip. "I love how brutal you are," he admitted. "I imagine you can keep a man on his toes."