Get Lucky

by Suzanne Brockmann

  It was the kind of kiss that screamed of pure sex, the kind that lit him up pretty damn instantly, the kind that made him want to tear her clothes from her body so he could take her, right here and right now—on his captain’s front lawn.

  It was the kind of kiss that made him instantly aware that it had been forty-nine long days, seventeen agonizing hours and twelve very impatient minutes since he’d last had sex. It was the kind of kiss that made him instantly forget whomever it was he’d last had sex with. Hell, it made him forget every other woman he’d ever known in his entire women-filled life.

  It was the kind of kiss he might normally have ended only to spend the rest of the evening actively plotting ways he could get away with kissing this woman again. But—ha! He laughed as well as he could, considering he was still kissing her. They were playing the pretend girlfriend game. He could kiss her whenever he wanted!

  Oh, my, she tasted hot and sweet and delicious. And yes, he thought just maybe he could taste the slightest, subtlest spicy hint of garlic, too.

  Syd pulled back, and he let her come up for air, ready to protest that he thought he needed to kiss her again just to make sure he wasn’t imagining the garlic, ready to give her a mile-long list of reasons why he should probably kiss her again, ready to…

  He realized belatedly that the light had gone on next to the Catalanottos’ front door. He turned his head, and sure enough. Veronica was standing there, laughing at him.

  “You,” she said. “Figures it would be you.”

  Lucky saw that they’d drawn a crowd. PJ Becker was behind Veronica. And Mia Francisco peeked through the front window, Frisco right behind her. Frisco gave him a smile and a thumbs-up.

  Syd jettisoned herself from his arms, but he caught her hand and reeled her back in.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured to her. “I knew someone would be bound to notice us. We’re together, remember? You’re my new girlfriend—I’m allowed to kiss you.”

  “Sorry,” Veronica called through the screen in her crisp British accent. “Frankie came out onto the back deck, insisting that a man and a lady were making a baby in the front yard, and we just had to see for ourselves.”

  “Oh, my God,” Syd said, her face turning bright pink.

  “I obviously need to discuss the details of conception with him again,” she said, laughter in her voice. “I’d thought we’d been over that ‘kissing doesn’t make a baby’ stuff, but apparently it didn’t stick. I suppose it’s all right—he’s only four.”

  “Do you want to come in?” PJ called out, “or should we just all go away? Give you some privacy—close the door and turn off the light?”

  Lucky laughed as he pulled Syd to the door.

  The introductions took no time, and then Veronica was pulling Syd through the house to the back deck. “You’ve got to see the view we’ve got of the ocean,” she said, as if she’d known Syd for years, “and I’ve got to check the chicken that’s on the grill.”

  “Bobby already checked the chicken,” about four voices called out.

  “Everyone here is convinced I can’t cook,” Veronica told Syd as she opened the slider. She made a face. “Unfortunately they’re right.”

  “Hey, Syd,” Bobby said serenely from his place at the grill.

  He was wearing only a bathing suit, and with all his muscles gleaming, his long hair tied back in a braid, he looked as if he belonged on the cover of one of those historical romances. Syd did a major double take, and Lucky poked her in the side, leaning close to whisper, “Don’t stare—you’re with me, remember?”

  “You know Lucy McCoy,” Veronica said to Syd. “And Tasha Francisco, and Wes Skelly—”

  “Actually, we’ve never met,” Wes said. He didn’t stand up from where he was sprawled in a lounge chair. “See, I’m not allowed to help with this op,” he told Veronica, his voice tinged with sarcasm and coated with perhaps just a little too much beer. “I’m not a member of the team because I’m a potential suspect, right, Lieutenant?”

  Lucky kept his voice cheerful. “Come on, Skelly, you know I didn’t have anything to do with picking my team. Admiral Stonehead did it for me.”

  “Hi, everyone. Sorry, I’m late—I was held up at the office, and then it was such a nice evening I couldn’t resist walking over.”

  Lucky turned to see Lana Quinn climbing the stairs that led from the beach.

  Bobby greeted her with a hug. “Where’s Wizard, the mighty Quinn? I thought he was coming home today.”

  She made a face. “Team Six has been sidetracked. What else is new? He’s going to be away at least another few weeks. I know, I know—I should feel lucky he even got a chance to call.”

  Wes lurched to his feet, knocking over the little plastic table next to him, spilling pretzels across the deck. He swore sharply. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Ron, I’m sorry, I forgot I…I have to go…do something. I’m sorry.”

  He vanished into the house, nearly knocking Syd over on his way. Lucky turned to Bobby, making the motion of keys turning in the ignition, silently asking if Wes was okay to drive.

  Bobby shook his head no, then pulled his hand out of his bathing-suit pocket, opening it briefly—just long enough so that Lucky could see he’d already claimed possession of his friend’s keys. Bobby made a walking motion with his fingers. Wes would walk back to the base.

  On the other side of the deck, Syd helped Lana Quinn clean up the spilled pretzels.

  “So. Does the new GF know you’re a jerk?”

  Lucky turned to see PJ Becker grinning at him, but he knew her words were only half in jest. Which, of course, made them half-serious, as well. This woman still hadn’t forgotten the way he’d hit on her back when they’d first met. She’d forgiven, sure, but she’d probably never forget. It was one of the things he liked best about her. She’d never, ever let him get away with anything.

  “Yeah,” he said. “She knows. She likes me anyway.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Syd did like him. Just not in the way PJ meant.

  Senior Chief Harvard Becker’s wife gazed at Syd with her gorgeous, liquid-brown eyes—eyes that never missed anything. “You know, O’Donlon, if you’re smart enough to have hooked up with someone like Syd Jameson, maybe I seriously underestimated you. She’s a good writer—she had a weekly column in the local paper about a year ago, you know. I tried never to miss it. There’s a good brain—a thinking brain—in that girl’s head.” She gave him another brilliant smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Who knows? Maybe you’re not such a jerk after all.”

  As Lucky laughed, PJ went to give her best evil eye to the extremely pregnant Mia, who looked as if she were thinking about helping pick up pretzels.

  Lucky sidled up to Bobby. “What’s up with Wes?”

  Bobby shrugged. “It hasn’t been his year.”

  “Is he gonna be okay?”

  “The walk will do him good. I’ll throw his Harley into the back of my truck.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” Lucky asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Let me know if that changes.”

  “Yep.”

  Lucky grabbed Veronica’s arm as she went past carrying a broom. “Got a sec?”

  She looked down at the broom. “Well…”

  He took it from her and tossed it gracefully to PJ, who caught it with one hand. Show off.

  “Yes, I suppose I do have a sec now,” Veronica said cheerfully. “What’s up?”

  “I need you to go to New York,” he said.

  “How’s a 10:00 a.m. flight tomorrow sound?”

  He kissed her, relief flooding through him. “Thank you.”

  “Lucy was pretty persuasive. This monster you’re trying to catch sounds awful. However, I’ve noticed that neither she nor PJ are planning to come with me.”

  “Lucy’s SFPD and PJ’s FInCOM.”

  “And you’re convinced they can take care of themselves?” She searched his eyes, her concern written plainly on her face.

  He tried to
make it a joke. “Can you imagine the fallout if I even so much as implied PJ couldn’t handle this on her own? And as for Lucy…” he glanced across the deck to where the detective was leaning against the railing, talking to Lana Quinn and Syd “…I’m going to strongly encourage her to bunk down at the police station until this is over.”

  Veronica followed his gaze. “You make sure Syd is careful, too.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Lucky said. “Don’t worry about that. She’s, uh…she’s moving in with me.”

  It was the weirdest thing. It was all part of the pretend girlfriend game, designed to catch the rapist, but as he said the words aloud—words he’d never before uttered, not ever in his entire life—it felt remarkably real. He felt a little embarrassed, a little proud, a little terrified, and a whole hell of a lot of anticipation.

  Syd was moving in with him. She was going to go home with him tonight. It was true that she was going to sleep in the guest bedroom, but for the first time in God knows how long he wouldn’t have to worry about her safety. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get some sleep tonight.

  On the other hand, maybe not, considering she was going to be in the next room, and considering he was still half-aroused from that incredible kiss.

  Veronica’s eyes widened, and then filled with tears. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Oh, Luke, I’m so happy for you!” She pulled back to gaze into his eyes. “I was so certain you were just going to bounce from Heather to Heather for the rest of your life.” She raised her voice. “Everyone, Lucky’s finally living up to his nickname! He just told me Syd’s moving in with him!”

  There was a scramble for cans of beer—soda for Frisco and Mia and Tash—as Veronica made a toast. Lucky didn’t dare look at Syd directly—he could feel her embarrassment from all the way across the room. And he could feel Frisco’s eyes on him, too. His swim buddy and temporary CO was smiling, but there were questions in his eyes. Like, wow, didn’t this happen incredibly fast? And, why didn’t you mention this to me before now?

  Tomorrow he’d sit down with Frisco and fill him in on the details—tell him the truth.

  But right now…

  He had to get Syd out of there before she died of embarrassment.

  He put down the beer someone had thrust into his hand and rescued her from PJ, Mia, Lana and Veronica. “I hate to drop a bomb and run,” he said.

  “Speech!” someone said. It was Bobby, the bastard. He knew it was just a setup and he was probably having a good laugh behind that inscrutable calm.

  “Speech,” PJ echoed. “This is too good. No way are we going to let you get away without telling us at least some of the juicy details. Where’d you guys meet? How long have you been seeing each other?” She approached Lucky and gazed hard into his eyes from about four inches away. “Who are you really, and what have you done with our commitment-shy friend Lucky?”

  “Very funny,” Lucky said, tugging Syd past PJ and over to the door.

  “Oh, come on,” PJ said. “At least tell us how she managed to talk you into sharing a house. I mean, that’s a major step. A grown-up decision.” She smiled at Syd. “I’m proud of you. Good job! Way to make him follow your rules.”

  “Actually, I was the one who talked her into moving in with me,” Lucky lied. “I’m finally in love.” He shrugged. “What can I say?”

  “Who knows?” Syd asked as they got into his truck.

  “That this is just an act? Only Bobby. And Lucy McCoy,” Luke admitted. “I had to tell Lucy, especially considering she’s supposed to be informed of my team’s every move. She called this afternoon, mad as hell about that TV interview. She was ready to wring my neck.” He started the engine, switched on the headlights and pulled out into the street, turning around in a neighbor’s driveway. “Officially, she’s pissed, but unofficially, she hopes this works. She knows we’ll keep you as safe—safer—than the police would.”

  He glanced at her in the dimness of the cab. “I’m going to tell Frisco tomorrow, but I’m going to ask him not to tell Mia. I think Bobby’s right. The fewer people who know, the better.”

  Syd sat as far away from him as she possibly could on the bench seat, trying desperately not to think about the way he’d kissed her. About the way she’d kissed him. At the words he’d said so casually as they left the party: I’m finally in love….

  Yeah, like that would ever happen. Syd had figured Luke O’Donlon out. He wasn’t ever going to fall in love. At least not all the way. He thought he was safe as long as he kept himself surrounded by the beautiful, intelligent, exceptional and already married wives of his best friends. He could cruise through life, half in love with Lucy and Veronica and PJ and Mia, never having to worry about getting in too deep. He could have meaningless sexual relationships with self-absorbed, vacuous young women like Heather—again, without risking his heart.

  But what if he was wrong? Not about Heather—Syd didn’t think for one instant that Luke would ever lose his heart to her. But Lucy McCoy was an entirely different story. As was that outrageously beautiful African American woman she’d met just tonight—PJ Becker. It would be too tragic if Luke actually fell in love with a woman he couldn’t have.

  “So how long have you had a thing for PJ Becker?” she asked him.

  He managed to pull off a completely astonished look. “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” she told him. “And don’t worry, I don’t think everyone knows. It’s just I’ve learned to read you pretty well, and you reacted differently to her than you did to Veronica or Lana.”

  He was embarrassed and rather vehement. “I don’t have a thing for her.”

  “But you did,” she guessed.

  He gave it to her, but grudgingly. “Well, yeah, like a million years ago, before she even hooked up with the senior chief.”

  “And let me guess, a million years ago, you did something really dumb, like, oh, say, you hit on her?”

  He was silent, and she just waited. He finally glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, and then couldn’t keep his lips from curling up into a rueful smile. “Don’t you hate being right all the time?”

  “It’s not that I’m right all the time,” she countered, “it’s that you’re so predictable. Why don’t you surprise everyone next time you meet an attractive woman—and not hit on her first thing?”

  “What,” Luke said, “you mean, if this moving-in-together thing doesn’t work out and I don’t end up married to you?”

  She had to laugh. As if.

  “Sorry about Veronica’s announcement,” he continued. “I honestly had no idea she was going to do that.”

  Syd shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a little strange—all your friends looking at me sideways, wondering what type of alien mind control I was using to make you want to live with me.”

  “That’s not what they were thinking,” Luke scoffed.

  Yes, it most certainly was. Syd kept her mouth closed.

  “After seeing that kiss,” he said with a laugh, “they think they know why I want to live with you.”

  That kiss.

  For many, many pounding heartbeats, Syd had stood on the front walk of that cute little beach house with her arms wrapped around Luke O’Donlon, her lips locked on his. For many pounding heartbeats, she had dared to imagine that that kiss was real, that it had nothing to do with their game of pretend.

  She’d thought she’d seen something warm, something special, deep in his eyes, right before he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Okay, face it, she’d thought she’d seen his awareness of his genuine attraction, based on genuine liking and genuine respect.

  She’d seen awareness, all right—awareness of the fact that they were being watched through the window. He’d known they were being watched. That was why he’d kissed her.

  They drove in silence for several long minutes. And then he glanced at her again.

  “Maybe you should scoot over here—sit closer to me. If this guy does start following us…”


  Syd gave him a look. “Scoot?” she said, trying desperately to keep things light. If she moved next to him, and if he put his arm around her shoulders, she just might forget how to breathe. Unless she could somehow keep him laughing. “I’m sorry, but I never, ever scoot anywhere.”

  Luke laughed. Jackpot. “That’s what I love most about you, Sydney, dear. You can pick a fight about anything.”

  “Can not.”

  He laughed again and patted the seat next to him. “Come on. Move your skinny butt down here.”

  “Skinny?” she said, sidling a little bit closer, but nowhere near close enough to touch him. “Excuse me. Have you even looked at my butt? It’s double wide.”

  “What, are you nuts?” He reached for her, pulling her so that she was sitting with her thigh pressed firmly against his, his arm draped across her shoulders. “You have a great butt. A classic butt.”

  “Thanks a million. You know, these days classic means old. Classic Coke, Classic Trek. Old.”

  “It doesn’t mean old, it means incomparable,” he countered. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Old enough to know better than to sit this close to someone who’s driving. Old enough to know I should have my seat belt on,” she grumbled. “Older than you.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way,” she said, praying as he braked to a red light that he wouldn’t look down at her. “I’m one year older than you.”

  If he looked down at her, his mouth—that incredible, amazing mouth—would be mere inches from hers. And if his mouth was mere inches from hers, she would be able to think of nothing but kissing him again.

  She wanted to kiss him again.

  He turned and looked down at her.

  “Where are we going now?” she asked, not that she particularly cared. But she figured maybe if she used her mouth to talk, she wouldn’t be tempted to use it for other things.

  Like kissing Luke O’Donlon.

  “There’s a seafood shack down by the water here in San Felipe,” he told her. “It’s usually packed this time of night. I figured we’d go get some steamed clams. And maybe after that, we could do a little barhopping.”