Tall, Dark and Deadly: Get Lucky. Suzanne Brockmann

believe that the vertically challenged dude will make up for it somewhere down the road. He’s light, probably fast. Maybe he’s good at climbing. Or he can fit into tight places—places the bigger men can’t. Shorty may not help too much when it comes to carrying something like an IBS, but, guaranteed, he’ll do more than his share in the long run.”

      He was quiet then, just watching the SEAL candidates. The group of runners—the candidates in the second phase of BUD/S training—collapsed on the sand.

      “Five minutes,” Syd heard distantly but distinctly through a bullhorn. “And then, ladies, we do it all over again.”

      The instructor with the bullhorn was Bobby Taylor, his long dark hair pulled back into a braid.

      As Syd watched, one of the candidates approached Bobby, pointing up toward the edge of the beach, toward them. Bobby seemed to shrug, and the candidate took off, running toward them through the soft sand.

      He was young and black, and the short, nearly shaved hairstyle that all the candidates sported served to emphasize the sharp angles of his face. He had a few scars, one disrupting the line of his right eyebrow, the other on his cheek, and they added to his aura of danger.

      Syd thought he was coming to talk to Luke, but he headed straight for the little girl on the bike.

      “Are you crazy?” His less-than-friendly greeting was accompanied by a scowl. “What did I tell you about riding your bike out here alone? And that was before this psycho-on-the-loose crap.”

      “No one wanted to ride all the way out here with me.” Tasha lifted her chin. They were both speaking loudly enough for Syd to easily overhear. “Besides, I’m fast. If I see any weirdos, I can get away, no problem.”

      Sweat was literally pouring off the young man’s face as he bent over to catch his breath, hands on his knees. “You’re fast,” he repeated skeptically. “Faster than a car?”

      She was exasperated. “No.”

      “No.” He glared at her. “Then it’s not no problem, is it?”

      “I don’t see what the big deal—”

      The black man exploded. “The big deal is that there’s some son-of-a-bitch psycho running around town raping and beating the hell out of women. The big deal is that, as a female, you’re a potential target. As a pretty, young female who’s riding her bike alone, you’re an attractive, easy target. You might as well wear a sign around your neck that says victim.”

      “I read this guy breaks into women’s homes,” Tasha countered. “I don’t see what that has to do with me riding my bike.”

      Syd couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer. “Actually,” she said, “serial rapists tend to do something called troll for victims. That means they drive around and look for a likely target—someone who’s alone and potentially defenseless—and they follow her home. It’s possible once they pick a victim, they follow her for several days or even weeks, searching for the time and place she’s the most vulnerable. Just because all of the other attacks we know about occurred in the victims’ homes doesn’t mean he’s not going to pull his next victim into the woods.”

      “Thank you, voice of reason,” the young man said. He gave Tasha a hard look. “Hear that, wild thing? Uncle Lucky’s girlfriend here sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.”

      Uncle Lucky’s girlfriend…? “Oh,” Syd said. “No. I’m not his—”

      “So, what am I supposed to do?” The girl was exasperated and indignant. “Stay home all day?”

      Tasha and her friend were back to their fight, intently squaring off, neither of them paying any attention to Syd’s protests.

      Luke, however, cleared his throat. Syd didn’t dare look at him.

      “Yes,” the young man answered Tasha’s question just as fiercely and without hesitation. “Until this is over, yes. Stay home.”

      She gave him an incredulous look. “But, Thomas—”

      “How many times in the years that we’ve been friends have I ever asked you for a favor, princess?” Thomas asked, his voice suddenly quiet, but no less intense. “I’m asking for one now.”

      Tears welled suddenly in Tasha’s eyes and she blinked rapidly. “I needed to see you. After hearing about that diving accident…”

      The harsh lines of his face softened slightly. “I’m fine, baby.”

      “I see that,” she said. “Now.”

      Syd turned away, aware that she was watching them, afraid that her curiosity about their relationship was written all over her face. Thomas had to be in his twenties, and Tasha was only in her teens. He’d referred to them as friends, but it didn’t take a genius-level IQ to see that the girl’s attachment to this man was much stronger. But he was being careful not to touch her, careful to use words like friends, careful to keep his distance.

      “How about I call you?” he suggested, kindly. “Three times a week, a few minutes before 2100—nine o’clock? Check in and let you know how I’m doing. Would that work?”

      Tasha chewed on her lower lip. “Make it five times a week, and you’ve got a deal.”

      “I’ll try for four,” he countered. “But—”

      She shook her head. “Five.”

      He looked at her crossed arms, at the angle of her tough-kid chin and assumed the same pose. “Four. But I don’t get every evening off, you know, so some weeks it might be only three. But if I get weekend liberty, I’ll drop by, okay? In return, you’ve got to promise me you don’t go anywhere alone until this bad guy is caught.”

      She gave in, nodding her acceptance, gazing up at him as if she were memorizing his face.

      “Say it,” he insisted.

      “I promise.”

      “I promise, too,” he said then glanced at his watch. “Damn, I gotta go.”

      He turned, focusing on Luke and Syd as if for the first time. “Hey, Uncle Lucky. Drive Tasha home.”

      It was, without a doubt, a direct order. Luke saluted. “Yes, sir, Ensign King, sir.”

      Thomas’s harshly featured face relaxed into a smile that made him look his age. “Sorry, Lieutenant,” he said. “I meant, please drive Tasha home, sir. It’s not safe right now for a young woman to ride all that distance alone.”

      Luke nodded. “Consider it done.”

      “Thank you, sir.” The young man pointed his finger at Tasha. “I don’t want to see you here again. At least not without Mia or Frisco.”

      And he was gone, lifting his hand in a farewell as he ran back to the rest of his class.

      Luke cleared his throat. “Tash, you mind hanging for a minute? I’ve got—”

      The girl had already moved down the beach, out of earshot. She sat in the sand, arms around her knees, watching the SEAL candidates. Watching Thomas.

      “I’ve got to finish this really important discussion I was having with my girlfriend,” Luke finished, purely for Syd’s benefit.

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not funny.”

      “Damn,” he said with a smile. “I was hoping I could get you to squawk again. ‘I’m not his girlfriend,’” he imitated her badly.

      “Also not funny.”

      His smile widened. “Yes, it is.”

      “No, it’s—”

      “Let’s call it a healthy difference of opinions and let it