Tall, Dark and Deadly: Get Lucky. Suzanne Brockmann

of breath, but she pushed herself to keep up, afraid if she let him out of her sight, she’d lose him. She tried to keep her eyes glued to his broad back, but it was hard, particularly since his perfect rear end was directly in her line of sight.

      Of course he had a perfect rear end—trim and tiny, about one one-hundredth the size of hers, and a perfect match for his narrow hips. She shouldn’t have expected anything less from a man named Lucky.

      She followed his microbutt back out into the hallway and into an empty outer office and…

      Syd caught her breath as he knocked on a closed door. The SEAL wasn’t even slightly winded, damn him, and here she was, all but bent over, hands on her knees, puffing and wheezing.

      “Smoker?” he asked, almost apologetically. Almost, but not quite. He was just a little too amused to be truly sorry.

      “No,” she said. She was more out of shape than she’d realized. She’d always enjoyed running, but this spring and summer she hadn’t quite managed to get started again.

      The door opened, and standing in the inner office was a man who could have been a mirror reflection of Lucky. His hair was a slightly different color, and his face was more craggy than pretty, but the widths of the two men’s shoulders were close to exact.

      “I have a meeting with Admirals Forrest and Stonegate,” the man said in a way of greeting. “Lucy’s already here. Hear her out, and do whatever you’ve got to do to catch this guy. Preferably before the end of this week.”

      He looked from Lucky to Syd. His eyes were different from Lucky’s and not just in color. He seemed capable of looking past the unruly hair that was falling into her own eyes, past the high neck of her shirt, past her near-permanent expression of slightly bored, slightly raised-eyebrow disbelief that she’d adopted after too many years of being given nicknames like Stinky.

      Whatever he saw when he looked at her made him smile.

      And it wasn’t a condescending smile, or a “wow, you are such a freak” smile, either.

      It was warm and welcoming. He held out his hand. “I’m Alan Francisco.” His grip was as pleasantly solid as his smile. “Welcome to Coronado. If there’s anything you need while you’re here, I’m sure Lieutenant O’Donlon will be more than happy to provide it for you.”

      And just like that, he was gone. It wasn’t until he was out the far door that Syd realized he’d moved stiffly, leaning heavily on a cane.

      With a jolt, she realized she was standing there gazing after Alan Francisco. Lucky had already gone into the lieutenant commander’s office, and she followed, shutting the door behind her.

      Surprise, surprise—Lucky had his arms wrapped around Detective McCoy. As Syd watched, he gave her a hello kiss.

      “I didn’t get to say hello properly before,” he murmured. “You are looking too good for words, babe.” Keeping his arm looped around her shoulders, he turned to Syd. “Lucy’s husband, Blue, is XO of SEAL Team Ten’s Alpha Squad.”

      Lucy’s husband. Syd blinked. Lucy had a husband, who was also a SEAL. And presumably the two men were acquaintances, if not friends. This guy was too much.

      “XO means executive officer,” Lucy explained, giving Lucky a quick hug before slipping free from his grasp, reaching up to adjust the 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,”