Tall, Dark and Deadly: Get Lucky. Suzanne Brockmann

um, shelf life, so to speak, but Ellen’s chances of having a baby with the sperm that Greg banked back when he was fifteen is already dropping.”

      Lucky glanced at Syd, and she looked away. Come on, he silently implored her. Play nice. Be friends. I’m a nice guy.

      “Ellen really loves this guy,” he continued, “and you should see the way he looks at her. He’s too old for her by about seventeen years, but it’s so damn obvious that he loves her. So how could I do anything but wish them luck and happiness?”

      Syd actually graced him with a glance. “How are your parents taking this?”

      Lucky shook his head, glad at the perfect opportunity to segue into poor-little-orphaned-me. This always won him sympathy points when talking to a woman. “No parents. Just me and Ellen. Mom had a heart attack years ago. You know, you really don’t hear much about it, but women are at just as much risk for heart disease as men and—” He cut himself off. “Sorry—I’ve kind of turned into a walking public service announcement about the topic. I mean, she was so young, and then she was so gone.”

      “I’m sorry,” Syd murmured.

      “Thanks. It was roughest on Ellen, though,” he continued. “She was still just a kid. Her dad died when she was really young. We had different fathers and I’m not really sure what happened to mine. I think he might’ve become a Tibetan monk and taken a vow of silence to protest Jefferson Airplane’s breakup.” He flashed her a smile. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. With a name like Lucky, I should have rich parents living in Bel Air. I actually went to Bel Air a few years ago and tried to talk this old couple into adopting me, but no go.”

      Syd actually smiled at that one. Bingo. He knew she was hiding a sense of humor in there somewhere.

      “Now that you know far too much about me,” he said, “it’s your turn. You’re from New York, right?”

      Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How did you know that? I don’t have an accent.”

      “But you don’t need an accent when you come from New York,” Lucky said with a grin. “The fact that you do everything in hyperspeed gives you away. Those of us from southern California can spot a New Yorker a mile away. It’s a survival instinct. If we can’t learn to ID you, we can’t know to take cover or brace for impact when you make the scene.”

      Sydney might’ve actually laughed at that. But he wasn’t sure. Her smile had widened though, and he’d been dead right about it. It was a good one. It lit her up completely, and made her extremely attractive—at least in a small, dark, non-blond-beauty-queen sort of way.

      And as Lucky smiled back into Sydney’s eyes, the answer to all his problems became crystal clear.

      Boyfriend.

      It was highly likely that he could get further faster if he managed to become Sydney Jameson’s boyfriend. Sex could be quite a powerful weapon. And he knew she was attracted to him, despite her attempts to hide it. He’d caught her checking him out more than once when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

      This was definitely an option that was entirely appealing on more than one level. He didn’t have to think twice.

      “Do you have plans for tonight?” he asked, slipping smoothly out of best-friend mode and into low-scale, friendly seduction. The difference was subtle, but there was a difference. “Because I don’t have any plans for tonight and I’m starving. What do you say we go grab some dinner? I know this great seafood place right on the water in San Felipe. You can tell me about growing up in New York over grilled swordfish.”

      “Oh,” she said, “I don’t think—”

      “Do you have other plans?”

      “No,” she said, “but—”

      “This is perfect,” he bulldozed cheerfully right over her. “If we’re going to work together, we need to get to know each other better. Much better. I just need to stop at home and pick up my wallet. Can you believe I’ve been walking around all day without any cash?”

      Hoo-yah, this was perfect. They were literally four blocks from his house. And what better location to initiate a friendly, low-key seduction than home sweet home?

      Syd had to hold on with both hands as Lucky quickly cut across two lanes of traffic to make a right turn into a side street.

      “Don’t you live on the base?” she asked.

      “Nope. Officer’s privilege. This won’t take long, I promise. We’re right in my neighborhood.”

      Now, that was a surprise. This neighborhood consisted of modestly sized, impeccably kept little houses with neat little yards. Syd hadn’t given much thought to the lieutenant’s living quarters, but if she had, she wouldn’t have imagined this.

      Sure enough, he pulled into the driveway of a cheery little yellow adobe house. A neatly covered motorcycle was parked at the back of an attached carport. Flowers grew in window boxes. The grass had been recently, pristinely mowed.

      “Why don’t you come in for a second?” Lucky asked. “I’ve got some lemonade in the fridge.”

      Of course he did. A house like this had to have lemonade in the refrigerator. Bemused and curious, Syd climbed down from the cab of his shiny red truck.

      It was entirely possible that once inside she would be in the land of leather upholstery and art deco and waterbeds and all the things she associated with a glaringly obvious bachelor pad. And instead of lemonade, he’d find—surprise, surprise—a bottle of expensive wine in the back of the refrigerator.

      Syd mentally rolled her eyes at herself. Yeah, right. As if this guy would even consider her a good candidate for seduction. That wasn’t going to happen. Not in a million years. Who did she think she was, anyway? Barbie to his Ken? Not even close. She wouldn’t even qualify for Skipper’s weird cousin.

      Lucky held the door for her, smiling. It was a self-confident smile, a warm smile…an interested smile?

      No, she had to be imagining that.

      But she didn’t have time for a double take, because, again, his living room completely surprised her. The furniture was neat but definitely aging. Nothing matched, some of the upholstery was positively flowery. There was nothing even remotely art deco in the entire room. It was homey and warm and just plain comfortable.

      And instead of Ansel Adams prints on the wall, there were family photographs. Lucky as a flaxen-haired child, holding a chubby toddler as dark as he was fair. Lucky with a laughing blonde who had to be his mother. Lucky as an already too-handsome thirteen-year-old, caught in the warm, wrestling embrace of a swarthy, dark-haired man.

      “Hey, you know, I’ve got an open bottle of white wine,” Lucky called from the kitchen, “if you’d like a glass of that instead of lemonade…?”

      What? Syd wasn’t aware she had spoken aloud until he repeated himself, dangling both the bottle in question and an extremely friendly smile from the kitchen doorway.

      The interest in his smile was not her imagination. Nor was the warmth in his eyes.

      God, Navy Ken was an outrageously handsome man. And when he looked at her like that, it was very, very hard to look away.

      He must’ve seen the effect he had on her in her eyes. Or maybe it was the fact that she was drooling that gave her away. Because the heat in his eyes went up a notch.

      “I’ve got a couple of steaks in the freezer,” he said, his rich baritone wrapping as enticingly around her as the slightly pink late-afternoon light coming in through the front blinds. “I could light the grill out back and we could have dinner here. It would be nice not to have to fight the traffic and the crowds.”

      “Um,” Syd said. She hadn’t even agreed to go to dinner with him.

      “Let’s