Get Lucky. Suzanne Brockmann

stood in the building’s lobby watching as Lieutenant Luke O’Donlon greeted a lovely, dark-haired, very pregnant woman with a stunner from his vast repertoire of smiles.

      “Hey, gorgeous—what are you doing here?” He wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss full on her lips.

      His wife. Had to be.

      It was funny, Syd wouldn’t have believed this man capable of marriage. And it still didn’t make sense. He didn’t walk like a married man. He certainly didn’t talk like a married man. Everything about him, from the way he sat as he drove his truck to the way he smiled at anything and everything even remotely female, screamed bachelor. Terminal bachelor.

      Yet as Syd watched, he crouched down and pressed his face against the woman’s burgeoning belly. “Hello in there!”

      Whoever she was, she was gorgeous. Long, straight, dark hair cascaded down her back. Her delicately featured face held a hint of the Far East. She rolled her beautiful, exotic eyes as she laughed.

      “This is why I don’t come out here that often,” she said to Syd over the top of O’Donlon’s head as he pressed his ear to her stomach, listening now. “I’m Mia Francisco, by the way.”

      Francisco. The Lieutenant Commander’s wife.

      “He’s singing that Shania Twain song,” O’Donlon reported, looking past Syd and grinning. “The one Frisco says never leaves your CD player?”

      Syd turned to see a teenaged girl standing behind her—all long legs and skinny arms, surrounded by an amazing cloud of curly red hair.

      The girl smiled, but it was decidedly half-hearted. “Ha, ha, Lucky,” she said. “Very funny.”

      “We heard about the diving accident,” Mia explained as O’Donlon straightened up. “They weren’t releasing any names, and we couldn’t reach Alan, so Tasha talked me into driving out to make sure Thomas was okay.”

      “Thomas?”

      “King,” Mia said. “Former student of mine? You remember him, don’t you? He’s going through BUD/S training with this class.”

      “Yeah.” O’Donlon snapped his fingers. “Right. Black kid, serious attitude.”

      “It wasn’t Thomas,” the red-haired girl—Tasha—informed him. “It was someone else who got hurt.”

      “An ensign named Marc Riley. They’ve got him stabilized. He’s in a lot of pain, but it’s not as bad as they first thought.” Mia smiled at Syd again, friendly but curious, taking in her shapeless linen jacket, her baggy khaki pants, her cloddish boots and the mannish blouse she wore buttoned all the way to her neck.

      Syd had no doubt that she looked extremely different from the usual sort of women who followed Lieutenant O’Donlon around.

      “I’m sorry,” Mia continued. “We didn’t mean to shanghai Lucky this way.”

      Lucky. The girl had referred to O’Donlon by that name, too. It was too perfect. Syd tried her best not to smirk.

      “It’s not a problem,” she said. “I’m Syd Jameson.”

      “We’re working together on a special project,” the man who was actually nicknamed Lucky interjected, as if he were afraid Mia might assume they were together socially. Yeah, as if.

      “Is that the same project Lucy McCoy kicked us out of Alan’s office to talk to him about?” Mia asked.

      Lucky started to speak, then put his hands over Tasha’s ears and swore. The girl giggled, and he winked at her before looking at Mia. “Lucy’s already here?”

      “Tell Alan it’s my fault you’re late.”

      “Yeah, great.” Lucky laughed as he waved good-bye, leading Syd down one of the corridors. “I’ll tell him I’m delayed because I stopped to flirt with his wife. That’ll go over just swell.”

      Syd had to run to keep up. She had no doubt that whatever excuse O’Donlon gave for being late, he would be instantly forgiven. Grown men didn’t keep nicknames like Lucky well past adolescence for no reason.

       Lucky.

      Sheesh.

      Back in seventh grade, Syd had had a nickname.

      Stinky.

      She’d forgotten to wear deodorant one day. Just one day, and she was Stinky until the end of the school year.

      Speaking of stinky, she’d have dressed differently if she’d known she was going to be running a marathon today. Lieutenant Lucky O’Donlon was well out in front of her and showed no sign of slowing down. How big was this place, anyway?

      Not content to wait for an elevator, he led the way into a stairwell and headed up.

      Syd was already out 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