Tall, Dark And Deadly. Suzanne Brockmann

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      She looked tired. And nineteen times more real and warm than perfect, plastic Heather.

      As Lucky watched, Syd lifted her drink and took a sip through the straw. With lips like that, she didn’t need makeup. They were moist and soft and warm and perfect. He knew that firsthand after kissing her.

      That one kiss they’d shared had been far more real and meaningful than Lucky’s entire six month off-and-on, whenever-he-was-in-town, non-relationship with Heather. And yet, after kissing him as if the world were coming to an end, Syd had pushed him away.

      “Heather and I had dinner at Smokey Joe’s,” Lucky told them. “Heather Seeley, this is Lucy McCoy and Sydney Jameson.”

      But Heather was already looking away, her MTV-length attention span caught by the mirrors on the wall and her distant but gorgeous reflection…

      Syd finally spoke. “Gee, I had no idea we could bring a date to a task-force meeting.”

      “Heather’s got some phone calls to make,” Lucky explained. “I figured this wasn’t going to take too long, and after…” He shrugged.

      After, he could return to his evening with Heather, bring her home, go for a swim in the moonlight, lose himself in her perfect body. “You don’t mind giving us some privacy, right, babe?” He pulled Heather close and brushed her silicone-enhanced lips with his. Her perfect, plastic body…

      Sydney sharply looked away from them, suddenly completely absorbed by the circles of moisture her glass had made on the table.

      And Lucky felt stupid. As Heather headed for the bar, already dialing her cell phone, he sat down next to Lucy and across from Syd and felt like a complete jackass.

      He’d brought Heather here tonight to show Syd…what? That he was a jackass? Mission accomplished.

      Okay, yes, he had taken Syd into his arms on his deck earlier this evening in an effort to win her alliance. But somehow, some way, in the middle of that giddy, free-fall-inducing kiss, his strictly business motives had changed. He thought it had probably happened when her mouth had opened so warmly and willingly beneath his. Or it might’ve been before that. It might’ve been the very instant his lips touched hers.

      Whenever it had happened, all at once it had become very, very clear to him that he kept on kissing her purely because he wanted to.

      Desperately.

      Yes, there was that word again. As he ordered a beer from the bored cocktail waitress, as he pointed out Heather and told the waitress to get her whatever she wanted—on him—he tried desperately not to sound as if he were reeling from his own ego-induced stupidity in bringing Heather here. He knew Syd was listening. She was still pretending to be enthralled with the condensation on the table, but she was listening, so he referred to Heather as “that gorgeous blonde by the bar, with the body to die for.”

      Message sent: I don’t need you to want to kiss me ever again.

      Except he was lying. He needed. Maybe not quite desperately, but it was getting pretty damn close. Jeez, this entire situation was growing stupider and stupider with every breath he took.

      Syd was so completely not Lucky’s type. And he was forced to work with her to boot, although he was still working on ways to shake her permanently after tomorrow’s session with the hypnotist.

      She was opinionated, aggressive, impatient and far too intelligent—a know-it-all who made damn sure the rest of the world knew that she knew it all, too.

      If she tried, even just a little bit, she’d be pretty. In a very less-endowed-than-most-women way.

      Truth was, if life were a wet T-shirt contest and Heather and Syd were the contestants, Heather would win, hands down. Standing side by side, Syd would be rendered invisible, outshone by Heather’s golden glory. Standing side by side, there should have been no contest.

      Except, one of the two women made Lucky feel completely alive. And it wasn’t Heather.

      “Hey, Lucy. Lieutenant.” U.S. Navy SEAL Chief Bobby Taylor smiled at Sydney as he slipped into the fourth seat at the table. “You must be Sydney. Were my directions okay?” he asked her.

      Syd nodded. She looked up at Lucky almost challengingly. “I wasn’t sure exactly where the bar was,” she told him, “so I called Chief Taylor and asked for directions.”

      So that’s how she found him. Well, wasn’t she proud of herself? Lucky made a mental note to beat Bobby to death later.

      “Call me Bob. Please.” The enormous SEAL smiled at Syd again, and she smiled happily back at him, ignoring Lucky completely.

      “No nickname?” she teased. “Like Hawk or Cyclops or Panther?”

      And Lucky felt it. Jealousy. Stabbing and hot, like a lightning bolt to his already churning stomach. My God. Was it possible Sydney Jameson found Bob Taylor attractive? More attractive than she found Lucky?

      Bobby laughed. “Just Bobby. Some guys during BUD/S tried to call me Tonto, which I objected to somewhat…forcefully.” He flexed his fists meaningfully.

      Bobby was a good-looking man despite the fact that his nose had been broken four or five too many times. He was darkly handsome, with high cheekbones, craggy features, and deep-brown eyes that broadcast his mother’s Native American heritage. He had a quiet calmness to him, a Zen-like quality that was very attractive.

      And then there was his size. Massive was the word for the man. Some women really went for that. Of course, if Bobby wasn’t careful to keep up his PT and his diet, he’d quickly run to fat.

      “I considered Tonto politically incorrect,” Bobby said mildly. “So I made sure the name didn’t stick.”

      Bobby’s fists were the size of canned hams. No doubt he’d been extremely persuasive in his objections.

      “These days the Lieutenant here is fond of calling me Stimpy,” Bob continued, “which is the name of a really stupid cartoon cat.” He looked down at his hands and flexed his hot-dog-sized fingers again. “I’ve yet to object, but it’s getting old.”

      “No,” Lucky said. “It’s because Wes—” he turned to Syd. “Bobby’s swim buddy is this little wiry guy named Wes Skelly, and visually, well, Ren and Stimpy just seems to fit. It’s that really nasty cartoon that—”

      “Wes isn’t little,” Lucy interrupted. “He’s as tall as Blue, you know.”

      “Yeah, but next to Gigantor here—”

      “I like Gigantor,” Bobby decided.

      Syd was laughing, and Lucky knew from the way the chief was smiling at her that he was completely charmed, too. Maybe that was the way to win Syd’s alliance. Maybe she could be Bobby’s girlfriend.

      The thought was not a pleasant one, and he dismissed it out of hand. Charming women was his strength, damn it, and he was going to charm Sydney Jameson if it was the last thing he did.

      Lucy got down to business. “You talk to Frisco?” she asked him.

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