Tall, Dark and Deadly: Get Lucky. Suzanne Brockmann
pale skin. As she moved to untie her other boot, Lucky tried to look away. Tried and failed. He found himself watching her, hoping for another enticing glimpse of her small but perfectly, delicately, deliciously shaped, lace-covered breasts.
Sydney Jameson was enormously attractive, he realized with a jolt as he examined her face. Sure he’d always preferred women with a long mane of hair, but hers was darkly sleek and especially lustrous, and the short cut suited the shape of her face. Her eyes were the color of black coffee, with lashes that didn’t need any makeup to look thick and dark.
She wasn’t traditionally pretty, but whenever she stopped scowling and smiled, she was breathtaking.
And as far as her clothes…
Lucky had never particularly liked the Annie Hall look before, but with a flash of awareness, he suddenly completely understood its appeal. Buried beneath Syd’s baggy, mannish clothing was a body as elegantly, gracefully feminine as the soft curves of her face. And the glimpse he’d had was sexy as hell—sexy in a way he’d never imagined possible, considering that the women he usually found attractive were far more generously endowed.
She straightened up, kicking off her boots. She wasn’t wearing socks, and her feet were elegantly shaped with very high arches. God, what was wrong with him that the sight of a woman’s bare foot was enough to push him over the edge into complete arousal?
Lucky shifted in his seat, crossing his legs, praying Lana wouldn’t ask him to fetch anything from her desk all the way across the room.
“Who’s Kevin Manse?” the psychologist asked Sydney.
Syd sat back, crossing her legs tailor-style, tucking her sexy feet beneath her on the couch. “He was a football player I, um…” she flashed a look in Lucky’s direction and actually blushed “…knew in college. I guess the sheer size of this guy reminded me of Kevin.”
Wasn’t that interesting? And completely unexpected. Syd Jameson certainly didn’t seem the type to have dated a football player in college. “Boyfriend?” Lucky asked.
“Um,” Syd said. “Not exactly.”
Ah. Maybe she’d liked the football player, and he hadn’t even noticed her. Maybe, like Lucky, Kevin had been too busy trying to catch the eyes of the more bodacious cheerleaders.
Lana scribbled a comment on her notepad. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s give this a shot, shall we?”
Syd laughed nervously. “So how do you do this? All I can think of is Elmer Fudd trying to hypnotize Bugs Bunny with his pocket watch on a chain. You know, ‘You ah getting vewwy sweepy.’”
Laughing, Lana crossed the room and turned off the light. “Actually, I use a mirror ball, a flashlight and voiced suggestions. Lieutenant, I have to recommend that you step out into the waiting room for a few minutes. I’ve found that SEALs are highly susceptible to this form of light-induced hypnotism. My theory is that it has to do with the way you’ve trained yourself to take combat naps.” She sat down again across from Syd. “They fall, quickly, into deep REM sleep for short periods of time,” she explained before looking back at Lucky. “There may be a form of self-hypnosis involved when you do that.” She smiled wryly. “I’m not sure though. Quinn won’t let me experiment on him. You can try staying in here, but…”
“I’ll leave the room—temporarily,” Lucky said.
“Good idea. I’m sure Dr. Quinn doesn’t want both of us waddling around quacking like ducks,” Syd said.
Hot damn, she’d made a joke. Lucky laughed, and Syd actually smiled back at him. But her smile was far too small and it faded far too quickly.
“Seriously,” she added. “If I do something to really embarrass myself, don’t rub it in, all right?”
“I won’t,” he told her. “As long as you promise to return the same favor some day.”
“I guess that’s fair.”
“Step outside, Lieutenant.”
“You’ll wait to ask her any questions until I come back in?”
Lana Quinn nodded. “I will.”
“Quack, quack,” Syd said.
Lucky closed the door behind him.
As he paced, he punched a number into his cell phone. Frisco picked up the phone on his office desk after only half a ring.
“Francisco.”
“Answering your own phone,” Lucky said. “Very impressive.”
“Understaffed,” Frisco said shortly. “S’up?”
“I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything about yesterday’s diving accident.”
Frisco said some choice words, none of them polite. “God, what a stupid-fest. The SEAL candidate—former SEAL candidate—who nearly had nitrogen bubbles turn his brain into Swiss cheese, apparently snuck out of the barracks the night before the accident. It was his birthday, and some well-meaning but equally idiotic friends flew him to Vegas to visit his girlfriend. The flight back was delayed, and he didn’t land in San Diego until oh-three-hundred. The stupid bastard made it back into the barracks without being found out, but he was still completely skunked when the training op started at oh-four-thirty.”
Lucky cringed. It was dangerous to dive any less than twenty-four hours after flying. And if this guy was diving drunk, to boot…
“If he’d spoken up then, he would’ve been forced out of BUD/S, but this way they’re throwing the book at him,” Frisco continued. “He’s facing a dishonorable discharge at the very least.”
The fool was lucky he was alive, but indeed, that was where his luck ended. “How many of the candidates were covering for him?” Lucky asked. An incident like this could well eliminate half of an entire class.
“Only five of ‘em,” Frisco said. “All officers. All gone as of 0600 this morning.”
Lucky shook his head. One guy couldn’t handle having a birthday without getting some from his girlfriend, and six promising careers were flushed.
The door opened, and Lana Quinn poked her head out of her office. “We’re ready for you, Lieutenant.”
“Whoops,” Lucky said to Frisco. “I’ve got to go. It’s hypno-time. Later, man.”
He hung up on his commanding officer and snapped his phone shut, slipping it into his pocket.
“Move slowly,” Lana told him. “She’s pretty securely under, but no quick motions or sudden noises, please.”
The blinds were down in the office and, with the overhead lights off, Lucky had to blink for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness.
He moved carefully into the room, standing off to the side, as Lana sat down near Syd.
She was stretched out on the couch, her eyes closed, as if she were asleep. She looked deceptively peaceful and possibly even angelic. Lucky, however, knew better.
“Sydney, I want to go back, just a short amount of time, to the night you were coming home from the movies. Do you remember that night?”
As Lucky sat down, Syd was silent.
“Do you remember that night?” Lana persisted. “You were nearly knocked over by the man coming down the stairs.”
“Kevin Manse,” Syd said. Her eyes were still tightly shut, but her voice was strong and clear.
“That’s right,” Lana said. “He reminded you of Kevin Manse. Can you see him, Syd?”
Sydney nodded. “He nearly knocks me over on the stairs. He’s angry. And drunk. I know he’s drunk. I’m drunk, too. It’s my first frat-house party.”
“What the—”