Suzanne Brockmann - Forever Blue

The forest opened up into a field, and Blue felt vulnerable and exposed. If one of the terrorists broke through Cat and Harvard’s ambush… But they wouldn’t.

“Knock the hell out of them for me,” he said into his lip microphone, and he heard Joe Catalanotto chuckle.

“You bet, buddy.”

Blue stopped at the edge of the cliff and made adjustments to his pack so that Karen could be latched against him and they could parasail down to the water together.

She didn’t complain, didn’t say a word, although he knew that the proximity of his body to hers had to remind her of the brutalities she’d endured over the past four days.

But he couldn’t think about that; couldn’t wonder, couldn’t focus on her pain. He had to think about that ship bobbing in the darkness, made invisible by the night.

He flipped on the homing device in his vest, reassured by the series of blips and beeps that told him the ship was indeed out there.

“Hold on,” he said to the girl, and then he jumped.

* * *

Blue was on the deck of the USS Franklin when the chopper carrying the rest of Alpha Squad touched down.

He looked closer, trying for a quick head count. It was a reflex from the time all those years ago when Frisco had gone down. He hadn’t been KIA—killed in action—but he may as well have been. He still hadn’t recovered from his injuries. His leg had damn near been blown off and he was still in a wheelchair—and still mad as hell about it.

Frisco had been Alpha Squad’s unofficial goodwill ambassador. He had been friendly and lighthearted, quick to talk to and make friends with everyone around him. He had a sharp sense of humor and a fast wit—he soon had strangers laughing and smiling wherever he went. And his friendliness was sincere. He was a walking party. He always had a good time, whatever the situation.

In fact, Alan “Frisco” Francisco was the only SEAL Blue knew who actually enjoyed basic training’s endurance test called Hell Week.

But when Frisco was told that he would never walk again, he’d stopped smiling. To Frisco, losing the use of his leg was the worst thing that ever could have happened to him. Even worse, maybe, than dying.

Blue watched the men jump down from the big bay doors of the helicopter. Joe Cat—his dark hair worn longer and tied back in a ponytail, his stern face relaxed in a smile nearly all the time now that he was married. Harvard—his shaved head gleaming like a coffee-colored bowling ball, looking big and mean and scary as hell. Bobby and Wes—unidentical twins, one big and tall, the other wiry and short, yet they moved in unison, finished each other’s sentences. Lucky O’Donlon—Frisco’s swim buddy. And the new guy—Cowboy. Harlan “Cowboy” Jones—temporary replacement first for Lucky on the same rescue mission that had injured Frisco, then temporary replacement for Frisco. Except it had been years and years, and it sure as hell looked as though temporary had turned pretty damned permanent.

They were all there, and they were all walking and breathing.

Joe Cat spotted Blue and moved in his direction.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Blue nodded, heading with Joe toward the stairs leading below deck. “The doctor checked out the girl,” he drawled. “She’s with the shrink and the support staff right now.” He shook his head. “Four days, Cat. Why the hell did it take them so long to let us go in after her?”

“Because the average politician and top-brass pencil pusher doesn’t have a clue what a SEAL team can do.” Joe Cat unfastened his battle vest, heading directly toward the mess hall.

“So a fifteen-year-old girl is brutalized for four days while we sit around with our thumbs up our—”

Cat stopped walking, turning to face Blue. “Yeah, it bugs me too,” he said. “But it’s over now. Let it go.”

“You think Karen Branford is gonna just let it go?”

Blue could see from Cat’s dark eyes that the CO didn’t like the answer to that question. “She’s alive,” he said quietly. “That’s much better than the alternative.”

Blue took a deep breath. He was right. Cat was right. He exhaled loudly. “Sorry.” They started walking again. “It’s just… The girl reminded me of someone I used to know back in Hatboro Creek. A girl named Lucy. Lucy Tait.”

Joe Cat eyed him with feigned astonishment as they turned the corner into the mess hall. “Yo,” he said. “Am I hearing you correctly? You actually knew other girls besides Jenny Lee Beaumont in Hatboro Creek? I thought the sun rose and set with Jenny Lee, and all other girls were rendered invisible by her magnificent shine.”

Blue staunchly ignored Cat’s teasing tone. “Lucy wasn’t a girl,” he said, pouring black, steaming coffee into a paper cup. “She was just…a kid.”

“Maybe you should look her up while you’re back in South Carolina for the wedding.”

Blue shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Cat took a mug from the rack, regarding Blue speculatively. “You sure you want to go to this wedding?” he asked. “You know, I can arrange for Alpha Squad to be part of some vital training mission if you need an excuse not to be there.”

“It’s my brother’s wedding.”

“Gerry’s your stepbrother,” Cat noted, “and he happens to be marrying Jenny Lee, your high-school sweetheart and the only woman I’ve ever heard you talk about—with the exception now of this Lucy Tait.”

Blue took a swallow of the coffee. It was strong and hot and it burned all the way down. “I told him I’d be his best man.”

Joe Cat’s teeth were clenched as he gazed at Blue. The muscle worked in his jaw. “He shouldn’t have asked you for that,” he said. “He wants you there, giving him your stamp of approval, so he can stop feeling guilty about stealing Jenny Lee from you.”

Blue crumpled up his empty paper cup, then tossed it into the garbage. “He didn’t steal her,” he said. “She was in love with him right from the start.”

It was going to be the wedding of the year—shoot, it was going to be the wedding of the decade. And Lucy Tait was going to be there.

Oh, not that she’d be invited. No, Lucy wasn’t going to get one of those fancy, gold-lettered invitations printed on heavy, cream-colored stock, no way. She was going to this wedding as a hired hand—first to keep the traffic moving outside Hatboro Creek’s posh country club and then to stand inside the ballroom, guarding the pile of expensive wedding gifts.

Lucy adjusted the collar of her police uniform as she cruised Main Street in her patrol car, searching for a parking spot near Bobby Joe’s Grill.

Not that she’d expected to be invited to Jenny Lee Beaumont’s nuptials. She’d never run with that crowd, not even back in high school. But man, back then, back when Lucy was a scrawny freshman and blond, beautiful homecoming queen Jenny Lee had been a senior, Lucy had desperately wanted to join Jenny’s exclusive club.

She would never have admitted it. The same way she would never have admitted the reason she wanted so desperately to be close to Jenny Lee—namely, Blue McCoy.

Blue McCoy.

Rumor had it he was coming back to town for his stepbrother’s wedding.

Blue McCoy.

With dark blond hair and dark blue eyes that burned with an intensity that made her heart stand still, Blue McCoy had haunted all of Lucy’s adolescent dreams. He was the hero of her teenaged years—a loner, quiet, dark and dangerous, capable of just about anything.

Including winning beautiful Jenny Lee Beaumont’s heart.

Except Jenny Lee wasn’t going to marry Blue McCoy on Saturday afternoon. She was marrying his stepbrother, Gerry. He was two years older than Blue, with a quicksilver smile, movie-star good looks and a happy-go-lucky attitude. Some people might have found Gerry the more attractive of the McCoy boys.