Suzanne Brockmann - Alpha Squad - Prince Joe / Forever Blue

How did a lieutenant get away with calling an admiral by his first name, anyway? Veronica had heard that Forrest had been a SEAL himself at one time in his long navy career. And from what little she knew about SEALs so far, she suspected they were unconventional in more than just their warfare tactics.

Joe’s jaw was tight and the muscles in the side of his face were working as he listened to Forrest speak. He swore sharply, not bothering to try to disguise his bad language. As Veronica watched, he rubbed his forehead—the first sign he’d given all day that he was weary.

“FInCOM has raised hell before,” he said. “That hasn’t stopped us in the past.” There was a pause and he added hotly, “Their security is lax, sir. Damn, you know that as well as I do.” Another pause. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do that.”

Joe glanced up and into Veronica’s watching eyes. She looked away, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that she was openly eavesdropping. As she shuffled through the file of photographs, she was aware of his gaze still on her.

“Before you go, sir,” he said into the telephone. “I need another favor. I need audio- and videotapes of Tedric sent to my room ASAP.”

Veronica looked up at that, and directly into Joe’s eyes. “Thanks, Admiral,” he said and hung up the phone. “He’ll have ’em sent right over,” he said to Veronica as he stood.

He looked as if he were about to leave, to go somewhere. But she didn’t even get a chance to question him.

“FInCOM’s having a briefing about the tour locations here in D.C.,” Joe said. “I need to be there.”

“But—”

“Why don’t you take a nap?” Joe said. He looked at his watch, and Veronica automatically glanced at hers. It was nearly five o’clock in the evening. “We’ll meet back here at twenty-one hundred hours.”

Veronica quickly counted on her fingers. Nine o’clock. “No,” she said, standing. “That’s too long. I can give you an hour break, but—”

“This briefing’s important,” Joe said. “It’ll be over at twenty-hundred, but I’ll need an extra hour.”

Veronica shook her head in exasperation. “Kevin Laughton doesn’t even want you there,” she said. “You’ll spend the entire time arguing—”

“Damn straight, I’m going to argue,” Joe said. “If FInCOM insists on assuming the tangos are going to mosey on up to the front door and ring the bell before they strike, then I’ve got to be there, arguing to keep the back door protected.”

Joe was already heading toward the door. West and Freeman scrambled to their feet, following him.

“Put those details you were talking about in writing,” Joe suggested. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Veronica all but stamped her foot. “You’re supposed to be working with me,” she said. “You can’t just…leave…”

But he was gone.

Veronica threw her pad and pen onto the table in frustration. Time was running out.

Veronica woke up from her nap at seven-thirty, still exhausted but too worried to sleep. How was Joe going to learn to act like Prince Tedric if he wouldn’t give her any time to properly teach him?

She’d made lists and more lists of details and information Joe had no way of knowing—things like, the prince was right-handed. That was normally not a problem, except she’d noticed that Joe was a lefty. She’d written down trivial information such as the fact that Tedric always twirled the signet ring he wore on his right hand when he was thinking.

Veronica got up from the table and started to pace, alternately worried, frustrated and angry with Joe. Who in blazes actually cared what Tedric did with his jewelry? Who, truly, would notice? And why was she making lists of details when basic things such as Tedric’s walk and ramrod-straight posture were being ignored?

Restless, Veronica pawed through the clothes in her suitcase, searching for a pair of bike shorts and her exercise bra. It was time to try to release some of this nervous energy. She dug down farther and found her favorite tape. Smiling grimly, she crossed to the expensive stereo system built into the wall and put the tape into the tape deck. She pushed Play and music came on. She cranked the volume.

The tape contained an assorted collection of her favorite songs—loud, fast songs with pulsating beats. It was good music, familiar music, loud music.

Her sneakers were on the floor of the closet near the bathroom. As Veronica sat on the floor to slip them onto her feet and tie them tightly, she let the music wash over her. Already she felt better.

She scrambled up and into the center of the living room, pushing the furniture back and away, clearing the floor, giving herself some space to move.

With the furniture out of the way, Veronica started slowly, stretching out her tired muscles. When she was properly warmed up, she closed her eyes and let the music embrace her.

And then she began to dance.

Halfway through the tape, it came to her—the answer to her frustration and impotent anger. She had been hired to teach Joe to act like the prince. With his cooperation, the task was formidable. Without his cooperation, it was impossible. If he failed to cooperate, she would have to threaten to withdraw.

Yes, that was exactly what she had to do. At nine o’clock, when she went down the hall to the royal suite, she would march right up to Joe and look him in the eye and—

A man wearing all black was standing just inside her balcony doorway, leaning against the wall, watching her dance.

Veronica leaped backward, her body reacting to the unannounced presence of a large intruder before her brain registered the fact that it was Joe Catalanotto.

Heart pounding, chest heaving, she tried to catch her breath as she stared at him. How in God’s name had Joe gotten into her room?

Joe stared, too, caught in the ocean-blueness of Veronica’s eyes as the music pounded around them. She looked frightened, like a wild animal, uncertain whether to freeze or flee.

Turning suddenly, she reached for the stereo and switched the music off. The silence was abrupt and jarring.

Her red curls swung and bounced around her shoulders as she turned rapidly back to look at him again. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Proving a point,” he replied. His voice sounded strained and hoarse to his own ears. There was no mystery as to why that was. Seeing her like this had made his blood pressure rise, as well as other things.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face, searching for an answer. “How did you get in? My door was locked.”

Joe gestured to the sliding door that led to the balcony. “No, it wasn’t. In fact, it was open. Warm night. If you breathe deeply, you can almost smell the cherry blossoms.”

Veronica was staring at him, struggling to reconcile his words with the truth as she knew it. This room was on the tenth floor. Ten stories up, off the ground. Visitors didn’t simply stroll in through the balcony door.

Joe couldn’t keep his gaze from sliding down her body. Man, she was one hot package. In those skintight purple-and-turquoise patterned shorts and that tight, black, racer-backed top that exposed a firm, creamy midriff, with all those beautiful red curls loose around her pale shoulders, she looked positively steamy. She was slender, but not skinny as he’d thought. Her waist was small, her stomach flat, flaring out to softly curving hips and a firm, round rear end. Her legs were incredible, but he’d already known that. Still, in those tight shorts, her shapely legs seemed to go on and on and on forever, leading his eyes to her derriere. Her breasts were full, every curve, every detail intimately outlined by the stretchy fabric of her top.