set up on top of them, to plan out their own little version of BUD/S training for these Finks.
Joe Catalanotto had pulled strings with his admiral pal, Mac Forrest, to make arrangements for Lt. Alan Francisco, one of the top BUD/S training instructors, to meet them out here in Virginia. Joe Cat was hoping Frisco would be able to organize the jumble of notes and training ideas the squad had come up with to date.
Frisco was a former member of Alpha Squad who had been pulled off the active duty list with a knee injury more than five years ago. Cowboy had been filling in for a missing member of the squad when Frisco had been injured. That had been Cowboy’s first time in the field, his first time in a real war zone—and he’d been sure that it was going to be his last. Cowboy was certain that Joe Cat, the squad’s commander, had seen his hands shaking as they set a bomb to blow a hole in the side of an embassy.
It had been another embassy rescue….
Melody Evans’s wide blue eyes flashed into his head, but Cowboy gently pushed the image away. He’d been thinking about Mel too much lately, and right now he was writing up a summary of the information he was intending to share with the FinCOM agents. At Cat’s request, he was in charge of presenting the psychological profile of a terrorist to the Finks. The key to success when dealing with terrorists lay in understanding their reasoning and motivation—how their minds worked. And with all of the cultural, environmental and religious differences, their minds worked very differently from the average white-bread American FinCOM agent.
Frisco was going to arrive Monday morning, and although it was only Friday, Cowboy was pushing to get his report finished today. After working nearly nonstop over the past seven months, he was hoping to take a few days of leave this weekend.
Mel’s face popped into his thoughts again. He’d left a message on an answering machine he’d hoped was hers. Please, dear Lord, let her call him back.
Again he took a deep breath and focused his thoughts on his report. It was important to him that this summary be as complete as possible. Alan “Frisco” Francisco was going to be the man to read it, and Cowboy wanted to make the best impression he could.
Because when it was determined that Frisco’s injury was permanent, Cowboy had been assigned to Alpha Squad at Joe Cat’s request, as the man’s replacement.
Cowboy still felt a little uncomfortable when Frisco was around. He knew the man missed being in the action, and here he was, his official replacement. And if Frisco hadn’t been hurt, Cowboy probably wouldn’t be working with the elite seven-member Alpha Squad. Cowboy had benefited from Frisco’s tragedy, and both men damn well knew it. As a result, when they were together, they tippytoed around each other, acting especially polite. Cowboy was hoping that would change as the two men worked closely together over the next few months.
Right now, he appeared to be the only man in the room who was actually working. Blue McCoy and Harvard were checking out the Web site for Heckler and Koch, the German weapon manufacturer. Even Joe Catalanotto had his feet up on his desk as he talked on the phone with his wife, Veronica. Their son’s first birthday was quickly approaching, but from what Cowboy couldn’t help but overhear, it sounded as if Joe was more interested in planning a separate, very different, very private party for the parents of the birthday boy, to be held after all the guests had gone home and little Frankie Catalanotto was tucked into his crib.
The rest of the guys were sitting around the “office,” trying to come up with ways to truly torment the poor Finks.
“We start the whole thing off with a twenty-five-mile run,” Wesley was suggesting.
One desk over, Lucky O’Donlon was playing some kind of computer game complete with aliens and exploding starships and roaring sound effects.
“No, I read the rule book,” Bobby countered loudly to be heard over the sound of the alien horde. “These guys—and gals—are going to be put up at the Marriott while they’re here. I don’t think they’re going to let us run ’em for five miles, let alone twenty-five.”
That got Lucky’s attention. “FinCOM’s sending women out here?”
“That’s what I heard,” Bobby said. “Just one or two out of the bunch of them.”
Lucky smiled. “One or two is all we need. One for me and one for Cowboy. Oh, but wait. I almost forgot. Cowboy’s sworn off women. He’s decided to become a priest—or at least live like one. But then again, maybe a little one-on-one with a pretty young FinCOM agent is all he needs to get him back in the game.”
Cowboy couldn’t let that go. Lucky had been teasing him mercilessly about his current celibacy for months. “I don’t criticize the way you live, O’Donlon,” he said tightly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d show me the same courtesy.”
“I’m just curious, Cowboy, that’s all. What’s going on? Did you honestly find God or something?” Lucky’s eyes were dancing with mischief. He didn’t realize that he’d pushed Cowboy to his limit. “I seem to remember a certain Middle Eastern country and a certain pretty little former hostage you seemed intent upon setting some kind of world record with. I mean, come on. It was kind of obvious what you were up to when you went to meet her for dinner and then didn’t come back for six days.” Lucky laughed. “She sure must’ve been one hell of a good—”
Cowboy stood up, his chair screeching across the concrete floor. “That’s enough,” he said hotly. “You say one more word about that girl and you’re going to find the very next word you say is going to be said without any teeth.”
Lucky stared at him. “God, Jones, you’re serious! What the hell did this girl do to you?” But then he grinned, quick to turn anything and everything into a joke. “Do you think if I asked real nice, I could get her to do it to me, too?”
Cowboy was moments from launching himself at the blond-haired SEAL when Harvard stepped between them, holding up one hand, silently telling Cowboy to freeze.
The big man fixed Lucky with a steady, dangerous gaze. “You’re nicknamed Lucky because with all the truly asinine things that come out of your mouth, you’re lucky to still be alive, is that right, O’Donlon?”
Lucky wisely returned his attention to his computer game, glancing up at Cowboy with disbelief still glimmering in his eyes. “Sorry, Jones. Jeez.”
Cowboy slowly sat back down, and as Joe Cat hung up the phone, a complete silence fell, broken only by the sounds of Lucky’s computer game.
What the hell did this girl do to you?
Cowboy honestly didn’t know.
Surely it was some kind of witchcraft. Some kind of enchantment or spell. It had been seven months, seven months, and he couldn’t so much as glance at another woman without comparing her, unfavorably, to Melody Evans.
Melody. Shoot, she’d had his head spinning from the moment she’d opened her hotel-room door for him.
Her hair was so light, he’d nearly laughed aloud. He knew she was a blonde from her picture, but until he saw her, he really hadn’t been able to imagine it. Cut short the way it was, it accentuated the delicate shape of her face and drew attention to her long, graceful neck.
She was gorgeous. She’d gotten hold of some makeup and wore just a trace of it on her eyes and a touch of lipstick on her sweet lips. It highlighted her natural beauty. And it told him without a doubt that she had
