Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) (12 page)

No wonder Tristan loved racing. She had to admit it was intoxicating. Focusing exclusively on the unraveling trail, she kept her eyes peeled for the landmarks she had noted on the map.

Tristan's engine sawed in her ear. Glancing back, she found him practically on her bumper. He grinned at her, a flash of white in a face covered in mud. Facing forward, she set her jaw in determination not to let him overtake her—not yet, anyway.

As the trail widened on a straightaway, she held her ground, swerving to bump his front tire and prevent his passing on the right. Their tires collided with a high-pitched squeal.

"You're crazy!" she heard him shout as he backed off.

Just then, she glimpsed a pile of gray rock on a promontory jutting above the tree line—landmark number one. Pretending to be chastised, she veered to one side of the path and let him pass. He roared by her with a triumphant smirk.

Just wait
,
she thought.

As he sped ahead of her spitting up mud in his wake, she slowed to a moderate speed and hunted for the fork that would shorten the course by several hundred meters before spitting her back out where the trail looped toward the starting point.

Distracted by Tristan's backward glances, she nearly missed it. A rope had been strung across the opening—to keep riders from mistaking the short cut for the actual path, she hoped. As Tristan dipped out of sight down a hill, she steered her vehicle around the rope, through two trees, and bounced onto the shortcut.

It didn't take long for her to regret her decision. The path was overgrown. Wet fronds brushed her knees and slapped her face and shoulders. The memory of being trapped in a car with no means of escape knifed into her consciousness, elevating her unease. She glanced up at the sky to keep her claustrophobia at bay.

To her great relief, the foliage thinned and she came upon a streambed. She would have to cross a fast-running creek to reach the other side. On the map, it had looked like a mere trickle. Thanks to the rain, it was broad and deep enough to inspire doubt as she slowed to a stop.

Should she try to cross it or not? Common sense vied with a vision of Tristan's astonishment when he arrived at the finish and found her already there.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," she muttered. Releasing the brake she drove steadily into the stream, headed for the opposite shore.

The water rose only halfway up her tires. I'm good
,
she thought, releasing the breath she was holding. But then her front tires dipped unexpectedly, and she responded by hammering the brake. Flying headfirst over the handlebars, she performed a somersault in the air, and landed on her bottom in three feet of water. The ATV revved and gurgled beside her, going nowhere.

"Juliet!"

Tristan's worried shout and the accompanying roar of a motor doubled her chagrin. He must have circled back to look for her. She didn't know whether to be grateful or embarrassed.

With her tailbone aching, she watched him abandon his ATV on the shore and run toward her. He paused to turn off her sputtering engine then dropped into the water to crouch next to her.

He gripped her shoulders. "Are you hurt?"

Only my pride.
"I think I'm fine," she grated ignoring the ache in her tailbone.

The good news was the cool, mineral-sweet water had washed her mostly clean. The bad news was that Tristan looked pissed.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.

Apparently, the good-time SEAL had a streak of seriousness in him, after all.

"I was taking a short cut so I could beat you," she explained, wary of the frown creasing his forehead. You could tell a lot about a man when he got angry.

"Yeah, I saw that shortcut on the map, too," he surprised her by retorting. "Didn't you see the skull and crossbones sign stamped on top of it?"

"Um, no," she said, thinking he was lying. How would she overlook something like that?

Breathing heavily, he surveyed their location with a sweep of his eyes.

"Well, you violated the most basic rule in safety," he stated with slightly less heat.

"The buddy system?" she guessed.

He nodded. "That's right. Where you go, I go, and vice versa."

"But that would put us on the same team," she pointed out.

His gaze met hers. "You don't want to be on my team?"

She shrugged. "I can't beat you if we're on the same team."

"True, but we can still beat everyone else."

She hadn't thought of that. "Good point."

Together, they eyed the other side of the stream where the path disappeared again into the jungle.

"Don't move. Let me see how deep this stream is." He turned away to ford it.

"Careful," she called, but then she felt foolish because the water never went past his knees as he crossed to the other side and back.

"I say we stay on this trail," he said. "If we're lucky, we'll still come out in the lead."

"And it pays to be a winner," she quipped citing an axiom she knew to be used by SEAL instructors. She stood up, dripping wet.

Tristan's gaze dropped to her sodden T-shirt. Thanks to the cold water, her nipples were impossible to overlook.

"Damn," he swore looking back up into her eyes. "Second place isn't looking so bad. We could pretend we got lost."

Heat crackled through her at the implication that they should use their circumstances to fool around. Picturing them naked and tangled in each other's arms, she had to clear her throat to find her voice. "As tempting as that sounds, hotshot, I'd rather be your teammate than your rebound lover."

He flinched and grimaced. "Ouch. A woman who tells it like it is." Grabbing the handlebars of her ATV, he started pushing it across the rocks to the other side.

Uncertain what to do with herself, she followed him only to draw up short when he turned back without warning. Her eyes widened as he stepped close, nudged her chin into the air with his thumb, and dropped a surprisingly sweet kiss on her astonished lips.

"You're honest," he said in a gruff voice that tickled her insides. "I like that."

"Thanks?" She wasn't exactly being honest with herself, though. Ignoring her attraction for him too long might cause it to spiral out of her control. She'd never
not
been in control when it came to selecting with whom she slept. Plus, she never got involved with a man she thought might tread on her heart—basically, any man she liked too much. That made things way too sticky.

Concealing her thoughts behind a blank expression, she watched him stride across the stream to mount his ATV. Given the gleam in his eyes as he sprayed through the shallows, all he was thinking about right now was beating everyone else in their group to the finish line.

Juliet swung onto the seat of her own vehicle. When it started up without so much as a sputter, she knew they were definitely going to win this race.

* * *

"Hey, I got your note, brother."

Jeremiah wrested his gaze from the musician fingering the keyboard in the corner of the bar and acknowledged Tristan's arrival. He had left him a note, asking Tristan to meet him in the Lizard Lounge as soon as he returned.

"What's up?" Tristan asked, straddling the stool next to him.

"I want to show you something." Jeremiah cracked open the lightweight laptop he had brought with him and angled it for Tristan to see.

"More research?" Tristan leaned toward the screen to scan the document. "This is a rap sheet," he realized. "Who is Aiden Lawlor?"

Jeremiah hushed him. "The band member on the keyboard," he murmured, tipping his head in the man's direction.

Tristan glanced casually in the Irishman's direction. "Where'd you get this information?"

"Hack," Jeremiah answered, identifying the IT genius in their platoon by his nickname.

Scanning the rap sheet a second time, Tristan gave a low whistle. "You think he's responsible for the hits you got?"

Jeremiah queried his intuition. "I don't know," he admitted. "Just because he has prior connections to the IRA doesn't mean he's plotting something on the ship. Could be he just couldn't get a job in his country of origin." Sensing the bartender's approach, he closed his laptop and looked up.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked.

As he left with Tristan's order, Jeremiah glimpsed a face in the mirror at the back of the bar that didn't belong there. Sammy Albright stood in the corridor, hiding behind a potted plant, spying on him.

The notes rippling off the keyboard drew his gaze to the musician as he improvised a riff from a Miles Davis jazz piece.

"He sure is good," Tristan commented.

"Versatile," Jeremiah agreed. The man played disco and jazz with equal competence. But versatility implied intelligence, and smart people weren't always content to play for the amusement of others. He might well have a personal agenda—one that involved wreaking havoc on a cruise ship.

Tristan looked away from the band. "Had any more hits lately?" he asked, searching Jeremiah's face.

Jeremiah shook his head. "Nope."

"Good, good." Tristan said, visibly relieved. "Hey, I heard you saved Emma's kid from drowning today."

Jeremiah glanced back at the mirror. Sammy was still watching him. He shrugged, wondering if his being on the tubing expedition instead of riding ATVs had been providential. What if
that
was the reason his and Emma's paths had crossed again—so he could save her daughter's life, not win her back? If so, then his purpose was fulfilled—even if he didn't feel like it was.

"How about you?" he asked. "Have fun riding ATVs?"

"Hell, yeah. We beat everyone else by taking a shortcut through the jungle. Breaking the course record won us a free beer. But someone reported us cheating, and then we had to pay for everyone's drinks, instead."

Jeremiah chuckled. "Good thing you're independently wealthy."

"Here you are." The bartender set a bottle of Foster's beer in front of Tristan.

He chugged half of it before setting it down with a belch. "So what's the plan with the musician?" he asked, glancing at him briefly.

"We need to befriend him," Jeremiah answered. "He's off at twenty hundred hours. I was thinking we could—" He broke off in mid-sentence as he saw Sammy's reflection striding purposefully in his direction. When she tapped him on the shoulder, he feigned surprise and swiveled around to face her. "Hey, there."

"Hi." She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

"How're you feeling?" he prompted.

"Good. I wanted to say thank you," she uttered in a quick staccato of syllables.

"No problem." He was tempted to say something about the life vest, except her mother had already chastised her—and she'd doubtless learned her lesson.

"I was wondering if you wanted to watch the
Cirque du Soleil
show with us in the Stardust Theater. It's starting in fifteen minutes," she offered unexpectedly.

Warmth burst over him like a sunrise. "Does your mother want me to come?"

Her wide eyes became impossible to read. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Mm-hmm. Come on. The theater is filling up." She gestured for him to follow her as she strode away.

"See you here at nineteen forty-five for our talk with Lawlor," he said, clapping Tristan on the back as he stood.

He trailed Sammy down the corridor. She disappeared through the theater's door without a backward glance. Following her, he stepped into a cool, semi-darkened theater and spotted her mother by the fiery length of her hair.

Emma glanced up as Sammy reached her seat. The surprise that widened her eyes as she spotted him let him know he'd been duped. Emma hadn't been expecting him, but she recovered quickly, sending him a smile of welcome.

Sammy stepped over her mother's knees, leaving room for him on the aisle. Jeremiah eased into the seat. They sat in silence for a moment. He stared at the red velvet curtain and the spotlight sitting like a sun in its center, wondering what to say.

Emma spoke quietly into his ear. "You said that you can see things that are going to happen?"

He turned his head and caught a whiff of her honeysuckle scent. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"When you tightened Sammy's life vest in the drill, was that... prescience?"

He had asked himself that very question right after the incident. "Probably." But if it was, he'd been too preoccupied by his visions of mayhem to pay attention. "I'm sorry. I don't always cue in on it."

"Don't apologize," she implored, her eyes wet with powerful emotion. "You saved her life."

He sent her a slight smile. He would rather have her love than her gratitude. "That's sort of what I do," he said.

"I think it's very admirable."

Well that was something, anyway. "Thank you."

"Would you consider going to Tulum with us tomorrow?"

The offer caught him utterly off guard. Delight broke over him at the prospect. "Don't you think your sister's going to want to go?"