Fredo's Dream: SEAL Brotherhood: Fredo Page 28

  Kyle delivered a punch to Coop’s arm a little harder than usual. He watched the gangly SEAL, the medical and gadget wizard of SEAL Team 3, amble off toward the Crab Shack Bar and Grill.

  Kyle began his hunt. His footsteps went to stealth mode without a sound. His walking speed bested most people’s runs. Just like in sniper training. He was anxious to close the distance between them.

  San Francisco had always been one of Kyle’s favorite cities. Right after BUD/S training, he came up several weekends in a row. In those early days, he preferred to go out of town to find dates, rather than risk being identified as a newbie frog in San Diego. And no one would believe a SEAL would want to hang out in the City by the Bay. They weren’t exactly friendly to military these days. Presidio was full of movie production offices now. The base was sold off like one of the ghost ships nearby in the Suisun Bay.

  But after his two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, he found he didn’t want to go to all the trouble just to find someone to have a little fun with. Consequently, he kept his profession and his identity close to the vest. Preferred the company of other team guys.

  Truth was, he was also a little shy around women. His mother had died when he was in high school. Hanging around a bunch of career Navy and team guys didn’t help him learn how to maneuver around females at all, that is, without making them run in the other direction. But, as the team LPO, he was expected to show confidence in everything he tackled.

  Where is she? Certain she was somewhere ahead, he continued.

  He realized he sucked when it came to women. He fell too fast and scared them off. He was too intense, wanted things too hard, didn’t know how to play the little games of seduction. He would wind up with a string of one-night stands. Feeling unsatisfied. Just as alone as before. At least in Afghanistan he had his buds around him. Men who would die to keep him safe. And he’d do the same. That kind of intensity he could understand.

  Women are different.

  But give him something to blow up, some bad guy to snatch, or a target to hit, and Kyle didn’t have a moment’s hesitation. He knew just how lethal he was. Maybe too lethal. Even for his own good.

  Something sparkly caught his eye. There she was, several yards in front of him, with her carry-on bag slung over her right shoulder. He started following her down the corridor without thinking.

  Like a bull moose.

  Her straight skirt hugged the curves of her sweet derriere in ways that made Kyle jealous. With her long legs, she looked calm and casual, but she was booking it down the granite tiles to another departure gate. He smiled and sped up to—do what?

  It would be just his luck. She was probably a model, on her way to New York or Paris. No way he’d be lucky enough even if he caught up to her. What the hell do you say to a woman like that? No doubt she was late to meet up with a lover who was whisking her off for a romantic week somewhere. How he wished he could be that guy.

  A luggage cart laden with bags piled four and five deep cut right across Kyle’s focused path and he wound up on the floor, covered in Samsonite. He didn’t want to look down the hall to see if she noticed him. It was bad enough to face the crowd of laughing elementary school kids who had been following behind the cart. Kyle became their distraction of the moment.

  He checked a sting coming from his elbow and found blood. He’d have to explain this to Cooper, who would patch him up if the Team 3 medic could stop laughing long enough. That wasn’t going to be much fun. Here he was, doing battle with luggage at the San Francisco airport without a bad guy in sight. On a mission to meet up with a pair of legs. But he’d lost the target.

  It was the same sorry story day in and day out. He picked up the nearest red bag and tossed it as hard as he could throw.

  CHRISTY NELSON HEARD the chirping laughter of the school children. It was funny seeing their bright red Sports Academy bags tumbling over luggage of all colors, like strawberry sauce on top of a sundae. Then, like an erupting volcano, one sports bag spewed from the top of the pile and flew half way across the terminal corridor. That’s when she knew someone had been buried under all the debris. Someone who could throw a thirty-pound bag fifty feet.

  Thank God it’s no child. With several chaperones scurrying to sort out the mess, Christy took her leave, looking for the store her mother had loved.

  Every time her mother visited Christy, she would bring her a little charm from the airport store. Christy was desperate to find it. She intended to bury a golden angel at her mother’s gravesite as soon as she got to San Diego. For good luck. For guidance.

  Maybe I better buy one for myself.

  With her mother’s estate settled, something she’d been able to do by computer and fax long distance, Christy was going back to San Diego one last time to meet the Realtor she’d hired to sell her mother’s condo on the waterfront. She prayed she’d made the right choice. A quick sale would mean she’d have to spend little time there, inside the four walls that watched her mother wither away.

  Even at the end, her mother had insisted on staying in her new home, choosing to die “where the light is always perfect.”

  There was something about the San Diego area that lifted Christy’s spirits, even though it reminded her of her mother’s death. In San Francisco, the past few weeks had been cold and foggy, mirroring her insides perfectly.

  Christy reached one jewelry and clothing boutique, and spoke to an eager sales clerk. She instantly felt at ease inside the little shop. Had someone been following her?

  “You have these?” Christy flashed her own golden bracelet in front of the young woman’s face.

  “Yes we do. Right here.” The girl pointed to a glass case to her left.

  Christy saw the little angel charm, dressed in a flower-patterned dress in pink cloisonné.

  Perfect.

  She scanned other angels, setting aside the pink one with the dark hair. Then she selected one for her own bracelet: blonde angel in a red gown. The backside of the charm had a beautiful pattern inlay in turquoise and yellow.

  “I’ll get these. Can you put this one on my bracelet?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The clerk rang up her purchase, and then got out a pair of needle-nosed pliers. Christy extended her arm.

  “I’d feel a lot less nervous if you’d remove the bracelet first,” the clerk said.

  They selected a spot on the chain and the clerk applied the new angel with a heavy gold ring. She squeezed the pliers to secure the loop and placed the bracelet back on Christy’s wrist, clasping it.

  Christy slipped the other charm into her purse and left the shop.

  An announcement confirmed her flight was boarding. The hallways were cleared of the earlier baggage debris and the school children. She began a light jog to her gate through sparse passenger traffic.

  The last of the passengers were filing onto the plane. Handing her boarding pass to the attendant, she was stopped.

  “Ma’am. Your ticket’s been given away.”

  “Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I got distracted…” Christy’s eyes began to fill with water. “I’m going on a short trip to button up my mother’s affairs. She’s just passed…”

  “No worries.” The tall male flight attendant gave her a broad grin. He leaned and whispered, “Would you mind flying First Class?”

  It took her only a second to respond. “Really?”

  “It’s the only unoccupied seat. But I warn you, the very unpleasant gentleman over there,” he nodded to a red-faced businessman in a suit, clutching a briefcase, “will be none too happy.”

  “I’m sorry. If I could reschedule, I would. I have a driver picking me up at the airport.”

  “Then the seat is yours. No extra charge.”

  “Thank you so much!”

  “My pleasure. Besides, the gentleman has been less than gracious with us. His fault he missed his flight. I’ll send him on the next one. Coach.” He winked at her. She took her stub and ran down the jet bridge without looking back
at the businessman she’d just displaced.

  Christy slipped into the front seat in First Class, moving across the lap of a handsome dark-haired man sitting on the aisle. He was about her age. His tanned face and square jaw complimented his hazel eyes.

  “I’m Travis,” he said as he extended his hand.

  “Christy.” He could even be described as beautiful.

  They shook. His hands were smooth, and enormous.

  She buckled herself in as the door was closing. The plane was in the air within minutes. Her body was pushed back into the seat.

  After leveling out, Christy looked around the cabin at the sea of faces behind her.

  “You traveling with someone in coach?” Travis asked softly. His eyes sparkled under the LED overhead lighting.

  Christy blushed in spite of herself. “No. Just habit I guess.”

  “Flying is quite safe these days, you know,” he said as he winked at her.

  Christy pulled the hair from her neck and leaned back into the chair. But she still felt someone was watching her every move. Someone from the back of the plane.

  As they talked, Christy guessed the handsome gentleman next to her was gay.

  She laughed when he told her he was an underwear model, heading to San Diego for a photo shoot.

  “You model too?” he asked.

  “Hardly. No, I’m coming back down to sell my Mom’s condo. She’s recently passed away.”

  “Sorry. Where’s the condo? Been thinking of relocating to San Diego. I’m here about every other week.”

  “The Infinity complex down by the marina.”

  “Oh, nice. Probably not what I can afford.” He fanned himself and turned back to her. “What do you do in San Francisco?”

  “Just getting started in Real Estate,” she answered.

  Christy dug around in her purse, cursing inside she’d told him she was brand new. Finally, she produced her real estate card. Her newly arrived license was hung in a friend’s office back in San Francisco, temporarily.

  He took it and flipped it between his fingers. “Why don’t you sell the condo in San Diego yourself?” he asked.

  “Well, I just got my license. I’m learning the market in San Francisco from a friend. I have no clue when it comes to San Diego. You’re going to laugh, but I sell lingerie at Madame M’s on Maiden Lane. The…”

  “Oh, I know it.” He was pointing to her. “I’ve been in there several times.”

  Christy was surprised.

  Travis continued, “That’s where I’ve seen you. At the shop. I’m sure.”

  Christy tilted her head and examined his beautiful face again. Yes, he did look vaguely familiar. Maybe she was wrong about Travis after all.

  She blushed at her mistake of his gender preference and averted her eyes. An older man across the aisle had leaned forward and was listening to every word.

  With a smirk, Travis picked up Christy’s fingers and put them to his lips. “Don’t worry, my dear. You are safe with me.” His voice was thick with mystery and conspiracy. “I have a very close personal friend who is a female impersonator and she buys all her nice things there,” he whispered. His eyes widened to make the point.

  And Christy knew him. Knew her. The exotic dancer.

  Angela Folsom. Christy had waited on her many times. She was one of Madame’s cross-dressing customers, and quite famous.

  Travis dropped her fingers and she looked out the window for distraction, not sure what to say, not wanting to offend. Had she? Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “What can I get you?” the flight attendant asked her first, then looked at Travis and blushed.

  “The lady and I,” Travis looked at Christy and winked, “are going to have two glasses of champagne, please.” He flapped his eyebrows up and down.

  And that was that. By the time they landed in San Diego, she was well on her way to feeling warm, fuzzy and relaxed. Travis managed to get her chatting and laughing. She enjoyed his easy style and the safe flirting.

  At the terminal, Travis shouldered her carry-on bag with an eager crooked grin. She surveyed longing eyes of other women as they passed through the crowds like royalty. He was being admired by all, seemed used to it and able to enjoy the attention.

  They met her driver at the baggage terminal. “Can I have him drop you off somewhere?” Christy asked.

  “I’m meeting someone, supposed to call,” he said as he glanced around the terminal.

  Christy followed Travis’ gaze as the bags began to come out onto the carousel. “It’s no bother, if you’re anywhere close to downtown.”

  Travis agreed. Christy pointed to her bag and Travis leaned forward to retrieve it. She stepped back onto the running shoe of another passenger standing behind her, who had just removed his luggage from the conveyor. Twisting her ankle, she nearly tripped, but not before she noticed the bicep and muscled forearm of a man of steel. Near his wrist was a tattoo of tracks from a three-toed animal, extending nearly to the inside of his elbow.

  Travis grabbed her around the waist and righted her before she fell into the side and chest of the stranger, who did a sudden intake of air. Immediately her driver came between them and ushered her outside before she had a chance to look back over her shoulder at the muscled stranger.

  But she could feel a set of eyes on her. The hair at the backside of her neck stood on end at the close call. She wanted to see him, wanted to look into the stranger’s eyes, but she was whisked away, held under each elbow, and deposited into the waiting black limo.

  Kyle Lansdowne knew he was out of her league. Well-endowed both physically and financially. Demure. Incredible body and well cared-for in all respects. Surrounded by men who waited on her. She smelled heavenly. What parts managed to touch her body through his clothes burned at the memory. A sailor, even an elite sailor like himself, would have no chance with a woman like this.

  Not to mention the fact that she was already taken.

  Fredo coughed in his ear. Kyle turned to look at the brown puppy dog eyes of the shortest man in his SEAL team, standing next to the tallest man ever to graduate BUD/S, Coop.

  They didn’t have to say anything.

  “Seriously, Dude. You needs to get a Chiquita.” Fredo was always known for his honesty.

  “Shut up, Frodo,” Cooper offered. Kyle noticed the shorter team guy wince at the moniker he was given, due to his challenged size. “He’s just landed. Give the man some space. He can’t help it if the lady in question already has plans.”

  Fredo shook his head from side to side, walking off toward the sunlit doors of the terminal exit, mumbling something in Spanish. Then the little Mexican SEAL ran toward the door, directly into the path of another dark-haired muscled man. The two began a heated conversation in Spanish while punching and slapping body parts.

  Kyle thought they were causing too much attention.

  “Wow,” Cooper spat. “Armani’s here. Thought he was still on leave in Puerto Rico. What the fuck’s up with that?”

  “I didn’t believe it either when I got his text. But here he is. God’s gift to mankind.”

  Kyle forgot the blonde, the hole the size of San Diego in his chest, and immersed himself in the comradery that was their group.

  Special Operator Armando Guzman was dressed in all black. His shiny and curly dark hair was still long from their tour in Afghanistan. Kyle noticed he’d shaved his beard, though.

  “Hey shaggy. How was home?” Kyle asked after they shook hands. Armando had missed the required decompression stop in Hawaii, for the family emergency.

  Armando shrugged. “Still there.”

  Kyle noticed something black inside his best friend’s eyes. He felt in the presence of someone else with a hole in his chest, and it wasn’t from their duty as the Navy’s finest. Something was eating away at him.

  “You right as rain, Armani?” Cooper asked Armando.

  So Cooper picked up the same vibe.

  “Nah,” Armando started. “I miss all th
e sand and the goats.”

  Everyone chuckled and knew he was full of shit.

  Chapter 2

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  CHRISTY UNLOCKED THE front door of her mother’s condo and stepped inside. She caught her breath, experiencing one of the best views of San Diego harbor she had ever seen. It was like this every time she came here. She set her luggage down and traversed the distance through a bright expansive living room, reaching the sliding glass doors and the brushed steel balcony railing beyond. She thought she could hear her mother breathing.

  Mom, I’m back.

  She felt something alive here every time she walked into this room.

  Her heart was still beating rapidly, even though they’d dropped Travis off on the way to town, though her driver brought in all her bags and sent them up in the elevator. She could still feel the hardness of the stranger’s chest, and see the blue-black tattoo on his arm.

  Has it been that long since a man has held me?

  She sighed, kicked off her shoes, removed her jacket and leaned into the glass door, peering at the harbor below. Three years ago, her mom suddenly moved to San Diego without telling Christy until the move was complete.

  Christy’s brother, who also lived in San Francisco, was obsessed with his career as a stockbroker. He’d married a manic depressive lady with multiple personality disorders. Her brother chose to deal with his wife’s problems by being gone most of the time.

  Christy’s mother had more patience with the woman than Christy did. But in the end, Christy thought perhaps the wife was the real reason her mother moved away.

  Did she expect me to follow behind?

  The relocation had seemed very abrupt at the time. Her mother said she’d always wanted to live near the water in San Diego. Told Christy it was time to start living her own life.

  Maybe she knew about the cancer when she moved here.

  It would be just like her mother to want to suffer in silence, and alone. Not to be a bother to anyone.

  In the end, did you have regrets, Mom? Did you find the peace you wanted?