Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3)

Author

Dedication

For my soul mate, if I have one.

...and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment...

–Plato on the topic of Soul Mates, The Symposium

Chapter 1

As he stepped on board the gleaming white cruise ship Escapade, Navy SEAL First Class Jeremiah Winters took advantage of his six feet three inches to observe the events unfolding ahead of him. Crewmembers had formed a line on either side of the boarding passengers, hurling confetti on their heads, shaking hands, and calling out words of welcome while musicians played upbeat jazz—a fitting choice for the port city of New Orleans.

The festive atmosphere combined with the warmth of the early April sun brought a smile to Jeremiah's lean face, but then an unexpected premonition sent a frisson skittering along his spine and across his brain. Instantly, his smile faded.

He cut a sidelong glance at his teammate and fellow passenger, wondering if Tristan had picked up on the dark energy. Of course not. Grinning and grooving his way along the deck, the golden-haired navigator appeared to have forgotten all about his recent breakup with a longtime girlfriend, his thoughts solely fixed on their upcoming cruise.

I'm imagining things, Jeremiah assured himself. After all, he worked day in and day out with a small group of the most highly skilled warriors on the planet, protecting innocent people like this boatload of vacationers. He and Tristan kept the populace safe; they didn't mingle with them. Naturally, this environment of uncontrolled liveliness and festive energy, so different from the disciplined world in which he normally lived, was bound to stir his uneasiness.

However, it was hard to dismiss his premonition out of hand, having invested so much time and energy into learning to harness his sixth sense—especially when it whispered that something bad was going to happen.

He dragged his feet. Wait, he said, putting a hand on Tristan's musclebound arm and hunting for the source of his disquiet.

What's wrong? Tristan's dark-blue gaze touched briefly on Jeremiah's profile, and then, perhaps picking up on his teammate's mood, he, too, started looking around.

Ahead of them, crewmembers pulled passengers aside so they could take their boarding photos, available later for purchase. The cameraman called out instructions.

You, pretty lady, turn to the right. Husband, give her a hug. Now, both of you smile! Holding his camera to his eye, the short, sandy-haired man peered through it.

Click, click, click.

In Jeremiah's mind, he saw a rifle instead of a camera, heard bullets explode from it and punch into the young couple, spraying blood and gore over the canvas backdrop. He blinked and the vision disappeared.

Damn it!

Tristan elbowed him. Dude, what's going on?

Jeremiah scanned the deck fore and aft. What could he possibly say? I've got a bad feeling about this? His teammates had learned to take his intuitions seriously, but Jeremiah had no desire to burst Tristan's bubble right then, not when this was the happiest he'd seen him since Mariah ditched him. Nor did he wish to ruin their vacation before it even got started.

Nothing. Forget it.

The cameraman waved off the family and called up the next party to stand before the screen, and the long auburn tresses of a thirty-something woman distracted Jeremiah from his churning thoughts.

Per the cameraman's instructions, she turned to face him with her preteen daughter and another young woman, and the breath tangled in his throat.

Emma Albright? It can't be.

He blinked, doubting his eyes. The college professor who had utterly captivated him, who had altered the course of his life forever and remained the ideal of womanly perfection in his psyche, had scarcely aged in the five years since he'd left George Mason University. She might be thinner, almost willowy now, her cheekbones more sculpted, but the rosy lips that curved into a smile as she made bunny ears behind her daughter's head, were the same that had brought Wordsworth and Coleridge to life for him. Indeed, they were the same lips that had captivated him to the point that he often hadn't heard the words they'd formed at all.

He and Emma had shared something intense and unexpected—and so confusing to his impressionable heart that he had dropped out of school mid-semester to become a knight errant, a Navy SEAL, taking on such giants as drug cartels and ISIS extremists. In his heart, he did what he did for her, in her name, though he barely admitted that to himself.

What were the odds that he would drive all the way from Virginia to New Orleans to board a cruise ship and run into her here?

Click, click, click.

The camera's digital sounds summoned the same horrific vision of bullets puncturing flesh, blood spraying, and bodies falling.

Jesus, no! Not her.

Her gaze shifted to intercept his fixed stare, and his heart suspended its beating as he waited for recognition to widen her soft blue eyes. Instead, they narrowed as if she thought him familiar but didn't know why. And then she turned away, throwing an arm around her daughter's shoulders.

With a prick of hurt, he watched her move away, chatting amiably with the other woman who looked to be her sister, given how they favored each other in appearance.

Well, of course she hadn't recognized him. Five years ago, he'd been a lanky twenty-two-year-old with thick-lensed glasses. The Navy hadn't just corrected his vision with laser surgery; it had packed fifty pounds of raw muscle onto his frame.

Even if she had recognized him, there would be 2,400 passengers sailing to the Western Caribbean on this ship. They could travel for the next seven days and never cross paths again.

But that wasn't what he hoped would happen, was it?

* * *

We have our own balcony! Sammy exclaimed, crossing to the glass door in two lanky strides before sliding it open to step outside. The only thing to look at was the Carnival cruise ship moored next to them, but soon they would cast off, and the view would improve substantially.

Emma sent her sister a knowing smile. Told you the upgrade was worth it.

Their room boasted a queen-sized bed and a sofa chair that extended into a cot for her daughter, Sammy.

Snagging one of the suitcases waiting for them in their cabin, Juliet opened the wardrobe and started unpacking.

I know you did it for me, she said. You shouldn't have spent the extra money.

Juliet's claustrophobia had been a contributing factor but not the only one.

I did it for all of us, Emma assured her. Remember, the cruise was free.

She had won a seven-day cruise for a family of three after entering a fundraiser drawing at church. Not only had she never expected to win, she hadn't particularly wanted to. Cruise vacations under starry skies were for people who still had husbands and who still believed in romance. She sat down abruptly on the bed, suddenly wishing she were back at home.

But maybe the whole thing was a mistake, she murmured, knowing her daughter couldn't hear her with the breeze whipping in her ears on the balcony. Her gaze went to her sister, efficiently unpacking.

Brushing back her honey-blond hair, Juliet caught sight of her and straightened. You're going to enjoy yourself, she predicted, but it sounded like a threat.

Or else what? Emma countered wryly.

Juliet sighed. It's time to move on, Em, she said, glancing at Sammy, who seemed to be leaning out to see the side of the ship. You need to relax and meet people. And this is the place to do it.

By people, her sister no doubt meant men. You're one to talk, Emma scoffed. You haven't taken a vacation from your firm since you opened it. More than that, Juliet had never been married, had never even had a steady boyfriend, and lately, she'd let her private investigation practice take up all her time.

True. But I'm here now, and I plan on cutting loose. She gave a suggestive wiggle of her shapely hips. You should, too.

Let me guess, Emma drawled. What happens on a cruise ship stays on a cruise ship.

Exactly. So promise me you'll try to have fun.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Fine. Yes, I'll try to have fun."

Shake on it. Juliet thrust a hand out.

An unexpected tingle of excitement moved up Emma's spine as she caught up her sister's hand and shook it.

Deal, she said just as Sammy stepped back into the room, sliding the door shut behind her. The wind had mussed her dark hair, and her green eyes sparkled.

This is awesome, her daughter exclaimed. We have everything we need in here—a coffee maker, TV, DVD player. She laid her hands on each item as she moved past them. What's in there? she asked her aunt.

It's a closet. How about you unpack and stow your suitcase by your bed?

Okay. Sammy opened the door opposite the wardrobe. Tiny bathroom, she exclaimed, disappearing inside of it. Actually the shower is pretty big, she called out.

Letting her sister unpack first, Emma lay back on the queen-sized bed to test the mattress. Gazing up at the ceiling, she tried to resurrect the brief tingle of excitement she'd felt seconds earlier. But she felt herself slip right back into the same somber state that had claimed her since Eddie left her for another woman.

Mom, there's no toilet paper.

Juliet chimed in before Emma could answer. It's in the dispenser.

Nope, the dispenser's empty.

Emma rolled to her feet. I'll go ask the cabin boy.

Sticking her head out the door, she searched the crowded corridor for Shiv, their cabin boy. The height and breadth of the handsome man who'd struck her as familiar up on the deck all but blocked her view. Was he a celebrity? Professional athlete? His step slowed as he caught her looking at him. Seeing him up close sent an arrow of recognition through her heart, turning her polite smile into a gasp.

Jeremiah?

His features had matured, making his jaw stronger, his long neck thicker. The body that had once been lanky had filled out into muscular perfection, causing the fabric of his T-shirt to strain over his broad chest.

She let the door bump shut behind her as she drifted toward him, drawn like a moth to the light. Is that really you?

The shorter blond Adonis behind him shifted left to look at her. He then glanced up at his companion, who had stopped in his tracks, adjusted his backpack, and held out a dinner-plate sized hand for her to shake without the least indication of surprise.

Professor.

He must have recognized her up on the receiving deck. His unruffled smile brought forth the dimple that summoned the same powerful attraction she'd felt for him five years earlier. It's a small world, he observed calmly. How are you?

Wow. Unable to summon a glib reply, she accepted his handshake while registering the warmth and firmness of his grasp. You grew up, she stated stupidly. She tried to take in all of him. The intelligence brimming in his eyes that she had cherished in him as a student was still apparent. His unflappable, thoughtful demeanor was the same, too, but the rest of him looked completely different.

And you look exactly the same. He spoke with even more confidence than he'd had in his early twenties.

A prick of self-consciousness had her pulling her hand back. More likely the breakup of her marriage had aged her beyond her thirty-three years, making the six-year gap between them more of a gulf than ever.

She flicked a glance at his companion who watched them with interest, one golden eyebrow cocked higher than the other.

Jeremiah took her cue to make introductions. This is my friend and colleague, Tristan Halliday. Tristan, Emma Albright.

His friend sent her a smile that assured him no shortage of adoring women.

Pleasure to meet you. His hand swallowed hers briefly. How do you know each other?

She felt her face heat. I was Jeremiah's English professor, she admitted though, at one time, she'd been a little bit more than that.

Jeremiah's. Tristan's eyes brimmed with amusement as he swung them up at his companion. We call him Bullfrog, now. You know, like the song.

Her mind made the quick leap. Of course.

Plus he's wicked fast in the water, Tristan added, causing Jeremiah to lower his gaze.

Excuse us. An older couple nearly as wide as the corridor itself stood behind them, clearly wanting to pass.

It's so good to see you again, Emma said, freeing the men to move on.

Same here. Holding her gaze a split second longer, Jeremiah continued past her door with Tristan on his heels.

Considering their broad backs, Emma wondered what they did for a living. They both looked incredibly fit—they could be Olympic swimmers, though obviously too old for that. Maybe diving instructors, she mused.

Forcing herself to turn away, she caught sight of the cabin boy and hurried toward him, moving against the flow of traffic. A backward glance showed Jeremiah and his friend entering a room several doors down and across from hers.

After all these years, Jeremiah Winters had crossed her path again—and he was only a few cabins away.

The tingle of excitement she'd experienced earlier moved through her again like a fast stream rippling over rocks. Hadn't she and Juliet just promised to let their hair down on this cruise? With Jeremiah on board, enjoying herself was suddenly a possibility.

True, she wasn't the romantic idealist she'd been half a decade earlier. In fact, if she'd known five years ago that love was a mere illusion, she wouldn't have fallen for a student in the first place. Nor would she have sent that student away thinking to save her marriage when Eddie had wrecked it himself, just a short while later.

None of that mattered now. For the next seven days, she and Juliet had pledged to cut loose. The tingle grew stronger. Experience had taught her that happily-ever-after was a myth. But that truth had no bearing on how much she lived it up in the next seven days.

* * *

Your professor has the hots for you, brother.

Tristan's observation as they took in the layout of their cabin pushed Jeremiah's thoughts more deeply into confusion.

He hadn't realized how much seeing her up-close would rattle him. Damn it, he wasn't a kid anymore. As a Navy SEAL, he'd seen and done things he couldn't have imagined experiencing when he was twenty-two. But gazing into Emma Albright's wide blue eyes and hearing her melodic voice—he'd experienced the same powerful attraction that had led them down the wrong path to begin with. He was mature enough now to recognize the danger of such a magnetic attraction.

Are you going to make a move on her?

Tristan's unexpected question brought his head around. He'd been inspecting their interior room—no window, two single beds, plenty of amenities—without really seeing it. Of course not, he retorted.

Why the hell not? Tristan picked up his suitcase and tossed it onto one of the beds, claiming it for himself.

Because she's married.

No, she's not. No ring on her finger, brother, and there hasn't been one for a while, from what I saw. You really ought to notice stuff like that, he said as a good-natured jibe.

Under normal circumstances, he would have noticed—but his gaze had remained riveted to her stunned expression. Heaving his suitcase onto the second bed, he kept his back to Tristan while he unlatched his bag.

She wasn't married? What happened to Mr. Albright, the reason why she had tearfully begged him to drop her class and keep away from her? Curiosity clawed at him, even as he told himself it didn't matter. She'd sent him away not exactly with his tail between his legs, but definitely feeling expendable. He wasn't going to grovel his way back to her—even if she was the first and only woman he'd ever loved.

But of all the places their paths could cross, why this one, why now, with the disturbing images he'd seen on the receiving deck still fresh in his head?

Hey. Tristan slapped him on the back, jarring him from his somber mood. What's your problem, Bullfrog? We're on a vacation. Let your hair down and loosen up a little, would you?

Jeremiah cracked a smile at the figure of speech. Considering that he buzzed his chestnut hair practically to his scalp to increase his speed in the water, there wasn't any way to let it down. Unless the bar was already open.

Let's go grab a drink, he suggested, leaving his suitcase for later. Maybe liquor would erase the horrifying visions from his brain.

Now you're talking.

* * *

I bet you all of this marsh was covered in water during Hurricane Katrina, Juliet speculated, encompassing the sea grass growing on either side of the canal with a sweep of her hand. A mild afternoon breeze ruffled the brim of the straw hat she'd donned. In another twenty minutes, their cruise ship would clear the tidal marsh and head into open water where warmer temperatures awaited.

Emma pictured the area around them in the grips of a hurricane and shuddered. Luckily, they wouldn't encounter a storm like that in April. The captain had informed them that the weather in the Western Caribbean would be mostly sunny with only a chance of rain while they were in Belize.

Sammy tugged on her arm. Can we go swimming now? she begged.

Emma glanced at Juliet, who shrugged in agreement.

With a squeal of anticipation, the preteen turned and flew down the exterior steps leading to the pool. Trailing behind her daughter and her sister, Emma smiled wryly at Juliet's attire. They both wore hats and full-length sundresses over their swimsuits—not exactly the kind of clothing that signaled their intent to cut loose.

As Sammy made a beeline for the tube slide, Juliet claimed a pair of lounge chairs close to the water but still in the shade. They dumped their pool bags, spread out their towels, and sat down to watch Sammy fly off the slide and splash into the water.

Glancing over at Juliet's stiff figure, her hands clasped tightly over her stomach, Emma shook her head. Having fun yet? she asked.

I'm getting there, Juliet replied, but she still appeared to be thinking about her work—perhaps some case she hadn't wrapped up before their flight.

I don't think we have the foggiest idea how to cut loose, Emma stated.

Juliet blinked, obviously tore herself from her thoughts, and turned to frown at her. Maybe we should get drunk or something.

Hey, there, said a male voice, wresting both their gazes upward.

How had they missed the approach of Jeremiah's colleague? That was a mystery for the ages since the eyes of every other female were riveted on him. He wore a sleeveless white T-shirt that highlighted the breadth of his tanned shoulders while delineating his impressive pecs.

Having directed his greeting at Emma, he eyed Juliet with unabashed curiosity.

Emma recalled his name with a snap of her fingers. Tristan.

You remembered, he praised her. And you're Emma. But who is this? he asked, gazing intently at Juliet.

Juliet. My sister.

Of course she is. Pleasure to meet you, Juliet.

Shooting Emma a puzzled glance, Juliet sat forward to acknowledge Tristan's handshake.

You, too, she said, in the same terse tones she used as a private investigator.

At this rate, they would never get anywhere, Emma thought, but then Tristan jerked a thumb toward the bar.

Would you ladies care to join us for a drink? he asked.

Us? Searching the bar, Emma's stomach clenched as she caught sight of Jeremiah sitting on a barstool with his back to them. Did he know his colleague was inviting them over? Would he welcome her company?

But Juliet was already rolling out of her chair in one graceful, athletic motion.

We'd love to, she said on a determined note.

Emma followed more slowly. Catching Sammy's eye, she pointed to the bar to indicate where they were going. They must look like easy conquests to the rest of the people around the pool, letting a handsome stranger pick them up with a mere jerk of his thumb.

At their approach, Jeremiah glanced around, caught sight of her, and sat up straighter. His stiff spine let her know he hadn't expected company. He didn't appear to want it, either.

Emma's step dragged. A wave of shyness overwhelmed her, and she turned to flee.

Chapter 2

A firm but gentle hand caught Emma's elbow and pulled her back around. Come on, he's dying to talk to you, Tristan stated under his breath as he drew her inexorably closer to the bar.

Hey, I found your professor, Bullfrog, he said, positioning Emma next to Jeremiah's seat. Turns out she has a sister.

With a visible breath, Jeremiah swiveled on his stool to acknowledge them.

Juliet, this is Jeremiah, Tristan continued, undaunted by the awkward vibes emanating from both sides. His friends call him Bullfrog.

Jeremiah sent Juliet a restrained nod.

And of course you already know your English professor, Tristan blundered on.

Juliet's head snapped in Emma's direction. "Wait. He is one of your students?"

Used to be, Emma explained, years ago.

Jeremiah stared at her a second longer, then gave his glass of liquor his undivided attention.

Her heart sank a second time. All these years, and he still hadn't forgiven her—not that she blamed him.

Have a seat. Tristan gestured to the two empty stools next to Jeremiah.

Shame and awkwardness stilted Emma's movements as she perched on the edge of the stool nearest him. Their sudden proximity left her feeling off-kilter.

He'd always been tall. Now he seemed large and tall, with legs roped with lean muscle and dusted with soft-looking hair protruding from his board shorts. Even his bare feet in sandals looked powerful and manly.

What can I get you ladies to drink? Tristan asked, undaunted by his friend's aloof behavior.

We have our own tokens, Juliet replied, producing the tickets they had purchased for drinks upon boarding. Sending Tristan a sweet but defiant smile, she laid them on the bar.

Cool, he said with a careless shrug.

I'll have a glass of pinot grigio, Emma said to the hovering bartender. Maybe if she gulped it down, she'd find the courage to talk to Jeremiah.

No, wait. Her sister sent her a pointed look.