Free SEAL Encounter (SEAL Brotherhood) by Sharon Hamilton Page A

couple more days decompression, Lanny.” The voice of his Team III medic stopped Kyle’s forward motion. Calvin “Coop” Cooper had once again interrupted his reverie. He looked up at the 6’7” SEAL and then back into the crowded promenade.
    She was gone.
    “Damn,” Kyle whispered.
    He’d told himself every day of his deployment in Afghanistan that he wouldn’t waste so much time dodging and then searching for the fairer sex. He needed some female companionship like never before. Could a team guy have that internal clock-ticking thing women talked about on those stupid shows? A clock that wasn’t attached to a timed IED?
    “I saw her first,” Coop said.
    Kyle grunted, but continued to scan the terminal.
    Coop added, “But she wasn’t looking at anybody. She doesn’t flirt. I tried.”
    Kyle looked up into Coop’s crystalline eyes. The SEAL continued, “You’ll have to catch her when she least expects it.” Coop was suppressing a grin by pursing his lips, but his eyes gave him away. About to burst into a smile in spite of himself.
    Coop liked to tease him about not making the rounds at the SEAL bars in San Diego. That’s how he earned one of his nicknames, Landrover, shortened to Lanny. They also called him Landmine because things tended to explode when he arrived on scene, stateside or otherwise. The nickname he hated the most was Lamb Chop because he thought it sounded like a guy with peach fuzz instead of a beard. People who called him that had to know him well, or they’d earn a proper decking.
    He didn’t go cruising for sex like Cooper, Fredo and Armando did. So did most of the other guys on his squad. Some went for the booze, some, like Cooper, for the babes. Kyle always preferred to keep to himself. Or just hang privately with one or two other guys from the community.
    “Coop, how the hell did you get to be such an expert on women? You spent your whole life under a tractor.” Kyle tilted his head and squinted at the Nebraska-farm boy-turned-SEAL.
    Coop gave one of his famous smiles, exposing his perfect white teeth.
    “I know about the equipment and how to make it purr. I know where to put the oil and where to put the grease.” He winked.
    Kyle searched the crowd again without finding her. He halfway expected to pick up her scent. “You must have seen those legs,” he said without looking up at Cooper.
    “I did indeed,” Coop returned. He joined the scanning, continuing to stand right next to his chief.
    “Makes me glad we’re back in the U.S. of A.,” Kyle started. “Was hoping she’d be some kind of grateful and welcome me home. Properly.”
    Cooper chuckled. “That would be something,” he said. “Well, I’m off to join Fredo in the bar. Wanna come?”
    “You don’t drink, Coop.”
    “I didn’t say I was gonna drink. I said I was gonna join Fredo in the bar. And make sure he made the plane.”
    “Good idea. I’ll be along shortly.” Kyle was still staring into the crowd. He thought perhaps he’d caught a glimpse of her shiny straight blonde hair.
    “Do I have to worry about you?” Coop asked. He sighed when he got no answer. “Okay then. Later.” He leaned into Kyle with a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d get your tongue off the floor. No telling what kind of germs there.”
    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 III, 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