Free The Defiant Hero by Suzanne Brockmann Page B

doing here?”

    Sam knew the moment the words left his mouth that this was not the kind of greeting that would win him any points.

    In fact, Alyssa Locke’s cold gaze got pretty damn arctic. “Ensign Starrett. Just my luck.”

    His bad luck, too. He’d never have expected to run into Alyssa Locke in the Kazbekistani embassy lobby during a hostage crisis, never in a million years.

    Yet here she was. She was out of uniform, either on leave or . . . “I heard rumors you quit.”

    Her chin went up. Jesus, she had the world’s most perfect chin. “I resigned my commission as an officer in the Navy because I received a better offer from the Bureau.”

    “You’re FBI?”

    He couldn’t keep the horror from his voice, and she smiled tightly. “Special counterterrorist unit.”

    Which meant that there was a good chance they’d be working together with some frequency, since the FBI often called in the SEALs for military assistance.

    They’d be working together in the field, out where bullets could fly and shit could hit the fan and splatter. Alyssa had always wanted to get her hands dirty. She’d wanted to operate out in the real world. Frankly, she’d wanted to be a SEAL, and she’d finagled herself into a place where—amazingly, if she kept with it—she’d someday be authorized to order SEALs around, out in the field.

    Sam held out his hand, forced a smile. “Well, shit. Congratulations.”

    Out of all the things he might have said and done, she hadn’t expected that. Not that he really meant it, but the effort surely counted for something.

    She chose to pretend he was sincere, hesitating only slightly before taking his hand. Her fingers were cool and slender—as perfect as the rest of her, and a perfect fit in his hand as well. “Thanks.”

    This was the first time he’d ever touched her. The first time she’d let him. She pulled her hand free way too soon, just a little too fast, as if she’d noticed that perfect fit, too, and gotten just as freaked out by it.

    And then they were standing in the middle of the main entrance to the K-stani embassy, just staring at each other. At least Sam was staring at Alyssa. She jerked her gaze away and was looking anywhere but at him.

    The room was filled with chaotic activity, but at least the press—thank God—had been kept outside on the sidewalk.

    “Is Tom here?” she asked. “And Jazz?”

    Sam pointed across the room to where his CO and XO had found both the agent in charge and several top Kazbekistani officials. They were standing there, with Nils, deep in conversation. Nils was nodding. He kept glancing at the closed-off staircase that led to the second floor, as if he wished he could skip the briefing and take the stairs two at a time up to the men’s room where Meg Moore was holding the hostages.

    “I never got a chance to thank you back in Massachusetts,” Sam told Alyssa, suddenly uncertain as to where to put his hand now that he wasn’t holding hers. He finally settled on folding his arms across his chest, keeping his armpits closed.

    He stank to high heaven. They all did—coming straight in the way they had from last night’s training op. He could see Nils across the room, most of his greasepaint sweated off, leaving his face looking slightly muddy and battleworn. Sam knew he looked the same.

    “You know,” he added, “for saving the lieutenant’s life when he was up on that roof.”

    Alyssa Locke had been in a sniper position in a nearby church tower while Lt. Tom Paoletti had been up against two tangos—one of whom had a gun aimed at the lieutenant’s teenage niece—on the roof of the nearby Baldwin’s Bridge Hotel. From her perch, Alyssa had had an opportunity to take out the gunman with a single shot, and she’d done it unflinchingly, her aim straight and true. She’d saved the niece, an event that had ultimately saved Tom.

    She’d saved the niece, but she’d also taken her first human life.

    She nodded curtly