Some Kind of Hero (Troubleshooters #17)
Suzanne Brockmann
CHAPTER ONE
Wednesday
Wait, wasn’t that the Navy SEAL?
Yes, the man who was frantically waving his arms at the side of the road, trying to flag down one of the swiftly passing cars in the rapidly deepening twilight, was—absolutely—Shayla’s new neighbor.
She recognized him immediately, even here, several miles from their semi-suburban neighborhood, mostly from his impossibly fit physique.
Oh, really…?
Yeah, okay, all right, in truth she recognized the SEAL specifically by his amazing ass. And sue her for being human, but when a man had a pair of shoulders that wide and a butt that was almost ridiculously proportionately not-that-wide…one’s eyes tended to be drawn instinctively down toward that seemingly miraculous not-wideness.
Truly though, it was the combo of what was covering that noteworthy derrière—a pair of very nicely fitting camo cargo shorts—plus his trademark flip-flops with a snug olive drab T-shirt that had brought about her initial surge of recognition. She confirmed it—yup, that was definitely her local Navy SEAL—when he turned a head that was covered with regulation-defyingly shaggy, sun-streaked golden-brown hair to reveal his too-handsome face.
Those eyes had to be blue.
Even though he’d moved into Shayla’s neighborhood nearly two months ago, she still hadn’t gotten close enough to the man to be absolutely certain, but really, she knew. Neon blue. Had to be. And they probably twinkled and sparkled, too.
Still, even from a sparkle-obscuring distance, the man was hard to miss. And Shay’s curiosity had pinged when he’d pulled a U-Haul in front of the sweet little bungalow-for-rent across the street and her elderly and possibly omnipotent neighbor Mrs. Quinn had muttered, “Just what we need, as if it weren’t already too noisy here,” before darkly IDing him as a Navy SEAL.
Navy SEAL, hmm? So yes, Shayla had looked at him and his perfect butt a tad more thoroughly than she otherwise might’ve.
Tonight however, the man was hard to miss for another reason. He’d practically leapt full out into the middle of the oncoming traffic—and there was a lot more of it than usual for a Wednesday evening near the high school.
Shayla hit her brakes and leaned forward slightly to peer at him through her windshield, wondering if he’d been attempting to stop that one specific car in front of her, or if any old car and driver would do.
Bow chicka bow bow! Harry Parker’s irreverent voice-in-her-head now sang a riff that was supposed to imitate the porn-worthy wah-wah of an electric guitar.
Shut it, she told him silently since he was a fictional character and therefore invisible, and she wasn’t quite crazy enough to start talking to herself out loud. At least not yet.
And apparently, the SEAL wasn’t picky, because he didn’t wait for her to stop completely before he tried to open her passenger side door.
“I’m sorry, can you help me, I’m not dangerous, I promise,” he called to her through the closed window, but she was already hitting the button that popped the lock.
It was pretty clear he didn’t recognize her—probably because she’d never gotten around to bringing over a pie to welcome him, his sullen teenaged daughter, and their obvious lack of a Mrs. Navy SEAL to the neighborhood.
That was what Harry, in his infinite-yet-fictional wisdom, had recommended Shayla do. Wear a top with a neckline that plunged and bring her hot new Navy SEAL neighbor a homemade pie. It was a brilliant plan, except nearly all of her tops were crew-necked Ts. And then there was that tiny, pesky fact that she’d never baked a pie before in her life.
“I’m a SEAL, an officer.” It was the first thing the man said as he opened her car door and climbed in. He obviously understood the clout of that, particularly here in U.S.-NavyLand, or as civilians called it, San Diego. “Lieutenant Peter Greene. Thank you for stopping.”
“You’re welcome,” Shayla said, oddly tongue-tied at their sudden proximity. Her small car seemed smaller than usual because those shoulders were broad. And his movie-star handsomeness stood up to this closer view. In fact, his evenly featured face could’ve gone into the dictionary next to perfectly symmetrical. Or maybe just plain perfect. Also, he smelled good. Like sunblock and fresh air and a scent she assumed was pure Navy SEAL hotness.
Even Harry was uncharacteristically silent.
And alas, even though she’d spent her career writing books where this kind of impromptu meet-cute would end with them having screaming animal-sex before the clock struck midnight, Shayla wasn’t as bold as her romance novel heroines. She didn’t look all that much like them, either. In fact, she was lucky that she’d showered and put on real pants before she’d crawled away from her computer in order to drive-and-drop Frankie at his high school debate club practice. Most of the time she just climbed into her car from the safety of the shuttlebay—aka their closed garage—wearing her plaid PJs beneath her jacket.
She cleared her throat and managed, “What’s, um, going on? Are you okay?”
But he was already talking. Explaining. “My daughter is missing, and I think I just saw her getting into a car heading north.” He gestured to the busy road in front of them.
Missing.
With two kids of her own, that was a word to chill her to the very depths of her soul. Shayla could still work herself into a cold sweat by remembering that horrible day Tevin had gone on a class day-trip into Boston, but hadn’t been on the bus when it returned to the middle school parking lot. That was when they were still living back in Massachusetts, and it turned out that he’d run into his father near the State House. Tevin had stayed in the city to have dinner—and both he and Carter, now her ex, had wrongly assumed the other would call to tell her. Neither had.
Before Shayla had located the teacher who knew what was going on, it had been a very frightening few minutes—the likes of which she hoped she’d never again experience.
Now she immediately jammed her car into gear and surged back into the traffic amidst the blaring horns of the drivers she’d cut off.
“Whoa,” the SEAL said, quickly fastening his seat belt. “Wow. Thank you.”
“This is what you wanted, right? Follow that car?” she asked as she jockeyed her way into the faster-moving left lane. Funny how that horrible word, missing, had magically turned him from too-hot-to-talk-to Navy SEAL to far more accessible worried dad. Hot worried dad, sure, but he needed both her help and immediate action, and accordingly her brain had unlocked. “Don’t worry, I’m a good driver.”
She really is. Great. Harry, too, had gotten his voice back.