Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) (3 page)

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. "I think you'd rather have something fun and frozen, with a little umbrella in it, wouldn't you?"

Point taken. Frozen drinks were far more fun. "Like what?" she asked.

"You should try their mojitos—lime, mint, and rum," Tristan suggested, lifting his glass to show what he was drinking.

The bartender winked. "I'll put an umbrella in it," he offered.

"Two mojitos then," Juliet decided.

"Well," Tristan said when the bartender turned away. He spent a second examining Juliet from top to bottom, causing the faintest hint of color to appear in her cheeks. "I know what Emma does for a living, but what do you do?"

"I'm a PI," Juliet said, in the all-business, tough-lady voice she used at work. "I run an investigative firm out of Fairfax, Virginia."

Emma nearly sighed out loud. If Juliet could at least try to flirt, then maybe one of them might get somewhere.

Despite her delivery, Juliet's reply ignited a spark of interest in Tristan's dark blue eyes. "Is that right? I bet you notice all the things that people miss."

Juliet shrugged. "I sure hope so. What do you do?" she asked before he fired off another question. Her gaze flicked to Jeremiah. "I assume you work together."

Tristan leaned an elbow on the counter. "What makes you say that?" he asked with a challenging grin.

She considered him in the same thorough manner that he'd scrutinized her, before glancing over at Jeremiah. "You're both athletic in appearance," she stated matter-of-factly. "I'm guessing that you're military."

"Wow." Tristan's tone reflected admiration. "That's very astute of you. Which branch would you say?"

The bartender interrupted them, sliding two tasty-looking drinks toward the women and swiping their tokens.

Taking her time answering, Juliet sipped her mojito while inspecting both men again. "I'm going to need more clues," she admitted. "Show me your tattoos if you have any."

Tristan's eyes widened. "Right here? You sure you want me to do that?"

Juliet blinked. His audacity pulled a rusty-sounding laugh out of her. "Depends how far down you have to strip," she qualified, on a more playful note.

That's progress
, Emma thought.

"Just teasing you," Tristan admitted. "It's on my back."

With that brief warning, he lifted his T-shirt, exposing a rock-hard abdomen akin to those seen on the cover of fitness magazines. It rendered every woman in the vicinity mute. Turning around, he displayed a red, black, and blue eagle emblazoned across his upper back. With wings outspread, talons extended, and a sharp beak wide open, it seemed to be attacking its prey.

Juliet visibly swallowed. "That's—"

"Magnificent," Emma finished, although she wasn't quite certain if the modifier described the tattoo or the body onto which it was inked.

Tristan tugged his shirt down as he swung back around. "Does that narrow it down for you any?" he queried Juliet.

"Only slightly," she murmured. Taking another sip of her drink, she focused on the glossy waves of his golden hair. "How long have you been on leave?"

"Two days." He chuckled, clearly enjoying the game they were playing.

"Then the branch in which you serve isn't too scrupulous about the length of your hair," she deduced, "even though your silent companion keeps his quite short."

Jeremiah looked over at her glib reference to him.

"That being the case, I would have to say... Navy."

Tristan shook his head in disbelief. "You really are good," he marveled.

"Except that you don't look like squids," Juliet qualified.

He winced at the derogatory term. "Well, that's because we're more like frogs than squids," he explained, pitching his voice lower. He waited a beat then added, "Underwater ordinance, that kind of thing."

Juliet's gray eyes widened as she divided a gaze between him and Jeremiah. "You're Navy SEALs," she guessed with confidence.

Tristan winced and looked around. "That's not something we should advertise," he admitted. "But you're right. I have to say I'm pretty damn impressed."

Amazement rooted Emma to her stool. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeremiah take a swig of what smelled like whiskey on the rocks.

"It's not rocket science," Juliet demurred, but the added touch of color on her cheeks and her small smile told Emma she was pleased to have impressed him.

As Tristan explained to them that SEALs were considered high-value targets, making discretion the better part of valor, Emma looked at Jeremiah and found him watching her reaction. His eyes were still a mix of gold and green, full of profound thoughts she found she suddenly longed to explore.

"That's why I couldn't find you," she realized aloud.

His eyebrows flexed. "You looked for me?"

"Of course I looked for you." How could he think for a moment that she hadn't given him another thought? "I wanted to find out what you did after college. I never saw you again."

He searched her gaze. "I thought that was what you wanted," he said in a slightly harder voice.

Pain as fresh as when their friendship had abruptly ended sliced into her. She shook her head. "No. That's what
had
to happen," she clarified. "It's not at all what I wanted." She suffered the urge to lay a consoling hand on his shoulder.

He seemed stunned by her assertion, sitting up straighter and looking the other way. As Emma overheard Tristan explaining to Juliet that this would be the first time he'd get to visit any resort towns in Central America as opposed to squalid, drug-infested villages, Jeremiah scrubbed a hand over his face.

Guilt bubbled up in her. "I hope you've forgiven me, Jeremiah. I should never have led you on. You were just a kid. I should have known better."

His big hand covered hers suddenly, silencing her apology and driving the air back into her lungs.

"Stop," he said on a note that betrayed impatience. "You didn't lead me on. And I wasn't that young. I don't regret a damn thing that happened," he added gruffly.

With that, he removed his hand from hers, finished off his whiskey, and stood up. "Excuse me," he said to all three of them before stalking off.

Mortification seared Emma's cheeks. He'd accepted her apology, but it was obvious that he hadn't forgiven her. Wiping the condensation off her glass, she suffered Juliet's keen stare, knowing she would have to explain to her later.

"Don't mind him," Tristan said, moving to stand between them. "He's in a weird mood today. Plus, he's out of practice with the ladies."

Emma frowned at him. "What do you mean?" She cocked her head, curious to hear about his love life.

"Oh, hell," Tristan said, realizing he was saying too much. "He's just...." He seemed to search for words, then shrugged. "He's complicated." He put a hand to his heart. "Me, I'm a much simpler guy to figure out."

"You're admitting that you're shallow," Juliet pointed out.

"Juliet!" Emma glanced at the nearly empty glass in her sister's hand. "Don't be rude to the man."

He patted her shoulder in a familiar manner. "Don't worry, honey. I can hold my own." He turned to Juliet. "Shallow? No. Just easier to satisfy."

Juliet regarded him quizzically. "Why would I want to satisfy you?"

He belted out a good-natured laugh. "You remind me of something." He studied her a moment. "I know what it is—a type of fruit called lychee. Have you ever seen one?"

She lifted her chin. "I believe I have."

"Covered with a gorgeous reddish rind, the color of your lips. The lychee is rather tough on the outside, but if you take the time to strip it, the globe of flesh inside is absolutely succulent."

Juliet visibly inhaled. "They're not very common around here," she said at last, her voice sounding a little breathy. "Perhaps you've done a bit of traveling?" she observed.

As Tristan ticked off a list of countries he'd visited, Emma's thoughts drifted back to her brief discussion with Jeremiah.

I don't regret a damn thing that happened,
he'd said. Did that mean he cherished the memories of their time together, the way she did?

How could he think that she'd dismissed him from her life without giving him another thought? Nothing could have been further from the truth. She'd searched for him online. Most young adults had a social media account, but regardless of how persistently she hunted, Jeremiah Winters hadn't existed anywhere on the Internet. And now she knew why: he had dropped out of college to become a Navy SEAL.