Read Online Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) by Marliss Melton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marliss Melton
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man with shifty eyes. The synthesizer drew Jeremiah's thoughtful gaze. Large and made of sturdy plastic and steel, the frame looked capable of housing several AK-47s. The casing would conceal them from metal scanners, which would light up anyway.
Was he getting an intuitive hit or making a wild guess? Either way, the band bore closer scrutiny. But not right now. He'd envisioned himself sliding that dress off of Emma. One way or another, he hoped to make that happen tonight. The devil-may-care lift at the corners of her mouth informed him that something inside of her had yielded to the inevitability of their coming together. Why question the reason when the reward promised to make this night the best one of his life?
* * *
Jeremiah spoke into Emma's ear. "Care to dance?"
The snappy disco beat had just given way to a sultry Lionel Richie song.
"Oh." She looked out at the couples on the dance floor, and her pulse did the two-step. "Sure. Why not?"
Their departure from the table would give Juliet and Tristan a moment alone, and from what Emma could tell, sparks were flying between those two. Juliet would undoubtedly beat her to achieving their mutual goal.
With a light hand on her back, Jeremiah guided her onto the crowded parquet square. He found a corner near the band and pulled her gently to him, hooking an arm around her waist.
As the front of their bodies came together, the breath reversed direction in her windpipe. She tried to look casual, draping her left arm around his neck. As he caught her hand in his, she realized they'd never held hands before.
It felt perfect—safe and warm in contrast to the chilly air-conditioning. She swallowed hard and looked up at him, only to find him studying the band.
"Where's Sammy?" he asked on a tense note.
She pulled back to look at him. "At Kids' Zone. Why?"
He glanced at her and went back to looking at the band. "Just curious."
She suspected it was more than that. "I thought of you today," she said, managing to capture his attention. "I wondered what poem you would recite if you'd been there, gazing down at the jungle canopy while it rippled in the breeze."
He sent her a fleeting smile. "Not everyone enjoys my penchant for recitation. My colleagues are like, 'Seriously, dude? We're about to take out some insurgents and you're quoting Shakespeare?'"
Laugher erupted from her. "Well, why not? No one can match Shakespeare."
"Right? Plus, he wrote the perfect line for every conceivable operation. Picture us in an ambush and I whisper, 'Something wicked this way comes.' Or we're helping the DEA arrest a notorious drug lord, and I say, 'There is something rotten in the state of Chiapas.'"
She laughed again, recognizing the allusions. "I take it this won't be your first trip to Mexico."
"I've been to the interior but not to the beaches."
"Is that where you arrested the 'notorious drug lord'?" she asked lightly.
However, he was quite serious when he told her, "Yes, only El Cuchillo escaped from prison six months later."
"Oh, I think I saw that in the news," she recalled. "Doesn't his name mean knife in Spanish?"
"Yes, is does. And you can imagine how he came by it."
She shivered without wanting to. "Has he been caught again?"
"Not yet." A crease appeared between his eyebrows, letting her know that that fact weighed on him.
"That must be discouraging. But you still love what you do. Right?"
"Because of my brothers," he admitted. "We're all family in the Teams. I feel like I belong. Like I'm indispensable."
In her mind's eye, she imagined a platoon of tightly knit warriors sharing their hardships and triumphs. It was her turn to quote Shakespeare. "'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.'"
"Damn right. Plus, I've had access to some awesome training," he added, glancing at the band then back at her. "I'm actually a medic now."
He still struck her as distracted. "Seriously?"
"Yep. I get to sew guys up and administer morphine and tie tourniquets." He glanced at the
Was he getting an intuitive hit or making a wild guess? Either way, the band bore closer scrutiny. But not right now. He'd envisioned himself sliding that dress off of Emma. One way or another, he hoped to make that happen tonight. The devil-may-care lift at the corners of her mouth informed him that something inside of her had yielded to the inevitability of their coming together. Why question the reason when the reward promised to make this night the best one of his life?
* * *
Jeremiah spoke into Emma's ear. "Care to dance?"
The snappy disco beat had just given way to a sultry Lionel Richie song.
"Oh." She looked out at the couples on the dance floor, and her pulse did the two-step. "Sure. Why not?"
Their departure from the table would give Juliet and Tristan a moment alone, and from what Emma could tell, sparks were flying between those two. Juliet would undoubtedly beat her to achieving their mutual goal.
With a light hand on her back, Jeremiah guided her onto the crowded parquet square. He found a corner near the band and pulled her gently to him, hooking an arm around her waist.
As the front of their bodies came together, the breath reversed direction in her windpipe. She tried to look casual, draping her left arm around his neck. As he caught her hand in his, she realized they'd never held hands before.
It felt perfect—safe and warm in contrast to the chilly air-conditioning. She swallowed hard and looked up at him, only to find him studying the band.
"Where's Sammy?" he asked on a tense note.
She pulled back to look at him. "At Kids' Zone. Why?"
He glanced at her and went back to looking at the band. "Just curious."
She suspected it was more than that. "I thought of you today," she said, managing to capture his attention. "I wondered what poem you would recite if you'd been there, gazing down at the jungle canopy while it rippled in the breeze."
He sent her a fleeting smile. "Not everyone enjoys my penchant for recitation. My colleagues are like, 'Seriously, dude? We're about to take out some insurgents and you're quoting Shakespeare?'"
Laugher erupted from her. "Well, why not? No one can match Shakespeare."
"Right? Plus, he wrote the perfect line for every conceivable operation. Picture us in an ambush and I whisper, 'Something wicked this way comes.' Or we're helping the DEA arrest a notorious drug lord, and I say, 'There is something rotten in the state of Chiapas.'"
She laughed again, recognizing the allusions. "I take it this won't be your first trip to Mexico."
"I've been to the interior but not to the beaches."
"Is that where you arrested the 'notorious drug lord'?" she asked lightly.
However, he was quite serious when he told her, "Yes, only El Cuchillo escaped from prison six months later."
"Oh, I think I saw that in the news," she recalled. "Doesn't his name mean knife in Spanish?"
"Yes, is does. And you can imagine how he came by it."
She shivered without wanting to. "Has he been caught again?"
"Not yet." A crease appeared between his eyebrows, letting her know that that fact weighed on him.
"That must be discouraging. But you still love what you do. Right?"
"Because of my brothers," he admitted. "We're all family in the Teams. I feel like I belong. Like I'm indispensable."
In her mind's eye, she imagined a platoon of tightly knit warriors sharing their hardships and triumphs. It was her turn to quote Shakespeare. "'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.'"
"Damn right. Plus, I've had access to some awesome training," he added, glancing at the band then back at her. "I'm actually a medic now."
He still struck her as distracted. "Seriously?"
"Yep. I get to sew guys up and administer morphine and tie tourniquets." He glanced at the
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