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Authors: Suzanne Brockmann
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down with the flu, so Zanella was filling in for Jenk, last minute.
Of course.
Lopez had been apologetic on the ride to LAX, when he’d told Dan about the change in personnel. He knew—in great detail because Dan had vented to him many times—how much Dan hated his soon-to-be ex-brother-in-law.
At the top of Zanella’s list of unforgivable transgressions was thefact that he’d knocked up and married Eden, Dan’s younger sister. And yes, okay, there was definitely still some question as to whether Zanella was or was not the actual biological father of Eden’s baby—not that it really mattered anymore, since she’d miscarried six months in.
Bottom line, Eden always
had
played fast and loose. So maybe Zanella’s marrying her had been marginally gallant since the paternity was in question. But Dan suspected he’d done it, in part, to piss Dan off.
Because Zanella knew that Dan had
always
found him to be obnoxious. He was loud, he was capable of being unbelievably stupid, and he drove Danny crazy with his constant idiotic comments—not to mention his relentless singing.
Fucking Zanella had a fucking song for every occasion. And absolutely no filter through which to judge the fact that perhaps
some
occasions would be best kept song-free.
The tall, gangly SEAL had always been something of a loner. Rumor had it his BUD/S training swim-buddy rang out to get the hell away from him. But then, a few years ago, he’d gone and saved Mark Jenkins’s life.
Jenk had started inviting Zanella to poker games and parties, and before Dan knew it, Jay Lopez, his tightest friend in SEAL Team Sixteen, was also inviting Zanella everywhere. And suddenly, wherever Dan went, Zanella was there, too.
He acted like he was Dan’s friend, but face it, a friend didn’t have sex with a friend’s sister.
“When do you get the results of the latest CAT scan?” Lopez asked Dan now.
“I don’t know,” Dan said brusquely. “They said they’d call me. I’m fucking trying not to think about it.”
“Sorry, man.”
Dan sighed. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just…” He shook his head. “I’m really tired.”
These days he was always tired, so he put his bag on the floor and sat down next to it. Lopez hovered for a moment, like the weirdest mother hen on the face of the planet.
“I’ll watch your bag,” Dan told his friend, “while you go babysit Zanella.”
Lopez smiled at that. “I’m pretty sure he’s okay.”
Strains of another song drifted over from where the asshole was putting on a one-man show for the other passengers on their flight. No, make that a two-man show. Someone—Jesus, it was Tony—was beatboxing an accompaniment. Christ.
“Yeah, well, there he goes,” Dan said. “And I don’t trust him not to do something like get himself—or all of us—arrested. Please, I just want to get to the hotel. I’m lagged as fuck.”
It was kind of crazy. They’d traveled west to east which, absolutely, according to the old saying, resulted in a coast-to-coast traveler becoming a “party beast.” It was, after all, only 1930 California time.
It was extra crazy because with all of Dan’s anticipation of visiting New York, he didn’t want to get to the hotel so that he could shower, change, get out there, and get his ass laid.
No, what he wanted right now, more than sex even, was to sleep.
For, like, a week.
Jesus, maybe he was coming down with Lindsey’s flu.
Lopez was looking at him again as if he were worried, and Dan didn’t want him asking any more questions about the CAT scan or the supposed head injury that had made him lose a small but significant part of his life, so he leaned back against their two bags and closed his eyes.
He heard Lopez finally move away, heard Izzy’s singing stop, thank God. But then Lopez came back. Or maybe it was Tony—the step was much lighter. Almost nonexistent, in fact.
Whoever it was, they were hovering again, and he’d had enough.
“I’m
Of course.
Lopez had been apologetic on the ride to LAX, when he’d told Dan about the change in personnel. He knew—in great detail because Dan had vented to him many times—how much Dan hated his soon-to-be ex-brother-in-law.
At the top of Zanella’s list of unforgivable transgressions was thefact that he’d knocked up and married Eden, Dan’s younger sister. And yes, okay, there was definitely still some question as to whether Zanella was or was not the actual biological father of Eden’s baby—not that it really mattered anymore, since she’d miscarried six months in.
Bottom line, Eden always
had
played fast and loose. So maybe Zanella’s marrying her had been marginally gallant since the paternity was in question. But Dan suspected he’d done it, in part, to piss Dan off.
Because Zanella knew that Dan had
always
found him to be obnoxious. He was loud, he was capable of being unbelievably stupid, and he drove Danny crazy with his constant idiotic comments—not to mention his relentless singing.
Fucking Zanella had a fucking song for every occasion. And absolutely no filter through which to judge the fact that perhaps
some
occasions would be best kept song-free.
The tall, gangly SEAL had always been something of a loner. Rumor had it his BUD/S training swim-buddy rang out to get the hell away from him. But then, a few years ago, he’d gone and saved Mark Jenkins’s life.
Jenk had started inviting Zanella to poker games and parties, and before Dan knew it, Jay Lopez, his tightest friend in SEAL Team Sixteen, was also inviting Zanella everywhere. And suddenly, wherever Dan went, Zanella was there, too.
He acted like he was Dan’s friend, but face it, a friend didn’t have sex with a friend’s sister.
“When do you get the results of the latest CAT scan?” Lopez asked Dan now.
“I don’t know,” Dan said brusquely. “They said they’d call me. I’m fucking trying not to think about it.”
“Sorry, man.”
Dan sighed. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just…” He shook his head. “I’m really tired.”
These days he was always tired, so he put his bag on the floor and sat down next to it. Lopez hovered for a moment, like the weirdest mother hen on the face of the planet.
“I’ll watch your bag,” Dan told his friend, “while you go babysit Zanella.”
Lopez smiled at that. “I’m pretty sure he’s okay.”
Strains of another song drifted over from where the asshole was putting on a one-man show for the other passengers on their flight. No, make that a two-man show. Someone—Jesus, it was Tony—was beatboxing an accompaniment. Christ.
“Yeah, well, there he goes,” Dan said. “And I don’t trust him not to do something like get himself—or all of us—arrested. Please, I just want to get to the hotel. I’m lagged as fuck.”
It was kind of crazy. They’d traveled west to east which, absolutely, according to the old saying, resulted in a coast-to-coast traveler becoming a “party beast.” It was, after all, only 1930 California time.
It was extra crazy because with all of Dan’s anticipation of visiting New York, he didn’t want to get to the hotel so that he could shower, change, get out there, and get his ass laid.
No, what he wanted right now, more than sex even, was to sleep.
For, like, a week.
Jesus, maybe he was coming down with Lindsey’s flu.
Lopez was looking at him again as if he were worried, and Dan didn’t want him asking any more questions about the CAT scan or the supposed head injury that had made him lose a small but significant part of his life, so he leaned back against their two bags and closed his eyes.
He heard Lopez finally move away, heard Izzy’s singing stop, thank God. But then Lopez came back. Or maybe it was Tony—the step was much lighter. Almost nonexistent, in fact.
Whoever it was, they were hovering again, and he’d had enough.
“I’m
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