2
“You lost, Sly.”
“Suck on it, Ham.”
That was four times in a row that Lieutenant Sylvester Beaumont had lost the draw. He knew that his copilot Hammond Marcus was somehow rigging the game, but he couldn’t tell how. This time it was their crew chief, Vivian who’d been holding up the chem lights, and still he’d drawn the red one.
Maybe…
He couldn’t quite tell whether or not to trust her smile as she restowed the chem lights in their helicopter’s emergency gear.
“Don’t forget my horseradish this time, Lieutenant Beaumont,” Harvey, their rescue swimmer called out.
“Blah. Blah. Blah.” Sly had forgotten it once, like three months ago. Maybe it was Harvey’s doing that he’d landed dinner-run duty four times running. The guy was quiet, but real sneaky. Yeah, perhaps it was him behind Sly’s
