Lindsey's post-workout pizza had just been delivered, in all its extra cheese glory, when her cell phone rang.

She glanced at it, ready to ignore it unless it was her father or work, and saw that the caller was none other than Mark Jenkins.

So she answered it. "'Lo?"

"Lindsey. It's Izzy Zanella. You know, Jenk's alarmingly handsome friend?"

Jenk's alarmingly handsome friend. Lindsey had thought that the tall, dangerous-looking SEAL was a little too convinced he was all that, but now he was mocking himself. At least she hoped he was mocking himself.

"You got a sec?" he asked.

"Is this more important than a portobello mushroom pizza?"

"In my opinion, no," he said. "But Jenk asked me to call you, so I'm calling you. You know anything about kids?"

"If you're calling me with your babysitting woes, simply because I'm female-"

"Actually, Jenk thought to call you because you used to be a cop. He thought maybe you'd run into a sick kid a time or two."

Lindsey sat up. "Is Charlie sick?"

"Nah," Izzy said. "Well, I don't think so. Marky-Mark, however, is not convinced. But everyone we know who has kids is out. It must be American Annual Date Night or something. Seriously, no one's home. And most of the babysitters we've talked to sound like they're thirteen, so...We're now up to calling everyone who may have seen a kid at one point in their lives."

"What's the problem?" Lindsey asked.

"It's diaper-related," Izzy said.

"As in, you want me to come over there and change Charlie's diaper?"

"Oh, please," Izzy said in disgust. "Give us more credit than that. We're trained in recon. I once didn't leave my position for fifty hours. I'm talking didn't move. I crapped in my pants three times."

"Wow," Lindsey said. "That's more information about you than I ever wanted to know."

He laughed. "So, you're, uh, finding me irresistible, huh?"

"Um," Lindsey said.

He did have a nice laugh. "My point here being that a baby diaper doesn't scare me."

"So what's the problem?" she asked.

"Well, in two words..."

Lindsey just knew they were going to be two very good words.

"Green poop."

"Green poop," she repeated.

"Like, seriously green," Izzy reported. "Hey, you live just a few blocks away, don't you? Is there any chance-"

"Hold up. And you would know where I live because..." She let her voice trail off dangerously.

"Choice A, I'm a serial killer and I've already built a shrine to you in the glove compartment of my truck. Choice B, Tommy's got you on a list of emergency contacts on his fridge," Izzy told her.

"He does?" Wow, this was turning into some kind of great day. First, in their private meeting, Tom had referred to her as his "secret weapon," and now, to find out that her contact info was on his refrigerator...

"Yeah." Izzy wasn't as impressed by the fact. "So can you come over and do a visual? And as long as you're coming, you know, bring your pizza?"

"I don't think so." Lindsey could hear Jenk shouting something in the background. There was a dog barking back there, too. Since when had Tom and Kelly gotten a dog? "Does Charlie seem sick? Is he crying or-"

"Crying's like his specialitee. Hang on," Izzy said, and she heard the murmur of another voice. "Oh, really?" He spoke into the phone again. "Jenk says you're prolly too busy watching American Idol to come help us out with our green poop situation, which is pathetic. You really like Ryan Seacrest better than me and Jenk?"

Lindsey wondered what he'd say if she told him the truth. No, actually, I'm already well on my way to developing a full-blown crush on Mark Jenkins, so I thought I'd limit my face time with him to work hours only. In a futile attempt to keep a train wreck from happening.

Instead, she said, "American Idol doesn't start until February. But if it were on tonight? I can guarantee that Ryan wouldn't want to eat my pizza."

"Ryan's also not a Navy SEAL," Izzy pointed out, after transmitting her words to Jenkins. "He won't come and save your life if you ever need saving."

"Hmmm," Lindsey said, pretending to think about it. "Nope. Won't ever need saving-completely capable of doing that myself. I'd still stick with Ryan. If you want my opinion, for whatever it's worth, I think the green poop means that Charlie ate something green for lunch. But if you have any doubts, you should call Tom and Kelly. You know, Kelly's a pediatrician."

"Yeah, but Jenk doesn't want to bother them. Oops, I'm getting a beep. Someone's calling me back. Ooh, it's Tracy Shapiro. She's definitely not a lesbian."

"A what?" Lindsey said, totally confused.

"I bet I can talk her into coming over," Izzy said. "She digs me. Later, babe."

"Izzy, wait," Lindsey said. Didn't he know that Jenk had a serious thing for Tracy? God, wouldn't that be a mess. But he'd already cut the connection.

She returned to her pizza, only now it didn't taste very good.

Lindsey went to her spice cabinet, rummaging for her red pepper, disgusted with herself for worrying about the guy that she maybe could have liked, had the timing and situation been different. Yeah, worrying that Tracy was going to break Jenk's heart was healthy-in an alternate universe.

She shook the pepper onto her slice of pizza, and when she took a bite, her mouth practically exploded. Much better.

And yet, she kept eyeing her phone. Like she should maybe call Izzy back, make sure he didn't inadvertently hurt his friend.

Maybe she should just go ahead and skewer herself now.

California was working.

Lyle, the rat-bastard, was coming to San Diego next weekend.

He was flying into LA for business, but then he was going to hire a car and make the short drive down the coast to see her.

Tracy parked on the street in front of a trim little house, its yard all but bursting with neatly kept flowering plants. She double-checked the address she'd written on the back of an envelope-this was definitely it. Her boss's house.

Little was the key word despite the gorgeous gardens and pretty solar lamps lighting the front path. She'd been expecting something...more.

A whole lot more. In quantity and quality.

Something a little less relentlessly middle-class.

Tom Paoletti was the owner and CEO of Troubleshooters Incorporated. He had to be making money hand over fist. And his wife was not just a doctor, but a doctor with a trust fund. And yet, they lived here.

Go figure. Of course, it was a nice little neighborhood, reminiscent of the kid-friendly cul-de-sac where she'd grown up. And not everyone was like social-climbing, law-firm-partner-wannabe Lyle.

Tracy pulled down the sun visor, checking her makeup in the mirror.

People were strange and stupid. Of course, she'd have to include herself in that generalization.

She grabbed the bottle of chardonnay that she'd picked up on her way over, got out of the car, headed down the path to the house, her heels tapping on the pink bricks.

She'd come to California to get Lyle's attention. But really, what did it say about their relationship-the fact that in order to communicate effectively, she had to move out of their condo? And not just to Brooklyn. No, she'd had to travel thousands of miles to make her point.

Straighten up and fly right.

And oh, by the way, that left hand of Tracy's that was without a ring? A return trip to NYC would require both a diamond and a wedding band.

Mark Jenkins opened the door before she even rang the bell. "Hey, Trace. Thanks for coming." He pushed open the screen, giving her a dazzling smile.

He had a terrific smile. She'd always thought Mark was cute in a little brother kind of way, but it wasn't his smile that immobilized her now, making her stand and gawk at him, feet glued to the bricks like an idiot.

He wasn't wearing a shirt. Dressed in only blue-patterned jams and sandals, with that golden tan and all those muscles-holy moly, little Weeble was all muscle-he looked like one of the surfers she'd seen out on the beach.

No, actually, he looked like their king.

Sure, he was on the shorter side of short, but that six-pack more than made up for it. And the way those jams hung low on his trim hips....

"Sorry, about the..." He motioned to his bare chest as if it might be a problem for her. "Apparently babies hurl as part of their regular routine. My T-shirt's in the wash."

Her heels made her taller than him, but he smiled up at her quite sunnily, as if he didn't care. Why should he, with that body? He closed the door behind her and led the way into the house.

Tracy realized that she hadn't seen him out of uniform since she'd arrived in California, since he'd gotten back from overseas. He'd helped her find her apartment and her job via e-mail, from a hospital in Germany.

His shorts went down all the way below his knees, but they fit him extremely well. Unbelievably well. Dear God, she was standing here, ogling Weeble's fantastically tight little butt.

And she'd thought his friend, what's-his-name, Izzy, was the hottie.

Mark turned back to look at her, amusement in his pretty green eyes. Ginny had always hated the fact that, out of the two of them, he'd gotten the long eyelashes. "You coming?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Tracy kicked off her shoes, leaving them by the door, and, still carrying the wine, followed him into her boss's remarkably average-looking little house.

Tracy Shapiro knew dick about babies.

Izzy had just gotten Charlie quieted down, when she came in and woke him up. The sound of a female voice laughing loudly caught the Chazster's attention.

It probably wasn't intentional. Still, it wouldn't have taken a whole lot of figuring for Tracy, arriving on the scene of a babysitting emergency-so to speak-to notice that said baby was finally quiet and to keep her voice low.

The good news was that she was on Izzy and Lindsey's side in the green poop debate. It was now three to one that it was nothing to worry about, and Jenk finally seemed down with that.

Anyone want some wine? She'd brought a bottle with her, of course.

Izzy slipped out onto the back patio while Charlie was still in the snuffling, maybe-going-to-cry phase, hoping the cool night air would distract the kid.

Also, he'd noticed that Charlie stopped crying when Izzy sang to him. Of course the kid wasn't interested in Bruce Springsteen or Dire Straits or anything else that could be sung aloud in public. No, it had to be either Elton John or The Carpenters. Or Celine Dion, but damn. Izzy had to draw the line somewhere.

"Don't you remember you told me you love me, baby," Izzy sang, as he watched Tracy do her weird hot/cold thing to Marky-Mark. The big glass sliders gave him a clear view of both the kitchen and the living room.

He couldn't hear what they were saying, but their body language told the whole story as Charlie clutched Izzy's little finger with his teeny little fist, enthralled by his rendition of the song.

In the living room, Tracy's hands fluttered, fixing her already perfect hair after she sat on one end of the sofa. "Your naked, manly chest has sent my estrogen levels soaring."

Jenk came out of the kitchen, carrying a glass of wine and a plate of cheese and crackers. "Here, let me provide for you, for I am a strong alpha male despite being height-challenged."

"Jesus, Chaz," Izzy sang to the same melody, which was okay with Charlie. Getting the lyrics right wasn't that big a deal for the under-two set. "Can you believe this crap?"

Inside the house, Tracy smiled up at Jenk. Accepted the glass and a microscopic piece of something from the plate. Took a nibble, turning so that her body was open to him as he crossed to the other end of the couch. "Ooh, this nourishment you have brought to me is delicious," Izzy imagined her saying. "You are indeed a most worthy candidate for a mate. I will sit like this, so you can more easily imagine me naked."

Jenk sat, too, but not on the sofa. Instead he perched on the arm. It both gave him height and added definition to his abs. He braced himself with one arm against the back cushion, sly devil, which put even more muscles into play. "I see that you have noticed that I am too sexy for my shirt." He laughed, but it was one of those awkward, mixed-company laughs-definitely not a funny-joke laugh.

Tracy laughed, too, and adjusted her sweater, pulling it down by the bottom. "I see that you, too, have noticed my generous, womanly bosom. You must earn the right to look directly at it, although I will never let you forget that it is there."

On and on and on it went, with Izzy hanging out on the deck long after Charlie's eyes had rolled back in his head.

He could totally relate to the little dude.

Jenk was working it like a pro, loading on the charm, letting Tracy talk, nodding to show he was listening, always giving her plenty of sincere eye contact. It was only occasionally that he let his massive confusion show on his face, but he always covered it by smiling or even laughing. "You are as odd as all of the others of your fair sex, but I will pretend that I understand whatever the fuck you say to me in my single-minded quest to nail you to the wall."

Tracy stood up, pointing toward the kitchen. "I will walk over here, mate-candidate, so you can check out my ass. Because that is what I want you to do, even though if I caught you doing it, I would pretend to be most upset."

She put her glass down on the kitchen counter and vanished down the hall.

On the arm of the sofa, Jenk took the opportunity to adjust his balls. Good man. It may have been hard work, but he had the right to be comfortable while doing it. Give 'em a scratch, too. There you go.

He then rotated his bum shoulder. It was clearly bothering him, especially in the cool air with no shirt on. He flexed his neck muscles, too, as if he were running a marathon or preparing for round two of a boxing match.

It was crazy. What did Jenk think? That the hard work he was doing here tonight would ever end? The little dude wanted Tracy to be his girlfriend, or-even worse-his wife. But a woman like Tracy wouldn't be content to do the laundry, cook dinner every now and then, perform gymnastic sex acts on command, and then cheerfully wave good-bye when duty called. "Have fun with your SEAL pals, honey! See you in a few weeks! I'll be fine here on my own, doing jigsaw puzzles and watching Jane Austen movies until you come home."

No, with Tracy, there would be tears. Demands. Endless hours of confusing conversations on the couch. The gymnastics would be all Jenk's-as he leaped through hoops in a futile attempt to placate her.

Still, Izzy couldn't help feeling jealous. Apparently, when Tracy had done her weird half-flirting thing with him back at the TS Inc office, it hadn't meant dick. Although he guessed it was possible she flirted like that with every and anyone-like it was her default mode.

From the other end of the deck, another door slid open. It was the door to the guest room and..."Oz!" Izzy shouted. "No! Sit! Stay! Shit!"

The dog streaked past him, ignoring him completely, going hell for leather across Tommy's perfect lawn. He disappeared into the darkness of the privacy shrubs on the property line.

Charlie woke up, because of course Izzy'd shouted into his ear. He started to cry as Tracy stepped uncertainly out onto the porch. "He was at the door," she said, pointing out to where the dog had last been, "as if he needed to go out."