All Through the Night: A Troubleshooter Christmas (13 page)

“Sit,” Maggie ordered. “Read.”

On December 15th of this year, television star Robin Chadwick is getting married here in Boston. Like most people who are eager to take this step, to make this kind of momentous lifelong commitment…

“I'm going to bed,” Maggie announced. “Thanks for the pancakes.”

“You're welcome,” Dolphina said, dragging her gaze away from Will's article.

“It was nice meeting you,” Maggie told Dolphina. “I hope whoever you're waiting for to call calls you soon.”

Dolphina took her hand out of her pocket, where again she'd unconsciously reached to touch her cell phone. “I hope so, too,” she said.

“He's a good person, my uncle Will,” Maggie turned back to say. “He's kinda cute, too, for an old guy.”

Dolphina gave her a look. “Good night, Maggie.”

Maggie was undaunted. “I'm just saying. Good night.”

Dolphina turned back to the computer.

Like most people who are eager to take this step, to make this kind of momentous lifelong commitment, Chadwick is in love.

This reporter wishes that that were the sole reason he had been assigned to write this story—that the good news of a man who is so enamored of his beloved that his every movement, every word, every breath resonates with his deep feelings would be considered worthy of all these inches of column. But in this age of fear and destruction, of corruption and war profiteering, of government run by rich men getting richer while wounded veterans are housed in rodent-infested barracks, that kind of good news can't compete with the bad.

So there's just no story here…

It was after six a.m. when Will got home, unlocking the dead bolt of his door with a quiet click. Damn, he was tired. He hadn't slept since the
National Voice
article came out, first while getting to the bottom of how his notes had gotten into Marcus's grubby hands, and then while writing his story about the theft for
The Boston Globe.

And then there was last night…

He closed the door quietly behind him, sure Dolphina was asleep and—

Damn! She'd startled him.

She was standing in the middle of his living room, as if she'd jumped to her feet when she'd heard him at the door. She was looking at him as if he'd just run down her favorite puppy in the street.

“Oh, no,” she said, and she started to cry, and for several extremely confusing moments, Will didn't know what the hell was happening, until he realized.

No one had called Dolphina to give her the good news.

She'd told him not to call if the news was bad—just to show up and tell her face-to-face—so she could leave without frightening Maggie with her tears.

And sure enough, Dolphina swiftly gathered up her jacket and her book and her keys. But Will intercepted her as she ran for the door, catching her by the arm.

“Jules is safe,” he told her. “He's all right.”

She wasn't able to understand him—she was that upset, tears just running down her face—so he said it again, trying a different combination of words. “Jules is alive, Dolph. We helped get him out—and all the others, too. They're fine.
He's
fine. He's got a couple small burns and a punctured eardrum, and he's a little dehydrated—they all are. They didn't have water and…I am
so
sorry. I was sure Robin had called you.”

“He's alive,” Dolphina repeated, and now she was crying for an entirely different reason. “Oh, God, thank God…”

Will knew how she felt. Relief had even made him tear up a time or two tonight. He pulled her into his arms, and she clung to him. “It's all right,” he told her. His voice sounded breathless and strange to his own ears. She was a perfect fit, as if she'd been built to spec, specifically for him. “Everything's all right now.”

He kissed the top of her head—he couldn't help himself—as she sogged up his shirt. She felt cold, as if she'd been sitting here, hardly daring to breathe, just freezing for all this time. He rubbed her arms and her back. “You should have turned up the heat or found a blanket or…”

She said something, but it was muffled and he didn't hear it.

“I'm sorry, what?” Will bent closer just as she lifted her head to look up at him, and there they were, their faces—their mouths—a whisper apart.

He could have kissed her. She was looking at him as if she maybe wouldn't mind if he kissed her, but he knew if he did, she would give him hell for it, probably for the rest of his life.

So he didn't move. He just lost himself in the bottomless darkness of her beautiful eyes, and settled for wishing he was kissing her.

And apparently that old adage about good things coming to those who wait was true. Because a very good thing
did
come to him.

Dolphina lifted her mouth that necessary extra one-thirty-second of an inch and…

She
kissed
him.

She tasted as sweet, as delicious as he'd always thought she smelled, and her mouth was much, much warmer than the rest of her. And Lord, she was soft—her lips, her tongue…

It took everything he had in him not to jam his own tongue down her throat, to press her hard against him, his hands cupping her exquisite posterior. He didn't scoop her into his arms, either, or carry her into his bedroom and throw her onto his bed.

Instead, he stood there, absolutely still, his eyes closed as he let himself get kissed.

It was lovely—there was no other word for it. A lovely, lovely end to two completely hellish, horrible days.

He knew when it was over, though. She kind of froze, and that was it—reality had reared its ugly head. She stopped kissing him as abruptly as she'd started. Apparently, she'd suddenly remembered that she detested him.

He didn't try to hold onto her. He just let her step back. And he opened his eyes.

Her own eyes were wide. She looked as if she were about to go into shock—part horrified, part terrified, part mortified. And yes, way more than part attracted.

She'd liked kissing him. She didn't want to, but she did.

His heart pounded and his blood sang through his veins. He wanted to laugh or dance or do a cartwheel.

Instead, he threw himself on the grenade, and took the blame for what she no doubt would see as a dreadful mistake.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I, um, shouldn't have done that. Taken advantage. Of you. I apologize. Please forgive me. It was…just such an emotional moment. I'm still really shaken from…God, it
was
amazing tonight, Dolph.” He wasn't bullshitting her now. “I helped save them. I actually helped. It was incredible—Jack couldn't reach Yashi, but he could reach me. I got Yashi the information the FBI needed to locate Jules and Max, and a SEAL team went in and got them out. All of them. Even Jack and Deb.”

He'd nearly talked her down from whatever ledge she was on—maybe the ledge of forbidden fruit? But she was still a little freaked out. “Just…don't do it again, okay?” she said.

“Save Jules?” Will purposely misunderstood.

Dolphina looked at him in exasperation, as if she thought he was a jerk—which was far more solid and familiar ground for her. “Don't kiss me,” she clarified.

“For the record,” he said, “it was a very nice kiss. As far as kisses go, it's right up there in the hall of fame. Top three—no. I'm going to go big and say that it's definitely my all-time favorite.”

She went into the kitchen, got a paper towel and used it to blow her nose. “Don't be an ass.”

“
But, masters, remember,
” he said, “
that I am an ass, though it not be written down…
”

She ducked down to look at him through the pass-through into the living room.

“Yes,” Will verified. “I'm straight and I'm quoting Shakespeare. There aren't many of me out there. You sure you don't want me to kiss you again?”

She laughed. “I'm quite sure.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

She came back out of his kitchen. “I made pancakes for Maggie. She's great, by the way.”

“Unfortunately, I had nothing to do with her greatness,” he admitted.

“She told me you take a digital picture of her every day and e-mail it to her mom,” Dolphina said.

“It's one of our projects,” Will said. “I try to catch her when she's rolling her eyes at me, or giving me the
whatever
look because I won't let her do something dangerous like juggle knives or walk through the Fenway with a group of friends at midnight. I don't want Arlene—my sister—to feel as if she's missing out on anything. That was a joke,” he added when Dolphina didn't laugh. She didn't even smile. She just stood there, looking at him.

And okay. It was starting to make him self-conscious now. He could have handled it, if it had been a
what an ass
look. But this still had a hint of
I want to jump your bones,
which was disconcerting.

“Maggie said you were going to cook her a traditional Thanksgiving dinner,” Dolphina finally pointed out. “I couldn't help but notice the lack of a turkey—or anything else to eat in your kitchen. Besides the pancake mix.”

“Ah,” Will said. “Yes. It was my plan to stop at the grocery store last night after I dropped off that file with Robin and Jules.” His plan had been thwarted.

“Maybe,” Dolphina said, but she stopped herself. “I should probably ask Robin first—”

“He invited Maggie and me for dinner,” Will said. “I told him no because I knew you were going to be there, and I didn't want to ruin your day. You know, on account of your intense hatred for all things Schroeder.”

“I didn't hate the article you wrote,” she admitted.

“You read it.” He was surprised.

“Both of them,” Dolphina said. “You're a good writer. But you obviously suck at computer security.” She headed for the door. “Dinner's at two o'clock. Arrive any time after noon.”

“I'd be fine with Chinese food,” Will confessed. “But it matters to Maggie, so…Thank you.”

She turned to look back at him with those eyes that made his heart sing. “It's Thanksgiving,” she told him. “And I'm actually thankful you crashed the wedding shower.” She laughed her disbelief. “Who would have
ever
thought I'd say that? But I am. I'm thankful we're…frenemies.”

Will laughed as she closed his door behind her.

Frenemies. He couldn't remember ever kissing a frenemy before, but he'd let her get away with calling it that.

For now.

Good things also came in threes, and today was no exception to the rule.

Robin had been awakened with an early morning phone call—which usually would've been not quite a
bad
thing, but certainly a vaguely unhappy thing. But it had been producer Art Urban on the other end, which had made Robin sit up and try to clear the sleep from his voice.

Art had spent the entire night, he'd told Robin, brainstorming an idea he'd had for his next pay-cable TV series, and he was wondering if Robin was interested in sitting down after the holiday and talking about taking the starring role in the project.

You
think?

Art didn't want to get into a whole lot of detail here and now, but Robin would play a closeted gay A-list movie star who spent most of his time and energy trying to fool the world, including his posse of best friends, into thinking he was straight. “Think of it as
Entourage
meets
Queer as Folk,
” Art had told him, “only even edgier.”

The character had grown up in blue-collar Boston, and the majority of the filming would be done here in town, at Urban's studios. There'd be some location work in both Hollywood and New York City—but not a whole lot.

Art had started writing the pilot, most of which he hoped to crash-cast and film before Robin's wedding. If Robin was interested, he'd fax over the script as soon as it was finished—probably sometime before Sunday.