Hot Target (38 page)

The man with the bag took her arm. “Let me help you, dear.”

“No thank you,” she said, but her mouth felt funny, her face almost numb. “I have a date with Victor Strauss.”

“She’s had a little too much to drink,” the man said to an older woman who was looking at her. Concern, not admiration, was in her eyes. She was speaking, too, but was that Russian? Patty couldn’t understand her.

“No,” Patty tried to say. “I need a drink,” but everything was really blurry.

The man slipped her arm over his shoulders, which was good, because her legs were useless and . . .

“Here’s the car,” the man said, only it wasn’t her car at all. Still, she was just so glad to sit as the world faded and went gray.

Shortly after midnight Cosmo knocked on Jane’s door.

“Go away,” she called.

He said something, but it was muffled and she couldn’t make out the words. He knocked again—that she couldn’t miss.

She’d spent the evening crying. For Angelina, whom she’d never even met. For Murphy, who’d brought his love for his wife to everything he said and did, every breath he took.

For herself.

Jane just sat at her desk and waited for Cosmo to go away.

But this time he unlocked the door and came in.

Pocketing what looked like some kind of lock pick.

“Well, that’s comforting,” she said. “Lock, schmock.”

He looked worn out. “I needed to . . . I don’t know. Make sure you were okay, I guess,” he said, sitting down across from her.

She wasn’t okay, but she didn’t say a word.

He was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, hands on the back of his neck, staring at the floor.

He was sitting in that same chair that . . . Damn it! Was she ever going to be able to look at him again without thinking that they were alive, and Angelina wasn’t? Every time they laughed, she’d think about the fact that Angelina couldn’t laugh. And Murphy
wouldn’t
laugh, probably not ever again.

Every time Cos smiled at her and made her heart leap, it would immediately sink because she’d remember that Angelina’s heart was never going to leap like that again. As for Murphy’s . . . God.

Every time they made love, every time Cosmo told her that he loved her . . .

He loved her. He’d said that he
loved
her.

And all she could think was how come she got to have this gift, this beautiful, wonderful gift, when Angelina and Murphy’s love had been stolen from them forever.

And try as he might, Jane knew that there was nothing Cosmo could do or say to convince her that the woman who was in the morgue tonight wasn’t there because of her.

“You’re not the only one who feels responsible,” he said when he finally spoke, as if he could read her mind. As he lifted his head to look at her, she realized with a jolt of shock that he had tears in his eyes. He sat back in his seat, holding her gaze, as if daring her to comment. “Tommy and Decker are both devastated. We all are. There’s not a man or woman among us who hasn’t thought, ‘If only . . .’ If only we’d reminded Murph to check to make sure he wasn’t followed when he left here that morning. It’s standard procedure. Hell, it’s so ingrained in me, I do it automatically. It never occurred to me to remind anyone, but maybe if I had, we wouldn’t have had to go into that hospital room tonight and . . .”

He had to stop, folding his arms across his chest, the thumb of one hand against the bridge of his nose. He exhaled, a soft burst of pain. “We went in there, Janey, and told Murphy that . . .”

Jane couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Her heart was in her throat.

“We told him she was gone,” Cosmo said brokenly. “We had to tell him. He was yelling and . . . He had to be strapped down. He woke up, and he kept asking about her, and the fucking doctors wouldn’t tell him the truth, so he started demanding they let him see her. He was ready to stand up and start walking the halls, searching for her, so we went in. Me and Tommy and Decker.”

Tears were sliding down her own face, too, as she sat there, her hand over her mouth.

“If I live to be five hundred,” Cosmo whispered, “I will never forget the way . . . Jane, I’ve watched men pass away. Something changes in their eyes when they’re gone. And I swear to God, today I watched Murphy die. He was still breathing when we left that room, but . . .” He shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Jane wept. “I’m so sorry.”

Cosmo had come here, not because he thought she needed him. He’d come because he’d needed her.

And now Jane also cried because, if it had been up to her, she would have kept him locked out.

She stood up, went around the desk to reach for him, but he was already over by the door, wiping his eyes on the bottom edge of his T-shirt.

“Cos,” she said, and he hugged her, but he held her close for far too short a time.

“We can all beat ourselves up about this, Janey,” he told her quietly. “We can feel sorry for ourselves and try to wish it away with should haves and shouldn’t haves, but there’s one man who I know for goddamn sure is responsible for killing Angelina. He’s out there and I’m going to find him.”

“Cos . . .” Jane followed him out into the hallway but he didn’t stop. “Be careful,” she said, even though she knew he would be, as he clattered down the stairs, out the door, and into the night.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE

It was two days after that awful mistake of a night, before Robin ran into Jules again.

It was two days of being escorted onto the set and home. Two days of being grateful that the scenes he was shooting weren’t with Adam and that the set was closed, due to the danger from the sniper.

This morning, Patty hadn’t shown up at the studio. Apparently she wasn’t answering her cell phone, and Janey was worried to death about her. Troubleshooters team members had gone scrambling to her apartment, where they’d found nothing. No dead body, no sign of a struggle, but also no clues as to her whereabouts.

Robin had been worried at first, too—until Jane had revealed that Patty had found out about his encounter with Adam, and everything fell into place.

She’d gone back to Kansas or wherever. In a few hours, they’d get a call from her mother, telling them she’d arrived safely home.

Which would be a relief of sorts. Running home was much better than running to the
National Voice
and publicly outing Robin.

Which would have been a real irony, especially since he now knew for a fact that he wasn’t gay. He didn’t remember much of that night at Adam’s, but what he did remember was . . .

Hal.

Hal had loved every minute of it.

But that didn’t mean that Robin was gay—just a damn good actor, consumed by the role.

He hoped to God he never got cast to play a serial killer.

As soon as
American Hero
was done filming, he’d exorcise Hal, and his life would return to normal. Until then, he just had to cope with Hal shoving Robin’s own thoughts aside, and daydreaming about . . .

Not Adam. He didn’t want to spend a lot of time reliving the frantic near-violence of . . . Shit. It had been sex ramped up to an intensity that overwhelmed him and filled him with guilt.

No, what haunted him was that kiss he’d shared with Jules. It stayed with him, the memory far clearer than anything he might have done with Adam.

Robin had also spent the past two days vowing not to drink, but then caving in and breaking into the private stash of Puerto Rican rum that he kept in his closet. The rum was there, allegedly because he’d never brought it downstairs to the liquor cabinet after he got back from last year’s vacation cruise to Aruba, but really so that he’d have it close at hand during times of stress.

And talk about stress.

Janey was tied in a knot.

For the past two days Robin had watched Cosmo—who had the patience of a saint—give his sister space. He alternately sat at the computer in the conference room, or pored over street maps of the Los Angeles area with some kind of list, or went out—usually in the middle of the day, oddly enough—to find the man who’d murdered Angelina.

The question in Robin’s mind wasn’t
if
the SEAL would kill the bastard when he found him, but rather
how
he’d kill him.

Alana in makeup had told him that SEALs were capable of killing a man with their bare hands. Just grab and twist and bye-bye, Mr. Insane-o, we hardly knew ye.

Robin wished Cosmo would hurry up already.

He really liked Cos. A lot.

Not in
that
way. Go away, Hal.

In a potential brother-in-law way. Janey usually picked losers, but Cosmo was kind of a fabulous cross between Jesus and the Terminator. The friendly Terminator, from
Terminator 2.

The man loved her—he’d said as much during yesterday’s shouting match in the kitchen. That shit was better than reality TV.

Robin was actually looking for Cosmo upon his arrival home from the set, when he found Jules Cassidy instead.

Sitting at the conference room table, reading through some official-looking documents.

Robin stopped short, and Jules glanced up.

But went right back to reading.

Probably because he expected Robin to run away.

Jules had left a couple of messages on his voice mail. Messages Robin hadn’t returned.

Yet.

He was intending to. When he’d figured out what to say.

Be a man.

Robin took a deep breath and went into the room. “Hi.”

Jules looked up. An arctic breeze blew through the house, and Robin’s heart sank.

“I’m waiting for Cosmo Richter,” Jules said. “Do you know where he is?”

“Dumping seventy different Hefty trash bags filled with Mr. Insane-o’s body parts in seventy different Dumpsters across the city?” Robin suggested.

Jules didn’t smile. “That’s not something you want to say to a federal agent.”

“I was kidding.”

“Not funny.”

Okay. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back.” Robin forced himself to sit down across from him.

“I was worried about you. Guess I shouldn’t have been.” Jules went back to his reading.

“I didn’t know what to say to you.” No apology on earth would make up for what had happened.

“There’s nothing to say.” Jules straightened his pile of papers, clipped them together, and put them back into his briefcase. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.” He pushed back his chair.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you to walk in there.” Robin’s voice shook. “To know that I’d do . . . what I did, even though I knew how much you cared for Adam . . .”

Jules froze in the process of pushing himself out of his seat. “You honestly think . . . ?” He laughed, sat back down, applied pressure to the bridge of his nose, as if he had a killer headache. “You think I’m upset because of Adam.”

“I know you still love him,” Robin said. He knew that even though Jules had expressed very real interest in Robin, he hadn’t yet let go of Adam. “I also know that Adam’s . . . infidelity was one of the reasons you split up, which must have—”

“I once had this shrink,” Jules told him, “who theorized that I kept taking Adam back, kept giving him a second, third, eighteenth, forty-seventh chance because I never had that opportunity with my father, you know, because he’d died? When Dad was gone, he was gone. Adam, though . . . He would cheat or maybe even leave, but then he’d reappear. It was hard—it has been hard—not to try again. I couldn’t have my father’s love, right? But I could have Adam’s. The irony was that Adam couldn’t—can’t—give me what I needed, any more than my father could return from the dead.” He laughed. “And in the end the man who loved me the most is the dead one.”

Jules stood up.

Robin stood, too. What was he saying? That Adam didn’t love him? Wasn’t that kind of obvious? And didn’t that make both his and Robin’s transgression even worse?

“Are you and Adam—” Jules stopped. Started again. “Have you . . . been with Adam again?”

“No!” Robin said, startled. “God! I hate his fucking guts. It wasn’t . . . I’m not . . . gay. I’m not. I know that now. Definitely. It was just that one, you know, time. No repeats. No thanks. Not interested.”

Jules gazed at him. “Let me get this straight. You know that you’re not gay because you don’t want to have sex—again—with someone whose guts you fucking hate? That makes perfect sense.” He gathered up his briefcase. “You, my friend, are in total denial.”

Be a man.
Robin blocked his route out of the room. “All that stuff between you and me, Jules, that was . . . I was just . . . acting. I told you that. I’m sorry if you took me too seriously. I should have been more clear and . . . Well, I shouldn’t have messed around with you in the first place, because I like you, I really do. As a friend, you know.”

Jules nodded. “Friend, comma, straight. Check.”

“And what happened with Adam . . .” Robin took a deep breath. “That night . . . I was just exploring Hal’s inner demons and it got out of hand. It wasn’t real.”

Jules nodded again. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said. “Right. Like I haven’t ever heard that before. But this time it really didn’t mean anything. It was just meaningless sex between a coupla guys, one of whom fucking hates the other. Thanks for clearing that up.” He moved to step around Robin.

Who stepped to block him again.

“I don’t want you to think it was entirely Adam’s fault,” Robin said, “because it wasn’t. I was . . .” He cleared his throat. “Curious.”

“Yeah, I’ve always been curious, too.” Sarcasm rang in Jules’ voice. “I really hate Tim Ebersole, the leader of the Freedom Network, and I spend, oh, five, six hours a day wondering what it would be like to have sex with
him.
”

Jules’ anger was palpable, but beneath it lay hurt, which was far harder to deal with.

Be a man.
Robin didn’t run away. He stood there. Met Jules’ gaze. “I don’t know what to say besides I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “and that I hope you’ll forgive me. I hope we can be friends again someday.”

Jules just laughed. But then he put down his briefcase, stepped closer and . . .

Robin saw it coming.

Jules was going to kiss him.

He saw it coming, and he should have taken a step back, because this wasn’t research, it wasn’t necessary, it was . . .

Sweet. It was unbearably sweet, just as it had been up in Jules’ hotel room.

And he not only not stepped back, but he stepped forward, toward Jules and . . .

And it wasn’t Jack kissing Hal, it wasn’t Adam kissing Hal, Hal wasn’t involved at all, it was Jules kissing
him
and it felt so unbelievably . . .

Right.

Robin wanted to run away, he had to run away, but his legs were melting and his arms were wrapped around Jules, who just kept on kissing him. Harder, deeper, longer, hungrier, Jules sucked the very breath from him, then—God!—reached between them and . . .

Stopped kissing him.

And there Robin was. Breathing hard, stone sober, staring into the desire-filled eyes of this man who quite obviously wanted to be far more than his friend.

Staring into the eyes of this man who had the pretty obvious proof of Robin’s own equally enormous desire in his hand.

God, God, God . . .

“You,” Jules said, “are one hell of an actor.”

Robin couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t pull away.

He didn’t want to pull away. He wanted . . .

Oh, dear God, he actually knew
exactly
what he wanted.

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and kissing Jules again and . . .

“Whoops, sorry, guys.” They leapt apart as Cosmo did a quick 180.

“Wait,” Jules said. He was nearly as wigged out as Robin. “Wait! I apologize—that shouldn’t have happened in such a . . . a public place. That was completely—”

“What, you mean, here in Robin’s home?” Cosmo said, completely unperturbed. He glanced around the room. “Seems pretty nonpublic to me.” He looked at Robin, who’d totally had to sit down. “We cleaning things up or making more of a mess?”

Jules answered for him, running his hands down his face. “Mess,” he said. “I think this qualifies as a mess. Although only a potential mess. Because we didn’t quite get to the messy part and . . .” He laughed. “God, I didn’t mean that the way it sounds. I think I better tell you what I came here to tell you, Chief, and then go.” He glanced at Robin, and added, “Actually, if you could give me two minutes, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Cosmo nodded. “No problem. Take your time.”

Jules watched Cosmo close the door behind him, then turned to Robin. “I’m sorry, I took that much too far.”

Robin still couldn’t speak. He just shook his head.

Jules sat down beside him, real concern in his eyes. “You all right?”

He’d thought he’d had it all figured out. But now . . .

Hal was sitting back and letting Robin take the blame for that one all on his own.

And he was back in panic mode.

“Robin . . .” Jules touched his arm.

Robin rocketed up, out of his seat.

Jules sat there for a moment, his head down. “Okay,” he said when he finally spoke. “This is a scenario I didn’t consider. I had it all figured out—what I was going to say when you realized that you were gay and . . .” He looked up at Robin, who had to turn away, toward the curtained windows. “I’m not ready to forgive you. You know, for the other night. For Adam. I may never be, so even if my little fantasy moment there had kept going, it wouldn’t have gone much further. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again—I’m not going to be your science project. Especially not experiment number two in an as of yet undetermined number. And even if you begged my forgiveness, even if you got down on your knees in front of me—and I do mean that in the crudest possible way—”

Robin’s hands were shaking and he jammed them into his pockets.

“—that wouldn’t change a thing. You know when I kissed you right then?” Jules continued. “That was partly because I wanted to show you what you can’t have. That’s what you threw away when you went home with Adam.”

He was serious. As Robin turned back to watch, Jules picked up his briefcase.

“I’m not going to sell myself short again,” Jules continued. “Not even for great sex. Well, okay, maybe for great sex, but not for great sex with you. Not when I know what we could have.” He laughed. “But since you’re not gay, it’s all kind of moot, isn’t it?”

He stood there, just looking at Robin, as if waiting for some kind of response.

Robin finally found his voice. “Shit, I need a drink.”

Jules laughed and headed for the door. “Yeah, that’ll help.”

It was obvious that Jules Cassidy was tremendously embarrassed that Cos had walked in on him and Robin. The first thing he did when he came into the kitchen was apologize again.

Cosmo got out his wallet and pulled out his PFLAG card and tossed it onto the kitchen table.

Jules stopped stammering. “You have a . . . brother who’s—?”

“Father,” Cosmo said.

“Your
father.
” Jules laughed, but quickly stopped himself. “I’m sorry, I’m just so . . . surprised.”

“My family was somewhat alternative,” Cos explained.

“So, coming from that background, you decided to become a SEAL because . . . ?”

Cos shrugged. “I kind of fell into it.”

“I’m sorry. No one
kind of falls
into
that
training program and walks out with a SEAL pin.”