Hot Target (44 page)

“You don’t know all of this for sure, right?” Jane asked. “This is just your theory?”

“Some of it’s fact,” Jules told her. “And we tend to be pretty accurate when it comes to theories like this.”

“Kind of like your profilers, who kept insisting Mr. Insane-o worked alone?” Jane asked.

“There’s a big difference between working with a partner or in a team, and forming a temporary alliance with someone you see as disposable,” Cosmo told her. “The profilers were saying our guy was not a team player—which was true.”

“So, okay,” Jules said. “Johnny scrounges up some uniforms from World War Two—probably with Mark’s help—and, in his Carl Linderman persona, gets cast as an extra. He has access to the set, where he sends that e-mail, creating the lockdown. The accident with the light happens—and we’re virtually certain it was just an accident—and lucky for John it brings the stalker story even closer to the top of the news. He likes that, but there are still people who aren’t taking him seriously—possibly even Tim Ebersole.

“So John shoots Angelina to make sure he’s caught everyone’s attention. Then he grabs Patty and sets it up to look as if she killed him. Only it’s his disposable friend, Mark Avery, who’s dead. John’s still out there and you’re still very much in danger. But you’re supposed to emerge from hiding and we’re all supposed to be high-fiving each other for a job well done, and John, he still can’t settle for gunning you down in your driveway—thank God. He’s got to prove that he’s so much smarter than we are, and he’s got to have the high drama, to catch Tim’s eye.

“So he plans to take you out while you’re shooting the battlefield sequence—that’ll surely make the news in a major way. After you show up on location—and you make it so easy for him by coming onto the set on the very first day of a four-day shoot—he sticks some hapless extra with the same kind of horse trank that he used to drug Patty—and that’s something we know for sure.”

“But how’d he get that rifle onto the beach?” Jane asked.

“The rifle
and
a sidearm,” Cosmo interjected. “All he needed was a little advance notice, and since he had a Nazi uniform, he was probably one of the first people called.”

“That’s probably right,” Jane agreed. “HeartBeat took care of the extras casting, but they worked off of our lists.”

“They called him, gave him the dates and times and location,” Cosmo speculated. “He probably asked if there would be additional security. You know, ‘Wasn’t someone connected to the movie just killed?’ They probably told him about the metal detectors and the fence, reassuring him he’d be safe. I bet he came out here that same night—before the fence went up. Buried both of those weapons in the sand.”

Jules nodded. “A number of extras and crew reported seeing someone digging right over by the hill. They didn’t think much of it at the time, but . . . So there you have it.” He sighed. “Look, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going to head out. If anything new comes in . . . Well, I’ll certainly keep you posted.”

“How much longer will you be in town?” Jane asked.

“Probably only a few more days,” Jules told her.

“Will you stop in and see Robin before you go?” she asked. “I mean, he’s sleeping now, but . . . Maybe tomorrow?” Her brother had been asking for Jules in the ambulance.

“I’m not sure I’ll have time,” Jules told her, and her heart sank. It was clearly his polite way of saying no.

“Please give him a second chance,” Jane said. “Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you think? God, you’d be so good for him.”

She couldn’t believe she was saying this, couldn’t believe how badly she wanted her brother to be in a relationship with another man.

A man he so obviously adored, and who so clearly cared for him, too.

Jules laughed quietly. “I’m not sure he’d agree. He’s not exactly . . .” He shook his head. “You know what would be really good for Robin? A thirty-day, locked-door rehab program, and some serious, in-depth psychoanalysis.” He picked up his briefcase. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow. We’re still looking for Bordette’s stuff—he moved it all somewhere, probably into self-storage. We’re hoping to find a computer. Who knows? He wrote a fictional blog for Avery. Maybe he had a real one of his own.” He shook Jane’s hand, then Cosmo’s. “Good work out there today, kids.”

And then there she was. Alone with Cosmo—well, except for the lady at the hospital information desk. And except for Deck and Tom and the other members of the Troubleshooters team who were waiting for her in the parking lot, ready to escort her home.

“What are you so afraid of?” Cosmo asked her. “I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

Was he kidding? He’d told her to stay under the tent.

“I lost it back on the beach,” Cosmo said. He was serious. “I . . . I just . . .” He shook his head. “Me flipping out like that was the last thing you needed, with Robin shot, and . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Jane stared at him. “I’m the one who’s sorry—for scaring you. But, Cos, God, I had to. He called me and he said he was going to kill you. I thought if I could distract him, if I could make him think that he’d shot me . . . I couldn’t just sit there and let him kill you. I couldn’t.”

“I know.” Cosmo sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs. He looked utterly exhausted. And was that drying blood on the sleeves of his ugly plaid shirt?

“You’re not . . . mad?” she asked, sitting down next to him.

He shook his head, no. “Janey, I know you. You thought it would help. And I can’t be mad at you for doing exactly what I would’ve done in your shoes. Although, you know,
training
? As in, I’ve had a lot, you’ve had none?”

“But . . . I fooled him—Bordette—didn’t I?” she asked.

Cos looked at her, the muscle in his jaw jumping. He didn’t say anything for a long time, but she just waited.

“You fooled me, too—made my heart stop,” he finally told her. “I almost let him shoot me.”

“What?”

“Bordette was pulling a gun. His sidearm. It caught in his holster. He was a half second from firing it anyway, right through the damn thing, right into my head.”

“Oh, my God . . .”

“I actually thought about it. About just letting him do it.”

He was serious. Jane reached for him. “Cosmo . . .”

He held her tightly, too. “God, I stood there, and I thought how hard it was going to be to live the rest of my life without you. I thought about Yasmin losing her husband and children and cursing me for saving her life. And I thought about Murphy’s eyes . . .”

“Oh, Cos . . .” This day had come closer than she’d ever imagined to being a terrible tragedy. She could barely breathe.

“It was just for a second. Less. It passed. I’m not afraid to die, but . . . It’s not going to happen that way. And then . . . on the beach, when you were okay and . . .”

“I
am
okay,” Jane told him. “I’m okay, and you’re . . .” She looked at his arms, pushing his sleeves back. “You’re hurt.”

“I had this plan,” he said, as if he didn’t hear her, as if he didn’t even notice the gashes and drying blood on his arms, “that after this was all over, and you were safe, I was going to take you to dinner at my mother’s. And if you survived, if you didn’t run screaming out of the house, I was going to ask you to marry me.”

Dear God . . .

“That came out wrong,” he said, pushing her hair back from her face, brushing some smudge of dirt or something from her cheek with his thumb. “It sounds like I’m saying . . .” He paused again. “What I
meant
is, if I thought that living with me was going to be torture for you, I wasn’t going to ask. See, my mom’s a pretty big part of my life, and . . . I want you, Janey, but I don’t want you to be miserable.”

She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You were really going to ask me . . . ?” Past tense. He
had
a plan.

“I’m a SEAL,” he told her. “Our country’s at war, and I could die. God knows it’s happened to better men than me. But it could be me next time—leaving you forever.” He held her gaze. “I never realized before exactly what that meant, what that might feel like. Today was . . . eye-opening.”

“So that’s it?” Jane said. “You have this epiphany, and I don’t even get to meet your mother?”

There were tears in his eyes and the smile he gave her was so sad. “I love you too much.”

“Too much?” she said. “I didn’t think that was possible with something like love.”

“I don’t want you to feel the way I felt today.” He shook his head. “It was just a few minutes, and it was enough for a lifetime.”

“Do you really think it never occurred to me that you do something extremely dangerous for a living?” she asked him. “You really think that’s like some big headline news flash? ‘Cosmo Could Die . . .’? You say you know me, but you don’t know me at all if you think that’s going to scare me away. You love me. Too much—whatever that means,” she told him, her voice shaking. “I love you ferociously. With that going for us, what can’t we handle?”

Cosmo kissed her, and she knew it was going to be all right. “Say that again,” he demanded.

“I love you ferociously,” she told him, and kind of ruined the impact of a word as strong as
ferociously
by starting to cry. Although he didn’t seem to mind. He actually seemed to like it, maybe because his own eyes were suspiciously moist, too. “Enough to endure whatever comes our way.”

Jane wrapped her arms around him and—

“Excuse me, we’re looking for a Cosmo Richter?”

Cos pulled back and Jane looked up to see two police officers standing in the hospital lobby.

“Oh, shit,” Cosmo said. “Excuse me.” He met Jane’s questioning gaze. “I think I’m about to be arrested for stealing a car.”

“What?” Jane started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

But Tom Paoletti and Decker were suddenly both there. They intercepted the police officers, pulling them out of the lobby, far from Cosmo and Jane.

“Officers, I’m sorry, I can’t go with you,” Cos said as he gazed into Jane’s eyes. “I’ve got other plans for tonight.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-NINE

Robin had had a slew of visitors to his hospital room over the past few days.

Adam came twice, which was awkward and weird.

Janey and Cosmo came every morning and every night.

Harve and Guillermo and Gary all smuggled in bottles of whiskey, bless their hearts.

His dad even flew in with what’s-her-name, his latest wife, although they didn’t stay long.

There had been no sign, however, of Jules.

Robin would’ve at least liked to thank the guy for saving his life.

And then, on day three, the least likely visitor in the entire known universe walked into his room.

Patty Lashane.

Robin had just been silently bemoaning the fact that there was nothing good on TV at two o’clock in the afternoon. ESPN had women’s college lacrosse, which was even less interesting than
Rugrats,
and why wasn’t there a channel that showed all
SpongeBob,
all the time?

“How are you, Robin?” Patty asked.

And suddenly scary women carrying big sticks and wearing little plaid skirts seemed fascinating. He somehow managed to smile at her as he reluctantly turned off the TV. “Pretty good,” he said, “considering I was shot. Twice.”

“I know,” she said.

“You, uh, had a pretty harrowing experience there yourself,” Robin said.

“I don’t remember any of it,” Patty told him.

She was wearing a suit. Wide-legged pants with a matching jacket. Nice shoes. She’d gotten her hair cut, too. “You look good,” he said as she sat down in the chair across the room.

“Thank you,” she said. “I have a lunch date.”

“With Wayne?” he asked.

She blinked at him. “No. With Victor Strauss.”

“The director?”

She bristled. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, of course not. You’re like, what? Twenty? And he’s ninety. This is Hollywood. Go for it.”

“He’s not that old,” Patty said.

“What about Wayne?” Robin asked.

“Wayne Ickes?” She laughed as if he’d made a big joke. “He and I are just friends.”

“He helped save my life,” Robin told her. “You should have seen him—total hero material. Everyone’s ducking for cover and he’s right there. . . . Adam, too.” Which really was the surprise of the century. But he didn’t want to talk about Adam. Not with Patty, who knew that he and Adam had . . . God. “Wayne’s brave, he’s nice, and he’s obviously hung up on you.”

She fiddled with her handbag, and he knew the nonchalance was an act. “He’s dating Debbie, the new craft services girl,” she admitted, and when she looked up at him, there was misery in her eyes.

“Ouch,” Robin said.

“He thinks I’m with Victor—you know,
with
Victor—because he saw the flowers that Victor sent me when I was in the hospital and . . .” She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure Victor only wants what you wanted.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“Except Victor’s not faking it,” Patty said. “He’s definitely not gay.”

“I’m not gay,” Robin protested. “I just . . . happened to have sex once with . . . you know, another man.”

“Is that why you slept with me?” she asked. “So people would think you were straight?”

“I’m not gay,” he said again, unable to keep desperation from his voice. “I was really trashed when I . . . I got a little too into character, and . . . I’m not even sure what happened that night with Adam. I don’t remember too much about it.”

“I got tested for AIDS,” she told him. “I’m negative.”

AIDS. Jesus. “That’s good,” he managed to say. “Look, Patty, I know you’re still mad at me, but—”

“I won’t tell,” she said. “But you owe me. You take my phone calls. You remember my name. I’m going to be a producer myself one of these days, so you’ll read the scripts I send you and—”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Absolutely.” She stood up. “I have to go. I really came by because I wanted to let you know that I’m not pregnant. You know, so you could stop worrying about it?”

Pregnant? “Whew,” he said.

“You jerk. You didn’t even remember, did you?”

“I’ve been thinking about other things,” Robin admitted. He tried to change the subject. “I wish you’d call Wayne and tell him the truth about you and Victor.”

“It’s too late,” she said.

“It’s never too late,” he told her. “You want me to call him? I’m going to call him, okay?”

Patty shook her head. “Do you remember
any
thing about that night with me?” she asked.

Robin didn’t answer right away. It was funny, actually. He could barely remember the nights he’d spent with Patty and Adam. And yet he remembered every kiss he’d shared with Jules. In great detail.

“Yeah,” he lied now, because he’d already done enough damage. “I remember that it was really great.”

“It was over in about ten seconds,” she informed him. “I didn’t even get to . . . you know. And then you barfed all over my bathroom. On a scale from one to ten, you’re, like, less than zero.”

“Well, wow, thanks so much for dropping by,” he said. “You really cheered me up.”

She lingered by the door. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, too,” Robin told her. “And thanks for . . . you know.” Not rushing right out to give an interview with the
National Voice.

“Your calling Wayne doesn’t make us even. You’re still less than a zero,” she said, as she went out the door.

“So that went well.” Jules came into Robin’s room, surprising the hell out of him. He must have been waiting right outside in the hall. He had on his FBI agent clothes—dark suit, white shirt, red tie.

“Ah,” Robin said, managing a smile. How much of that had Jules overheard? “It’s unexpected-visitor day. Lucky me.”

“It’s warm in here.” Jules took off his jacket before he sat down in the chair Patty had recently vacated.

“I was cold. The extra blanket was too heavy on my leg, so . . .”

Jules started rolling up his sleeves. “I came to say good-bye.”

Robin gave up trying to smile. “Are you going back . . . ?”

“To D.C.,” Jules told him. “My work here is done.”

There wasn’t much Robin could say in response to that. At least not with that lump in his throat.

“Did your sister tell you that we found John Bordette’s computer?” Jules asked.

“Yeah.” Robin took a sip from his water cup. “Dude was looney tunes. His keeping a ghoulish journal like that was . . . Yeesh. She said he wrote this really creepy poetry, too.”

“Some of it was pretty good,” Jules said. “Very dark, though.”

And there they sat, just looking at each other.

“Have the doctors talked to you about a therapy program?” Jules finally asked, and Robin nodded. “You’ve got to start slow. Don’t expect to get out of the hospital and then go for a five-mile run the next day.”

Robin nodded. “Adam told me you were shot a few years ago.”

He wasn’t sure what made Jules look so startled for a moment—the fact that he’d brought up Adam, or the fact that he and Adam had obviously discussed him.

But Jules quickly composed himself, even laughed softly. “Gee, I was under the impression that you guys didn’t spend all that much time talking.”

“We talked a lot,” Robin told him. “Mostly about you.”

“Oh, well, that makes everything all right, then.” He blew out a quick burst of air. “Sorry.” He stood up. “I think it’s probably time to go.”

Robin moved wrong, or too fast, or maybe God was just giving him a giant noogie, but he yelped and cursed from the sudden flare of pain.

Jules was instantly at his side. “Are you okay? You need me to get the nurse?”

Robin shook his head.
Don’t go.
He didn’t say it. He couldn’t say it. He pretended the tears in his eyes were the involuntary kind, the kind that came with intense pain. It was just a side effect, along with the sweat he could feel on his forehead and upper lip. He took a drink from his cup, which helped.

“How are you managing the pain?” Jules asked.

“The head nurse likes me,” Robin said. “I’m doing fine.”

Jules leaned closer. “You smell like whiskey.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. At this proximity, he could smell Jules’ cologne. He always smelled so good. And his eyes were so brown. “And then there are my very considerate friends.”

“So much for my hope of you coming out of the hospital sober.” Jules was really upset. “God damn it, Robin—”

“Hey, come on . . .” Robin moved wrong and ended up zinging himself again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”

When he opened his eyes, Jules was taking the lid off his water cup. He sniffed it, then took it into the bathroom and poured the contents down the sink.

“I realize how futile this is,” he said as he brought the cup back into the room. “You’ll just refill when I’m gone.”

“So don’t go,” Robin said, making it a joke.

Jules took it seriously. “And wait around for the next time you get so drunk that you want to experiment again? No, thank you. I’m going home.” He poured a new cup of water from the pitcher on the counter, and reaffixed the top. “Did you know that Jack and his partner, Scotty, have been together for almost fifty years?”

Whoa. “You mean, like, exclusively?”

“I mean, like, committed to each other. Completely. Which includes fidelity. That’s not a purely hetero concept, you know—and they lived faithfully and very happily ever after.”

“Man,” Robin said. “Sex with just one person, for the rest of your life? It sounds a little too limiting.”

“Said the straight man to the gay man.” Jules came back to his bedside. “Your roots are showing.”

“What is this? Bash the invalid day?”

“Your hair’s much darker than I thought.” Jules reached out and touched Robin’s hair, parting it so he could get a better look. “So you’re really, what? Black Irish? Black hair, blue eyes?”

Robin nodded. Dear God, that felt too good. “Robin O’Reilly Chadwick,” he said in his best Irish brogue, praying that Jules would stop. Or that he would never stop. He wasn’t quite sure which. “Top o’ the mornin’ ta ya, Jules Cassidy.”

Jules smiled. “It’s afternoon.”

“Not to a hard-drinkin’ Irishman, it’s not.”

That did the trick. Jules stepped back. “I gotta go. My plane leaves in just a few hours.”

Robin tried to memorize him, standing there with his tie slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up. As he took his jacket from the back of the chair, Robin didn’t really check out his backside. He was just admiring the fact that the man was in such good shape.

Liar.

Jules slung his jacket over his shoulder, turned for one last look. . . .

“Keep in touch,” Robin said.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“So this is
good-bye
good-bye? Have a nice life?”

“Yeah,” Jules said. “I think that’s best.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We’re not,” Jules said. “I can’t be your friend because you’re not in a place right now where you can really be
my
friend, so . . .”

“Why, because I don’t want to suck your—”

“No.” Jules cut him off. “Because you do.”

“Okay,” Robin singsonged, to hide how rattled he was. “If believing that floats your boat . . .” He could do only a half shrug without making his eyes roll back in his head from the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Jules said. “I deserve better than that. I deserve someone who really wants me.” His voice shook. “God damn it—I deserve sunlight.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Robin whispered.

“Take care of yourself,” Jules said, and swiftly went out the door.

“Wait!” Wasn’t Jules even going to kiss him? One last lingering breathless taste of what Robin claimed he didn’t want? One last sweet touch of lips, a gentle rasp of tongues to remind him of what he was too scared to let himself have?

Pretty boy. Homo. Little faggot.

Jules stuck his head back in the door, so obviously hoping to hear the words that Robin couldn’t say, wouldn’t say.

“Steer clear of that mean Peggy Ryan,” Robin told him instead.

Jules nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

And then he was really gone.

Robin shifted his weight, got slammed with the pain, and let tears rush to his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Jane asked as she came out the conference room doors and into the backyard.

Cosmo was standing at the edge of the property, staring at the back of the house. Still looking for that freaking bullet. He didn’t bother to tell her. She knew.

“Your mom called,” she told him. “She’s running a little late, so if we can delay picking her up by about forty minutes . . .”

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“No,” she said, “I think she’s really considerate. Calling ahead so we don’t have to sit in her living room, waiting for her? Listening to the soundtrack from
Jekyll and Hyde.
Again.”

He laughed. “All you have to do is ask her to play something else.” His mother quite possibly loved Jane more than she loved him.

“I didn’t want to tell you this,” Jane said. “But I secretly love that musical. Your mom’s going to let me borrow it, along with
Les Mis
and
Phantom
—my other big faves—so I can put them onto my iPod and create a continuous loop—just keep it playing all the time.”

Cosmo cracked up. Thank God she wasn’t serious.

But then she hummed a few bars from the duet from the second act. God, he
hoped
she wasn’t serious.

“So what’s the hardest part about being a SEAL?” she asked him.

“Having to spend time away from you,” he told her. Not only was it true, but his answer got him a seriously intense kiss. What was it both Jane and Robin always said?

Score.

“I was kidding,” Jane told him, her arms up around his neck, her fingers in his hair, her body soft against him. “About the iPod.”

“You’re hair looks great,” he told her. She was wearing it up, intricately piled on top of her head. “But is it really going to last?”

“This is just a trial run. Wait’ll you see me tomorrow in my dress.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Wait’ll you see me
out
of my dress. The crew bought me special-occasion underwear.”