19 Headed for Trouble (6 page)

She shook her head.

He pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. It always amazed her that someone with such big hands—and an ability to put his fist through a wall when provoked—could have such a light touch. “Another might help you sleep.”

Again, she shook her head. “Tom said he’d call after he spoke to Randy. I want to be coherent.”

“I could talk to him,” Sam volunteered.

“I know,” Alyssa said. “Thanks. But …” Sam hadn’t looked inside that refrigerator.

Her cell phone rang, and she opened it. “Locke.”

“What time is it there?”

That wasn’t Tom Paoletti’s voice. It was … “Jules?”

“It’s nearly three
A.M
. here, which means it’s not quite six there. Aren’t you allowed to answer your phone with
Alyssa
at least from, say, two to six
A.M.?”

“It’s Jules,” Alyssa told Sam. She and Jules Cassidy had been playing phone tag for weeks now. It was exactly
her former-FBI-partner and best friend’s MO to call in the middle of the night after being frustrated by voice mail.

“Are you—honest to God—in a town called No Hope?” Jules asked. “Because I got this weird message from SpongeBob, and it sure as hell sounded like he said you were in No Hope, New Hampshire, and all I could think was
shit
. No Hope High School …”

“You called Jules?” Alyssa asked Sam.

“No Hope Hospital,” Jules continued.

Sam lifted a shoulder. “It’s been a rough night. I thought you might want to talk to him.”

“I’m really okay,” she said again.

“I know.”

“No Hope Hair Salon …”

“It’s
New
Hope,” she told Jules as she sank down onto the leather sofa, one leg tucked up beneath her.

“New Hope Hair Salon—that’s almost as good.” His voice changed. “You okay, sweetie?”

Sam sat down on the other end of the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was trying hard not to look worried.

“We’ve been looking for this woman, Amanda, and we found her tonight. In the refrigerator of an abandoned cabin. She’d been there for six months and … Whoever killed her had …” Alyssa had to stop, take a deep breath.

Sam reached over and put his hand on her foot.

“He mutilated her,” she said. “It was … gruesome and surprising, and …” Sam’s gaze was as warm and solid as his hand. She was, in truth, talking to him. “I think I’m embarrassed. My reaction to seeing her was …”

She’d actually screamed. Only her years of training had kept her from running from the cabin after opening that refrigerator door. Or maybe it had been the lightheadedness
and suddenly blurred vision that kept her glued to the spot.

“I almost lost it,” she said. “I actually had to put my head between my knees.” All the while unable to say anything more than
Oh, shit, oh, shit …

Which had sent Sam running down the mountain, racing to her unnecessary rescue.

Or maybe it had been necessary. She’d been beyond glad to see him, to feel his arms around her. She’d done everything but burst into girlish tears.

“I mean, come on,” Alyssa told Jules. “What’s that about? I’ve seen murder victims before. This is nothing new.”

But Sam shook his head. “You were caught off-guard. We both were. We were sure she was still alive.”

They’d spent dinner trying to guess where Hathaway and Amanda had gone.

Such optimism was new for Alyssa. In the past, she’d always been a worst-case-scenario thinker. Anyone who’d been missing for six whole months
had
to be dead. But this time, she had been positive that they’d find Amanda by finding Hathaway. Instead …

The FBI agents heloed in from the Boston office were convinced that Amanda was the latest victim of a serial killer they’d been tracking for years. The Bureau was excited because, even though Steve Hathaway was an alias, for the first time they believed they finally had a photo of the man they were after, thanks to Randy Shahar.

“I liked her—Amanda,” Alyssa told both Sam and Jules. Although she’d never met the woman, she’d read her diaries and talked with her friends. “I thought she’d found true love. I thought she was hiding from her father because she knew he’d be mad that she’d married the ski bum instead of the businessman. I actually pictured her with Hathaway in some little house with a
white picket fence, living happily ever after.” Instead, he’d probably made a necklace with her teeth. “God.”

She looked up at Sam and told Jules, “Two months of marriage to Pollyanna here, and I’ve already moved into Sunnybrook Farm.”

Jules didn’t laugh. Instead, he sounded wistful. “That must be nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” Alyssa said. Sam was shaking his head over his new nickname. “It’s scary, though. The potential for disappointment can be pretty high.” As opposed to always expecting to be disappointed. “Look, Jules, I have to go. Thanks for calling.”

“Anytime, sweets. Give Pollyanna a big, wet, sloppy kiss for me.”

“I will.” She hung up the phone.

“You know he’s going to call me that from now on,” Sam said. “For the rest of my life. And, by the way, it’s Rebecca who lives at Sunnybrook Farm. As opposed to Laura Ingalls Wilder, who lives in that little house on the prairie. Pollyanna lives … Shit, I have no idea where Pollyanna lives.”

“Come here,” Alyssa said, moving toward him, meeting him halfway, in the middle of the couch. He put his arms around her, so that she was leaning back against him, her head beneath his chin.

Outside the window, dawn was putting on quite a show.

“Are you going to be able to sleep?” he asked. “Ever?” She laughed, except it came out sounding like a sob, and his arms tightened around her. “I keep thinking, if only …”

“Don’t,” he said. He kissed the top of her head. “Just don’t.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “I hate it when the bad guy wins.”

“I know. But they’re going to catch this one now,” Sam said. “I hope so.”

“They will.” He kissed her again. The way he put it, it was a
when
, not an
if
. He had no doubts whatsoever. For Sam, the future was filled with possibilities, not possible disappointments.

“Nice, huh?” he said as, outside the window, the brilliant colors of dawn—a new day—streaked the sky.

“Yeah,” Alyssa said, loving the feeling of his arms around her. It was very nice, indeed.

Sam Starrett’s daughter had finally surrendered and fallen asleep when the telephone rang.

He closed her bedroom door as silently as possible and raced down the hall toward the living room, where he’d last seen the cordless phone.

Yesterday, three-and-a-half-year-old Haley had missed her nap, and their dinner had been loud and far more tearful than dinosaur-shaped mac-and-cheese warranted. Apparently, without an afternoon rest, having to choose between green beans and peas as a side dish was a tragic dilemma of astronomical proportions.

Sam, always good at creative solutions, thought he’d solved the problem by heating up both vegetables.

At which point Haley wept because the spoon she wanted to use was in the dishwasher.

It was then that Sam understood. As a former Navy SEAL and one of the top counterterrorism experts currently working in the private sector, he recognized that he was caught in the dread no-win scenario. He realized that even if he hand-washed the spoon, there would be something wrong with the fork, or the color of the napkin, or maybe even the brand of Parmesan cheese he and his wife, Alyssa, kept in their fridge.

It was obvious that the real problem wasn’t with the
peas or the spoon or the cheese. Haley missed her mother—Sam’s ex-wife, Mary Lou—and that, plus lack of nap, had locked them into orbit around the Planet of Inconsolable Unhappiness.

Sam could totally relate. He, himself, was struggling hard to keep from joining his daughter there because Mary Lou wasn’t the only one out of town. Just over a week ago, Alyssa had gone OCONUS.

A diplomat on a peacekeeping mission to Kazbekistan—a third world terrorist hotbed nicknamed “the Pit”—had contacted Troubleshooters Incorporated, the private security company where Sam and Alyssa both worked. Former senator Eugene Ryan was adamant about not showing up in the battle-weary country surrounded by heavily armed, dangerous-looking bruisers as guards. At the same time, he wisely didn’t want to go in without adequate protection.

And so he’d requested Alyssa join his security team.

In a country that wasn’t exactly known for its equal rights, no one would expect a woman to be an expert sharpshooter and total kickass bodyguard despite her lack of height and bulk.

Sam had desperately wanted to go along—but his goal was not to keep Ryan safe. No, he wanted to watch his wife’s six. And he was the exact physical type that the former senator didn’t want along for the ride. Not to mention the fact that he’d promised his ex-wife that he’d watch Haley this week …

He’d driven Lys to the airport and kissed her goodbye, working overtime to keep her from noticing his tightly gritted teeth.

It had to happen sooner or later, but as he’d watched her walk into the terminal, he had to admit that he’d been hoping for much, much later. But here it was. For the first time since they were married, Alyssa was off on
a dangerous assignment without him. And it would be another week, at least, before she came safely home.

So last night, as the green beans and peas were both heating in the microwave, Sam had sat down with Haley on the floor of the kitchen and told her it was obvious there was nothing to do but go on and have a good ol’ cry.

“Why are
you
crying?” she’d asked.

“Wah,” he’d said. “The Dallas Cowboys lost the football game last week.”

His pretend sobs had made her giggle, at least for a little while.

Still, the entire rest of the evening had been filled with the potential for an all-out meltdown.

The first few days had been fun. An entire week at Daddy’s was a novelty for Haley, who’d never spent more than a weekend away from her mother. Sam knew it had been exciting for her, too, to look at the pictures from the brochure and imagine Momma and her new husband having a romantic vacation aboard a cruise ship.

As for Sam, he’d appreciated the distraction—what was Alyssa doing right now? Was she in danger? Was he going to have to wait another five days before she had a chance to call him again?—as he took his tiny blond daughter to the zoo and over to Old Town San Diego.

But today, over their Cap’n Crunch and orange juice, Sam and Haley had started counting the days on the calendar—four—until Mary Lou came back home.

Four days was definitely doable, provided they didn’t miss any more of those very important naps.

Provided Sam could convince Haley to fall asleep. He’d just sat with her for more than an hour, holding her hand.

The phone shrilled again as Sam searched for it among the pile of toy cars and dolls on the living room
rug. He loved his little daughter dearly, but please sweet Jesus, don’t let her wake up yet.

He managed to find and grab the cordless phone before it completed that second ring. “Sam Starrett.” Shoot, he must be tired. This was his home phone, and here the correct greeting was
Hello
.

The woman on the other end didn’t seem to mind. “Please hold for Mr. Cassidy,” she said.

Well, la di dah. Lookie who got himself a secretary.

Sam had left a message for Jules Cassidy just yesterday, asking for an update in the FBI’s search for the serial killer known as “the Dentist.” Just over a year ago, he and Lys had handled a missing person case that hadn’t ended happily. They’d found the young woman they were searching for—or rather, they’d found what was left of her after the Dentist worked her over.

They’d also discovered that the Dentist had been posing as a ski instructor in New Hampshire, using the alias Steve Hathaway.

Alyssa—normally tough as nails—had been unusually upset when they’d found the body, even though the murder had occurred six months earlier. She’d taken it personally—so Sam had started getting regular updates on the case from Jules, her friend and former partner from her FBI days.

It was obvious to Sam that after seeing that dead girl, Lys wanted to kick the Dentist’s ass straight to hell where he belonged. She was afraid—and rightly so—that it was just a matter of time before the killer targeted his next victim.

After months of no progress, a man had recently surfaced in a resort town in Colorado who fit Hathaway’s description. Sam was hoping the FBI agents working the case would locate the Dentist’s grisly souvenirs from his victims and have enough evidence to take him into custody before Alyssa returned.

Giving her that news would be a wonderful welcome-home present—a thought that made him smile. Forget about flowers and chocolate. His wife wanted a psycho-killer behind bars.

She was different from most other women, no doubt about that. Which was not to say she didn’t love chocolate.…

Ah yes, Sam missed her very much.

The line clicked, and Jules finally came on. “Sam.”

“Hey,” Sam greeted him, genuinely glad to hear Jules’s voice. Five years ago, if someone had told him that he’d be happily married to his old nemesis Alyssa Locke, and best friends with
her
best friend—an openly gay man—Sam would’ve laughed his ass off. But obviously a lot could happen in five years. “Thanks for calling me back,
Mister
Cassidy.”

There was the briefest pause, then Jules said, “I guess you’re not watching TV.”

“What? No. I’ve got Haley for the week and anything besides
Sesame Street
is too intense for her,” Sam said as he now began searching for the remote control beneath the Spider-Man and Powerpuff Girls coloring books that covered his coffee table. Haley got nightmares. It was Big Bird or a Disney DVD. Although it was possible that too much Big Bird was now giving Sam nightmares.