Force of Nature (21 page)

He put the photo back. “So your theory is that Lillian made the movie for GBJ Productions as part of some kind of deal with Gordie Junior to leave her daughter alone?”

Annie nodded. “But Marcy died anyway. Whether it was Gordie’s fault or not, Lillian blames him and wants him to pay.”

“She claimed it was Gordon Senior who administered Marcy’s overdose,” Ric told her, leaning against the dresser. “That he did it intentionally because Marcy was a witness to one of Junior’s murders. She told me that her killing Junior was meant to be some kind of eye-for-an-eye thing, with the punishment intended for Burns Senior.”

“Hard not to include Junior on that punishment list,” Annie pointed out, “since he’s the one who’ll be dead.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t seem as if Lillian’s goal was to make him suffer,” Ric said. “It’s Burns Senior she wanted to torment—by making him bury his child, the way she had to bury hers.”

“In that way, you’re right, it’s a definite two-for-one for Lillian,” Annie agreed. “It’s obvious that Burns cares about his son.”

“Although maybe it was bull.” Ric sighed. “When Lillian was telling me her sob story, she didn’t mention GBJ Productions or
The Return of Trixie Absolute
, so it’s possible it was all a lie and—Annie, your arm’s bleeding.”

She tried to look at her elbow, which was impossible to do, so she scrambled off the bed and over to the mirror, where she could see it. Yup, it was bleeding again. It was just a superficial scrape, but every time it started to scab up, she either straightened or bent her arm, and it opened up again. The good news was each time it happened, it looked less raw and angry. “Did I get it on the bedspread?”

“Like
that’s
what I’m worried about.” Ric came closer, taking her arm and turning her to the light so he could get a better look.

“How’s your leg?” she asked him.

“It’s healing,” he told her.

“You know the cool thing about me?” she told him. “It’s when I get hurt like this? I actually heal, too.”

“Yeah, you’re funny,” he said, still frowning at her elbow. “A real laugh riot.” He was standing so close she could smell the coffee that he’d had on his way home. “I hate that I did this to you.”

“You didn’t,” Annie told him. “Any more than Jules did by giving me those shoes to wear. You’re going to have to get over yourself, Ick-Ray.” Her childhood nickname for him made him smile, but it was far too brief. And he didn’t back away as she’d hoped he would. He was still standing much too close. “You’re not responsible for me.”

“It feels like I am,” he admitted. “I feel like…I’ve fucked everything up.”

“Well,” she said, retreating back to the bed and Pierre. “If that’s really what you feel, then you’re just going to have to figure out a way to fix it. Although, if you want to know the truth—here we are, assisting the FBI in a high-priority investigation. It feels to
me
as if, despite some of the blunders with Lillian Lavelle, we managed to do something really right.”

Tonight Jules would at least have a shot at searching for his missing agent, Peggy Ryan, in the place where she was last known to be—Burns Point. With Burns’s electronic security, the wall around his estate, and his army of bodyguards, there was no other way—realistically—that Jules could have gotten in.

“I just want it to be over,” Ric admitted. “I want you to be safe and…”

She knew what he wanted. He wanted her out of his apartment. Out of his life.

“I better go shower,” he told her. “You need the bathroom before I get in there?”

Annie shook her head. “Can I ask you something?”

He stopped. Sighed. Turned to face her. “No, I’m not in love with Robin Chadwick.”

“Ooh,” she said. “The famous Alvarado sense of humor might just be making a comeback.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny, I was trying to be ironic. I couldn’t believe that you asked Jules that—first because it was so personal, and second because it was beyond freaking obvious.”

It
was
a personal question, but Annie and Jules had just had an extremely personal conversation minutes before Ric had returned. In fact, Jules had asked her the very same question about Ric. Was she in love with him?

She’d told him no. She wasn’t
that
crazy.

But she’d admitted to having these foolish feelings of attraction that just wouldn’t go away. She knew Ric, and she knew he wasn’t going to change. And yet a very significant part of her still wanted to jump him.

There were some people, Jules had told her, obviously choosing his words carefully, that you could never let your guard down when you were around. They were dangerous, not merely because of that intense physical attraction, but because you loved them, even though it was crazy to. It was a shame, really, that you couldn’t just decide to love one person, and decide to
not
love someone else. But love didn’t know from crazy—it just happened, and the first thing you had to do was be honest about it, at least to yourself.

And then you had to stay far away from that dangerous person, and not fool yourself into thinking you could have any kind of casual, temporary fling with them. It couldn’t ever just be about sex—the crazy thing would be in thinking that sex would be enough.

It could never be casual, and it would always end in heartbreak. In a way, it was a gift—the kind of connection that everyone longed to find. But it was far more valuable when the person with whom you had that connection could also bring you joy.

Ric was standing there now, at the foot of her bed, waiting for Annie to stop staring at him and speak up
—Can I ask you something?—
looking like a living advertisement for industrial-strength heartbreak.

Annie had told Jules that she loved Ric as a friend.

Yeah, right. And maybe if she kept repeating that to herself, over and over…

“Last night,” she asked Ric now. “How did you fool everyone into thinking you were drunk? You didn’t touch your beer at the party. You had nothing to drink all night.”

Ric nodded. “Not until we got to the police station.”

Where he’d picked up that mug and…

“Johnny Olson laces his coffee with whiskey,” Ric explained. “And at that time of night, it’s usually the other way around.”

As in, he laced his whiskey with coffee. Check.

“I spilled some down my shirt, too,” he told her. “Doesn’t take much to make you stink.”

Annie nodded. “So…how did you know they weren’t going to press charges?”

“Because most of the people there are still my friends, and they’d never seen me drunk before. They also know I’m close to my father, so…” He shrugged. “Everyone gets at least one free drunken meltdown. It’s when it becomes a regular event that you start having real problems.”

“And you were certain they’d think you were drunk, not homicidal, or…?” Having some kind of emotional breakdown, the way she’d thought.

“Absolutely.” He was definite.

“Because…?”

“Cops—even former cops—don’t cry unless they’re faced,” Ric told her. “It’s a law enforcement rule.”

“So you pretended to cry so they’d think you were shit-faced.” It had sounded hauntingly real to her, the memory keeping her awake long into the night.

He surprised her by saying, “No, I really made myself do it. You’ve got to get the fluids flowing to be believable—not just tears, but snot and drool.”

“Ew,” Annie said.

Ric smiled. “It was either that or piss myself, but I didn’t think my stank level would rate that.”

She couldn’t help it—she smiled back at him. “So there’s a science to this.”

“Totally.” His smile faded, and he took a step toward her, but then stopped, his hands on the wooden footboard of her bed. “Can we, um, maybe call a truce here?”

“What kind of truce?” she asked warily. “The kind where I do what you want me to?”

Ric smiled. “Sort of. But…I also do what
you
want me to do, which is…be safe. Safer. Which is what I’ll be if I don’t have to worry about you skinning your elbow, or worse.”

Annie stood up, rolling her eyes as she crossed to the closet. How many times did they have to rehash this? And what
did
one wear to a firing range anyway? “You better shower, or we won’t have time to go see your father before Jules gets back.”

“Annie.” Ric actually touched her, turning her to face him. “You didn’t want me to do this alone. I’m not alone now. I’ve got Cassidy and the entire FBI backing me up. You, on the other hand, have no experience, and if you want to know the truth, statistics show that if I’m going to die, it’s probably going to be because of you.”

Annie was silent. What could she say to that?

“I’ve been thinking,” Ric told her, “and what we’re going to do is, we’re going to go to Burns Point tonight, and we’re going to break up. You’re going to be far too interested in the movie star—he’s going to be sniffing around you, too, so it’ll look real. I’m going to get jealous and pissed off and cut you loose. You’re going to tell Burns that Chadwick offered you a job—”

“Doing what?”

Ric’s patience was not very thick. “I don’t know. Building a stone wall around his estate,” he said in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter
what
, as long as you and Chadwick go skipping off to California, hand in hand. Which, before you protest, is a very important job for you to do because it gets Chadwick out of Cassidy’s hair, freeing him up to think clearly.”

Annie shook her head. “You’re assuming Robin’s going to agree—”

“He will.”

Because Robin was going to be told that
he
had this big important job to do, which involved making sure
she
was safe. It was, actually, quite a clever plan.

Still it had some major flaws. “You’ve seen Dolphina,” she said. “Who’s going to believe Robin would dump her for someone like me?”

“Anyone who meets you,” Ric shot back.

So okay, at least he didn’t try to bullshit her by telling her she was just as beautiful. And if anyone could pull off the whole dumping-the-beauty-for-the-dumpy-woman-with-the-great-personality thing, Robin Chadwick, soon-to-be Oscar nominee could.

“Your mother’s going to think I’m a real jerk,” Annie told Ric. “Running off with someone else mere days after moving in with you.”

“I’ll tell her it was my fault,” Ric said. “That I got overwhelmed. Scared. You know, by, um, my terrifying intense feelings for you. I’ll tell her I freaked out and cheated on you first.”

“Which makes
me
a fool for moving in with you in the first place,” she countered.

“Maybe not a fool,” he said. “Maybe just foolishly in love.”

“Isn’t that redundant?” Annie asked. “Foolishly in love?”

“How did you get so cynical?”

“Hello. You and Bruce were my role models. Does the picture of a soccer goal next to Betsy Bouvette’s name ring any bells?”

His temper flared again. “For your information, I went out with her for a year and a half.”

Annie was stunned. “Are you serious?”

“No, I’m lying.”

“How come I never saw her with you?” she asked.

“Because her father didn’t like the color of my skin,” Ric revealed. “Or the fact that
my
father had an accent.”

“What?” Annie couldn’t believe it.

“My entire relationship with Betsy was on the down-low,” Ric told her. “And Bruce, he gave me endless crap about it, too. He thought I could do better.
Dude, why would you want to limit yourself to just one girl? It’s time to move on.
Well, guess what? I was in love with her, Annie. I was willing to sneak around to be with her, but
she
moved on. She dumped me after she went to college, okay?”

He
was
serious. Betsy Bouvette had dumped
him.

“So Bruce drew the picture of the goal,” Ric continued, “and I tried to pretend that my heart wasn’t broken. At least I lost my virginity, right? Big whoop.”

“Wow,” Annie said. She’d had no idea.

“Don’t assume you know me,” he said. “I am not Bruce.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, not that you’re not Bruce. I’m actually glad you’re not Bruce—”

“Do we have an agreement?”

“Betsy was crazy.”

“
Do.
We have an agreement?” Clearly Ric had said all he was willing to say on the subject of Betsy Bouvette.

“Will you call me every day with an update?” Annie asked. “And will you promise that you’ll be as careful as you would’ve been if I were with you?”

“Yes. And?” he said because he knew her well enough to know there’d be more.

“Will you cry when I leave? And I don’t mind the drool so much, but could you do me a favor and keep it snot-free?”

Ric laughed. He knew he’d won.

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed her.

On the forehead.

The way he’d done when she was thirteen and he was seventeen and in love with Betsy Bouvette, who’d broken his heart.

Jules could tell, as he came out of the urban warfare course, that he’d impressed the crap out of Ric Alvarado. Particularly when he put his name on some paperwork that Yashi conveniently had on a clipboard, ready for him to sign.

“Whoa,” Ric said. “You’re not a lefty?”

“Nope,” Jules said, nodding his thanks to Yash as he headed for the cage where they’d stashed their gear. “That’s why I didn’t get a perfect score. Still, this isn’t bad for my nondominant hand.”

That was when Ric surprised him. “You know, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Jules took off his glove and put it in his gym bag. “When did that change?”

“I don’t know,” Ric admitted, leaning against the chain links. “I guess…today. I guess I realized we’re…more alike than I thought. I’m not gay—that’s not what I mean.”

Jules laughed as he closed the cage but didn’t bother to lock it. “I’m pretty clear on that.”

“I just meant—”

“I got it,” Jules said. “And I appreciate both your candor and your insight. Too many people focus on differences. It’s always nice when someone chooses to join the reality-based world. By the way, I spoke to, um, Robin and I think your plan’s going to work. He’s willing to help—to get Annie to safety. But he can’t leave Sarasota until Sunday night.”