Into the Fire (38 page)

No doubt about it, something was definitely up with Nash. And Decker
had
been buried too deeply in his own pile of shit to notice.

And now Tess was a casualty. He could only imagine what she was feeling.

Dave insisted that Nash was lying about this other woman he’d mentioned, but over the past few years, Decker had distanced himself so much from his former Agency partner, he honestly didn’t know.

The growing distance, he’d told himself, was a natural thing. It happened all the time when one of a pair of friends got into a serious romantic relationship. And at first he’d worried significantly less about Nash’s crazy tendencies. He actually remembered thinking,
He’s got Tess now—she’ll take care of him.

But apparently Tess wasn’t enough.

Dave wanted Decker to give Tess a message that echoed Dave’s words.
No way would Nash ever…

But yes, way, Nash would.

He was completely capable of screwing around. He’d never been faithful to any woman, ever—not before Tess. And all he’d have to do was walk into a room—any room—and women would start lining up to go home with him. So Nash certainly had the means, if not the motive.

And Decker wasn’t going to lie to make Tess feel better now, when it was clear that, before this was over, Nash was going to rip her heart in two.

The really messed up part was that Nash was trashing his own heart in the process, because Tess truly was the love of his pathetic life.

Decker braced himself and picked up the phone. “Yeah.”

“Decker?” The voice on the other end was female. It was Tracy, the Troubleshooters receptionist, who had a reputation for being not quite the sharpest shovel in the shed. Which was bullshit—she was plenty smart. But every now and then she pulled something like this, which kept alive her reputation as a ditz.

“Honey, when you call my direct line,” Decker said, “you’re going to get me and only me.”

“Of course,” Tracy said. “I just…You sounded…Are you all right?”

Funny you should ask…
“What’s the status?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Yes. Dave asked me to call and update you. He and Lindsey and Jenk and…” He could hear paper rustling as she checked her notes. “And Danny Gillman and Jay Lopez. They’re about an hour outside of Sacramento.”

“Wasn’t there a fourth SEAL?” he asked.

“Irving Zanella,” she said. “He went to Las Vegas to marry his pregnant teenage girlfriend—who also happens to be Danny’s sister and what kind of name is Eden, anyway?” She stopped. Took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Everyone knew about it but me and…I haven’t seen him in months so…I’m sorry.”

“You used to date him,” Decker remembered.

“We never dated,” Tracy said. “We just…collided once and…I’m not, you know, jealous or anything. I’m just…It was a surprise. Besides, the girl’s, like, twelve.” She laughed her disgust. “As if
that’s
going to last. Not that I’m wishing him misfortune or—”

“Was there anything else?” Deck asked.

“Yes,” she said, immediately snapping back to business. “Dr. Heissman. I should have mentioned—she’s going up to Sacramento, too.”

“She didn’t stay to…” Talk to Tess.

“No,” Tracy said. “Tess didn’t think that was a good idea, considering she was kind of the target of Jimmy’s, um…freak-out, I guess is a good description.”

“Dr. Heissman was?” Decker asked. He hadn’t heard that part of the story.

“Deck, it was weird,” Tracy said. “I’ve never seen Jimmy like that. He actually said…” She lowered her voice even more. “F-you.”

“To Jo Heissman?” Jesus. Dave hadn’t told him that either.

“It was like he just…I don’t know,” Tracy said. “He was possessed. And he’s gone. Just like…
gone.
Tess has been looking for him, but…”

“She’s not going to find him,” Decker told her grimly. “Until he wants to be found.” Fuckin’ Nash…

“If he shows up back in San Diego,” Tracy said, “will you please give me a call? I’m going to stay here in Dalton, with Tess. Sophia’s with us, too. Tess doesn’t want to leave without Jimmy, and we don’t want to leave her here alone. We’ll get a room and…Wait and see if he turns up.”

“Thank you,” Decker said. Fuckin’ Nash. “Please, uh, thank Sophia for me, too.”

“I will. And it’s not a problem,” Tracy said. “Tess is a friend.”

“Is there anything else?”

Tracy paused, her sudden silence ominous.

“Christ,” Decker said. “What else?”

“No,” Tracy quickly said. “Nothing bad. I just…I wanted to make sure you’re really all right.”

Decker said nothing.

But that was okay, because Tracy had regained her expert-level control over the conversational ball. “I don’t think anyone actually expected that we’d find Murphy, well, besides Dave who’s…Dave.” She paused. “It seems as if this is really hard for everyone—seeing Murphy again or…even just having to
think
about him and Angelina’s death and—”

“I’m fine,” Decker said.

“Are you?” she asked quietly. “Because I’ve been watching everyone leaning on everyone else and I’ve never seen you lean on
any
one. Maybe Jimmy Nash a little, but…Right now he’s
adding
to your stress levels and…”

Decker looked out his window at the playground. Tom’s wife Kelly usually brought little Charlie over there to play, right around this time of day, but today she was going to the airport in LA, to meet his plane from Hong Kong. She was flying up to Sacramento with him.

Normally Tom would have gone on his own, but Kelly knew just how hard this was for him. Because it was hard for her, too. She’d been there when Murphy and Angelina were shot. She’d invited them to dinner. Maybe if she hadn’t done that…

But she and Tom had each other, as Tracy had pointed out, to lean on.

“I’m fine,” Decker said again.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “I’m a wreck, and I never even met the guy. You were
team
leader and—”

“I’ll call if I hear from Nash,” he told her.

“You’re not alone,” Tracy insisted. “I just wanted to make sure you remembered that. You’ve got a lot of friends who’re dying to give their support—and to
get
some support from you, too. It goes both ways.”

Message received. “Tell Tess…” Decker hesitated. He still wasn’t about to offer support in the form of a lie. “That I’m here if she needs me. And please ask Dave to keep me updated.”

“I will,” Tracy said. “And Deck?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I know we’re not really friends, but if you ever want to, um, talk?
I’m
here if
you
need
me,
okay?”

Decker was silent again.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Did that sound like a sexual invitation, because it wasn’t supposed to be, only you just got really quiet—quieter—and I kind of played it back in my head, and I can see how you might interpret it as being inappropriate or—”

“I didn’t,” he lied. “I was just…overwhelmed by your generosity. I appreciate your reaching out to me, but I meant it when I said I’m fine.”

“Sophia’s my friend,” Tracy continued to babble. “I would never—”

Jesus. “Go back to Tess,” Decker ordered her, and hung up the phone.

He then sat in his office, at his desk, surrounded by silence and stillness. He was the only one in the building—everyone else was either on assignment overseas or rushing off to help Murph.

Tom, however, had asked him to stay behind—to “hold down the fort,” but really, it had been because he’d thought Decker’s seeing Murphy would be too hard.

For Murphy.

“I’m fine,” Decker said again, more forcefully this time, his voice echoing throughout the empty office. He picked up the phone and dialed Nash’s cell, even though he was certain that the son of a bitch wouldn’t answer. Still, it was the first step in tracking him down, and Decker was nothing if not methodical.

And he
would
find Nash. It might take a while, but he’d find him.

He had no doubt about that.

It was what he was going to do once he found him that was questionable. Although kicking Nash’s ass straight to hell was very high on Decker’s list of possibilities.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

S
AN
D
IEGO
, C
ALIFORNIA

E
ven though Izzy was sleeping, Eden went into the bathroom to cry.

She was such a dork.

She’d told herself that, this time, she would do it. This time, she would have sex like a man.

Men didn’t cry after sex. They didn’t do a postcoitus analysis, trying to glean the meaning behind every touch, every kiss, every sigh. They got revved up, they had only as much foreplay as mandatory, they shot their wad, and then they got up and made a sandwich.

Or fell into a complete, restful, triumphant sleep, the way Izzy had done.

No need for unnecessary conversation. And certainly no need for emotional proclamations.

I love you.

God.

What was wrong with her, that she was unable to have sex without falling hopelessly in love?

Sex was sex. It felt good. It was fun.

And one penis wasn’t really all that different from all the others. Izzy was just a nicely built, kind of funny, very generous man, who, like all other men on the planet, was a total slave to his genitals. And okay, maybe there were
some
differences, because he happened to be hung like a porn star. Not that she’d seen a lot of porn, but she had seen some and if anyone ever wanted to make a musical version of
Star Whores,
with his voice and equipment, Izzy could’ve starred.

Eden splashed water onto her face, both laughing and crying now—God, she was a total hormonal mess.

Because the stupid thing was? It wasn’t Mr. Big that she’d fallen in love with. It wasn’t even the fact that Izzy was an amazing lover—and, for the record, that and being well endowed didn’t always go hand in hand. But bottom line? None of that mattered.

What mattered was the way he’d laughed with her. It was his smile and the light in his eyes.

It was the way he was so careful to give her control, making sure she was on top, letting her decide how fast and how far to move. He’d realized that this was a first for her—having sex while pregnant. And while all of her doctors had reassured her that sex well into the third trimester was perfectly fine, it
was
a little weird, especially after going for so long without. But she hadn’t had to tell Izzy that—he already knew. He’d reassured her.
It’s all right, sweetheart. We’ve got about a billion possible alternatives from the Creative Option Box, and I’m already a very happy camper. So if you don’t want to…

But she did. And they had. And he was so gentle and careful and sweet.

It was that—and the way he’d touched her, watching her as she’d moved atop him, his smile so fierce and hot.

It was the catch in his voice, calling out her name as he’d come that second time. He’d sent her flying, too, which didn’t always happen—at least it hadn’t with Jerry.

God, it had felt
so
good.

Except the giddy euphoria that came with knowing that she held such power over Izzy had vanished like the crash following a sugar shock. She’d gone from high to desperately low in record time, finally escaping into the privacy of his somewhat grimy bathroom when he fell asleep.

And here she was, replaying it all in her head, trying to figure out how, in God’s name, she’d managed to mess it up again.

She’d purposely gone down on Izzy right at the start—it was a power play, meant to prove that she was in charge.

It was also a test. Some guys—Jerry for one—rolled over and went to sleep immediately after—without a single thought about her needs.

It was also a kind of a twisted turn-on. Eden both loved and hated this crazy power she had over men. It was a thrill to know that they found her irresistible—even Izzy, who’d fought his attraction to her for so many days. Especially Izzy. It was a definite kick to see the submissive vulnerability of a man who’d finally surrendered—flat on his back. Especially someone as big and commanding as Izzy Zanella.

And yet it was deeply disappointing, too, because at the very same time, as soon as sex entered the equation, she knew that she was replaceable. Exchangeable.

What was it that he’d said about that woman Tracy?

Been there done that.

He could now say the same about Eden.

And yes, she could also say that about him. But she couldn’t help but notice that, out of the pair of them,
he
wasn’t the one who was crying in the bathroom.

Although, really, what had she thought was going to happen? Had she honestly believed that Izzy was going to experience the wonder of all that was Eden, and fall madly and stupendously in love with her?

Speaking of stupendous, the really stupid thing was, even if he had? Even if he’d proclaimed loudly that he wanted to be with her and only her until the very end of time?

Eden wouldn’t’ve believed him.

If there was one thing she’d learned since she’d gotten into the back of John Franklin’s car, it was that “I love you” really meant “I want to do you again in the very near future.” And lust often faded as fast as a post-blowjob hard-on.

A soft knock on the door made her freeze. It was, of course, Izzy. He’d apparently come out of his sex-induced coma and found her missing from his bed.

“You okay in there?” he asked through the door.

“I’m great,” she lied.

He was silent for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he was going to push her on that, because even to her own ears she sounded ridiculously far from great. “I’m going to make a sandwich,” he finally said. “You hungry?”

“No, thank you,” she replied.

He was silent then—but she didn’t hear him go into the kitchen. It was as if he were still standing there, outside the door, listening to her standing silently in the bathroom, as she, in turn, listened for him to leave so she could blow her freaking runny nose.

“You coming out anytime soon?” he finally asked. “I kinda have to…”

Perfect. Wonderful. Eden quickly blew her nose with toilet paper, then wrapped one of his towels around her.

“Please?” he continued. “I’m also worried that I might’ve somehow hurt you—”

She jerked open the door, far more pissed at him than she had the right to be. “You didn’t,” she told him. “I’m pregnant. I cry. Get used to it.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The concern that was practically radiating from him was enough to make her well up all over again—because he wasn’t really concerned for her. He was concerned for himself. He was happy to screw her, but only if it was guilt-free. After all he’d actually gone and married her to get some. Yes, his goal was to help her, but he himself had admitted that he’d also done it because he wanted her.

What she
should
have said now was,
I’m fine—I just need a little space because wow, that was really great sex and I didn’t expect it, and I’m a little thrown by how much I like you.

Instead, what came out of her mouth was, “I have an excruciating backache. I don’t
think
it was anything that you did.”

He looked horrified. And she immediately felt like the bitch that she was.

“I know that it’s not,” she tried to reassure him, but it was too late. “I’ve had it pretty much all day.”

And now he looked stunned—as if she’d hit him in the face with a two-by-four. “You have an
excruciating
backache,” he reiterated, “that hurts enough to make you cry and you don’t think that
maybe
that was something you should have told me
before
we had sex?”

“I did tell you. In the car.”

He stared at her.

“We stopped at that gas station,” she reminded him, even though she knew that she was only making things worse, but he was standing there, completely naked and totally delicious and she could’ve been back in bed with him right this very moment, but no, she had to have sex like a stupid girl and then go and cry about it. “Because I said I wanted to—”

“Stretch your legs,” Izzy finished for her.

“Because my back was hurting,” she told him.

“You didn’t say that.” He was getting mad. “And you certainly didn’t say it was
excruciating.
”

“I did say it,” she argued, even though she didn’t remember exactly what she’d said. “And yeah, okay, I probably didn’t use that word, but even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered. You didn’t want to hear it. You had your agenda.”

“My agenda,” he sputtered. “
My
agenda? Remember me—I’m the one who wanted to take things slowly. I’m the one who wanted to wait.”

“No, you didn’t,” she countered. “We both knew exactly what you meant, back at the cabin when you said
let’s go to Vegas.
”

Izzy’s bullshit meter was usually dead-on accurate, but right now it was obviously out of order. Apparently sex screwed with his head.

He wasn’t the only one. Eden was standing there, making him feel awful, when all she really wanted was for him to pull her into his arms, so that she could pretend that she was loved.

She couldn’t help it, she started to cry in earnest, which upset Izzy even more.

“All right,” he said, “let’s get some clothes on. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Was he an idiot? “Where they’ll tell me what? I’m pregnant? Pregnant women get backaches. It’s part of the deal. The baby leans on a nerve or something, and it sucks, okay?” She pushed past him, heading into the bedroom. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

He reached for her. He was really just going for her arm, to slow her down, but she saw his sudden movement out of the corner of her eye, and she reacted instinctively and ducked.

Izzy instantly backed off, both hands out where she could clearly see them, but positioned low in a completely nonaggressive stance.

“I will never, ever hit you, Eden,” he said quietly. Absolutely.

Her hero.

Whom she’d just purposely made to feel like crap.

Talk about payback.

“I’m so sorry,” she managed to say. “I know that. I didn’t…It wasn’t…” She couldn’t look at him. “My back. It doesn’t hurt that much. It’s not excruciating. I don’t know why I said that. It aches a little. Pretty much constantly. I’m used to it, though. It’s not…” She shook her head.

“Will it help if I rub it?” Izzy asked in that same quiet voice.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, just as softly. No one had ever offered to rub it before.

Izzy held out his hand to her. “Why don’t we try,” he said.

And from the pocket of his pants on the bedroom floor, his cell phone loudly rang.

S
ACRAMENTO
, C
ALIFORNIA

A few hours after the doctor removed a chunk of wood from Murphy’s leg and patched him up, Dave Malkoff knocked on the hospital room door.

He didn’t wait for permission before coming in—the knock was merely a formality. And Dave would probably be, Murphy knew, the last person to do even that much. Suspects being taken into custody for questioning didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of privacy rights.

Murphy looked at the clock on the wall. “Took you long enough,” he said.

Dave nodded to Hannah as he scrutinized the both of them, taking in the severity—or lack thereof—of their injuries. “Are you all right?”

“Peachy,” Murphy said. He hadn’t seen Dave since Angelina’s memorial service. He hadn’t
talked
to the man since…Wow, last time they’d had a conversation must’ve been sometime that week before Angelina was shot and killed.

Sometime between then and now, Dave had cut his Frank Zappa hair and bought a shirt that didn’t advertise one of his favorite rock bands. The man had gone heavy grunge immediately after leaving the cheap-dark-suit-and-tie world of the CIA, but now he appeared to have swung back to a more moderate fashion statement. Jeans with a button-down shirt. An honest-to-God sports jacket to hide the fact that he was carrying concealed—instead of that ridiculous windbreaker he used to wear.

“It’s good to see you, Murph,” Dave said, and his voice actually cracked with his sincerity.

Just a few months ago, Murphy would have said something like,
You’ll forgive me if I don’t pretend to have fond memories of working with you at Troubleshooters…
Instead he simply said, “It’s good to see you, too, man,” as he reached out to shake Dave’s hand.

Because it
was
good to see him. He’d always liked Dave. And Angelina’s death wasn’t the fault of anyone over at Troubleshooters. The two men responsible for that—John Bordette, who’d pulled the trigger and pumped lead into her brain, and Tim Ebersole, who’d allegedly been “only kidding” on the Freedom Network website, when he’d issued a fatwa on that movie producer who’d been the real target, inciting Bordette to pick up his gun—were both dead.

The handshake turned into a slightly awkward hug, made even more strange by Dave’s actually getting misty-eyed, and then hugging Murphy again, longer and harder.

And Murphy realized, with a sudden sharp shock of awareness, that his and Hannah’s were not the only lives that had been permanently damaged by Angelina’s murder. There had been a ripple effect from the tragedy. And his friends, like Dave, had lost more than Angelina. They’d lost Murphy, too.

“I’m sorry I didn’t…” Murphy said. “Stay in touch. I just…Man, I…I couldn’t…”

“I know,” Dave said, finally pulling back. “It’s okay. I knew that…When you were ready, I knew that you’d…” He actually had to wipe his eyes, laughing at himself as he did so. “Not that you’re actually ready for this, huh? You obviously heard about Ebersole, so you know why I’m here.”

“Yeah.” There was no reason to lie—not about this, anyway. “I’ve been trying to piece together where I was when he was killed,” Murphy admitted. “We’re pretty sure I was here in Sacramento on March fourth. We’ve also got me up in Alaska by the end of April. It’s a little murky, though, in the middle there.” Which was embarrassing to admit, but Dave nodded as if it were no big deal.

Then handed him back some equally honest information. “I wasn’t sure if you’d, um, need to go into detox,” he told Murphy. “Tom’s got a psychologist on staff these days and she’s, uh, waiting in the lobby, ready to help if necessary.”