Into the Night (54 page)
The fatally wounded agent was a woman of color. Just like Alyssa.
When Sam had heard that, he'd thrown up. He'd been in that meeting finalizing the details of the dog and pony show, and Jenk had slunk in and handed him a message that was really supposed to go to Commander Paoletti. The note said that the name of the deceased agent wasn't being released yet, but the agent in the hospital was definitely Jules Cassidy. Sam passed it over to the CO, excused himself, and went into the nearest head and puked until his stomach was empty.
He'd been that certain Alyssa was dead.
But it was while he was in there, sitting on the bathroom floor and wondering how he was going to pick himself up and walk back into that other room, that Jazz came in.
"Her name's Ramirez," he told Sam. "The DOA is FBI agent Carla Ramirez."
And so it was someone else who was grieving tonight. More than one someone, actually. Ramirez had a husband and a couple of kids. Sam had met the woman only a few times when Team Sixteen had worked with the FBI counter-terrorist team. He didn't know her very well at all, but the one time they'd talked, she'd mentioned her kids.
He didn't know her well, but he knew Max Bhagat's/ reputation. If she was on his team, she was one of the agency's best.
And Sam knew that if Carla Ramirez could die on this op, then Alyssa could be blown away on the next.
And all the thoughts he'd had while he was sitting on that bathroom floor—things that he knew he should have told Alyssa before she died—kept echoing in his head.
Which brought him here.
To the hallway outside her hotel room.
So what was it going to be?
To knock or not to knock?
Okay, work this through. Say he knocks. She answers the door and he says... ?
What?
"Are you okay?"
It was simple, it got right to the point. It conveyed his concern without giving away the fact mat he'd been frantic about her just a few hours ago.
But there she would be. Standing there in front of him. Of course she was okay. It was simple and to the point, sure, but it was also stupid as shit. "Are you okay?" Well, yeah...
Unless, of course, she realized that he wasn't talking about her physical okay-ness, but instead her emotional well-being.
So, okay. Take that a little bit further. How about, "I heard about Jules. The hospital wouldn't let me see him, but the word is he's going to be all right. Have you heard anything? That must've been tough to go through, thinking your partner might die. Are you okay?"
Uh, no. Way too long and complicated. And, Jesus, it sounded like he was in love with Jules and had rushed to see him upon receiving word that he was injured. Not quite the message Sam wanted to send, even if he had stopped at the hospital on his way over here.
How about, "I was sure you were dead for about ten minutes tonight, and I puked my guts out because I couldn't bear the thought of a world without you in it. Even though we're not sharing our lives, Lys, I know you're out there and I think about you and miss you every fucking day."
Make that "every single day." He had to keep the fucking out of everything here. Out of his language and out of his head as well. He couldn't even think about her that way right now. That's not why he was here. He didn't want her opening up this door and knowing that one of the first thoughts that came into his mind whenever he saw her had to do with him licking every inch of her body.
Which he actually had done. A million years and another lifetime ago.
Sam took a deep breath and cracked his neck. Okay. He was going to do it. He didn't know exactly what he was going to say, but he'd think of something. He always did better anyway, thinking on his feet. He raised his hand and knocked on the door.
Nothing. No movement—at least none that he could hear.
He knocked again, louder.
And there it was. Stirring from within. Then the sound of feet against the carpeting, coming closer to the door.
Now she'd look out the security viewer. He squared his shoulders and looked directly back at the little hole in the door.
One lock clicked and then another, and the door swung open.
And holy fuck.
It wasn't Alyssa, it was Max Bhagat who was standing there, in a T-shirt and jeans that he'd probably just thrown on to answer the door, his usually neatly combed dark hair a total mess. He looked as if he'd spent the past hour or so with it pressed against a pillow. He was squinting slightly, and his chin was covered with stubble, which probably only meant that it had been four or five hours since he'd last shaved, instead of his usual meticulous two to three.
And here was a scenario Sam stupidly hadn't considered. Jesus, he was an idiot. Of course Max would be there.
When he stopped to think about it, the only truly shocking thing about this moment was Sam's realization that Max actually owned a pair of blue jeans.
He 'd known Max and Alyssa had been seeing each other— okay, skip the euphemisms. They'd been fucking each other for months now.
He'd just never expected Alyssa would allow Max to be so indiscreet as to share her hotel room while they were on assignment.
"She's okay," Max told him quietly. "She's sleeping now. It's been hell for the past twenty-four hours, though. She was with Carla Ramirez and Jules Cassidy when ..." He shook his head. "It was pretty touch and go for a while, but Cassidy's going to be fine. I can't say the same for Carla, I'm afraid."
"Yeah, I heard," Sam said. This was unreal. Was he really standing here having a conversation with Max in the doorway of Alyssa's hotel room? Just two guys shooting the shit. "What happened?"
Max shook his head. There was no doubt about it, the man was fucking exhausted. He was completely drained. Sam recognized that look in Max's eyes. He'd seen it more than once in his own bathroom mirror.
"We stopped something very bad from happening today," Max said quietly. "You know I can't tell you more than that. I'm lucky we lost only one agent. The body count could've been much higher. Although try talking about that kind of luck with Darren Ramirez."
Sam was taller than Max, and he could look over the man's shoulder into the hotel room. A dim light was on and he could see Alyssa tightly curled up beneath the covers of one of the two double beds, like a little kid. He could see her face, sweetly relaxed in sleep.
There was a chair next to the bed, as if Max had been sitting beside her, instead of lying with her under the covers.
Yeah, wishful thinking, Starrett. Max and Alyssa had been in that bed together, making love, not too long ago. Count on it. Maybe even just moments before he'd arrived. Maybe while he'd been standing out in the hall.
Sex was God's best medicine for hours of fatigue and anger. It started the healing process. And it sure as hell took care of any extra adrenaline that might keep you from being able to fall asleep.
"She's really okay?" he asked, trying not to wonder if Max had ever kissed and licked his way across the curve of her waist. "I heard she needed stitches."
"In her hand," Max said. He ran his own hand through his hair as if just suddenly aware of how disheveled he looked. "Why the hell are you here, Starrett?"
"I don't know," Sam said. "I just... I heard about it, and I thought... I had to see her. I'm glad she's okay."
Max nodded. He had eyes that were so dark brown, you couldn't tell the difference between the iris and the pupil. Sam had always thought of Max as calculating. Manipulative. Brilliant. Cold. But right now his eyes were warm and filled with empathy and understanding.
And Sam could imagine it. For the first time, he could actually picture Alyssa falling in love with Max Bhagat. Up to this moment, it had seemed impossible and absurd. How could she be with him? How could she be happy with someone like Max?
But now he could see that they were alike, Alyssa and Max. They were both a curious mix of hot and cool, of hidden emotions and carefully built facades.
Shit, Max probably understood her in ways that Sam never would have, not if they'd stayed together for a hundred years.
And a hundred-year relationship hadn't exactly been part of Alyssa's agenda, had it now? What was it she'd said to him last time they'd sat down to talk? Even if they'd stayed together, if life and Mary Lou hadn't intervened, their love affair wouldn't have lasted more than a month or two. Yeah, she 'd said, I definitely would have gotten sick of you.
Not so Max, apparently.
"How's your wife?" Max asked. "And it's a daughter you've got, right? What is she now, twelve months old?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I know. I shouldn't have come."
Max nodded, too, and started to close the door. "I won't tell her you were here."
Chapter 23
It was late in the morning before Ihbraham's truck pulled up in front of the Robinsons' house—hours later than he usually arrived to start work.
By the time he came, Mary Lou had already brought Donny his mail. She'd gone back and forth to his house about three different times, finding as many excuses as she could, bringing him a book she'd picked up at the library's yearly sale, bringing him the bag of burgers she'd brought home for him from work...
How many days ago had that been? It was back when he wasn't answering his door at all. But she'd put the sack in the refrigerator. Surely it had kept. And hell, finally giving it to him was a reason to go over there—to go back outside and be there when Ihbraham finally showed.
Eventually she ran out of reasons to keep bugging Donny, and she gave up and just brought Haley's playpen out into the front yard.
Maybe it wouldn't seem too obvious that she was waiting for Ihbraham to appear.
Yeah, and maybe Sam would come home from work tonight and announce that he was leaving the SEALs to join the San Diego Ballet.
Mary Lou sat up as Ihbraham got out of the cab of his truck. He looked at her—he definitely saw her sitting there on her front steps—but he didn't even wave. He just went to the back of his truck and lifted a large potted shrubbery—some kind of pretty flowering plant in an ornate clay container— from the bed. He carried it effortlessly to the Robinsons' front stoop and set it down.
As she watched, he went around to the hose that was attached at the side of the house, turned on the water, brought the hose to the front, watered the plant, brought the hose back, turned off the water, re-coiled the hose.
And then he returned to his truck without another glance in her direction and climbed back behind the wheel.
The engine turned over with a roar, and he drove away.
Mary Lou was up on her feet, heading out to the street before she could stop herself. "Hey!"
He must've been watching her in his rearview mirror, because his brake lights went on, and the truck stopped.
He just sat there for a moment, absolutely still.
And Mary Lou stood there, watching him, her heart in her throat.
His back-up lights came on as he put the truck into reverse. The engine whined as he pulled all the way back, until he was alongside of her.
Mary Lou checked to make sure Haley was still happily engaged with her pile of toys before she moved closer to Ihbraham’s open window.
"I made some iced tea," she told him. "I don't suppose I could talk you into taking a break and having a glass?"
He shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I can't."
Can't. "Wow," she said. "So that's it, huh? I don't put out, and you don't want to be my friend anymore? Is that what's going on here, Ihbraham?"
' Ihbraham looked out the front windshield of his truck and sighed, no doubt wishing that he hadn't bothered to stop. "You know in your heart that that's not true."
"Well, what am I supposed to think?" She struggled not to cry. "You didn't call me back yesterday. I mean, you completely went off the map. And today, it's like you don't even know me. I don't know about you, but I don't have enough friends to be able to take it lightly—you know, just go, 'Oh, well'—when I lose one of them."
"You will never lose me as a friend," he said quietly. He turned and looked at her, his dark eyes intense. "That I can promise you."
"Will you come to a meeting with me tonight, then?" she asked.
"I can't," he said.
"Can't or won't?"
He sighed. "I've agreed to meet with my brothers. At five o'clock. I won't be back in San Diego until late."
"Tomorrow night, then."
Another sigh. "Tomorrow night I can't, either." He paused. "I mean, tomorrow night, I won't."
"Well, there we go," she said. "I won't ever lose you as a friend, except it sure as hell seems like you're already gone. Thanks a bunch. Have a nice life." She turned and started walking back toward Haley.
Other books
Colors of the Mountain by Da Chen
A Dry White Season by Andre Brink
One Virgin Too Many by Lindsey Davis
Rich in Love: When God Rescues Messy People by Garcia, Irene, Johnson, Lissa Halls
Laughter in Ancient Rome by Mary Beard
Anything but Vanilla by Madelynne Ellis
Not to be Taken by Anthony Berkeley
Falling for My Best Friend (Fated #1) by Hazel Kelly
A Shimmer of Silk by Raven McAllan
S Street Rising: Crack, Murder, and Redemption in D.C. by Ruben Castaneda
