Into the Storm (48 page)

PARTNERS—AND LOVERS—
SAM STARRETT AND
ALYSSA LOCKE TEAM UP AGAIN
IN AN EXCLUSIVE SHORT STORY!

SAM TAKES
AN ASSIGNMENT
IN ITALY

“W
hy,” Sam bitched into his cell phone on Tuesday night, “did Tom have to send
me
out here?”

His wife, Alyssa, didn’t answer, because she wasn’t on the other end. She was out handling a real case—an
important
case—so he was just leaving voice mail.

A known sex offender had gone missing. The man’s sister had hired Troubleshooters Incorporated to find him before he hurt anyone else. Alyssa had taken the assignment and was in Richmond, Virginia, tracking him down.

Meanwhile Sam sat here, halfway around the world, the newest poster child for Murphy’s Law.
Whatever can go wrong,
will
go wrong.

And oh, how it had.

And you there, trying to glass-half-full this disaster? It’s obviously not painful enough for you, so let Mr. Murphy supersize it, ‘kay?

No doubt about it, Murphy had been riding Sam’s ass from the moment he’d kissed Alyssa good-bye far too many weeks ago. This so-called easy assignment setting up security at a corporate honcho’s big fat Italian wedding had turned into a nightmare. Four days had turned into a week, and then that week had turned into an unbelievable three.

Yeah sure, the little coastal town was beautiful—all blue sky and ocean, gorgeous beaches, bright sunshine. Yeah sure, Sam was making a fortune for Tom Paoletti’s security company, Troubleshooters Incorporated—and yeah, all right, he’d earned himself one hell of a bonus for his trouble, too—but come
on
.

The inefficiency of the honcho’s staff was mind-numbing. Sam could have made bricks by hand and constructed a wall around the wedding chapel himself in the time it took them just to make the decision to set up a temporary chain-link fence and then hide it with a decorative one.

First the ceremony was going to be held indoors. Then out. Then in. Then on the beach. Each time the location shifted, Sam reworked the details that would keep the VIPs safe and the paparazzi at bay. He hadn’t written this many reports since college.

And then—God please help him—there were the bridesmaids from hell. Four spoiled daughters of both the bride and the groom—this was a third or fourth marriage for the client, Sam had lost count—they all had far too much time on their hands. Ashley, Heather, Sabrina, and Chloe.

Ashley and Chloe were the worst. They followed Sam constantly, refusing to let him be. He’d flashed his wedding ring and mentioned his wife when they were first introduced. When they hadn’t seemed to get the hint, he’d flat-out told them that he loved Alyssa more than life itself. He’d even showed them a photo of her, but they just did not let up.

Which led to tonight’s phone call and Sam’s desperate plea for Alyssa to hurry up and find the man she was looking for, get her butt on a plane, and join him.

“It’s like trying to work in the middle of a
Girls Gone Wild
video,” he complained, and of course, again, she said nothing.

“I miss you, Lys,” he whispered, which was, in fact, his biggest problem. He could handle an entire army of Ashleys and Chloes. He could rewrite a report for the hundredth time if he had to. He could attend dozens more meetings that redefined
boring.

What he couldn’t do was survive too many more mornings waking up thousands of miles away from the woman that he loved. And it wasn’t just that he missed her in his bed. He missed her smile, her voice, her very presence in his life.

“Please come and save me,” he begged and cut the connection.

Wednesday brought more perfect weather—and another teeth-gritting delay in the impending nuptials. Chloe informed him over breakfast that the wedding had now been moved to Sunday—just a day later than Saturday, but still.

She also told him that her father would be out of touch until Thursday morning—which left Sam with just enough time to
not
be able to squeeze in a round-trip to Richmond.

Of course, if he’d been told about this yesterday morning, he could have made it there and back.

Sam worked off his frustration—or tried to anyway—with a ten-mile run. It was nearly noon before he returned to the resort.

He was drenched with perspiration, his hair literally dripping with sweat. He would have stuck to the shade and gone straight up to his room without talking to anyone, except there was some sort of commotion by the pool.

The hellsmaids—three of them anyway, Chloe was AWOL—were giving their full, shrill attention to a man dressed in a snugly-fitting blue T-shirt and linen pants. He was height-challenged, with dark hair and…

“Hey, sweetie,” he said as he spotted Sam dripping on the stone walkway beneath the arches, turning to greet him with a wide smile. “Rumor has it you need some TLC.”

Alyssa apparently couldn’t make it here to Italy, but she’d called their good friend and her former partner in the FBI, Jules Cassidy, as a stand-in.

He came right over and gave Sam a hug, despite the high sweat and slime factor. In fact, Jules gave him a big hug. A much, much,
much
too long of a hug.

For once, Heather, Ashley, and Sabrina were wide-eyed and silent, staring at them, definitely wondering…

So Sam cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you,” he told Jules. Which was no lie. But when he cleared his throat again and gruffly added, “Sweetie,” it definitely boosted any potential misperceptions.

Jules laughed his ass off, of course. “Alyssa is going to love hearing about this,” he whispered as he hugged Sam again.

Yeah, she would. Provided they would ever be in the same country at the same time again.

“I was in Dubai,” Jules said, as Sam pulled two bottles of cold water from his suite’s kitchen fridge. He tossed one to Jules. “Thanks. It’s not
quite
the same neighborhood, but close enough. Closer than Richmond. I had some time off coming, so…Here I am.”

“Checking up on me.” Sam toasted him then took a long swig from his bottle.

“Absolutely not,” Jules said. Up close, the FBI agent looked tired. His usually bright smile even seemed a touch forced. He sank into one of the leather armchairs in the suite’s sitting area. “Your wife trusts you completely. Although, that
Girls Gone Wild
comment? It was probably not her most favorite thing she’s ever heard you say.”

“I was trying to get a rise out of her. And no offense,” Sam said, half-sitting on the desk where his laptop was out and open, “but I was kind of hoping she’d be the one to show.”

“She sounded pretty pissed off when I spoke to her,” Jules reported. “This guy she’s looking for? He knows she’s looking. He’s been messing with her. Playing games.”

“Thanks. I love hearing that.” Sam’s blood pressure was up so high, his ears were ringing. “Motherfucker’s a sex offender.”

“And if Alyssa were ten years old, she’d be in danger,” Jules reassured him. “She finally called in for backup, by the way. Lindsey and…damn, I’m blanking on his name…former CIA…?”

“Dave Malkoff,” Sam supplied the name of the Troubleshooters’ operative.

“That’s him.” Jules glanced at his watch. “They’re probably in Richmond with Alyssa right now, cuffing the guy.”

“Good.” Which meant Alyssa could be
here
by tomorrow night.

“Yeah, you’re way too happy at that news,” Jules said. “You haven’t checked your e-mail, have you?”

Sam shifted his laptop so he could see the screen, jumped on line and…Sure enough, there was an e-mail from Alyssa. Subject:
I’m needed in San Diego.
“No. No, no, no…”

He clicked on it, skimmed it. The good news was that she, Lindsey, and Dave had indeed caught the game-playing sex offender. The bad news was that their boss, Tom Paoletti, had another assignment waiting for Alyssa. Which meant it would be…
What
?

“She’s going OCONUS,” Sam told Jules, using the military term for outside of the United States. “Unless I can somehow get home by Friday morning, it’s going to be another two weeks—at least—before I see her.” She’d added a P.S. that Sam didn’t understand. “
Tell Jules that Dave’s a maybe?
What does that mean?”

Jules took another swig from his water bottle. “Don’t get too excited, because I haven’t cleared it yet with Tom. Or Max. I have to wait a few more hours before I call either of them. But if they give me the thumbs-up, I’ll be able to hang here, hold down the fort for you, until a replacement arrives. Alyssa told me she was going to ask Dave Malkoff.”

Sam shook his head. “As an FBI agent, you can’t—”

“I won’t,” Jules said. “You just told me the wedding’s not until Sunday, and the client’s gone until Thursday. Dave—or someone else—will definitely be here before then. I’m just going to hang here, pass along the message that you had to leave, that your replacement is on his way. I’m not getting paid, I’m just doing you a favor.”

It was one hell of a big-ass favor. “You don’t get much vacation time,” Sam pointed out. “Wouldn’t you rather, I don’t know, go on a cruise?”

“With who?” Jules gazed at him. “Ben?” He rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “Just take a shower, let’s go get lunch. If you really want to hear it, I’ll tell you the whole terrible Ben story. But I definitely need nourishment first.”

“He did what?” Sam said.

“Brought his beard,” Jules repeated. He sat back to let the waiter take his plate. They sat in a little outdoor restaurant, overlooking the harbor below. The food had been unbelievable, the owner himself coming out of the kitchen to make sure everything was to their liking. “Beard is slang for a woman who pretends to be a closeted gay man’s wife or girlfriend. Ben’s beard is named Amanda. She’s his roommate. His own parents actually think she’s his fiancée.”

Sam struggled to comprehend. “So, this guy lives with a woman, except he’s gay and…she’s okay with that?”

“She’s not really his fiancée. They have separate bedrooms,” Jules told him. “She’s a grad student—they’re friends from high school. Plus, he lets her live in his condo for free.”

Sam had to make sure he understood. “So Amanda helps Ben fool everyone into thinking he’s straight.”

Jules nodded. “
Don’t ask, don’t tell
—I think you’ve probably heard of the policy? It sounds so innocuous, but it forces servicemen and -women into the closet. They have to hide who they are, pretend to be something they’re not. It’s okay to be gay in the military, as long as no one knows.” He was disgusted. “Ben takes Amanda to all kinds of functions—including this date he had, with me.”

“It was really a date?” Sam asked, as the waiter poured them each a cup of coffee. Alyssa had told him that when it came to dating, Jules was remarkably gun-shy—and yeah, okay that was probably an unfortunate expression to use.

But Alyssa’s going theory was that Jules was still hung up on some actor he’d met out in Los Angeles—Robin something. The SOB had hurt Jules badly—their relationship had been a total train wreck. Still, Lys had been urging her old friend to get back into circulation. This Marine captain, Ben, had been calling him for a while—apparently Jules had finally taken that first date step.

“Ben calls and goes,
Hey, how are you? I just got back from overseas. I was wondering if you wanted to get together, maybe have dinner at my place?”
Jules reported. “I wasn’t ready for that. So I suggested we meet at a restaurant. It wasn’t even downtown. It was suburban and discreet, and…he brought Amanda anyway. So we all sit down to dinner and it’s way weird. I mean, she was nice, but, what the hell…? She finally gets up to, you know, hit the ladies’ room, and Ben goes,
I’m career military. This is how I’ve made it work.
He knew I was freaked out. He said,
You should’ve come over. It’s easier, more comfortable,
and I said,
Not for me.
I said,
I’m not climbing into your closet with you,
and…that was that. I haven’t seen him since.” He paused. “The stupid thing is, I really like him. The
really
stupid thing? I’d be genuinely upset if he resigned his commission. The Marines need more officers like Ben.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Sam said.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Thing is, I’m thinking about doing it.” Jules finally spoke. “Calling him and…Maybe if it’s just sex, it won’t bother me. As much. You know, keeping it on the down low.”

Sam took a sip of his coffee, choosing his words carefully. “I guess whether or not you decide to do that should really depend on what you want. If it’s sex…”

“Who doesn’t want sex?” Jules pointed out.

“If it’s
just
sex,” Sam said, “there’s a waiter over there who’s been checking you out.” Part of him could not believe he was having this conversation. “Personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea, some stranger…”

At least Jules wouldn’t get him pregnant. Years ago, Sam had had sex with a stranger—a bar bunny—and he now had a daughter, Haley, and an ex-wife, Mary Lou. Talk about careless mistakes. Although Haley was definitely the best mistake he’d ever made. She was a real peach of a kid. It had all worked out in the end, but for years it was bad. He’d messed up his life, along with Mary Lou’s, Haley’s, and even Alyssa’s.

“Ben’s not a stranger,” Jules pointed out, taking out his wallet and paying the bill.

“What happens when you fall in love with…him?” Sam asked. It was another question that he couldn’t believe he was asking. Still, the words needed to be said. “You know, I should pay that.”

Jules shook his head to both the question and the offer. “That won’t happen.” He said it with such finality and stood up as punctuation. “Let’s get back. I want to make those phone calls.”

“How much do I owe you?” Sam persisted, opening his own wallet.

Jules waved him off. “It’s on me.”

“You come out here to do me a favor,
and
you pay for lunch…?”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate your friendship,” Jules said.

Sam held out several bills. “Yeah, actually I do,” he said. “It’s probably as much as I appreciate yours.”

Jules couldn’t just take the money and be done with it. He had to go and hug Sam. “Thanks.”