Will knew the country well—both its history and its current events.
And just a few short years ago—2005, as a matter of fact, back when Davis Jones had mysteriously first appeared—a major Indonesian presidential political contender named Heru Nusantara had been executed—gangland style—after an ugly story connecting him to greed, murder and intrigue had come to light. In this tale, he was tied to a notoriously violent drug lord named Chai.
Chai had been dead for years, but his reputation lived on. People were still afraid to talk about him—he’d ruled his corner of the world with an iron fist, using imprisonment, torture, death—and his army of mercenaries—to keep the locals in line. His army of mercenaries—which had once included an American ex-pat and former Special Forces NCO named Grady Morant.
Hmmm.
Morant had cut ties with Chai years ago, and pretty much dropped off the face of the earth.
Or did he?
It was funny how the dates lined up. In 2005, after Nusantara’s crimes were exposed, Davis Jones had mysteriously appeared.
Coincidence? Maybe.
Maybe not.
Will popped open a can of soda and cracked his knuckles, getting into bear-went-over-the-mountain mode. He typed the names Chai, Heru Nusantara, Grady Morant and Molly Anderson into his search engine, just to see what he could see.
TUCSON, ARIZONA
Adam got another e-mail from the freak.
It made him get up from his computer, close the curtains in his hotel room and put the chain lock on the door.
It was stupid. He knew that. Whoever was writing to him had clearly gone off his freaking meds and was probably unable to leave the protective confines of his mother’s basement.
And yet…
Is Adam enjoying Tucson?
The motherfucker always referred to him in the third person—no doubt because he thought it would be Adam’s evil robot twin who answered his e-mail.
Adam laughed as he poured himself a drink. So what if it was only 9:30 in the morning? He’d worked nearly all night, and wasn’t needed on set again until sunset.
Besides, if he got drunk, he could always send his evil twin in his place.
His cell phone rang and he leaped to answer it, because that was Robin’s ring. Robin Chadwick was finally calling him back.
“Hey,” he said, breathless despite his attempt to sound cool. “About time, Einstein. I thought you were never going to ring me. Getting a little intense there in Jules-ville as the wedding approaches, huh? It’s not too late to run away…”
“It’s not Robin, it’s me.” Oh, hell, it was Jules on the other end, sounding as if he’d accessorized his dark suit today with some extra-crunchy grim.
“Sneaky,” Adam said past the disappointment that tightened his chest. “Using Robin’s phone to call. Checking up on him, are we, J.?”
“Nope, just fucking with you,” Jules said. “Kind of the way you’ve been trying to fuck with me and Robin ever since you heard we’re getting married.”
“Right.” Adam loaded a ton of patronizing disbelief into that one word. “Let me put your suspicions to rest, G-man. As much as I’d love to tell you he’s been seeing me on the side, alas, your golden boy’s been true.”
“We’re getting married, Adam,” Jules repeated. “I know he’s true. I’m incredibly happy—wow, thanks so much for asking.”
“I didn’t need to ask,” Adam said. “I know how happy you must be. I mean, Robin…Damn. He always was ready for anything, any time. Did he ever tell you about the night we ran into each other at a party at Susie and Jamaal’s house in Malibu?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t remember it.”
Well, yowch.
But Adam wasn’t the only one stinging—Jules’s voice was tight. “He made a lot of mistakes before he got sober,” he told Adam.
“He’s really staying with the program, huh?” Adam was suddenly highly aware of the drink that sat on the table in front of him. Still, that didn’t stop him from picking it up and taking another sip.
“Yes, he is. He’s…” Jules paused, his voice quiet now. “He’s really doing well. He’s happy, too. We both are.”
“That’s…good,” Adam said past the sudden lump in his throat. “Really, Jules. I’m glad. I am. That’s…really good.”
“Yes, it is.” He paused again. “So are you honestly getting threatening e-mails?”
Adam sighed. “Yes and…no? They’re mostly just…freaking weird. The threats are…more implied than…Okay, look. Some days they seem really threatening, some days I can laugh it all off. I’ve been getting about an e-mail a day for the past nearly, I don’t know, three weeks? They’re from this guy who calls himself Jim Jessop. Don’t laugh, but he seems to think that there are two of me. One is me, and one is, like, a twin. An impersonator. Sometimes he calls it an alien, sometimes a robot.” He snickered, he couldn’t help it. “And yes, when I say it aloud, I feel incredibly stupid. But he claims he can tell the difference and that my evil twin is evil—and a danger to the nonrobot me.”
“I’d like to see the e-mails that mention Robin,” Jules said. “Can you forward those to me?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, stretching the words out. “Well…”
“Ah,” Jules said.
“Jessop’s written about American Hero, though,” Adam defended himself. “He claims he can tell which scenes were filmed with me and when it was, you know, Adam Evil in the shot. It’s only a matter of time before he brings Robin into it.”
Jules was silent.
So Adam pressed it, pulling his laptop computer closer and typing in a web address and…“Have you seen the website Celebrity Stalker dot-com? Robin’s got a page. You ever want to know where he is? Just jump online and, presto, you’ll find him. I see he’s over at Art Urban’s office right now. Looks like you drove him over there—at least I hope it was you. Whoever it was, Robin apparently soul-kissed him before getting out of the car—”
“I’m aware of the site,” Jules interrupted.
Aware, and no doubt driven crazy by it. “I know I’m not as famous as Robin,” Adam said, typing his own name into the site search, “but I’ve got a page, too. It’s not as well maintained, though. If you go there, you’ll see my last sighting was…” He waited for the computer to catch up with him. And…perfect. He cleared his throat. “Three nights ago, I was at, um, Big’s in West Hollywood. But I’m in Arizona right now, for a three-day shoot, and the e-mail I got from ol’ Jimmy J. today? Asking nonrobot me if I’m fricking enjoying Tucson.”
Jules sighed. “What’s Jessop’s e-mail address? I’ll check to see if Robin’s been getting anything from him, too. But other than that…”
Adam knew what was coming. “You can’t help me. No, you can, but you won’t.” He caught himself. “I’m sorry,” he quickly said. “I didn’t mean that. I know you’re busy with the wedding, but…I’m just a little freaked out.”
Silence.
“What exactly is it that you want me to do?” Jules finally asked.
Victory. But what did he want? Besides Robin, back in his life…“Can you…at least look at these e-mails? Maybe do some kind of computer check of the language and phrasing, like you did back when Jane Chadwick was getting death threats? Make sure I’m not being stalked by some particularly screwed up serial killer?”
Jules sighed again. “All right.”
Yes. “Thank you.”
“Have you gone to the police yet?” Jules asked.
“Yeah, right. I rushed right over because I love it when they laugh in my face.”
“You have a lawyer, don’t you?” Jules didn’t wait for him to answer. “When you get back to L.A., bring the e-mails to your lawyer and ask him to call the police. If the police determine that there should be an investigation—and I can’t help you there, because as it stands, this is not a federal crime, so I can’t open that door—but if the LAPD does, you can request that Celebrity Stalker takes your page temporarily o
ut of cyberspace. After you talk to the police, have your lawyer call the website and make noise about them being brought up on charges of accessory, yada yada, should anything happen to you. Believe me, they’ll do it.”
“Great,” Adam said. “Except this guy can find me without their help.”
“The police should also be able to track him down from his e-mail address,” Jules said. “It’s likely that he’s harmless. And probably not entirely crazy.” He made a noise that might have been laughter. “I always thought you had an evil robot twin.”
Adam laughed, too. “Very funny.”
“Actually, no,” Jules said. “It wasn’t funny. Particularly not at the time. And frankly, it’s still not. And when you see him, this evil twin of yours? Tell him to stop calling Robin, too.”
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 5
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
“Wow,” Jules said, still breathing hard. “Where did that come from?” He turned his head to look at Robin, who had collapsed beside him in their bed, equally spent. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but…” He had to laugh. “Holy shit.”
Robin lifted his head from the tangle of sheets, an interesting mix of sheepishness and satisfaction in his eyes. “Sorry about your shirt.”
“I’m not,” Jules said, up on one elbow so he could kiss Robin before he pushed himself out of their bed. Time was running short. He had to get back to the office.
The suit he’d been wearing mere minutes ago was scattered across the room—his pants dangling from the free-standing mirror in the corner, his jacket and shirt in a crumpled heap by the bathroom door. One shoe had slid halfway beneath the dresser, and his socks, his other shoe and a handful of coins from his pants pocket littered the hardwood floor.
It looked as if he’d exploded out of his clothes—which wasn’t that far from the truth.
Jules picked up his jacket. It hadn’t been on the floor that long—a few good shakes would get any wrinkles out. But his shirt—new, from Pink—was ruined, the buttons torn clear off.
Robin laughed ruefully as he saw the damage he’d done. “Too bad we don’t have a wardrobe department, you know, to come rushing in with a replacement.”
“That’s not a too bad for me,” Jules told him with a laugh. “In fact, I think the too bad would be if someone did come rushing in here right now.”
Speaking of replacements, would anyone notice when he went in to tonight’s meeting wearing a different shirt—after hurrying home to pick up a file?
Uh, yeah? They were freaking FBI agents. They’d notice.
Jules grabbed his shorts and his pants and went out to use the hall bathroom. One of these days their master bath would have more than the current gorgeous new shower—installed sans bursting pipes, because the water-pouring-through-the-kitchen-ceiling thing was so two-months-ago.
When finished, their bathroom would have their new water-efficient toilet actually installed, instead of sitting beside a capped-off hole in the floor. The rich wood cabinets that surrounded the double sinks would have a gleaming granite countertop. The water-damaged walls would be patched and painted. There would be mirrors and towel racks and hooks for bathrobes.
Jules was no longer hoping that the work would be done by his and Robin’s wedding. At this point, to avoid the relentless, repeated disappointments, he’d set his sights on the project’s completion far into the future. Say, in thirty years or so? Or how about—optimistically—hoping it was done by their twentieth anniversary? That would be nice.
But right now he had more immediate issues to consider. As he washed up in the hall bathroom, splashing water up and onto his face, he tried to decide whether to wear an entirely different suit to his meeting—maybe pretend he’d had an accident with a Starbucks cup in the car?
The other option was to just so what it. Yeah, he went home on an errand, and his incredibly hot lover jumped him and rocked his world. What’s the big deal?
Robin had been trying out their new shower when Jules had dashed upstairs to say hi. The pipes were finally hooked up, the caulking had dried and the system was ready to go.
It was beautiful—if you put your hands up to the sides of your eyes and created blinders to keep from seeing the under-construction mess of the rest of the room.
One entire spacious end of the big bathroom was now walled off with pristine, clear glass. With tile on the walls and the ceiling, too, the multiple showerheads sprayed from all directions, and the inset lights made Robin seem to gleam as water cascaded down his lean, hard-muscled body.
Beautiful, indeed.
Jules hadn’t made a sound, but somehow Robin knew he was standing in the doorway. He’d turned, and as he pushed his hair back from his face, he’d opened his eyes.
Jules was frequently surprised by how very blue Robin’s eyes were. But something about the light in their new shower made them look different. Even more blue, if that were possible. Certainly hotter—which was saying something, because Robin was particularly talented when it came to looking at Jules and smoldering.
“Come on in,” Robin said. “The water’s fine.”
“I wish I could.” And wasn’t that the truth. Dang. Robin was obviously getting turned on from watching Jules watch him—and he wasn’t the only one. If he’d had even just twenty extra minutes…“I gotta go back to work. I have a meeting at eight thirty.”
Robin turned off the water, and pushed the glass door open. He stepped out and onto the bathmat, water still streaming off him as he reached for his towel. “What time is it now?”
Jules checked his watch. “Seven forty-five.” Their eyes met, and Robin’s sparked. Of course, he wasn’t the one who had to rush to the office and give a presentation. “I’ll be home by eleven at the latest. Can you, um, hold that thought?”
But Robin dropped his towel, clearly more interested in Jules holding the thought in question. “This time of night,” he said, “we could make it from here to your office in fifteen minutes. Easy.”
“Yeah.” Jules knew he should back away. If Robin so much as touched him, his willpower would completely evaporate. “But it’s another fifteen minutes for the hike from the parking garage.”
“Not if I drive you.”
Very true.
If Robin drove, he could drop Jules at the front of the building. Jules could be upstairs and at the meeting site within sixty seconds of kissing Robin good-bye.
Robin was still watching him, just waiting…
And Jules nodded, already breathing hard.
Robin had grabbed him, buttons had gone flying, he’d damn near thrown Jules onto the bed and…
Holy shit, indeed.
Jules was now standing in the hall bathroom, grinning like an idiot. A very happy idiot.
Robin followed him in, grabbing him from behind in a hug, his arms tight around his chest as he smiled at Jules over his shoulder, into the mirror. “I just want to point out that while privacy is nice, there is something to be said for having an authority figure around to call for take two.”
Jules laughed as Robin nuzzled his neck. “Take two. Really?” But it was a somewhat unnecessary question. He could feel Robin, thick and warm against him, already half aroused again.
Robin smiled, no doubt because he could see that he wasn’t the only one turned on by the idea of a replay. “Your meeting’s going to go for a couple of hours?”
“I’ll keep it short,” Jules promised. If he talked fast, he could get this done in an hour.
“Then I’ll drop you and wait,” Robin told him. “I’ll hang in the car. I’ve actually got some lines to learn for tomorrow.”
His character in this new pilot that Art Urban was filming was in nearly every scene, but up to this point, he hadn’t had a whole lot of dialog. It was a fact that Jules found extremely disconcerting—so he tried not to think about it.
Especially not at times like this.
Robin kissed Jules again and reluctantly backed away. “I don’t want to make you late,” he
said as he went to get dressed. But then he was back almost immediately, watching him from the doorway. “That was a lie,” he admitted. “I want to make you really late. But I won’t.”
Jules laughed. “Thanks,” he said, as he stepped into his pants.
Robin nodded, lingering. “Why don’t you wear one of your older shirts, you know, from the back of your closet…? There’s one, I think it’s got green and white stripes. It’s got some fraying on the cuffs…”
Jules looked at him, but he wasn’t kidding. Oh, my.
“You want me to, um, get it out for you?” Robin asked, his subtext extremely clear. So I can tear it off you later?
Jules managed to nod. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Good.” Robin smiled. “Hold that thought,” he said, and finally went to get dressed.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 7
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
Sam wandered the house while Alyssa slept.
He’d just finished reading his book and wasn’t up to starting a new one yet. There was nothing on TV but the same old discouraging news, so he woke up the computer and went online and…
Brrrring.
You still up? An IM from username Squidward appeared on his screen.
It was one a.m. Pacific time.
Which meant it was four a.m. in Boston.
Yeah, Sam typed back. What are *you* doing up?
R’s doing a night shoot, came Jules’s reply. I can’t sleep. You got a sec?
Sam didn’t bother to type in his answer. He just picked up his phone and dialed.
“Thank you,” Jules said as he answered.
“What’s up?”
“I got a thing,” Jules said, “that you might be able to help me with.”
“This about Adam?” Sam asked. Alyssa had filled him in on that latest goatfuck. Apparently Adam’s crazy-ass fan was indeed a gentleman named James Jessup, of Anaheim, California. Jules had given samples of J.J.’s writing to the FBI analysts, but nothing had set off any alarms, which was good.
All Through the Night: A Troubleshooter Christmas Page 14
