Force of Nature

by Suzanne Brockmann

  As he let himself into his office, Pierre barked at him from his perch on Annie’s lap. She was working at her desk, Cassidy leaning over her shoulder, scratching Pierre’s ridiculous ears. They’d both been laughing about something that was on the computer screen, but now they looked over at him in silence, Cassidy straightening up. They both watched as Ric found the hanger for his torn and grimy tux jacket and hung it up.

  “Honey, I’m home,” he finally said, because someone had to say something, and he knew that expressing his intense jealousy over the fact that Pierre never let him scratch his ears would not be well received. Probably because it was wildly irrational. He didn’t want to scratch the dog’s mutant ears. He slipped his bow tie and cummerbund into the tux jacket’s pockets, his movements a tad too forceful.

  Annie and Jules exchanged a message-laden look, as if they’d become best friends in his absence and could now communicate telepathically.

  “I’ve been in touch with your mother,” Annie told him. “Your dad’s doing well.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I know. I spoke to her this morning, too.”

  She displaced Pierre as she stood up and came toward him—not to embrace him or even punch him in the face, but instead to run the bug sweeper across both him and his jacket. She’d transformed back into a blue-jean-wearing mortal—with a nasty scrape on her right elbow from being tackled to the coffee-room floor.

  Ric caught her hand to try to get a closer look, but she jerked it away. “It’s not a big deal, so don’t turn it into one.”

  “Not a big deal?” he repeated, sick to his stomach. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. “Next time I tell you to leave, you leave.”

  “Maybe next time you should tell me what you’re doing,” she fired back.

  “I didn’t have time.” He picked up the bug sweeper. “And we didn’t have this.”

  “Then maybe we better get another one and start carrying it in the car”—Annie didn’t back down—“because I honestly didn’t know what you were trying to do. I still don’t know why you wanted to—”

  “Bottom line is, when I tell you to leave, you leave.”

  “You also told me to stick close,” she countered. “To never go anywhere without you.”

  Jules cleared his throat, and Ric turned to see that he’d picked up Pierre and was holding the dog the way only Annie could, which just added to his feelings of annoyance. Like Annie, Jules was dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked more like a student at the Ringling School of Design than an FBI agent.

  “I’d offer to run out and get coffee so you guys can resolve this sans audience,” Jules said, “but not only is there already a pot made, but I kinda need to verify that Ric did, in fact, contact Gordie Junior just a few minutes ago via cell phone.”

  “What?” Annie asked, looking at Ric. “You called Gordie Junior?”

  “Yup,” Ric said. “I set up a meeting to discuss a potential hit on Bob Donofrio, for nearly killing my father.”

  “What would Gordie Burns Junior do?” Jules gestured with his head toward Annie. “She told me about your text message.”

  “When’s the meeting?” Annie demanded.

  As if she thought she was going with him. “Neither of us said very much.” Ric ignored her as he spoke to Jules. “Not over the phone. But I have no doubt that he knows exactly what this meeting’s about. It was obvious he’d already heard about my freak-out at the police station last night.”

  Jules nodded as Annie fumed. “So you think it’s the son—smuggling terrorists into the country.”

  “No,” Ric said. “I’m not sure he’s smart enough. But one of the things Gordon Senior asked me to do was spend time with Junior. What better way to bond than over a heartwarming plan for a revenge killing?”

  Not that it was actually going to happen. No way was Ric going to jeopardize his father’s chance to kick Donofrio’s ass in court—as well as through the media. Which was why, as much as he’d wanted to, he hadn’t put hands on the other detective last night. And he’d never tell Annie this, but having her there, trying to talk him down from the proverbial ledge, had kept him from having to stand there tapping his toes, waiting for the cavalry—what took them so long?—to come and throw his ass into lockup.

  “I figured we had our way into Burns Point through your, uh, friend. The movie star.” Ric continued to explain himself to the FBI. “I saw a chance to get close to Junior, so I took it.” He finally looked directly at Annie. “And it’s going to be me going to this meeting. Alone.”

  “We’ll make sure he’s got backup,” Jules reassured her. He took a deep breath. “About my…friendship with Robin Chadwick…”

  Ric didn’t want to hear this. “You don’t need to explain. Really.”

  “A few years ago, I was part of a task force that protected his sister,” Jules said. “He was shot and nearly killed, so you’d think he’d want to stay far away from me, but, um…He is our quickest and easiest way into Burns Point, so we’re going to have to use him. On the slim chance that Peggy Ryan’s still alive, days—hours—could make a difference in keeping her that way.” He put Pierre onto the floor and straightened back up. “But Robin’s completely inexperienced. He’s mercurial and reckless. And an alcoholic. And I will die to keep him safe, so…I thought you should know that.”

  Annie was the first to speak after that. “Do you love him?” she asked quietly, as if there were any doubt whatsoever.

  Christ. Ric had never really given much thought to what it meant to be gay. At least not in terms of anything but the obvious ick factor. The idea of love being involved…Did Jules love Robin? It was both absurd, and yet so obviously an unnecessary question, because it was clear to him that Jules did.

  The FBI agent didn’t seem put off by the personal nature of Annie’s question. He just smiled, albeit ruefully. “Doesn’t everybody love Robin Chadwick?”

  “I had no idea he was gay,” she said. “I mean, until last night.”

  “Oh, come on,” Ric said. “He’s an actor. They’re all gay. Especially the ones who make a big deal about getting married and having kids.”

  Annie looked at him in disgust. “For someone who claims they hate stereotyping—”

  “Robin Chadwick’s not gay,” Jules interrupted.

  “You mean, he’s never publicly admitted it,” Ric interpreted, but Jules neither confirmed nor denied it. He just stood there, looking as if he’d rather be doing anything else right now—other than having this conversation.

  “He’s in the closet,” Annie deduced. “Pretty solidly. He’s done a really good job—I mean the whole womanizing, heartbreaker reputation…Do you think what’s-her-name, Sharkette? Does she know?”

  “Dolphina.” Jules corrected her with a laugh that morphed too quickly into a noise of disgust. “Look, you can speculate all you want. I’m not going to comment on—”

  “Why would you want to protect him?” Annie asked, because she still didn’t get it.

  “Robin’s our way into Burns Point tonight,” Jules told her, doing the age-old government representative’s dodge of not answering the question that was asked, while making it seem as if he was. “After that, he’s out of here. He’s going back to Hollywood. I’ll be making sure of it.”

  Ric laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  Jules was a very smart man. He surely knew that Robin wasn’t going anywhere if he didn’t want to. And with Burns all starstruck…Chances were greater that Robin would move into Burns Point as a houseguest before he’d willingly fly home to California—if he felt even a fraction of what Jules obviously felt for him.

  “Bottom line,” Jules said, “I’m not involved with him, and I do not intend to become involved with him—not that it’s any of your business.” He deftly changed the subject. “We’ve got a one o’clock spot at a firing range up in Tampa this afternoon.” He turned to Ric. “It’s not necessary for you to—”

  “Oh, I’m going,” he said. />
  “Fine.” Jules gathered up his briefcase. “I’ll make arrangements for you to meet the rest of my team then. As you requested.”

  “Good.” It was difficult for Ric to meet the FBI agent’s gaze, now that his gayness wasn’t just rampant speculation.

  Jules knew it, too. But he packed up whatever frustration he was feeling, and he took it with him as he headed for the door. Ric knew exactly the kind of self-discipline that required. “I’ll be back later. We’ll need to leave by noon.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Annie said.

  Ric bent down and caught Pierre’s collar, to keep the little dog from following Jules out into the yard. “Hey, Cassidy.”

  Jules turned back, careful to keep his impatience from showing on his face.

  “Thanks for, uh, staying here with Annie.” Ric made himself meet Jules’s steady gaze. “I know you got up early to get here before Martell left. I just wanted you to know how much I really appreciate it.”

  “Not that it was necessary,” Annie interjected, and Ric rolled his eyes.

  Jules smiled. “It wasn’t a problem,” he said, and gently closed the door behind him.

  “So let’s have it,” Ric said to Annie as the door closed behind Jules. “You’re mad because you don’t need a babysitter, you’re mad because I didn’t tell you what I was up to last night, you’re mad because I’m not going to let you go to that meeting with Junior…What am I leaving out here? You’re mad because…now you’ve got a police record?”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to stick,” Annie told him. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m not worried about that.”

  “Good,” Ric said, “because you’re right, it’s gone. I got it cleared up before I left this morning.”

  “I am worried about your mother,” Annie said. “I can’t believe you told her that I moved in.” How could he have been so cruel? Karen Alvarado was one of the nicest women on the planet. Annie had always liked her. She was smart and sophisticated and creative and funny and unbelievably kind and she did not deserve to be deceived by her own allegedly loving son.

  “She was going to find out anyway.” Ric shrugged and then threw Annie’s own words back at her. “It’s not a big deal, so don’t turn it into one.”

  “It’s a very big deal for her,” Annie pointed out as she scooped up Pierre and went up the stairs to the apartment. “And you know it. He’s such an asshole,” she told Pierre, who definitely agreed.

  The asshole had the audacity to laugh as he followed her.

  So she expounded. “Really, Ric. Her feelings are going to be hurt. She’s going to feel like she was conned by her own son, who didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth.” Annie went into her room and put Pierre on the bed—which was a big win for the little dog. He was too small to jump up on his own, so it was the most coveted napping spot in the entire apartment.

  Aside from Ric’s bed. But he kept his bedroom door tightly closed to keep Pierre out—and probably Annie, as well.

  “So we won’t tell her the truth,” Ric said. “We’ll just pretend we broke up. You’ll move out. Everyone’s sad but life goes on.”

  “No digging,” Annie warned Pierre, and he settled in with his head on her pillow, apparently fully believing he was a person instead of a dog.

  Ric, meanwhile, stood in the doorway, in dire need of both a shower and a shave, the shadow of his beard heavy on his cheeks and chin, his hair charmingly rumpled.

  “And yet…I still keep working for you?” Annie asked him.

  She could read the giant oops in his eyes, but it wasn’t about the story he was or wasn’t going to tell his mother.

  “You’re going to fire me,” she realized. “After this is over. You son of a bitch.”

  To his credit, he didn’t try to lie. “You don’t want to be my receptionist,” he reminded her. “And, yeah, I’ve decided that I don’t want you to be anything other than my receptionist, nice and safe here in the office, so…I figured you were going to quit anyway.”

  “What about our deal?” she asked. “I get to do the easy cases—the safe ones.”

  “The safe ones.” His laughter was scornful. “Like Lillian Lavelle’s?”

  “Not every client who walks through your door is going to be a murderous ex–porn star obsessed with avenging her daughter’s death,” she pointed out. At least she hoped not.

  “If that’s really what this is about,” Ric said.

  “I think it is,” Annie said, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Pierre, who gave her his why aren’t you petting me look. She obliged. “I’ve been thinking about what Jules told us, the chain of events—the new Trixie Absolute DVD. Why would Lillian come out of retirement for this fledgling company that can’t even offer her a credible contract? Jules showed me a copy of the deal she signed—it was pathetic. We’ve seen pictures of Marcy with Brenda, who was described as GBJ’s workhorse—God, doesn’t that word make your skin crawl?”

  “Yeah.” Ric looked up from surveying the contents of her dresser top—her bottles of sunblock and other moisturizers, her hairbrush, the pewter-framed photo of Pam holding tightly to a smiling Pierre, a bandanna on her head because her hair was gone from the chemo. “But this entire case makes my skin crawl, so…” He picked up the photo to look at it more closely.

  “Anyway,” Annie continued, dropping a kiss onto Pierre’s head because the sight of Ric touching her things with his long, elegant fingers was just too odd, “we know Marcy had contact with Gordie Junior through Brenda. Who’s to say he didn’t hold Marcy hostage to put pressure on Lillian to make his movie? And you know, it doesn’t even have to be that dramatic. He didn’t have to lock Marcy in the basement. Maybe he just kept her drugged up. If she was an addict, and he made it possible for her to get high for free…”

  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 t
he 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?