She’d told him no. She wasn’t that crazy.
But she’d admitted to having these foolish feelings of attraction that just wouldn’t go away. She knew Ric, and she knew he wasn’t going to change. And yet a very significant part of her still wanted to jump him.
There were some people, Jules had told her, obviously choosing his words carefully, that you could never let your guard down when you were around. They were dangerous, not merely because of that intense physical attraction, but because you loved them, even though it was crazy to. It was a shame, really, that you couldn’t just decide to love one person, and decide to not love someone else. But love didn’t know from crazy—it just happened, and the first thing you had to do was be honest about it, at least to yourself.
And then you had to stay far away from that dangerous person, and not fool yourself into thinking you could have any kind of casual, temporary fling with them. It couldn’t ever just be about sex—the crazy thing would be in thinking that sex would be enough.
It could never be casual, and it would always end in heartbreak. In a way, it was a gift—the kind of connection that everyone longed to find. But it was far more valuable when the person with whom you had that connection could also bring you joy.
Ric was standing there now, at the foot of her bed, waiting for Annie to stop staring at him and speak up—Can I ask you something?—looking like a living advertisement for industrial-strength heartbreak.
Annie had told Jules that she loved Ric as a friend.
Yeah, right. And maybe if she kept repeating that to herself, over and over…
“Last night,” she asked Ric now. “How did you fool everyone into thinking you were drunk? You didn’t touch your beer at the party. You had nothing to drink all night.”
Ric nodded. “Not until we got to the police station.”
Where he’d picked up that mug and…
“Johnny Olson laces his coffee with whiskey,” Ric explained. “And at that time of night, it’s usually the other way around.”
As in, he laced his whiskey with coffee. Check.
“I spilled some down my shirt, too,” he told her. “Doesn’t take much to make you stink.”
Annie nodded. “So…how did you know they weren’t going to press charges?”
“Because most of the people there are still my friends, and they’d never seen me drunk before. They also know I’m close to my father, so…” He shrugged. “Everyone gets at least one free drunken meltdown. It’s when it becomes a regular event that you start having real problems.”
“And you were certain they’d think you were drunk, not homicidal, or…?” Having some kind of emotional breakdown, the way she’d thought.
“Absolutely.” He was definite.
“Because…?”
“Cops—even former cops—don’t cry unless they’re faced,” Ric told her. “It’s a law enforcement rule.”
“So you pretended to cry so they’d think you were shit-faced.” It had sounded hauntingly real to her, the memory keeping her awake long into the night.
He surprised her by saying, “No, I really made myself do it. You’ve got to get the fluids flowing to be believable—not just tears, but snot and drool.”
“Ew,” Annie said.
Ric smiled. “It was either that or piss myself, but I didn’t think my stank level would rate that.”
She couldn’t help it—she smiled back at him. “So there’s a science to this.”
“Totally.” His smile faded, and he took a step toward her, but then stopped, his hands on the wooden footboard of her bed. “Can we, um, maybe call a truce here?”
“What kind of truce?” she asked warily. “The kind where I do what you want me to?”
Ric smiled. “Sort of. But…I also do what you want me to do, which is…be safe. Safer. Which is what I’ll be if I don’t have to worry about you skinning your elbow, or worse.”
Annie stood up, rolling her eyes as she crossed to the closet. How many times did they have to rehash this? And what did one wear to a firing range anyway? “You better shower, or we won’t have time to go see your father before Jules gets back.”
“Annie.” Ric actually touched her, turning her to face him. “You didn’t want me to do this alone. I’m not alone now. I’ve got Cassidy and the entire FBI backing me up. You, on the other hand, have no experience, and if you want to know the truth, statistics show that if I’m going to die, it’s probably going to be because of you.”
Annie was silent. What could she say to that?
“I’ve been thinking,” Ric told her, “and what we’re going to do is, we’re going to go to Burns Point tonight, and we’re going to break up. You’re going to be far too interested in the movie star—he’s going to be sniffing around you, too, so it’ll look real. I’m going to get jealous and pissed off and cut you loose. You’re going to tell Burns that Chadwick offered you a job—”
“Doing what?”
Ric’s patience was not very thick. “I don’t know. Building a stone wall around his estate,” he said in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter what, as long as you and Chadwick go skipping off to California, hand in hand. Which, before you protest, is a very important job for you to do because it gets Chadwick out of Cassidy’s hair, freeing him up to think clearly.”
Annie shook her head. “You’re assuming Robin’s going to agree—”
“He will.”
Because Robin was going to be told that he had this big important job to do, which involved making sure she was safe. It was, actually, quite a clever plan.
Still it had some major flaws. “You’ve seen Dolphina,” she said. “Who’s going to believe Robin would dump her for someone like me?”
“Anyone who meets you,” Ric shot back.
So okay, at least he didn’t try to bullshit her by telling her she was just as beautiful. And if anyone could pull off the whole dumping-the-beauty-for-the-dumpy-woman-with-the-great-personality thing, Robin Chadwick, soon-to-be Oscar nominee could.
“Your mother’s going to think I’m a real jerk,” Annie told Ric. “Running off with someone else mere days after moving in with you.”
“I’ll tell her it was my fault,” Ric said. “That I got overwhelmed. Scared. You know, by, um, my terrifying intense feelings for you. I’ll tell her I freaked out and cheated on you first.”
“Which makes me a fool for moving in with you in the first place,” she countered.
“Maybe not a fool,” he said. “Maybe just foolishly in love.”
“Isn’t that redundant?” Annie asked. “Foolishly in love?”
“How did you get so cynical?”
“Hello. You and Bruce were my role models. Does the picture of a soccer goal next to Betsy Bouvette’s name ring any bells?”
His temper flared again. “For your information, I went out with her for a year and a half.”
Annie was stunned. “Are you serious?”
“No, I’m lying.”
“How come I never saw her with you?” she asked.
“Because her father didn’t like the color of my skin,” Ric revealed. “Or the fact that my father had an accent.”
“What?” Annie couldn’t believe it.
“My entire relationship with Betsy was on the down-low,” Ric told her. “And Bruce, he gave me endless crap about it, too. He thought I could do better. Dude, why would you want to limit yourself to just one girl? It’s time to move on. Well, guess what? I was in love with her, Annie. I was willing to sneak around to be with her, but she moved on. She dumped me after she went to college, okay?”
He was serious. Betsy Bouvette had dumped him.
“So Bruce drew the picture of the goal,” Ric continued, “and I tried to pretend that my heart wasn’t broken. At least I lost my virginity, right? Big whoop.”
“Wow,” Annie said. She’d had no idea.
“Don’t assume you know me,” he said. “I am not Bruce.”
“I’m sorry. I mean, not th
at you’re not Bruce. I’m actually glad you’re not Bruce—”
“Do we have an agreement?”
“Betsy was crazy.”
“Do. We have an agreement?” Clearly Ric had said all he was willing to say on the subject of Betsy Bouvette.
“Will you call me every day with an update?” Annie asked. “And will you promise that you’ll be as careful as you would’ve been if I were with you?”
“Yes. And?” he said because he knew her well enough to know there’d be more.
“Will you cry when I leave? And I don’t mind the drool so much, but could you do me a favor and keep it snot-free?”
Ric laughed. He knew he’d won.
“Thank you,” he said, and kissed her.
On the forehead.
The way he’d done when she was thirteen and he was seventeen and in love with Betsy Bouvette, who’d broken his heart.
Jules could tell, as he came out of the urban warfare course, that he’d impressed the crap out of Ric Alvarado. Particularly when he put his name on some paperwork that Yashi conveniently had on a clipboard, ready for him to sign.
“Whoa,” Ric said. “You’re not a lefty?”
“Nope,” Jules said, nodding his thanks to Yash as he headed for the cage where they’d stashed their gear. “That’s why I didn’t get a perfect score. Still, this isn’t bad for my nondominant hand.”
That was when Ric surprised him. “You know, you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“Oh yeah?” Jules took off his glove and put it in his gym bag. “When did that change?”
“I don’t know,” Ric admitted, leaning against the chain links. “I guess…today. I guess I realized we’re…more alike than I thought. I’m not gay—that’s not what I mean.”
Jules laughed as he closed the cage but didn’t bother to lock it. “I’m pretty clear on that.”
“I just meant—”
“I got it,” Jules said. “And I appreciate both your candor and your insight. Too many people focus on differences. It’s always nice when someone chooses to join the reality-based world. By the way, I spoke to, um, Robin and I think your plan’s going to work. He’s willing to help—to get Annie to safety. But he can’t leave Sarasota until Sunday night.”
And he’d only leave then, if Jules agreed to set aside some time to sit down and talk with him. Just talk, Robin had stressed. They could meet anywhere—even in public, in a restaurant or a bar. It was Jules’s call.
He would use the opportunity to try to convince Robin to leave earlier, not that he had much hope of doing that.
“He said Annie could stay in his hotel suite, attend the festival with him,” Jules told Ric. “It’s not my first choice, but with the festival’s security, which is extremely tight, they’ll be safe enough.”
Ric wasn’t happy, but he nodded.
Yashi reappeared. “Annie’s getting ready to go in,” he reported as he headed up the stairs that led to the spectators’ gallery. “She’s doubling up with Deb.”
“You want to watch?” Jules asked Ric.
“I’m not sure.” But Ric took the stairs two at a time, following Yashi.
“She did extremely well on the firing range.” Jules followed them, too.
“Yeah, she was excellent.”
But this was an entirely different skill set—not only did these targets move, but they fired back. Of course, there were no bullets being used. It was all done with lasers and computers.
Jules took a place with Ric at the window, looking down at the bombed-out buildings and rubble-filled roads of the course. Out of the many targets that popped up, some would be innocent bystanders, and points would be lost for each of those that were “killed.”
“Traditionally,” Yashi said, “when doubling up, a newbie’ll take out his or her more experienced companion within the first five seconds. Most are dead themselves within ten-point-five seconds after that.”
As they watched, Annie came onto the course with FBI agent Deb Erlanger behind her. Deb, athletic and trim with lank brown hair that she’d tucked up into a baseball cap, was talking, and Annie was listening and nodding.
Deb was probably telling her to wait for a moment, let her eyes get used to the lower levels of light. Only when she was ready should she give the signal to go.
“So what’d you have to do to get this place completely to ourselves?” Ric asked, his eyes on Annie, who was laughing at something Deb had told her.
“Just one quick phone call,” Jules said. “To my boss. You’ve met him, by the way—Max Bhagat.”
Ric looked at him. “Your boss is the head of the FBI’s top counterterrorist division?”
“That’s him.” He could see Ric putting two and two together. If Max was Jules’s immediate superior, then Jules wasn’t just some boots-on-the-ground, low-level grunt who was going to screw things up and get Annie killed. It was interesting, really. Ric didn’t appear to care at all about himself. His single-minded concern was Annie. Jules went on: “Apparently you handled the police investigation when Max’s girlfriend’s motel room was broken into a few years back. It was out on Siesta Key.”
“They stole her prescription meds and underwear,” Ric remembered. “Gina. Her last name was something Italian. She was, um…”
“She’s a pretty good friend of mine,” Jules interrupted. “So you might want to hold the descriptive adjective if it’s not flattering.”
Ric laughed. “No, I wasn’t going to…Beautiful. She was crazy beautiful, with a little just plain crazy thrown in, too. Like most women I know.”
“FYI, Max started a file on you.”
Ric looked at Jules now in disbelief. “Because I hit on his girlfriend?”
Had he really? That must’ve been interesting. “Gina’s his wife now,” Jules informed him. “But no. It’s not that kind of file.”
Down on the course, Annie gave the signal and…
She and Deb moved together, ducking for cover, and leapfrogging their way to the side of the first mock building.
Seconds ticked by and…
Holy shit.
“Beginner’s luck,” Yashi proclaimed. “Got to be.”
Annie’s stance was beyond ridiculous, but with twenty seconds down and still counting, she’d managed to keep from getting hit. She’d even tagged her share of tangos, leaving alive the crying toddler pop-up that Ric had accidentally taken out earlier, when he’d done the course.
“Here’s where Deb buys it,” Yashi announced, but the two women cleared the first building without getting hit.
They moved slowly, carefully, which was going to lose them a few points in their final score. But the truth was that they’d win far more for surviving until the buzzer rang. As Jules watched, they headed toward the second building, stopping to eliminate half a dozen targets along the way.
Again, Yashi gave his dire prediction: “Here’s where they go down,” and again he was proven wrong. Annie was well aware of Deb’s position at all times. Whatever crash course Deb had given her before they went in, she’d obviously been paying close attention.
“Holy shit,” Jules said again. “Are you sure Annie doesn’t have a military background?”
Ric shook his head in wonder as Jules answered the question himself.
“Of course she doesn’t, her stance is fugly.” She looked like an animated crab with a firearm for a claw. Her aim with the moving targets, however, was astonishing. And Deb—a kick-ass field agent—was paying attention, too. She realized it, revising their strategy right there in the middle of the course. Instead of Annie covering her back, she now covered Annie’s—giving her the freedom she needed to take out the targets willy-nilly.
And willy-nilly, take them out she did.
“Look at her,” Jules said, as if Ric and Yashi weren’t both paying attention raptly. “She’s actually listening to Deb’s instructions—she’s able to multitask while under fire—which is more than I can say about you, Yash.”
“
Yep, I suck at that,” Yashi agreed. His strengths shone when he sat at a computer, inside of a surveillance van. “Firefights freak me out.”
“She’s always been really good at video games,” Ric volunteered. “She used to play with me and Bruce—her brother—all the time.”
As they watched, after Annie and Deb cleared the third and then the fourth building, the bell rang and the lights came up. The two women high-fived, and Yashi dashed down the stairs, leaving Ric to ask, “About that file you said Max started. The one with my name on the tab. If it’s not…”
“It’s the kind of file that the recruitment department creates, under the recommendation of someone important, like Max.”
Ric laughed his surprise. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Because of Max’s recommendation, you’re in the process of being seriously considered for recruitment,” Jules told him. “It’s been years, I know, since he met you, but apparently—despite the hitting-on-the-girlfriend thing?—you made a strong impression. I’ve seen the file. He’s followed your career, and when he found out you left the force, he got the ball rolling regarding clearances and various other standard procedures. I thought you should know that. Just…so you know that you don’t have to try to impress me.”
“I can’t shoot for shit,” Ric said. “Not like you. Not like…my freaking untrained receptionist can.”
“You’re not bad,” Jules said, leading the way down the stairs. “You’ve just got to practice. How often do you practice?”
“These days? Never.”
“Well, there you go.”
“How often does Annie practice?” Ric countered.
“Some people are naturals,” Jules said. “For years I had a partner—agency partner—and she was this world-class sharpshooter. She was amazing. And I was like, Wow, you must’ve been practicing since you were three years old, and she was like, Nope. First time she picked up a rifle was after she joined the Navy. It was part of the officers’ program, you know, learning to shoot, and she was like, Hey, look what I can do. I’m not saying she didn’t have to practice a lot—she did. She was extremely disciplined, and practice was the difference between being great and phenomenal. But she started at great. Kind of like Annie.”
Force of Nature Page 20
