“So what are you saying?” She struggled to understand. “That somehow it’s my fault that you’re here right now?” Standing on the patio in the home of a dangerous man who was believed to be responsible for smuggling terrorists into the United States…
“I’m saying that I can’t trust myself to make the right decisions when I’m around you,” Ric admitted. “Annie, God, it’s crazy, the way you make me feel—like the world’s going to end, and it’s up to me to save it, and I’ve got to pull either the yellow wire or the blue, only I have no clue what’s the right thing to do.” He laughed. “And there you are, just reaching for one of the wires, ready to gamble, because doing something’s better than doing nothing at all, and when I’m with you, I believe it’s true, but when I’m not, I know it’s not and, Christ, it’s driving me fucking nuts.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said, because she didn’t know what else to say. “After tonight, you won’t have to worry about me.”
“Yeah,” he said, “like that’s going to happen.”
“At least I won’t be annoying you with my contagious recklessness,” she said.
“That came out wrong,” he said, but he didn’t try to explain what he’d really meant.
She could see Robin through the French doors. He was looking for her, an extra glass of champagne in his hands, ready to do his part to get her to safety—and to keep her from driving Ric fucking nuts. She had about twenty seconds before he spotted her and worked his way over. “Just be careful,” she told Ric. “All right?”
He saw Robin coming, too, and was as aware as she that this was probably going to be their last chance to speak face-to-face, until God knew when. “I really liked having you around these past few weeks.”
“Apparently not enough to keep me on,” she countered.
Ric shook his head. “I want you safe.”
“You got it,” Annie said, and she kissed him.
It was funny, actually. It was a textbook illustration of her so-called failure to think things through, of her tendency to just act without real regard for the consequences.
It was meant to be a kiss goodbye, a last farewell to the ridiculous attraction Annie still felt for him, a swift press of her lips against his.
And yeah. Wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him sweep his tongue into her mouth was not the going definition of swift. Of course, this was their second kiss, the first being really quite brief and heart-wrenchingly tender. Her mistake, apparently, lay in not retreating in that moment when she’d gazed into his eyes, as time seemed to hang, a heartbeat stretched on and endlessly on. Instead, she’d moved toward him, or maybe he’d pulled her close. Either way, the outcome was this disaster in which she found herself pressed tightly against him as she tried to inhale him.
If there was any good news at all, it was that he was holding her as tightly as she held him. That he was kissing her back as hungrily, as if he, too, had been dying to kiss her again since that ill-fated night in the Palm Gardens parking lot.
As if he hadn’t gone and kissed Lillian Lavelle—the aging porn star—the very same way he’d kissed Annie that very same night.
And that was the end of that. Kiss over. Temporary insanity done and done.
Robin had slowed his steps, clearly uncertain as to whether now was the right time to approach.
“Is that for me?” Annie asked the movie star. Without waiting for his answer, she took one of the glasses from his hand and knocked it back. It was not the way to drink fine champagne, but what the hell.
“Annie,” Ric said. He was no doubt about to launch into an apology or some kind of heavy explanation that would make her end up feeling even worse than she already did.
But she could see Jules through the open French doors, still deep in conversation with Gordon Burns, on the far side of the living room. “It’s time to go save the world,” she told Ric. “Be careful, okay?”
He was just standing there, staring at her, and she finally had to turn away.
“Come on,” she told Robin, holding out her empty glass. “Let’s go find me a refill.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Once Ric was in the kitchen, no one paid him any attention whatsoever.
It was the getting there that was the giant pain in the balls.
Every time Gordon Burns’s goons were distracted enough for Ric to attempt the dive down that hallway, a server with a tray of incredible-smelling food appeared and jauntily informed him that the men’s room was in a different direction.
Which had left him with nothing to do but sample the food. And watch Robin Chadwick flirt with Annie. Which was far more unpleasant than he would have believed possible, considering.
The food was delicious, but the hand Robin had on Annie’s back had drifted dangerously close to her ass, which pissed Ric off, regardless of the actor’s sexual orientation. Fortunately, his response fit with their plan. It was appropriate—his standing there glowering at the two of them as they laughed and talked.
About what? What were they talking about? Annie sure as hell seemed to have forgotten that mere minutes earlier she’d been kissing Ric.
She’d kissed him first. It had totally caught him off guard, but his reflexes were a little too well developed. He’d grabbed her and kissed her back before he even knew what he was doing.
They were a total train wreck ready to happen. He was lucky that she wasn’t coming home with him tonight.
At least that was what he kept trying to tell himself.
Right now his luck was holding as one of the white-clad kitchen staff—there were at least two dozen of them, presumably most hired only for this occasion—dropped a huge pan filled with what looked like seafood stew. It had a huge splash radius, and everyone scrambled to get it cleaned up as quickly as possible.
And that allowed Ric to waltz right through the kitchen and down the hall to the servants’ wing. All of the doors were closed, and he was prepared for them to be locked, so it was a surprise when he tried the knob of the room that Cassidy had specified as Peggy’s, and found that it turned.
It was dark inside, but the light from the hallway revealed that the room was unoccupied.
He went in, closing the door behind him. There weren’t any blinds on the window, so he didn’t want to turn on the overhead light. He got out his penlight, and as he flashed it around the room, his heart sank.
This room wasn’t just unoccupied, it was vacant. It had been stripped bare of furniture and draperies. Even the carpeting had been pulled up and was gone. From the smell, and the rollers, trays, and stepladder still in the room, it was obvious that the walls had been recently painted—the bathroom, too.
It was a classic sanitizing job. Everything cleanable had been scrubbed. Anything that had been stained—carpeting, drapes, mattress, and blinds—had been removed and no doubt destroyed. The fresh paint would cover up any forensic evidence that had remained.
Yeah, the news Ric was going to deliver to Jules wasn’t very good. If this was, indeed, Peggy Ryan’s room—and Jules had seemed convinced that it was—it seemed highly likely that the woman was dead, most likely murdered right here.
There was only one air-conditioning vent in the entire two rooms, and it was nowhere near the window. It had been removed for the paint job, leaving a rectangular hole, roughly twelve by five, in the wall up near the ceiling.
Ric moved the ladder over and climbed up to get a look inside. His penlight revealed only a paint-speckled standard gray air duct. It was solidly in place, no gap around it in which Peggy might have slipped even a piece of paper. He reached in as far as he could, feeling around in the darkness, but there was nothing taped to the inside, either.
If Peggy had left anything in there, it had already been discovered.
Ric put the ladder back, pocketed his penlight, and opened the door a crack to make sure the hall was still empty. It was, but shit, someone was coming.
It would be far worse to be caught ins
ide Peggy’s room than out in the hall—that was a no-brainer. He slipped out of the door, closing it silently behind him, heading swiftly toward the door to the servants’ deck. With luck, he would make it outside before whoever was coming turned the corner. With luck, whoever was coming would be the gardener, not one of Burns’s thugs.
He didn’t have time to make it out the door—best he could do was turn so it looked as if he were coming in from the deck, instead of trying to escape.
“What the fuck are you doing down here?” It was Foley, of course—Gordon Burns’s right hand—the man who had slapped Annie in the limousine.
No doubt about it, Ric’s luck had run out.
Gordie Junior attended his father’s party dressed in a suit and tie. His collar didn’t succeed in completely covering the tattoos that went up his back and shoulders and onto his neck, and the effect was rather strange.
He’d cornered Robin, whose body language was completely at ease as the two men talked. Still, Jules drifted toward them, and sure enough, Robin waved him closer, introducing the two men. “Julian Young, Gordon Burns Junior.”
As Jules shook Junior’s hand, he tried not to think about the psychological profile that was part of Gordie Junior’s massive file. Subject is known for sociopathic behavior, including outbursts of intense violence… It was possible that the man whose hand he was shaking was responsible for Peggy Ryan’s disappearance. He made himself smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Junior here says he has a business proposition that he thinks we’ll find interesting,” Robin told Jules.
“Really?” Jules said. “Where’s Annie?” He’d been aware when Ric had left the party, close to ten minutes earlier, but he’d only just noticed that Annie seemed to have vanished as well.
“Ladies’ room,” Robin told Jules, but his eyes held an absolute don’t know. “Junior heard about the movie we pitched to his father—”
“The one about the homo FBI agent,” Junior interrupted. “It’s not my cup of tea, you know what I mean? But I understand there’s a viewership for that sort of thing. Plus it’s an Oscar role, almost as good as playing a retard.” He smacked Robin’s arm. “Didn’t you get nominated for playing a fag a few years back?”
Nice. Jules could smile through anything, but even without looking, he could feel Robin, beside him, getting tense.
“The accepted term is gay,” Robin said. “And yes, I did. It was for American Hero.”
“Like I said, I don’t watch that shit.” Junior shrugged. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Robin lied, his smile tight.
“What I did see, however,” Junior said, “was all the front-page tabloid stories that popped up after that movie came out. There was enormous speculation that you really were, you know, a gay, which I know had to suck. And it still hasn’t completely gone away—I saw something just a month ago in the National Voice. They’re still trying to tie you to what’s-his-name, your co-star in that film—turns out that guy really was a fag, which must’ve been creepy as shit, you know, working with him?”
“His name’s Adam Wyndham,” Robin said. “He’s a brilliant actor.”
Adam was undeniably a good actor, but he’d also been part of the rift between Robin and Jules all those years ago.
Jules looked at Robin. “I didn’t realize you were still friends with him,” he said, and immediately kicked himself for saying anything at all, let alone something that sounded even remotely jealous. He’d been working hard all evening to keep everything neutral—everything he said, every look he gave the movie star.
Sure enough, now there was a glimmer of satisfaction in Robin’s eyes. “We, um, kind of got back in touch after American Hero’s premiere, and…Well, it’s been a while since I’ve…seen him.” Robin admitted. “I kind of ended our…friendship. I think he was starting to think I might be a good candidate for, like, a boyfriend or something, and I definitely wasn’t into that, so…”
And okay. Jules wasn’t sure how to feel about the news that Robin had kept seeing—i.e. sleeping with—Adam. Or the news that Adam had wanted a real relationship—as in more than just occasional sex.
It was particularly screwy because part of Jules was jealous not just of Adam, but of Robin, too.
Once upon a time, Jules and Adam had lived together. In fact, it was Jules who’d gotten his ex that audition for American Hero, from which Adam had been cast in the biggest role of his career. He’d claimed he wanted to get back together with Jules, but Jules knew better. Of course, at the time, Jules had just met Robin…
So naturally, Adam had repaid Jules for his kindness by getting Robin drunk and seducing him.
Yeah, that had been a fun few weeks.
“See, that’s just it,” Junior pointed out. “You hang with the guy, the tabloids say you’re a couple, and what happens? The gay dude starts believing it, too. What’d’ya do, fucking break his face?” he asked Robin.
“Uh, no,” Robin said. “I told him we couldn’t…hang out anymore. I was afraid he might…get too attached and end up hurt.”
Jules couldn’t believe they were having this conversation at all, let alone having it in front of Gordon Burns Junior. Of course, maybe he could believe it. Having a spectator on hand certainly put Robin at an advantage, since Jules couldn’t simply come out and say, What were you doing, having an ongoing sexual relationship with someone you claimed to hate?
It was also kind of interesting that Robin hadn’t just tried to lie to Jules about the whole thing.
“He might end up hurt?” Junior was scornful and completely unaware of what this conversation really was about. “What about you? This is a story that will not die. National Voice had him visiting your hotel room in London last month. They run that kind of headline, with a movie still of the two of you sucking face from American Whatever? That’s a problem for you. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass. Everyone already knows he’s a…gay.”
“I’ve never been to London,” Robin told Jules. “I actually got an e-mail from Adam, about a month ago. He is over there, doing an indie. He’s doing okay. He says he misses me, but…I don’t miss him.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Jules said. “It was…good, then, that you ended your…friendship.”
“Like I said,” Robin told him. “I didn’t want to hurt him. He’s…okay. He’s kind of screwed up, but…Who’s not, to some degree?”
“In the National Voice,” Junior started, but Robin cut him off.
“No offense, but I don’t read that shit.”
“But someone in your organization does”—Junior was both earnest and intense—“because not a week after that London story, there’s an article out about a pregnancy scare with some bitch you’re banging. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”
“It’s all just fiction anyway,” Robin said. “They’re always hooking me up with someone—if it’s not Adam, it’s some TV starlet. Does anyone really believe any of it? I mean, one of these days they’re going to decide that a story about a movie star who’s been celibate for six months will sell more papers, and look out. I’ll be in that headline, too.”
Junior laughed and laughed at Robin’s big funny.
Except it wasn’t a joke.
Robin was standing there, holding a drink, leaning against a wall. His shirt matched the gorgeous blue of his eyes, and with his movie-star good looks, his hair artfully messed, his long, lean build, and broad shoulders, he looked like hot sex personified.
But he held Jules’s gaze and nodded. No, he wasn’t kidding.
Jules had to look away.
“Look,” Junior persisted, after he’d caught his breath. “Don’t you wish you could make it go away once and for all?”
“I probably could,” Robin said. “By coming out and living a life of total obscurity with the man of my dreams.”
Jules looked up again, right into Robin’s eyes, as Junior laughed his ass off all over again.
He didn’t dare say it aloud, but as h
e looked at Robin, he wanted to ask, As opposed to asking him to give up a career in which he has the ear of the President, to become an overpaid bodyguard, and live in the closet? He hadn’t missed Robin’s thinly veiled job offer back at Ric’s office.
Speaking of Ric…He still hadn’t reappeared. As interesting as this conversation was…“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to excuse me,” Jules said.
But Junior caught his arm. “No, wait. Seriously, dude, I got the answer Rob’s looking for.” He looked from Robin to Jules and back again. “Ready for this?” He paused dramatically. “A sex tape.”
Jules looked at Robin, who was clearly as clueless as he was.
“A sex tape,” Junior said again as if his meaning was obvious. “It leaks out onto the Internet in little bits and pieces and people are like, whoa, and the rumors are over once and for all.”
Robin started to laugh.
“I’m serious.” Junior was. “You know you’re not gay, and I know you’re not gay, but you make a sex tape and the entire world knows it, too. Case in point: Eddie Moss. There was lots of talk about him, right? Until his tape was released. And on top of the obvious answer to the gay thing, it’s bitchin’ PR—look what it did for Paris Hilton. Here’s what I’m thinking: GBJ Productions helps you make it.”
Robin had stopped laughing, his amusement mixed with some serious disbelief as he looked at Jules, his hand over his mouth. His pose came off as thoughtful, but Jules recognized it for what it really was—an attempt to stay quiet and even seem respectful in the face of Junior’s idiocy.
“It’s high quality, it’s tasteful, it’s well lit, it’s a single shot—no cuts, so no body doubles—it’s clearly you.” Junior continued his pitch. “Of course, this may not be something you necessarily want to do unless God gifted you, if you know what I mean.”
“I really don’t think,” Robin started to say, but Jules cut him off.
“Let’s assume there’s no issue there,” he said. “Go on.”
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