Troubleshooters 09 Hot Target

by Suzanne Brockmann

  As much as she had a sudden burning desire to surf the Internet for any information she could glean about Navy SEALs, she’d gone to work instead. Despite the fact that this no-Rambo thing fascinated her—and jeez, the comment about her script aside, could scary Cosmo be any more obvious about the fact that he so totally disliked her?—she had press releases to write, fax, and e-mail. If her feet had to hurt, if her entire life had to be turned upside down, then, damn it, her movie was going to benefit from this.

  It was after ten before she got down to the work she was supposed to be doing—outlining that battlefield dream sequence she’d promised HeartBeat Studios.

  At around eleven, she heard Robin come home. She heard Cosmo go downstairs, heard the two men talking, heard Cosmo come back up.

  Robin had no doubt gone into the kitchen for a snack, except he didn’t come upstairs. And he didn’t come upstairs and he . . .

  With a sudden sense of impending doom, Jane went to the window, peeked through the curtains and out onto the driveway . . .

  Where Patty’s car was still parked.

  Damn it! Damn it!

  She ran through her office, flung open the door, and came face-to-face with Cosmo Richter. He’d found a chair and set it out in the hall. He was on his feet instantly.

  Shit!

  She slammed the door shut in his face, ran back into her bedroom. Cursing the entire time, she yanked open her lingerie drawer, grabbed the slinky nightgown on the top.

  She shucked off her T-shirt and kicked off her boxers even as she pulled the gown over her head. Hopping first on one foot and then the other as she took off her socks, she made her way to her closet, where her white silk robe hung—the one with the full 1930s-style train.

  She slipped into it, tied the belt at her waist. She didn’t have time for slippers—besides, she had less of a chance of killing herself if she went down the stairs with bare feet. She let her hair down, shaking it free and pocketing her ponytail holder as she ran through her office again.

  This time when she opened the door, she flung herself into the hallway.

  He-who-was-never-to-be-called-Rambo was still on his feet.

  “I need a snack,” she said as she flew past him. He probably thought she was out of her mind, but she just couldn’t bring herself to say, “I think my irresponsible brother is shagging my intern atop the conference table.”

  He followed her, of course, as she thundered down the stairs, rounded the end of the ornate banister and headed back toward the main offices, and . . .

  Nearly knocked over Robin and Patty.

  Who were standing there, talking. Saying good night.

  With their clothes on.

  “See you in the morning, then,” she heard Robin say.

  Patty had her big slouchy bag over her shoulder, her briefcase and car keys in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said to Jane, “did we wake you?”

  Patty’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes were sparkling. No doubt about it, the girl had been kissed. But now she was obviously on her way out the door.

  Amazing.

  “No, no . . .” Jane forced a bright, cheery smile. “Just getting a snack.” She turned to look at her brother to admonish him for staying out so late, not to mention stinking of whiskey and beer, but she didn’t need to.

  Patty did it for her. Even more amazing. “Get to sleep,” she said. “Really, Robin, it’s going to be four-thirty before you know it. Everyone’s counting on you to show up and be able to hit your mark. I know you don’t have many lines tomorrow, but it’s important that you’re there and alert.”

  “Your wish is my command,” Robin said, taking her hand and bowing deeply over it. “But I should walk you to your car.”

  Oh, no, no, no . . .

  But before Jane could leap upon him and put him in a full nelson, Patty spoke.

  “I’m perfectly safe,” she said, “with what’s-his-name—the other guard—out there.”

  “His name is PJ,” Jane said. “Patty, good night. Robin, upstairs.”

  She took his arm and pulled him toward the stairs as Cosmo followed Patty to the door. The girl sent one last glowing look in Robin’s direction before slipping out into the night. Jane heard the SEAL locking up behind her as she focused on helping Robin navigate the steps.

  “Didn’t we just have a conversation where you promised me you’d stay away from her?” she whispered from between clenched teeth.

  “What?” Robin was all wounded innocence. “That means I can’t even talk to her?”

  “Talk, yes,” Jane hissed. “Suck face, no. What is wrong with you? One girl. Stay away from just one girl. This one girl. That leaves, what? One million, two hundred thousand and fifteen twenty-year-old girls in the greater Los Angeles area? I ask you this one small favor and—”

  “I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t do it,” Robin admitted as they reached the second-floor landing. He held on to her with earnest intensity. “Janey, I swear, this one’s different. She’s special. I think I’m completely in love with her.”

  “Yeah, well, I think you’re drunk,” Jane told him. “Again.”

  “What if she’s the one?” Robin asked.

  She steeled herself against his baby brother eyes. “Then she’ll still be the one when we wrap in two months.” She pushed him toward his room. “Sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he said before he closed his door.

  Yeah, sorry, right.

  Jane turned to see Cosmo waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs—for her to come down and get her mother-loving snack.

  God help her.

  “I just lost my appetite,” she said, heading instead for her room.

  Somehow he made it up and over to her door just as she did. It was creepy how fast he could move when he wanted to.

  He stopped her with a briefly placed hand on her elbow. “I need to go in first.”

  She stood there in front of the door to her room, wondering inanely if he would tackle her if she simply ignored him. Or if she made a run for it, screaming, “You’ll never catch me, Rambo, Rambo, Rambo. . . .” Instead, she said, “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  It was funny. He’d answered as if she were seriously asking. But she knew before the words left her lips that he wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t capable of kidding. Cosmo-the-humorless never kidded about anything.

  “Why?” she asked, her frustration with Robin, with HeartBeat Studios, with the idea that the Freedom Network’s crazy-ass, neo-Nazi beliefs could impact her life this way all pushing her extremely close to her personal edge. “We were only downstairs for a few minutes.”

  There was that maddening pause as Cosmo-never-Rambo either considered her words, perfected his upcoming predictably terse response, or mentally composed another verse of his latest love sonnet. Yeah, right. She actually laughed aloud at the idea of this man writing poetry. But really, God only knew what was going on inside that head.

  “You need to let me do my job,” he finally told her.

  “No one’s in any screaming hurry to check Robin’s room,” she pointed out.

  “No one’s threatened to kill Robin,” he countered—for him, a lightning-swift repartee.

  “Actually, I did,” she quipped. “Just this morning, as a matter of fact.”

  No reaction. No laughter. No smile. He just stood there, gazing down at her. When she’d worn her high heels, he hadn’t seemed that much taller than she was. But as she stood there in bare feet, she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye.

  And jeez, his eyes were a weird color. Jane had always thought of herself as being pretty good at staring contests, but this time she caved and looked away first. It was just too odd, staring into those eyes and having absolutely no clue as to what he was thinking.

  She shifted out of the way, silent in her capitulation, half afraid that if she spoke, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from calling him Rambo.


  Chatterbox that he was, he somehow managed to keep from speaking, too.

  Once again, he flipped the light switch.

  Perfect. Glaring lights, and her with absolutely no makeup on.

  But he didn’t so much as glance at her again. He walked through her office, checked the windows, then headed toward her bedroom.

  Then he did look back at her, but only to make sure she was following. Apparently he didn’t want to leave her out in the hall alone.

  Jane went to the doorway between her bedroom and office, where the light was less harsh, as he went through his whole search-the-room routine. The shower curtain screeched as he pulled it back. Yeah, this was going to get really old, really fast.

  As if reading her mind, he spoke. “Won’t have to do this every single time after the security system is in place.”

  Lawrence Decker had told her that the installation would be started tomorrow.

  But finished when?

  As Cosmo came back toward her, he stepped carefully over the T-shirt, boxers, and socks she’d left scattered on the floor, briefly meeting her eyes as he did so.

  Great. He was silent, not stupid. In fact, Jane suspected that he was really, really, really not stupid.

  She moved aside to let him pass, more than half expecting him to close her office door behind him with no more than a nod as an unspoken good night.

  But he stopped and looked back at her, his hand on the doorknob. “If the costume change was for me, it’s not necessary.”

  She was so surprised, she spoke without thinking, automatically playing dumb. “Costume change? I don’t know what . . .”

  He didn’t even bother giving her an “oh, yeah, right” look. He knew she knew he’d seen the clothes on the floor. He was just patiently waiting for her to finish making noise. She trailed off, and they stood there in silence as he made sure she was done.

  “Thing is,” he told her, “you’re better off in darker colors, nonreflective fabrics. Cotton. Gray’s good.”

  Like the T-shirt she’d left on her bedroom floor.

  “If we did have a situation,” he continued, “at night, wearing something like that”—he motioned toward her white robe with his chin—“you’d be a clear target. You own a pair of sneakers?”

  She blinked at his sudden swift change of subject. “Cross trainers. Yes. Of course.”

  His smile came and went so quickly, she was left wondering if she’d imagined it. “Cross trainers. Right. Good.” He nodded. “Keep ’em by your bed. In case there’s trouble and we need to move fast.”

  “I look stupid in sneakers, I never wear them outside of the gym, and I don’t want to move fast.” She gave voice to her frustration. “I don’t want there to be trouble. I don’t want a ‘situation.’ I don’t want any of this!”

  “No one ever does,” Cosmo said, and with another nod, he closed the door behind him.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  “S he really is doing quite well,” Kelly Paoletti said as Cosmo gave her a boost up and into the passenger seat of his truck. She waited, carefully fastening the seat belt across her rounded belly, as he climbed behind the steering wheel. Only when he was inside did she add, “You’re right about Tanya. She’s very good. Her concern for your mother is absolutely genuine, but you should know, I talked to her while you were helping your mom set up the new computer keyboard. Tanya’s not a nurse—she’s a home health aide. And there is a pretty significant difference between the two.”

  Cos glanced at her as he headed north. “Bottom-line it for me, Kel.”

  “Tanya is providing exactly the level of care your mother needs right now. Technically, she’s not supposed to administer any medication, but considering your mom doesn’t need help remembering when to take her pills, but rather getting them from the pillbox to her mouth, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Despite the fact that she looked barely older than J. Mercedes Chadwick’s college intern, especially with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, Tom Paoletti’s wife Kelly was a doctor—a pediatrician who understood the complicated intricacies of the health care system. She’d graciously offered to come out to Laguna Beach on one of her rare vacation days to check up on both his mother and her nurse under the pretense of a lunchtime visit.

  When Cosmo had picked Kelly up this morning, down in San Diego, he’d warned her that his mother was crazy. She’d just laughed and told him that everyone thought their mother was crazy, that her mother was crazy, too.

  His, however, was crazier than most.

  Cos hadn’t been able to go into exact detail, though, because Kelly had turned pale green. She’d insisted she was fine—it was only morning sickness—but she’d closed her eyes and attempted to sleep through it, and they’d made the ride in silence.

  It was obvious she was feeling much better now—she had color in her cheeks, and her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. There was no chance she was going to sleep away the ride out to Malibu, where she and Tommy were going to spend the next few weeks relaxing.

  Allegedly.

  This visit to his mom had served a double purpose. Tom hadn’t wanted Kelly lifting anything as he moved their vacation gear into the beach house. This way, when Kelly arrived, Tom’s truck would be completely unpacked. She could go right onto the deck, sit in a lounge chair, and sip a virgin daiquiri.

  “You need to check with your mother’s health insurance company,” Kelly continued, and he forced himself to pay attention, “and make sure they’re not paying for a nurse while you’re getting an aide.”

  “Yeah,” Cosmo told her. “Thanks.” He glanced at her. “I’m sorry that my mother . . . you know. Embarrassed you.”

  Kelly laughed. “She didn’t. Honest.”

  Yeah, he was the one who had been dumbstruck with horror.

  She giggled. “You’ve got to admit, it was pretty funny.”

  He just shook his head. His mother had taken one look at Kelly’s physical condition and had jumped to the absolute wrong conclusion.

  Cosmo had had to spell it out for her—no, Kelly was not his pregnant girlfriend whom he was bringing to meet her in order to discuss plans for their impending nuptials.

  But who was she? And what was she doing with Cosmo? And why couldn’t he marry her anyway? So what if it wasn’t his baby—they could have another of their own. Clearly the young lady was capable . . .

  Christ.

  “She’s sweet,” Kelly said now. “And obviously single-minded in her determination to have grandchildren.” She giggled again. “And I thought my mother was bad.”

  He’d had to explain to his mom in precise detail: Kelly was already married. To Tom Paoletti, the former commanding officer of SEAL Team Sixteen and his current boss at Troubleshooters Incorporated. And since Cosmo was loyal to Tom to the point of being willing to die for the man, it was highly unlikely he was going to follow his mother’s suggestion and try to convince Kelly to leave Tom and marry him instead.

  “I guess you haven’t brought your girlfriend home in a while,” Kelly said. She was snickering now. “Understatement.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Try never.” He laughed, too, rolling his eyes. “What a nightmare that would be.”

  “No—” Kelly started.

  He cut her off. “Yes. Can you imagine if I really liked someone and . . .” He imitated his mother’s slightly breathy voice. “I know you said you don’t really enjoy Broadway musicals, but if you’d just listen to this song in Jekyll and Hyde where Lucy—she’s the whore, dear. How do you young people say it these days? That’s right, ho. She’s the ho who sings about hope. . . . Oh, isn’t that funny? The hopeful ho . . . Let me play it for you, dear, fourteen times in a row. . . .”

  Kelly was laughing so hard, she was gasping for air. “She’s not that bad. And so what if she’s passionate about her music—that’s wonderful.”

  “Yeah,” Cos
mo said. “I know.”

  They rode in silence for several moments before Kelly burst out laughing again. “I just . . .” she said, but couldn’t go on because she was laughing so hard. It took her a moment to compose herself enough to speak. “I’m not laughing at you or her or . . .”

  He sighed. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s just . . . I was sitting in her living room, thinking so that’s why Cosmo’s so quiet. You grew up unable to get in a word edgewise. And when your mother’s not talking, the music is up so loud. . . .”

  “And you wonder why I never bring anyone to meet her?”