Troubleshooters 09 Hot Target

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Completely, miraculously healed.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “There’s a chandelier in one of the upstairs rooms just perfect for swinging on—”

  But the doorknob rattled—thank God for Murphy—and Cosmo let her go. He stepped back. Adjusted his pants, or at least tried to, while she smoothed her jacket and fixed her hair.

  He knew there was something he wanted to ask her. Something that didn’t have to do with getting it on. Oh. Yeah. “What shitstorm?”

  “What are we going to do?” Robin asked, swatting the video camera away. Whose brilliant idea was it to tape this meeting for the “Making Of” video? And who the hell had invited Adam here? The actor playing Jack was the last person Robin had expected to see in Janey’s conference room when he’d staggered out of bed this morning.

  But because of a recently unearthed interview Jack Shelton had given several years ago in which he’d been scathingly critical of the U.S. President, HeartBeat Studios had been inundated by people e-mailing, phoning, and faxing to protest the production of American Hero. Even though it was clearly an organized campaign led by the Freedom Network, there was no denying it—HeartBeat was now officially spooked.

  They had called and asked that Jane edit out the gay romance between Jack and Hal. In fact, they’d prefer it if she took Jack out of the movie altogether.

  “ ‘Please consider making our recommended changes,’ ” Jane repeated now. “It was a request, not an order.”

  “You’re not considering it, are you?” Adam asked, trying hard not to look worried.

  “Maybe we should think about it,” Robin said. He wasn’t serious. He just wanted to see Adam’s reaction.

  The other actor didn’t say a word—after all, that video camera was running—but the look he shot Robin was a resounding Fuck you.

  The phone rang again, as it had been ringing every three minutes since this meeting had started. “Excuse me,” Janey said, and took the call.

  Adam moved several seats closer to Robin. “Have fun last night? Chasing Jules around the city in the rain?”

  “Yeah.” He had, actually. The quiet restaurant had been a nice change of pace from the relentlessly loud music in the dance club. “We found this place that had really awesome sangria.”

  Score. Adam was extremely unhappy at the news that Robin had successfully talked Jules out of flagging down a taxi. But the cameras were rolling and even though the lens was aimed at Jane, Adam was visible in the background. So he smiled. “Great.”

  And then Janey got off the phone. “No more phone calls,” she told Patty, who was making a point to avoid all eye contact with Robin.

  Which was fine with him.

  “Decker’s outside,” Patty announced. “He’s looking for Cosmo. Have you seen him?”

  “He left a while ago. He said he had some errands to do at his mother’s apartment up in Laguna Beach,” Jane said, then smiled. It was a strange smile, dreamy and distant, as if she were suddenly somewhere else, somewhere a lot more pleasant than this controversy-filled conference room with the curtains drawn. She’d been smiling like that a lot this morning, even while she was talking to some numbnuts on the phone.

  Adam stopped Patty before she went back out of the room. “I’ve been meaning to ask—tomorrow’s shooting schedule hasn’t changed, has it?”

  “The damage to the studio should be cleaned up by later this afternoon,” Patty reported.

  Oh, crap. Really? He’d thought he had a reprieve. Robin cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I’m going to be ready for those scenes.” He turned to his sister. “Can we push things off a day?”

  “I’m ready,” Adam said.

  Jane sighed, frowning, pulled back to harsh reality. “Robbie, God, you’ve had way more time than Adam to prepare—”

  “These are not easy scenes,” Robin defended himself.

  “You’re just freaked out by the kiss,” Adam said. “Come on. Come here, right now. Let’s just do it.” He popped a breath mint. “Once you get rid of the mystery, you’ll be—”

  “Excuse me,” Jane said. “I’m sorry, this isn’t helping. You need to rehearse? Rehearse. But later, please.”

  Adam smiled at Robin. “I’d love to rehearse later. What do you say? Six o’clock, my place?”

  Robin resisted the urge to hold his fingers up in the shape of a cross. Not in this lifetime. “Sorry, I’m booked,” he lied. He checked his calendar. “How’s . . . never? Is never good for you?”

  “Aren’t you just so funny,” Adam said.

  “Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m here to help Jane,” Robin said.

  “Yeah, you’re a big help,” Patty muttered as she left the room.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Jane said. “We’re going to record our own interview with Jack, run it on our website. I was going to ask both of you guys to give the interview, you know, ask the questions, but I’ve changed my mind. It’s just going to be Adam.”

  “Why?” Robin said, which was stupid. He didn’t really want the extra work.

  Jane ignored him. “I’ll give you a list of questions,” she told Adam. “We’re going to focus on Jack’s years in the service, on the fact that he’s a World War Two veteran, that he risked his life fighting for freedom and democracy—that no one has the right to accuse him of being unpatriotic.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Adam said.

  Jane turned back to Robin. “We’re already several days behind, what with the accident and the weather. You need to go and do whatever it is you need to do to prepare for tomorrow’s scenes.”

  Robin stood up. “But—”

  “Go.” Jane pointed to the door.

  Fine. He went. He’d do what he needed to do—which meant that there was a very large gin and tonic in his immediate future.

  Jane had just hung up the phone and put her head down on the desk when someone knocked softly on her office door.

  “Got a minute?” It was Decker.

  She sat up. “Oh, my God. How are you? I didn’t expect you back today.”

  “I’m fine. I was fine yesterday,” he told her, actually managing to look embarrassed. Or maybe it was sheepish. “I’m sorry about scaring you—I really didn’t need to go to the hospital at all.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” she said, gesturing for him to sit. “You’re a former SEAL, right? I’ve been reading up about you guys. You like to cauterize your own wounds, pull out bullets with your teeth, stitch yourself up—that sort of thing, right? Although stitching up the back of your own head might be a challenge even for you, the mighty Decker.”

  He laughed as he sat down across from her. “I didn’t need stitches. It was a surface wound—a scrape. Heads bleed a lot.”

  “Gee, if I’d known that, I would have demanded you help sweep up the studio last night. And then paint my house. Wash my car, mow the lawn—”

  “How are you?” he asked. “Besides sarcastic, that is.” He zeroed in his steady gaze on her. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

  Other than the fact that she’d had the most incredible sex last night with a man who scared the mother-loving daylights out of her?

  How could Cosmo be so perfect?

  The answer to that was easy: He couldn’t possibly be.

  Which made the next question obvious. When was he going to spring it on her—his fatal flaw?

  Jane had made a list of possibilities in her head. Everything from the ridiculous: His mother wasn’t really in San Francisco but instead was chained in his attic—to the realistic: He was totally incompatible with her Hollywood lifestyle—to the downright paranoid: He’d never really stopped hating her and last night was some kind of pathetic payback for her behavior at that first press conference.

  Although as far as punishments went . . . Suffice it to say, she couldn’t wait to be punished like that again.

  Except, to be honest, when she’d woken up this morning all alone in her bed, she’d had a bit
of a panic attack. Where had Cosmo gone? Why had Cosmo gone?

  She’d thought they’d connected on a stay-all-night level. On a make-room-for-me-in-your-closet-’cause-I’ll-be-here-for-a-while level.

  The lack of a note had freaked her out. And the fact that she’d freaked out about it made her even more freaked out.

  Because it was obvious that she cared too much.

  Which meant that when she finally found out that missing yet vital piece of information—that terrible, unfixable flaw of Cosmo’s that she hadn’t yet discovered; that thing that would blow up their fledgling relationship—she wouldn’t simply be able to laugh and just have fun. She wouldn’t be able to shrug and enjoy the nonstop sex phase, even though she well knew there’d be no serious relationship phase.

  Although, no doubt about it, with this man, the nonstop sex phase could go for months. Years. Decades, if she had anything to say about it.

  She sighed, remembering the way he’d smiled into her eyes as he’d—

  “Jane?”

  Whoops. Decker had asked her something. “I’m sorry . . . ?” Her voice came out sounding a little breathless.

  “Are you having some kind of problem with Cosmo Richter?” he asked. But before she could stammer out any kind of response, he added, “Because I got a call from Tom Paoletti, asking me if there was something going on—something that would trigger his resignation.”

  What? “Whose resignation?”

  “Richter’s.”

  Jane sat back in her chair. Cosmo had quit? Like, quit? Like, “Hi, Tom, how are you, I quit”?

  Here was a fatal flaw she hadn’t considered—that he’d meant none of what he’d said. Ever. But especially last night. I’m so fucking crazy about you. . . .

  Deck was watching her closely. “You haven’t, um, clashed with him again?” he asked.

  Clashed? Clashed? She couldn’t speak. She could barely think.

  This put a real cow-patty frosting on a total cesspool of a day.

  “I know there was some tension at first between the two of you,” Decker continued, still watching her. “Differences of opinion and personality—that sort of thing. I was under the impression that you’d worked things out, and had even become, well, friends.”

  “Yes,” she managed to say. “Friends.” Her head was spinning. It was quite possible she was going to be sick. She forced a smile instead. “No, there’s been no . . . clashing. . . . Are you sure he quit?”

  “Apparently this is as much of a surprise to you,” Decker said. “That’s good. I was a little afraid something had happened last night that I’d missed by being out of the picture. I haven’t spoken to Richter yet—I’m not sure where he is.”

  “He told me he . . .” She had to clear her throat. “He was going to Laguna Beach.”

  “Maybe this has something to do with his mother,” Decker said.

  Without calling Jane first to tell her about it? She had to get this straight. “He just quit. Without giving Tom a reason why?”

  “No,” Decker said. “He left a message with Tom, requesting they meet this evening. But he gave him a heads-up—he wanted to give him as much time as possible to start looking for a replacement.”

  A replacement. God.

  Jane arranged her face into another smile, hoping that would hide her gritted teeth. “Sorry I can’t be of more help. I don’t know anything about it.” She picked up her phone, and he recognized that as the dismissal it was and stood.

  “I’ll let you get back to it.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Do me a favor and close the door behind you?”

  He did, and she stopped smiling. She also speed-dialed Cosmo’s cell phone number.

  Okay. Relax. Be calm. Give the man a chance to say, “Hey, I was just about to call you. My mom fell off a trolley and broke both her legs, too, so I have to go up to San Francisco, but I’ll be back, because I am so fucking crazy about you. . . .”

  She was beeped over immediately to his voice mail.

  “Richter. Leave a message.” Beep.

  “Hey, Cos, it’s me. Jane,” she added, hating herself for doing that, as if he wouldn’t recognize her voice after he’d spent the night listening to her moan his name. Except God, what if he didn’t? What if . . . ? Don’t go there, don’t go there! She made herself sound bright. Cheery. “Call me when you get this, will you?”

  This was just a rumor until she heard it from Cosmo.

  She sat at her desk, staring at her phone, willing it to ring, willing him to call her back. Right. Now.

  . . . or from Tom Paoletti. Talking to Tom could, quite possibly, clear things up, too.

  And, of course, she had a different reason to talk to Tom, since HeartBeat’s threats to pull out of their distribution deal meant that Troubleshooters Incorporated could well be out of a job. There was no way Jane could afford to keep paying them.

  She rummaged in the desk drawer where she tossed business cards. Tom’s was in there, near the top. His office number was on the front—but that got her an answering machine. His cell number bumped her over to voice mail, too.

  On the back of the card there was another number, written in her own handwriting. It must be his number at home. No, wait, that wasn’t home. He’d told her he was spending a few weeks on a vacation of sorts, renting a house on the beach in Malibu, right on Pacific Coast Highway. When he’d given her that number, he’d said, “Don’t hesitate to call.”

  So she stopped hesitating.

  A woman picked up. “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Jane said. “I’m trying to reach Tom. This is Mercedes Chadwick.”

  “Oh, hi, Mercedes. I’m Kelly, Tom’s wife. It’s not a problem at all.” Jane could hear laughter in the background, as if there were some kind of party going on. “He’s here, but he’s out on the beach, talking with one of his men. Is this urgent? Do you need me to—”

  “No, no,” Jane said. “I just . . . Is it . . . By any chance is he with Cosmo Richter?”

  “That’s right, yeah, you know Cos,” Kelly said. “I can try to signal them from the deck if you—”

  “No,” Jane said. “Thank you, but . . . Do you expect them to be very long?”

  “They better not be,” Kelly said. “No, no, Murph, put it over here. Here, on the counter. It’s greasy on the bottom. Sorry about that. The pizzas just arrived and—hang on . . .” She covered the mouthpiece of the telephone, but Jane could still hear her. “It’s on the refrigerator door. Get a glass for Sophia, too, will you?” She came back. “I’m sorry—”

  “Sophia’s there?” Jane asked, the words escaping before she could clamp her teeth shut over them.

  “Oh, do you know her, too?” Kelly said.

  “Blond and perfect, right?” Jane asked through clenched teeth. Son of a bitch—the son of a bitch!

  Kelly laughed. “I guess you know her.”

  How could this be? Cosmo couldn’t—he wouldn’t—do this. And yet here he was. Right after spending the night in Jane’s bed, he sure as hell looked as if he were now sniffing his way down Sophia’s perfect little blond garden path.

  God damn, but she always picked the total losers. “Motherfah—” she said, catching herself just in time.

  “Excuse me?” Kelly asked.

  Jane cleared her throat. “Tell Cosmo—” No. No. Don’t assume. Never assume. Until she spoke directly to Cosmo, until he said, “Yes, Jane, you idiot, I’ve totally played you. All those heartfelt conversations in your kitchen, the sweetness of my kisses, the whole tears in the eyes bit—a total act to get you into bed. I am scum. I am rotting scum. I am the worst of all the losers you’ve foolishly chosen, because you actually, stupidly thought I was different. Which makes you the biggest loser of all. But really, that’s not news to you, is it?”

  “Shall I have Tom call you?” Kelly asked, with that “oh, my goodness, are you nuts or is it Tourette’s?” tone in her voice.

  “Do you have an attached garage?” Jan
e asked because, damn it, she was through putting her life on hold for some lunatic with a computer who would probably never venture out of his mother’s basement. She’d had enough of rearranging her existence for some clever hacker who’d somehow gotten hold of those e-mails that had been sent to that dead lawyer in Idaho.

  “I’m . . . sorry?” Kelly asked.

  “You’re staying in Malibu, right? I was thinking of spending some time up there,” Jane lied, “and I’m looking for a house to rent, but it’s got to have an attached garage.” Which meant she could go from her garage here in Hollywood to Tom and Kelly’s in Malibu without ever stepping outside. Which meant she would be safe from her imaginary killer’s imaginary bullets.