All Through the Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Believe it or not,” Jules said now, “no.”

  If it wasn’t about Adam…Uh-oh. Sam laughed. “I’m kinda afraid to ask who else might have an evil twin robot.”

  Jules laughed, too, but he sounded tired and more than a little stressed. “I’ve got a friend who’s coming to the wedding who’s…got the Secret Service on edge.”

  Sam didn’t hesitate. “How can I help?”

  “I love you, you know that?” Jules said.

  “Easy there,” Sam said. “Just ’cause Lys is asleep and Robin’s out all night—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jules said. “Ha, ha. I know. Real men don’t express themselves honestly without making stupid jokes about it—”

  “I love you, too,” Sam interrupted. “Can we move on to why you’re not sleeping?”

  “That’s…something entirely different,” Jules said.

  Sam braced himself. “Something named Robin?”

  “No, it’s all me this time,” Jules admitted. “Ah, Jesus, Sam. I messed up. When I found out Adam had been calling, I got a little…” He cleared his throat. “Upset. We…got through it—in fact, Robin was really patient with me, and I apologized, which was…well received. But—”

  “Squidward, you’ve got to keep in mind that if you’re stressing about the wedding, Robin’s got to be—”

  “No,” Jules said. “That’s just it. He’s not. He’s great. Things are…God, it’s really, unbelievably great.” He laughed, but it was filled with despair. “Except for the fact that Robin’s starting to wonder why I don’t want to watch the DVDs of the dailies that he brings home from the studio.”

  “Dailies, like the day’s scenes?” Sam clarified.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I don’t get it,” Sam said. Why didn’t Jules want to watch them? He’d always thought that he got off on seeing Robin acting in his movies. Well, except for American Hero…

  And, okay, light dawned and Sam got it. In American Hero, the one movie of Robin’s that Jules absolutely hated to watch, Robin and his co-star, that same fucking idiot Adam Wyndham, had had a number of extremely intimate scenes.

  “So this character that Robin’s playing, what’s his name?” Sam asked.

  “Joe Laughlin,” Jules tersely supplied the information. “It’s basically Robin—if Robin lived in an alternative universe, where he hadn’t come out of the closet or gone into rehab—if he just kept making movies.”

  “So Joe’s a big-time movie star slash alcoholic,” Sam confirmed.

  “Substance abuser,” Jules corrected.

  “Plus he’s gay, and no one knows it. Not his family, not his friends.”

  Jules laughed, but not with humor. “Yeah. No one knows. Aside from the small army of men that he has sex with. In the pilot alone—I read the script—there’s, like, an entire platoon cycling through his condo.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said slowly. “I do see the problem.” Some of those dailies would definitely include physical scenes that Jules was apparently afraid to watch.

  “It’s stupid, I know. It just…it bugs me. Just…tell me I’m crazy, and I’ll shut up.”

  “You’re not crazy,” Sam said. “And even if you are, I don’t think you can just discount what you’re feeling. Crazy or not, you’re feeling it.” He paused. “Is it going to freak you out too badly if I call this…thing that you’re feeling by it’s technical name?”

  “Jealousy,” Jules said.

  “That would be the word I was going for,” Sam said.

  His friend laughed. “I guess that’s not a big surprise.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. This was not the first time Jules had struggled with similar issues in terms of his romantic relationships, and it would probably not be the last. “It doesn’t help for you to know that it’s fiction—that Robin’s only acting?”

  Jules sighed. “It should, but…No, it doesn’t. The really stupid thing,” he continued, “is that I was just getting ready to bring up the subject with Robin. Like, Hey, sweetie, wow, this new character that you’re playing is really complex, and, boy, I know how much you’re enjoying the role, but I’ve got to be honest—I’m freaking unable to think about anything else except how much it bothers me.” He laughed his disgust. “That’s going to go over well. But I’ve got to say something, right? But then Adam reappears and my brain shorts out, and yeah, Robin was extremely cool about it, but he’s not going to be cool if it becomes this incredible, pain-in-the-ass, daily ordeal that we have to wade through—who’s Crazy Jules jealous of now? So I’m just keeping my mouth shut, because if I don’t, Robin’s going to be like, Wow, you’re insane. I’m not sure I want to be married to that bullshit.”

  Jules finally took a breath, which gave Sam an opportunity to speak. “Robin’s a drunk,” he pointed out.

  “Recovering alcoholic,” Jules corrected, a tad sharply.

  “That’s the PC term that you fairies use,” Sam said. “It’s just a polite way of saying that he’s a fucking drunk. You sure you want to be married to that bullshit?”

  Jules laughed softly. “Point taken.”

  “Talk to the Boy Wonder,” Sam advised. “You know, I bet if he knew the ulcer this was giving you, he’d think twice about taking the role.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jules admitted. “That he’ll walk away from doing something that he loves.”

  “What he loves is you,” Sam pointed out.

  “He shouldn’t have to choose. God, he’s so happy, and…” Jules sighed. “I just need to learn how to deal with this. I can do this.”

  “Step one kinda seems to be talking to him, whatever the outcome.”

  “Yeah.” Jules sighed again. “Can we focus on my Secret Service–challenged friend for a minute?” he asked.

  “Just a wild guess,” Sam said, “but might this friend’s name be…Jones?”

  “That’s him,” Jules said. “Max has pretty much convinced the head of the President’s security that Jones and Molly will behave themselves during the ceremony. He and Gina are friends with the Joneses—they’ll enter the church together, limit their movements, sit in a specially designated area…Max’ll even be armed. Yashi, Deb and George, too. They’ll all be nearby—which is ridiculous. Can I just say how ridiculous this is? Jones is my friend. Even if for some unknown reason he did want to harm the President—which he could easily do at his own leisure, might I add—he wouldn’t do it at my wedding.”

  “It is pretty fucking ridiculous,” Sam agreed. “But coming as I do from the personal security industry, I can see the Secret Service’s side, too. Not everyone knows Jones as well as you do.”

  Jules was silent, no doubt in agreement, but too pissed to acknowledge it. “So here’s the thing,” he finally said. “I gotta tell Jones. Don’t I?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said.

  “Rats,” Jules said. “I was hoping you would say that I didn’t have to.”

  Apparently Jules was extremely tired. “Like he won’t know what’s going on, even from out on the street?” Sam pointed out. “Cassidy. Think about it. The man’s an experienced operator. He’s going to notice, especially when he sits down in the church and sees the sniper aiming the rifle directly at his forehead.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Jules snapped. “I won’t allow it.”

  “It’s your party,” Sam drawled. “You can cry if you want to, my friend—but you can’t tell the Secret Service where to place their snipers.”

  “Shit,” Jules said because he surely knew that Sam was right. He laughed his disgust. “I hate this. I hate…the idea of having to tell Jones, Hey, you know how we gave you a new identity and a chance to start with a clean slate? Except not so fast there, pal, because when we said clean slate, we didn’t really mean it.”

  “Is he coming to the party this weekend?” Sam asked.

  “Yup.”

  “I’ll tell him for you,” Sam said.

  “No.” Jules sighed. “Thank you. Really. But…I’ll
talk to him. Just…Will you do me a favor and…try to recruit him?”

  Sam laughed. Do Jules a favor? Sam had wanted to add Jones to the Troubleshooters Incorporated team since Jules first told him the man was back in the States. “You said I should stay away—that he wasn’t interested.”

  “He’s not,” Jules said. “But just…do it anyway. I want to make sure he knows that someone respects and appreciates him.”

  “I’ll make him feel the love,” Sam said. “Except, of course, when Lys and I are kicking his ass out on the gallery’s game room floor.”

  “Jones won’t play laser tag,” Jules warned him. “He never does.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Sam said.

  “Alyssa’s really going to play?” Jules asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” Sam said. “And can I warn you in advance? If anyone makes a bigger target comment, they may not survive.” He lowered his voice. “Her hormones are a…tad unbalanced—and God forbid you repeat that—I’ll deny having said it. Talk about evil twin robots…” He laughed. “Last time I used the H-word, she damn near laser-beamed a hole in me with her eyes. It’s kinda funny in a twisted way—apparently a symptom of her pregnancy’s hormonal inbalance is being completely unable to acknowledge the hormonal inbalance.”

  The biggest problem of all, in Sam’s opinion, was that when Alyssa got pissed off or impatient, she got full of attitude and sharp, dry humor. She totally cracked him up, especially when she got indignant—and she thoroughly turned him on. He was walking around these days in a perpetual state of do me now, and she was collapsing into bed at night, too exhausted to do much of anything but sleep.

  “I can’t wait to see you guys,” Jules said.

  “Back at ya, Cassidy,” Sam told him. “Hey. Today, we’re in single digits. Nine days and counting until Chadwick marries you—and all your annoying bullshit.”

  Jules laughed, as Sam hoped he would. “Yeah, but at least I don’t have an evil twin robot.”

  “That we know about,” Sam pointed out.

  “Later, SpongeBob.” Jules was still laughing as he hung up the phone.

  PART FIVE

  ghosts of christmases past

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8

  BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  W HEN THE BULK OF U.S. NAVY SEAL TEAM SIXTEEN arrived at the party, Jules came over and put his hand on Robin’s back.

  He just rested it there lightly, hooking one finger into one of the empty belt loops on Robin’s cargo pants as the wave of testosterone entered the huge lobby of the laser tag gaming hall.

  Robin had to smile. It was so Jules. He was smiling and as friendly as ever, but staking out his territory.

  He did it again, seeking Robin out when a group from Art Urban’s studio made the scene. Although this time, he pulled Robin even closer, his arm around his waist.

  Robin put his hand over Jules’s, interlacing their fingers and holding it there, firmly in place. Yes, that’s right, babe, I’m yours. Interestingly, the look that Jules flashed him was faintly apologetic.

  Whatever he was sorry about was fine with Robin. Jules was…extremely creative when it came to his apologies.

  It was interesting to see the two worlds collide—SEALs, FBI agents, and Troubleshooters operatives mixing and mingling with actors, set dressers and makeup artists—not to mention a smaller group of spouses and significant others.

  It was interesting, too, to be in this kind of party setting with nary a drop of alcohol in sight. Jules had been adamant about that, all throughout the planning stages. Their wedding, and everything surrounding and leading up to it—this so-called yet extremely co-ed bachelor party, next Thursday’s rehearsal dinner, and especially Saturday’s reception—would all be completely dry. They’d toast their lifetime commitment to one another with sparkling apple juice.

  It was weird, though, to be in a blow-out party setting like this with music playing and people talking loudly, and not have a drink in his hand. No, one in each hand. Robin always had been efficient.

  “You okay?” Jules asked him now, his voice low, as usual, able to read Robin’s mind.

  Robin nodded. “Yeah. Although if one more of your friends introduces themselves to me and gives me that you hurt Jules and I will hunt you down look, I might start taking it personally.”

  “Oh, God,” Jules said. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “It’s fine,” Robin said, cursing himself as Jules’s tension level got even higher. He shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s that old AA trust thing.” One of the things he’d learned in rehab, and was reminded of nearly daily in the AA meetings he attended, was that everyone had different rules and time limits, and a recovering alcoholic had to be patient when it came to re-winning their trust. “I’ve earned it. Plus, I’m secure in knowing that even though my friends won’t hunt you down if you hurt me, they will give you a bad haircut if you ever stumble into their makeup trailer.”

  Jules laughed. And didn’t kiss him. Even though they both knew he wanted to.

  “Oh, come on,” Robin said. “You’re going to kiss me in front of everyone next week at the wedding.” He had a sudden twinge of doubt. “Aren’t you?”

  “Jules, excuse me.” Dolphina appeared at Robin’s shoulder, keeping Jules from answering. “You asked me to let you know when the Joneses arrived? They’re here.”

  “Thank you,” Jules said. He looked at Robin.

  “Go,” Robin said. This was about the problem that the Secret Service had with Jules’s very good friend Davis Jones. Jules had been losing sleep over it for a week now. They’d talked about it, and Jules was adamant about pulling Jones aside and talking to him privately, without Robin or even Jones’s wife, Molly, as an audience.

  But before he went to handle what was, at the least, an extremely awkward situation, Jules grabbed the front of Robin’s shirt and pulled his head down for a kiss that was neither short nor sweet.

  Jay-sus Lord A’mighty, someone grab the fire extinguisher. The crowd of friends around them noticed, of course, and started to whoop and holler.

  “I’m not just kissing you at the wedding,” Jules told Robin over the applause, as he finally let him go, smoothing Robin’s shirt back down, his hands warm on his chest. He was actually blushing slightly, which was completely adorable. “I’m kissing the shit out of you.”

  “Hey, now,” Robin said to Dolphina, who looked as surprised as he felt, as they both watched Jules walk away. “Is he hot, or is he hot?”

  “He’s hot,” Dolphina agreed. It was almost criminal how good Jules looked today in his jeans and a T-shirt. Particularly walking away.

  But this entire party here at Laser-Mania was a snug-fitting T-shirt fest, with an entire team of Navy SEALs on hand to model the latest in camouflage wear.

  A trio of them—Izzy Zanella, Jay Lopez, and the impossibly young and blue-eyed Tony V.—hadn’t been shy about letting her know that they were checking her out. Although young Tony just seemed to be along for the ride. Maybe it was Dolphina’s imagination, but he appeared to be far more interested in checking out Jules.

  And Lord save her, she had to be completely crazy, but despite the SEAL eye-candy, she found herself watching the door.

  For Will Schroeder.

  For crying out loud.

  “Sam Starrett’s organizing a laser tag game called Balls over by the playing area,” Dolphina told Robin as the door opened and someone who wasn’t Will came inside.

  “Of course he is,” Robin said with a laugh. “You gonna play?”

  Dolphina gave him a look. Not a chance. It was, from what she gathered, an elimination contest between closely-tethered-together two-player teams, hence the earthy name. The object was to survive a pitched laser tag battle on a course vaguely reminiscent of a classic Star Trek set—with plenty of fake rocks and pretend ruined buildings to hide behind.

  Apparently Sam and his wife, Alyssa, were the reigning champions. They had never been beaten. Not ever. Not by anyone.<
br />
  “It’s fun,” Robin urged her.

  When Sam had explained the rules in his perpetually amused-sounding Texas drawl—there are no rules—he’d also been extremely vocal in his opinion of why he was the king: It was because sharpshooter Alyssa was his queen. She was, in his words—at least when small ears weren’t around—fuckin’ great.

  “Sam always sets it up so that there’re three different skill levels,” Robin continued. “Everyone’s welcome, and there’ll be plenty of us in the beginner group. And if you can’t find a beginner level partner, say, if you want to team up with, oh, maybe Captain Biceps, Commodore Six-Pack or even Admiral Pecs over there—Well, forget the admiral, Dolph, he’s…not your type. But say you and Cap’n Zanella hit it off, you can team up to play Balls at the beginner level, but the Z-man’ll need to handicap himself.”

  “How’s he going to do that?” Dolphina was skeptical. “Hop around on one leg?”

  “Maybe. Jules and I once teamed up to play my sister and Cosmo’s mom.” Robin laughed. “Lot of shrieking involved in that game. Especially since Jules tied his ankles together and his hands behind his back—you know, to bring him down to our amateur-hour level. So there we are, attached to each other—you put on a harness, and there’s a bungee cord that stretches to about three feet, total, connecting you to your partner and…I was laughing so hard, I was totally useless. It wasn’t just Jules flopping around like a fish, but Cos’s mom—she screamed and did this little dance every time she pulled the trigger. She told me later that she was pretending to be one of Charlie’s Angels. I’m telling you, Janey and I were crying. So there’s Jules with his weapon behind his back, right? And he was still a better shot than the three of us put together.”

  “So who won?” Dolphina had to ask, grinning at the picture Robin had painted.

  “Cosmo’s mom killed us all—starting, of course, with Janey, her own teammate.”

  “Speaking of Cosmo’s mom,” Dolphina said. “Yashi’s dad is here.” She singsonged, “He asked me where she wa-as.”