All Through the Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Where did you get your information, Will?” Jules broke the silence by asking. “Dolphina said you were interested in finding out if the Secret Service had flagged any of the guests, but that she didn’t provide you with that list.”

  “She didn’t,” Will said quickly. “She had nothing to do with it. When I said that to you, before, about Jones being on the Secret Service list, I was just bullshitting. I was guessing. I didn’t even know for sure that Davis Jones was Grady Morant. Not until Mrs. Jones’s reaction…”

  Deck the halls with lying liars. Sam wasn’t sure what it was about Will’s delivery that didn’t ring true, but it seemed glaringly obvious to him that the reporter wasn’t giving them the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He glanced at Alyssa and she met his eyes in silent agreement.

  “I’m so sorry,” Molly murmured to her husband.

  “It’s okay.” Jones came to life to reassure her, and he even managed to smile. “We’ll get through this.”

  “Will’s lying again. What a surprise,” Dolphina announced. As he’d been talking, she’d been accessing her laptop computer and now she pointed to it. “He absolutely got access to the Secret Service list from me. Not intentionally, but…I’m at fault. It says here that the file was opened on Monday afternoon, but I hadn’t touched it since the previous Wednesday. I mean, why should I? It was a list with a single name.” Her fingers flew across her keyboard. “The guest list file was also opened at that same time—1:34 p.m. on Monday. It must’ve been while I was upstairs, dealing with the toilet delivery.” She squared her shoulders as she faced Jules. “I have a computer password, but I didn’t activate that function before I left the room. I didn’t close any files. I just…left the reporter in the room with my laptop. It’s my—”

  “It’s not her fault,” Will started, but she cut him off.

  “Just don’t,” she told him. “It is my fault and nobody wants to hear your excuses. Nobody believes you anyway—why should they? You’re a liar.” She turned to Jones. “He knows where you live. He knows your phone number. That was the extent of the info I had on the guest list.”

  “I know significantly more than that about you now,” Will admitted. “Some was theory, but, um…It’s really only because I spent so much time in Indonesia that I was able to piece it together. I honestly don’t think there are many people who could have connected the dots the way I did.”

  “An egotistical liar,” Dolphina mused. “What was I thinking?”

  Will turned to her. “I’m just trying to reassure them that they’re still safe.” He turned to Jones. “You need to tell whoever’s in charge of your new identity to create tax forms for W. Davis Jones—from before you and Molly were married. A more detailed service record would help, too. At the risk of sounding, yes, egotistical, most experts on Indonesia’s politics don’t have my investigative skills so, again, in my opinion, you’re extremely safe. And that’s not taking into consideration that the Indonesian factions who might still carry a grudge and want to harm you are no longer in power. Frankly, I believe that you’re hiding from a threat that doesn’t exist.”

  “That’s what I believe, too,” Jules said.

  But Jones didn’t. Sam could see the man’s doubt, his fear for his family, his unwillingness to take an unnecessary risk.

  “You know the really stupid thing about all this?” Jules asked. Sam wasn’t sure if he was talking to anyone in particular, or just the room in general. “It’s that after Robin and I got back from our honeymoon, I was going to call you.” He was speaking to Jones now. “You’ve been talking about writing a memoir for a while—organizing your notes. I’ve been impressed by Will, and with his background knowledge of Indonesia…” He shrugged. “It seemed like it would be a good match.”

  “I’d be interested in collaborating on the project,” Will told Jones. Sam had to give the guy credit. He didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. “I didn’t realize you wrote, but…Either way, I’d love to see your notes.”

  Jones looked at Will. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just kill you right here.”

  Again, to his credit, Will didn’t wet his pants with fear. He just kind of smiled back at Jones. “Her name’s Maggie, and she’s in the kitchen. Although maybe if you did kill me, her mother would get to come home from Iraq. If I could get that guarantee in writing, I’d say go for it.”

  Dolphina made a noise. “I think we should check to make sure he really has a sister in Iraq.”

  He looked at her. “What? Do you think…Maggie’s just some kid I hired…?”

  “With you, anything’s possible,” Dolphina snapped back.

  And there they stood, glaring at each other.

  Molly spoke up. “Why are you so interested in writing this book, Mr. Schroeder? With your credentials, surely you could write about anything. Anyone.”

  “Your husband’s story needs to be told,” Will said again, quietly now. “A frighteningly large percentage of Americans currently believe that torture is acceptable, when, in fact, it’s what the bad guys do. As a country, we’ve got to be better than that. Maybe if people get a chance to read about what your husband lived through, they’ll begin to understand what torture really means.”

  “What it means?” Jones was no longer impassive. In fact, he was up and on his feet—as was Sam. But Jones wasn’t going for Will. He was just unable to sit still. “How are you going to make anyone understand what it means?”

  He was up in Will’s grill, but the reporter held his ground. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of it,” he told Jones. “I do know that. I’ve gotten the crap kicked out of me for information a time or two—I know what that’s like, too. I haven’t had your experiences, but…I’m better informed than most people. I think the answer to making readers understand is to make your story personal.” He paused. “And show them what it’s like to carry the scars that I know you must have. God knows I still have nightmares about that prison. I can only imagine what yours are like.”

  “Yeah,” Jones said. “And they all start the same way. With some asshole finding out who I really am. They end the same way, too. Back in that torture room—every goddamn night—with Molly and Hope being killed in front of me—” He broke off, turning to look at his wife, chagrin in his eyes.

  Molly had gotten to her feet, her own eyes filled with disbelief and concern. “You told me you were sleeping better. That the nightmares had let up…”

  Jones nodded, unable now to meet her gaze. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Dave…” She put her arms around him, and the way he grabbed her and held onto her so tightly made Sam avert his eyes. He’d held Alyssa exactly like that—at the times he himself was fighting tears.

  Jules had the same idea as Sam, moving toward the door. “Let’s clear the room, give them some space,” he said quietly, and Alyssa stood up.

  But, “Wait,” Molly said. “Don’t leave. Please.” She pulled back from Jones and spoke to him. “Something’s got to change. It has to. Maybe…I don’t know, but, what if…Will’s a gift? His being here. His knowing.” She wiped her face with her hands. “Maybe you still need to write about what happened to you.” She looked at Jules. “We did talk about it, about Dave’s writing a memoir, around a year ago. The nightmares were so bad…” She looked at Will then. “He started making notes, writing things down, and it seemed to help.” She looked at Jones, clearly skeptical now of his honesty in regard to this topic. “Or did it?”

  “It did,” he said. “Really. But then…it didn’t.”

  “Because you stopped writing,” she accused him. “I offered to help, but he didn’t want me to read what he’d written. He said it was bad enough that I’d have to read it once—after the book was finished. But the book never even got started. And now…Apparently, the nightmares are back.”

  “They may never go away.” Robin spoke up for the first time, from where he was leaning against the fireplace mantel, over near Jules. “
Some nightmares…just always come back.”

  Sam looked at the happy couple, and it was beyond obvious the Boy Wonder hadn’t yet told Jules about his nightmares. Which no doubt started, I’m a kid, maybe seven years old, and I come home and I know right away that my mother’s been drinking…

  As Sam watched, Jules took Robin’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Once upon a time, that would’ve really freaked Sam out. But now it seemed as natural as Molly reaching for Jones. Or Sam reaching for Alyssa.

  “If that’s the case, if the nightmares never leave, so be it,” Molly said just as quietly as Robin. “We’ll just have to learn to cope. But…maybe they would fade if we stopped hiding.” She turned to her husband. “If you stopped pretending you were happy.”

  Okay. Now it was really time to leave.

  “I am happy,” Davis Jones protested. “Being with you and Hope—”

  “You’re happy when you’re home,” Molly agreed. “I know.” She saw Sam sneaking for the door, and she turned and pointed at him. “Don’t you leave. I saw you talking to Dave this afternoon. You were offering him a job with your Troubleshooters, weren’t you?”

  Sometimes there was nothing to do but stand tall and confess. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I turned him down,” Jones told Molly. “There’s no way I would do that to you.”

  “Do what to me?” she asked. “Be happy in your work? Right now, you live for six o’clock, for the weekends. You pay our bills, but that’s all you’re doing. When you leave each morning, it’s as if you turn out the light in your eyes.” She shook her head. “People should love what they do—they should care about it, passionately. Dave, oh, honey, you should have seen your face when Sam was talking to you about working with him.” She turned to Sam. “Does the offer still stand?”

  “Of course,” Sam said. He didn’t risk a look at Alyssa, for fear he’d piss himself with excitement. Jones had been on his personal dream team wish list for years now. Alyssa and Jules both teased him mercilessly about having a man-crush on the guy, and yeah, if deeply admiring a fellow operator was defined as having a man-crush, then he definitely did.

  “The past few years served a purpose,” Molly was telling her husband now. “We both needed a rest—time to just be together. And that was wonderful. Those first few months…Maybe if we had all the money in the world we could do it—just both stay home all day and raise our children. But vacation’s over. It’s time to get back to the real world. And maybe we can help to change it, while we’re at it.”

  Jones was looking at his wife, a little smile at the edge of his lips. “You always were a do-gooder.”

  She lifted her chin as she met his gaze. “You always were, too.” She crossed her arms. “As far as I’m concerned, the only thing left to decide is between Florida or San Diego.” She turned to Sam. “Where is the Troubleshooters office in Florida?”

  “Sarasota,” he told her.

  “I’m leaning toward Florida.” Molly looked at Jones. “How about you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t care where I am, as long as you and Hope are with me.” He looked at Sam. “Am I really going to be able to get the clearances I need to work for you?”

  Sam let Alyssa, who was, in fact, his boss, answer that one. “We’ll take care of that. We’ll also make your new identity more complete.”

  Jones was looking at Molly again.

  “Wake me up when you have nightmares,” she told him, and he nodded. “So,” she added. “Florida.” She turned to Will. “That’s probably more convenient for you, too, since you’ll be helping Dave with his book. Right?”

  Will looked pretty damn unhappy for a man who’d just gotten exactly what he’d wanted.

  Oh. Except Dolphina, with her thundercloud face, was making it pretty obvious that his personal happy ending was going to be, well, euphemistically speaking, happy-ending free.

  It was then that Jules chimed in. Once again, he’d been paying careful attention to word choices. He looked from Jones to Molly and back again. “Did you say children?” he asked.

  Molly smiled, her hand on her stomach. “Yes, that was a plural,” she admitted. “I knew when it slipped out that you were going to catch it.”

  “Sweetie, congratulations.” Jules gave both Molly and Jones a hug.

  Jones looked at Sam. “How’s Troubleshooters’ medical insurance?”

  Sam tried his best not to grin his ass off. “For prenatal care? So far, so good.”

  “Are any of your friends not pregnant?” Robin asked Jules.

  It was possible it was just a coincidence, but it was right at that very moment that Dolphina burst into tears and rushed out of the room.

  Will tried to follow Dolphina, but his path was blocked by Alyssa, who was ten times scarier than her former-SEAL husband. Although as Sam came to stand beside her, he was pretty damned intimidating, too.

  And then there was Jules, who looked as if it wouldn’t take much incentive for him to rip out Will’s throat, either.

  But it was Robin who grabbed Will by the front of the shirt and uttered words that at first made him laugh. Bad move. But it was just that Did you get Dolphina pregnant? was the last question he’d been expecting to be asked here tonight.

  “You think that’s funny?” Jules asked him with outrage in his voice, and Will knew if he didn’t talk fast, he was going to get the hell kicked out of him by two very angry gay men.

  “No, it’s not funny,” he said. “And no, I haven’t…We haven’t even…No. I mean, unless Mommy was wrong and you can make babies just from kissing.” He sighed. “Just hit me anyway, guys. We’ll all feel better.”

  “I think it’s time for you to go,” Jules said. “You got what you wanted. I’ll make sure Jones has your contact information. Oh, and after you leave here? You decide to change your mind and write an article exposing Jones?”

  “I won’t,” Will said.

  “Good,” Jules said, leaving all threats silent but strongly implied.

  Damn, but this had gone completely wrong. Will had been so proud of himself, too—especially at the party. Everything had been going so right—starting with him finding a parking spot right outside Laser-Mania’s front doors. Maggie had had a great time, and Will had, too.

  The teasing he’d gotten from the SEALs had been good natured and friendly. He’d even managed a face-to-face with an old nemesis—Troubleshooters operative Jim Nash, who’d been one of the many men to share Will’s ex-wife Jackie’s bed. Will had met Nash and his pal Larry Decker several times while chasing a story, and seeing Nash had always pissed him off. But today, Will’s blood pressure hadn’t been even slightly elevated as he’d greeted the man.

  He’d felt nothing. Nada. Not even a hint of the old animosity.

  Because Will was having dinner on Sunday with Dolphina. At her place.

  He was, without a doubt, on top of the world.

  But not anymore. And it was his own stupid fault.

  Robin now handed him his coat. “Maggie’s welcome to stay. We’ll drive her home later—say, 9:30?”

  “Thank you,” Will said, humbled by their generosity. “Yeah. I just…I need to, you know, talk to Dolphina before I…”

  Jules looked at Robin, who slipped out the door. He came back almost right away. “She’s not interested in talking to you.”

  Will nodded. “Okay.” He put on his coat, as if he were just going to walk out the door without an argument, without a fuss. Just walk away from the best thing that ever happened to him…

  But Jules had him by one arm, Sam by the other as he went out into the foyer, as if they knew he was just faking his passive accord. And Will knew that Dolphina was out here somewhere—Robin had come out and back in so quickly. She was probably sitting on the top of the stairs that angled up and around, maybe on the second floor landing.

  “Dolph, I made a mistake,” Will called, knowing that she could hear him, hoping that she would listen. “I lied and I shouldn’t have. I did it becaus
e I was afraid you would get in trouble. I wasn’t thinking—I was just trying to protect you, and…it was stupid. If I could do it again, I’d do it differently. All of it. I’d tell you to lock your computer before going upstairs, because I know myself, and I couldn’t not look. I should’ve told you what I found out about Jones. I should have told you what I was hoping to do. I should have been honest with you about everything…”

  The door closed behind him with a gentle click, and Will found himself out on the porch, in the cold.

  Honest about everything—not just about the way she made him feel. You’re the one…

  If Dolphina had heard him, she didn’t respond.

  And she didn’t respond.

  Will stood there a long time, his hands in his pockets, before he turned around and finally dragged his sorry ass home.

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 9

  “Do you…ever have nightmares?”

  Jules looked up from the file he was reviewing as Robin slipped into bed, next to him. He’d brought an entire box of paperwork home on Friday, even though he knew he wouldn’t have an extra second of time all weekend long to read any of it.

  But the last of their guests were finally gone. The party had been a raging success—despite the Will Schroeder goatfuck. And who could know? Molly might well have been right—the Jones/ Schroeder collaboration could well work out as a double win.

  Plus, it had been fun to see Sam walking around like he’d just won the lottery, having successfully recruited Jones. He’d been so happy, he hadn’t seemed to mind knowing that, had Jones wanted to, he could’ve beaten Sam and Alyssa at Balls. But only, Jones had humbly said, because he’d been sitting there for hours, watching them play game after game, with the area set in that specific configuration. Change the gaming area—and he probably wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  Or so he claimed.

  The evening had improved greatly after Will had left the house, although Dolphina had never quite returned to full speed. Still, the tree had been trimmed, the pizza consumed, carols sung, cookies baked. All that, and—thank God—by driving Maggie home, Jules had conveniently “missed” the viewing of the promo for Shadowland, Robin’s new TV series.