“It wasn’t until we were in the car, when he goes, Mark. Those are men in women’s clothes. I think I actually argued with him. You know, Why would men wear women’s clothes? I remember him saying, Because they want to. And I just didn’t get it, but I was a kid, so it didn’t freak me out the way it did my dad. I mean, I thought it was crazy, but if they wanted to wear high heels, it was fine with me. And I said, But they’re nice. Mom would love them. And he didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull out of the parking lot either. We just sat there, in the car, watching them through the store windows. They were probably trying to decide which brand of beef jerky was the most edible. And I said, It’s Christmas. And they saved your butt. And he’s all pissed, but he hands me the bracelet for my mother, huffing and puffing as he’s getting out of the car, muttering to himself about stupid kids and stupid ideas. But he goes back into the store, and when he comes out, Sherilee, Rhonda, and Marcia are with him. We all pile into the Honda, and with the extra weight we don’t skid once on our way home.
“It was a great Christmas,” Jenk told them as Chick came out of the bathroom and rejoined them at the table. “Mom loved the bracelet, and we had our own personal cabaret show. And maybe I was wrong—I was only eleven—but it sure seemed like Rhonda and Marcia had a thing for each other. Thus, my most interesting lesbian encounter.”
“Can we please finish this hand?” Young Vlachic had definitely just had a Dear John phone call. He looked at Jenk. “Will you fucking do something besides talk?”
Ouch. Jenk let the harsh words roll off his back, considering the circumstances, as, across the table, Gillman picked up his cards and …
He scratched his chin with the back of his hand.
Yes! He was bluffing. Or … was he? Gillman also sent Jenk what could only be described as a furtive look. It was over almost before it started, but Jenk saw it.
Except it was clearly intended for Jenk to see, which meant …
“I’m in,” Jenk decided, tossing his money into the pile in the center of the table. Gillman was back to not looking anywhere but at his cards.
“How much to call?” Chickie grimly asked.
“Twenty-six dollars,” Lopez said in a voice that recommended Chick fold.
“No, it’s only sixteen to him,” Izzy said. “Vlachic was the genius who raised the bet ten fricking bucks in the first place.”
Chickie put in the cash. And sure enough, Gillman revealed that he was holding a whole lotta nothing. Total train wreck. The highest card was, appropriately, a jack.
“Nice attempt to bluff,” Jenk told him, revealing his three aces. “But you know, you tried just a little too hard. You were too obvious with your eyes and—” He was already reaching for the pot when Izzy stopped him.
“Dude.” Izzy pointed at the cards Chickie was lovingly placing on the table. Holy crap.
It wasn’t just a winning hand. It was a kickass, once-in-a-lifetime, mother-of-God miracle of a winning hand. A straight flush; spades, Queen high. Even Lopez sat forward and stared.
“No fucking way.” Gillman was the first to overcome the shock and put voice to their disbelief. “Dude. You took three cards.”
“I guess I’m just lucky,” Chick said in that same grim voice. But then he looked up and smiled, and Jenk knew they’d all been conned. By the twelve-year-old new guy. Who’d gone through BUD/S and was probably closer to twenty-three—and completely capable of conning the unconnable. Yeah, Chick was lucky as hell, but he’d totally fooled them into thinking he still held a crappy hand.
“Who was on the phone?” Jenk asked, suddenly suspicious.
“No one,” Chick admitted, starting to put the huge pile of bills and coins into neatly organized stacks. “You just seemed as if you needed a little more time to decide to stay in.”
“Brilliantly done,” Jenk said.
“What I said before,” Vlachic started to explain. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Jenk reassured him. “It was a nice touch. Very authentic.”
“Thanks,” Chick said. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
Jenk was the team’s best liar, which meant that he also had the most accurate bullshit meter. Although it was entirely possible that he was now the team’s second best liar.
“Hey, Iz.” Jenk turned to Zanella. He didn’t need to say anything more, since Izzy was on the same wavelength.
As Lopez shuffled the deck, Izzy took a beer from the fridge. He opened it. “Welcome to the team,” he said.
And handed it to Chickie.
INTERVIEW WITH TOM AND KELLY
December 2005
This story takes place around the same time as Into the Storm.
“I got the word just before noon,” Tom said, laughter dancing in his eyes as he held his seven-month-old son, Charlie, on his shoulder. “I was no longer needed, so I managed to get a seat on a commercial flight home that left at two fifteen.”
“The assignment was really just saber-rattling,” Kelly interjected, reaching out to wipe their baby’s chin as we sat in Tom’s home office in San Diego.
Well, actually, they sat in San Diego. I was in front of my computer, in my office, writing this scene. But, shhh. Don’t tell them that. I’m not sure they know they’re fictional characters. Tom Paoletti is the former CO of SEAL Team Sixteen and the current owner of Troubleshooters Incorporated, a private security firm. Dr. Kelly Ashton Paoletti is his wife.
Kelly continued. “He was brought in to stand there and look important and, I don’t know, scary, I guess.”
“Am I scary?” Tom asked his son. He made a face that was nowhere near scary and the baby chortled with laughter. “I think that’s a solid no.”
“He can be very scary,” Kelly told me, laughing too. “Don’t let him fool you. Anyway, the point is that he finally called to tell me he was coming home, which was wonderful news. He’d been gone for nearly three weeks. That’s the longest he’s been away since Charlie was born.”
“Yeah, I missed you pretty badly,” Tom said to Charlie. “And I missed your mommy, too.” He looked at me. “But everything fell perfectly into place. Like someone waved a magic wand and made it all easy.”
So okay, I was wrong. Tom clearly knew he was a character and that I was his writer.
Still, I shook my head at his unspoken question. It wasn’t me who’d made things easy for him. I like to challenge my characters, throw them into situations that are difficult—just to see what they’ll do, how they’ll react.
“That seat on the plane—there was only one left, but it was mine,” Tom continued. He obviously didn’t believe me. “I was flying into Germany, where I’d catch a connecting flight to New York, and on to San Diego. Again, I got the last seat on that flight, too. Then when I was packing, the zipper on my bag broke. I was ready to leave everything behind, just take my laptop, but I got a new bag at a store that was right in the hotel lobby. Of course, it was pink, with a picture of Minnie Mouse on it. Thanks so much for that.”
Again, I shook my head. It really wasn’t me. I’d spent the past few months writing Into the Storm, Navy SEAL Mark Jenkins’s story.
“And then there was the taxi,” Kelly prompted him.
“Yeah,” Tom said. “The entire three weeks I’m in Kazabek, it’s impossible to get a cab, but suddenly one’s available. I just opened the door and got in. Traffic was usually terrible, but we made it to the airport early. I checked in, everything was great. I got on the plane, and they were actually giving out free drinks and real sandwiches—when does that ever happen? We had a delay before takeoff, but even that was okay. We managed to make up the time while we were in the air. We landed in Germany, and I had just enough time to make it to the gate and …” He shook his head ruefully. “I didn’t get on the plane.”
“What happened?” I asked, looking to Kelly. But she was watching Tom holding Charlie, her eyes soft. No doubt about it, she loved her two men.
“There was this kid,” Tom said, but then h
e corrected himself. “A young man. In an Army uniform. Corporal Tyrell Richards. He was standing near the gate, clearly anxious. And he’s looking at me like I’m the grim reaper as I approach. I’m a little late, but I can still make the flight. And as I hand my boarding pass to the man behind the counter, he turns to Richards and says, That’s it, we’re full. No standbys. The look on that kid’s face was …” He shook his head.
“So Tom asked him where he’s from,” Kelly told me. “He says Hartford, Connecticut. He’s only got a few more days of leave. He was trying to get home to see his wife, meet his daughter. Meet. She was Charlie’s age. Can you imagine? He hadn’t been home in a year.”
I shook my head. No, I couldn’t imagine.
“So Tom gave him his seat,” Kelly continued.
I turned to look at him.
“It really wasn’t that big a deal.” Tom was embarrassed.
“It probably was to Tyrell Richards,” I pointed out.
“And it definitely was to Tyrell’s wife,” Kelly agreed.
Again, Tom shrugged. “It was the least I could do. Hey, champ, you tired?”
In his arms, the baby was starting to fuss. He rubbed his eyes.
Kelly scooped him up. “Nap time,” she announced. “It was nice to see you, Suz,” she said to me as she and Charlie left the room.
Tom and I sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other.
“So it took me three days to get home,” he told me. “All that good luck? Instantly gone. I missed my connecting flight to California out of New York, ended up in Dallas for twenty-three hours, two of ’em spent sitting on the runway. Wasn’t that fun? Still, it was worth it. We got the nicest note from Tyrell’s wife.” Tom’s smile widened. “I also got something of a hero’s welcome home. Have I mentioned that nap time is my new favorite time of day? I just wish Charlie’d stay asleep a little longer. And I think he’s starting to teethe, so he hasn’t been falling asleep as quickly anymore. Hint, hint?”
I laughed. Message received.
“That was just the funniest thing,” Kelly said as she came back into the room. “Charlie fell right to sleep. He never does that. Although, sometimes babies reach a certain age, and they suddenly nap like clockwork.”
“He’ll probably sleep through the night now, too,” I said.
“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice?”
“It certainly will be,” Tom said with a smile, pulling his wife onto his lap.
“Hey!” She laughed, glancing over at me.
“Suz was just leaving,” Tom told her. He kissed her and snapped his fingers, and the scene faded to black.
TRAPPED
Early 2006
This story takes place shortly after Into the Storm, and before Force of Nature.
Nachtgarten Army Base, Germany
CHAPTER ONE
“So,” Jules Cassidy said, as he tried to cover his best friend and former FBI partner Alyssa Locke more completely with his body. Her leg had been broken in the blast that had trapped them here, and she drew in a sharp breath at the contact, but otherwise didn’t complain. “I finally got some last Thursday night. Go, me.”
She laughed her surprise, her voice rich in the pitch darkness. “Get out of here.”
“Sweetie, I would if I could, and I’d take you with me, too.” Jules quipped as he flipped on his flashlight, because … why not? It was possible their lives were going to end before its batteries wore out. Might as well enjoy the light while they still had eyes with which to see.
“Ben?” Alyssa asked.
“No,” Jules said tartly. “Some stranger that I picked up in a bar. What kind of slut do you think I am? Of course, Ben. God.”
“About time, my no-longer-celibate brothah,” she said.
There was both pain and worry in her eyes, and Jules knew he should continue to try keeping things light, for both of their sakes, but …
“Yeah, I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m feeling … oddly ambiguous about the whole thing.” Especially after the surprise weekend visit from his mother.
“Ben’s really sweet,” Alyssa commented from beneath him.
“Yes, he is.” He’d pulled her as far as he could into the corner of this shallow subterranean room that seemed to be the most structurally sound, behind a pile of bricks and rubble as they waited for the bomb’s timer to count down the last ninety seconds of a five-minute delay.
Please, sweet baby Jesus, don’t let this be their final last ninety seconds. If this didn’t work, if they died here tonight, Alyssa’s husband, former Navy SEAL and total Texas cowboy Sam Starrett, was going to follow Jules up to heaven and kick his ass—right in front of St. Peter and God and Jimmy Stewart and whoever else saintly and pure was standing beside the pearly gates.
And please, Jesus, as long as Jules was making a list of demands, let Sam survive the altercation with the terrorists who’d planted this bomb that was about to explode. Wherever the cowboy-booted one was, please keep him safe, too …
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jules admitted to the woman who’d been one of his best friends for years, because although light banter was preferred at times like this, an honest heart-to-heart was better than silently wondering about the fate of the other members of the Troubleshooters team. Sam wasn’t the only one out there—Tess, Sophia, and Lindsey were in potential danger from the bad guys, too. “Why haven’t I fallen madly in love with him? The whole time we were … together—and it wasn’t just Thursday, it was Friday night, too—I was … I don’t know. Waiting for the choir of angels to start to sing.” He laughed his disgust. “Have I mentioned that Ben’s into country music? Some of it’s not awful—I’ll admit that. Some of it’s … Okay, I’ll be generous and use the word good. But some of it …? Kill me now.”
That was probably not the right thing to say while waiting for a bomb to go off, but Alyssa either ignored it or didn’t notice.
“Okay, so he’s not perfect,” Alyssa said. “No one is. Sam’s certainly not.” She swore sharply. “If he gets himself killed tonight …”
“Sam’ll be all right,” Jules reassured her with a hug—careful, though, of her leg. “He’s probably going insane, wondering where we are. So tell me this. If Sam’s so imperfect, what would you change about him to make him better?”
Alyssa shook her head. “Nothing,” she admitted.
“Sometimes imperfect is perfect,” Jules philosophized. “It’s a personal thing. Sam, with all of his imperfections—things that would drive me mad—is perfect for you.”
“So what would you change about Ben?”
Jules didn’t have to think about that one. “His parents don’t know he’s gay,” he reminded her. “And then there’s that whole don’t ask, don’t tell bullshit …”
Their entire relationship would have to be secret. Jules had worked hard his entire life to be open and out about his being gay. This would be a significant step backward—right into Ben’s closet. And the man didn’t even have a walk-in.
“I think it’s a good thing then,” Alyssa decided. “A sign of maturity. You know—that you’re being cautious with him. You’re taking things slowly. You’re not just giving your heart away indiscriminately.” The way you usually do. She left that part unsaid, because she knew she didn’t have to remind him.
“So … you’re advocating casual sex?” Jules needled her. “Ow!”
She’d pinched him. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s kinda obvious your thing with Ben is serious—it has been for a while—even as … sex-free as it’s been. Up to now. But there’s no law saying that you have to plan to spend the entire rest of your life with every single person that you … make the magic with.”
“I know,” Jules said. And he did know. The concept, however, was easier for him in theory. He’d been friends with Alyssa for a long time, and she was well aware of his tendency to start planning a lifetime commitment ceremony within moments of a new relationship’s first intimate encounter. He was a roman
tic. A hopeless one. In some circles, though, that was considered a strength, not a weakness. “I’m just … I’m tired of not being a we. And here’s Ben, who’s made a point of making sure I know he’s looking for something real, and …”
So what did Jules go and do after spending a few very we-ish nights with the man? He ran away to Germany to help Alyssa and Sam with a Troubleshooters Incorporated op that was probably now going to get them all killed.
All but Ben, who was back in DC. For now.
In a matter of months, his Marine unit was heading back to Iraq. And wouldn’t that move their relationship to an entirely new level of crapitation? Provided, of course, that Jules survived the next few seconds.…
“What are you looking for?” Alyssa asked him.
But before he could answer and say that he didn’t know—which wasn’t really a lie—the timer buzzed and the bomb went off.
CHAPTER TWO
An hour earlier …
As far as distractions went, this was working.
Mostly.
Slogging through an ancient drainage pipe beneath a military installation made it very hard to think about anything besides the horrific smell.
At least they weren’t up to their ankles or knees in water. There were occasional puddles, but it was mostly just mud beneath their feet. At least Jules hoped it was mud.
He crept along, just in front of Alyssa, who was team leader for this little Troubleshooters Incorporated op, venturing into the bowels beneath a U.S. Army barracks that had been built here in Nachtgarten, Germany, just after World War II. The barracks had been built then, that is. This drainage system looked—and smelled—as if parts of it dated back to the days of the Roman Empire.
19 Headed for Trouble Page 9