Force of Nature

by Suzanne Brockmann

  And there she was. Loaded with adrenaline. Laughing and talking with Deb and Yashi. Sparkling with enthusiasm and glowing with pride.

  Jules looked back at Ric, who’d turned, and was making a beeline for the men’s locker room.

  “Good job,” Ric called to Annie before he disappeared.

  It was as if he’d taken a bucket of cold water and thrown it into her face. She tried to hide her disappointment, but her smile lost about half of its wattage.

  “That was really impressive,” Jules told her, told Deb, too.

  “It was fun,” Annie said. “I bet it’s much scarier with real bullets, though.”

  Deb handed Jules the printout that detailed their score. “She outshot me, almost two to one.”

  “She outscored everyone but Jules,” Yashi observed.

  “Because Deb was telling me what to do,” Annie pointed out, glancing over at the door through which Ric had vanished. “If I’d been in there alone, I wouldn’t have scored so high.”

  She’d said that—she scored high—as if it were a bad thing. “So what else are you good at?” Jules asked her.

  Annie crossed her arms. “You mean like Ping-Pong?” she asked. “Tennis, too, although I don’t really like playing. Golf’s fun…softball, pinball, darts, shuffleboard, pool”—she ticked them off on her fingers—“ultimate Frisbee, volleyball, basketball, skimboarding, waterskiing. I’ve never actually tried regular surfing, but windsurfing rocked, although I only did it once. I think it was supposed to humble me, but I used to fly kites on the beach when I was a kid, so I really had a feel for working with the wind instead of against it. I had a blast, but my boyfriend got a concussion when he capsized and the board hit him in the head. Two days later he dumped me.”

  And suddenly it made sense. Annie actually thought Ric had gone off to pout because she’d done so well. Jules wasn’t quite sure what to say, since his interpretation of the motive behind Ric’s vanishing act was far different.

  Yashi filled in the silence. “Your boyfriend was an idiot,” he said. “Personally, I love women who can kick me to the curb.”

  “Speaking of the curb, we should hit the road,” Deb announced.

  “We do need to get going,” Jules agreed. They had to be ready to leave for the party at Burns Point in just a few hours, and there was still a lot to do in preparation. “Let’s meet in the lobby in fifteen.”

  Still, he caught Annie’s arm, stopping her before she followed Deb toward the women’s locker room. “Yo, Annie Oakley.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t think Ric’s problem has anything to do with your skill level.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she obviously lied. “It’s not important, either way.”

  “You should maybe talk to him,” Jules said. “I don’t think either of you are being honest about—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said again. “What matters is that you’re going to keep him as safe as possible.”

  “I will,” Jules promised.

  “Good,” she said. “So what am I wearing tonight? Pasties and a G-string?”

  Jules laughed. “This time I gave you a choice.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Jules brought backup to their meeting, in the form of his colleague Ric Alvarado.

  “How’s your father?” Robin asked to cover his disappointment as he closed his hotel-suite door behind them.

  “He’s doing all right,” Ric said. “He’s had to cancel some performances, and he’s not happy about that, but he knows it could’ve been a lot worse.”

  Robin was as aware as hell of Jules, who’d traded in his suit and tie for a pair of jeans and a snugly fitting T-shirt that said LIFE IS GOOD. It was hard not to think about the last time Jules was up here in his suite, when they’d stood right over there…

  Yeah.

  Part of what Ric was saying broke through his distraction. “Performances?” Robin repeated.

  “My father’s a jazz pianist,” Ric said.

  “Teo Alvarado,” Jules told him.

  “No way.” Robin couldn’t believe it. “I was just talking to my sister on the phone, and she told me to try to find him—you know, to hear him play—while I’m here in Sarasota. She adores his stuff. She went on and on about him.”

  Actually, what Jane had really gone on and on about was Riptide. She’d finally gone to see a sneak preview of the movie, and she’d loved it. Robin’s performance as a Navy SEAL nicknamed Crash was her new favorite of all of his roles—including the ones he’d had in the films she herself had written and produced.

  It made sense that Jane had liked the character, because Robin had been subtly channeling his brother-in-law as he’d played this part. Like Janey’s husband, Cosmo, Crash had a quiet stillness to him, a deep and faithful belief in truth and justice that merged tightly with both honor and integrity. After years of hanging with Cos, Robin had it down pretty accurately.

  No doubt about it, this was his new personal favorite role, too. Playing Crash had made him feel strong and clean. Heroic.

  A lot like he imagined Jules felt, just living his exemplary life.

  Jane hadn’t said anything about the fight they’d had before Robin had left to make the rounds of festivals, so he hadn’t brought it up, either. Little Billy was doing fine, Cosmo was still overseas with his SEAL team, but he was in a place where he could e-mail her daily, so she was a little less anxious.

  She did question him about Dolphina—apparently all the tabloids were running photos of the two of them together.

  “She’s just a friend,” Robin had told his sister. “Really. She, um, knows.”

  That had surprised Jane. That, and the bomb he’d oh-so-casually dropped right after that—telling her that Jules Cassidy was here in town.

  Her response had surprised him in return. “Are you self-destructing?” Jane had asked. “Because right now, here in Hollywood? I wasn’t going to say anything, because I was afraid it might jinx you, but the buzz—about you, dumb-ass—is incredible. Maybe you should come home, because you need to experience it to really understand what’s happening.”

  “I’m not self-destructing,” Robin protested. “I’m being careful.” And yeah, okay, maybe that was a lie. But he was going to start being more careful—at least for a little while longer.

  “Robbie, people are comparing your acting to Marlon Brando and James Dean,” Jane told him. “If you start something with Jules, something that you can’t finish because you still want that recognition, that kind of a career…” She sighed. “You’re going to hurt him more than you already have. And then, when you’re finally ready to be honest about what you really want, he’s going to be gone. You’ll never get him back.”

  “Yeah, whoops, someone’s at the door—I gotta go,” Robin had lied, because he’d been too much of a coward to admit that he finally did know what he really wanted.

  He wanted it all.

  And Robin didn’t want to tell his sister that. He didn’t want to hear a myriad of reasons why he could never make it work, that it was impossible, that no one could ever, really, have everything they wanted. He didn’t want to hear that there had to be sacrifice to appease the gods, there had to be sorrow and loss to truly appreciate true joy and happiness…

  Bullshit, Janey.

  He could have it all.

  Right now Ric was talking about his father’s prognosis and progress as he scanned the room with some kind of electronic device. If that was meant to freak Robin out, well, mission accomplished, bro. Jesus, did they really think someone had bugged his room? And, if someone had, they’d gotten an earful this morning when Robin had taken Janey’s call.

  Jules wandered over to the sliding-glass windows that lined one entire wall of the suite. The last time he was up here, the drapes had been closed. As Jules gazed past the railing of the balcony and out at the breathtaking view of the harbor, hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans, Robin took it in, too. The water and sky were shades of h
eavenly brilliance. The green of the palm trees and the white of the sand were equally crisp and clear. It was perfection—as if life here were in high-def. Funny how, with all the hours he’d spent in this suite, he hadn’t noticed that before.

  Of course, maybe the fact that Jules was part of the picture today had something to do with it.

  “The good news is, he’s going to be okay,” Ric said, shutting off the device. “Room’s clear.” He looked at Robin and explained: “No listening devices.”

  “I figured that’s what you were doing. It never occurred to me that—”

  “I know.” Jules turned to face him. His outfit may have been casual, but the expression on his face was all business. “Which is why we need to talk about Gordon Burns and exactly what we’re doing here. You better sit down, this could take a while.”

  Martell knew that Robin Chadwick was part of tonight’s big charade. It was, after all, Chadwick who’d gotten Jules, Ric, and Annie the invite out to Burns Point.

  But it wasn’t until the limo pulled up out front and the movie star walked into Ric’s office that the craziness of the situation smacked Martell in the face.

  He’d hung with Annie nearly all afternoon, which hadn’t been all that much fun since, after a brief and closemouthed trip to the CVS, she’d gone up to her room with her dog-thing and shut the door. Martell had actually finished the Waverly brief on his laptop in Ric’s office, despite the fact that sheer boredom made his eyes roll back in his head. He’d fallen asleep at least three times, midsentence, but it was finally done.

  But things started heating when Mr. Famous strutted in. He was talking as he entered, Ric right behind him.

  “I’m an actor,” Hollywood was saying. “You don’t have to tell me how to do it.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Ric said. “I don’t want you to fuck with her.” He looked at Martell. “Where is she?”

  She being Annie…“She’s upstairs.”

  “You mean, literally?” Robin asked, clearly messing with Ric’s head. “Because that would be dramatic. Getting caught in flagrante in some closet, during the party? I like it.”

  “I mean at all,” Ric told him, heavy on the grim.

  “Seriously,” Cassidy, the little FBI dude, interjected as he closed the door behind them. “It’s important that we don’t do anything that might offend Gordon Burns. We’re going to be guests in his house. Plus there’s no guarantee that I’ll find what I’m looking for, which means I’ll probably have to go back.”

  “I find that kind of funny—the idea that we’ve got to be careful not to offend someone who’s smuggling terrorists into the country,” Robin mused. “Like that’s not offensive. I mean, Jesus.” He held out his hand to Martell. “Hi, I’m Robin. I assume you’re supposed to be here.”

  “Martell’s a friend,” Ric told the movie star. “Former police. He’ll be dropping by your hotel suite to check on Annie, frequently, until you leave on Sunday.”

  Apparently Ric and Jules hadn’t managed to convince Mr. Big Stuff to wiedersehen the filmfest any earlier. No wonder Ric was pissed.

  But Hollywood’s handshake was firm, and his eyes were the same startling blue as his shirt. Martell had always assumed his eye color was digitally enhanced on screen, or at least the result of special contact lenses.

  Apparently not.

  “Nice to meet you,” Chadwick said, and damn if he didn’t really mean it, too. The man was the best kind of player—or worst, depending upon one’s point of view. His sincerity wasn’t just an act. He meant what he said at the moment that he said it.

  Martell knew because, as the saying went, game recognized game.

  And Ric was putting Annie not just in his care but in his freaking hotel suite for three days and two nights…?

  The fool in question ran upstairs to change, stopping briefly to knock on Annie’s door. “We’re leaving in ten,” Martell heard Ric call to her before he went into his room and closed the door with a bang.

  “I’ll be out in a sec.” FBI exited the room, too, taking the garment bag he’d left in the closet earlier, heading into the office bathroom.

  Which left Joe Famous wandering around the room, stopping to look at Ric’s framed diplomas and various awards, as Martell packed up his computer. “Wow, Ric went to Dartmouth.”

  “May I, uh, offer you some advice?” Martell asked.

  Robin turned toward him. “If it’s to tell me to return to California after the party tonight—”

  “It’s not.”

  “Then yeah,” Robin said. “Offer away.”

  Okay, so how to say this tactfully? “You’re going to be spending a lot of time with Annie,” Martell said, “over the next few days.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “You may not think so now,” Martell told him, “but you’re going to find yourself attracted to her. She’s, um…special, you know? But she’s Ric’s. She may not know it, and Ric may not even know it, but she is. So, you keep that in mind, aight? And you keep your hands off.”

  “I will,” Robin promised, a picture of somber integrity. Of course, he wasn’t just a player, he was also an actor—a professional liar—which made his promises mean absolutely nothing.

  “I’m serious,” Martell said as Ric came back downstairs, tying his tie. Apparently only potential Oscar nominees could attend a party at Burns Point without a jacket and tie, because FBI came out of the men’s suited up, too. But what a suit. It was Armani, clearly from the A-list side of the man’s closet. Dude looked sharp.

  “Serious about what?” Ric asked, but then immediately forgot what he’d been asking about. He apparently even forgot he had a mouth, because he left it dangling open as Annie came downstairs, her dog-thing in her arms.

  She looked amazing. She’d gone with the black dress—Martell’s recommendation. It was classy, yet the skirt was short enough to show off her shapely legs, its neckline low enough to give just a hint of cleavage.

  But it was her hair and makeup that was making Ric look as if he were going to faint from the shock. Apparently that was what she’d been doing all that time, locked away in her room.

  Her golden-brown curls were piled on top of her head, the style simple yet, again, pure class.

  And the makeup didn’t necessarily make her look prettier—she was pretty enough to start with. But with her eyes shadowed, her lashes dark with mascara, her lips outlined, and her cheeks accented with whatever shit that was that women wore on their faces, she’d made herself look sophisticated. Elegant.

  Like the kind of woman even a movie star might try extra hard to get with.

  “You look great.” Robin, naturally, was the first to find his voice as she crouched to put Pierre onto the floor. The dog had caught a whiff of Jules and needed to rush over to greet him.

  “I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Annie told Robin, glancing at Ric, who, fool that he was, had turned away.

  As if he were afraid that if he stared at her for too long, he might go blind.

  As the silence stretched on, it became clear that none of the geniuses in the room knew quite how to respond to I didn’t want to embarrass you.

  Jules was kneeling next to the dog-thing, looking up at Robin as if it were his call. But Robin couldn’t seem to look away from Jules and Pierre.

  So Martell told Annie what they all were thinking. “Damn, beeyotch. You hot dot-com to start with, fo’ shizzle. But tonight? You’s onion booty, ya know what I’m saying?”

  Annie laughed—mission accomplished—as she looked at him. “Actually, no.”

  “Goodness gracious, madam,” he translated in his best Colin Firth. “You are, for certain, always quite attractive. But tonight, your lovely radiance could make a grown man weep.”

  She sparkled as she laughed. “Well, thank you,” she told him, then looked over at Ric again. This time the fool actually met her gaze, managing to manufacture a smile while he was at it. Go, team.

  “You don’t get to come again,” she a
dded, and it took Martell a second to realize she was talking to him. “To the party?” she clarified.

  “Oh,” he said as Jules gave Pierre one last pat and began pulling what looked like architectural drawings from a cardboard tube. “Yeah, no. Gordon Burns makes me throw up in my mouth, so it’s just as good. I’m on backup tonight—you run into any trouble, you give me a call, I’ll come save the day.” In the meantime, he was heading to the hospital, to visit Teo and figure out who they could sue to get the most media coverage.

  Still, he moved closer to get a look at what was definitely the floor plan of Gordon Burns’s estate.

  “I want everyone to see this,” Jules said. “But it’s really just for Ric and me.” He looked at Ric. “If for some reason I’m unable to slip away—”

  Ric nodded. “It’ll be up to me. Not Annie. Or Robin. Your job is to distract Burns,” he reminded them.

  “The party’s going to be held here.” FBI pointed to the drawing. “There’s a courtyard—an outdoor patio, surrounded on three sides by the main living area. The entire area overlooks the harbor—which makes surveillance tricky but not impossible. We’ve been watching the setup, and from the number of tables, we’re estimating there’ll be around fifty guests.”

  That was a good thing. The bigger the crowd, the easier to slip away and not be missed.

  “There’s a local myth,” Jules told them, “that Burns has his entire place wired with cameras and mics, so he can listen in on everyone who comes to Burns Point. That’s not true, which is a shame, because if he did, we would’ve been able to tap into his system. We’ll need to be discreet while we’re there, but any threat of being overheard or watched will come from the old-fashioned way—Burns’s security guards.”

  “That’s good to know,” Ric said.

  “This is the kitchen, over here.” Jules pointed again at the blueprints. “And this is the servants’ wing.” A hallway led off from the massive kitchen, taking a turn to the right. There were five rooms on either side of the central corridor. Down at the end was a door to a deck, overlooking the back of the garage and a part of the driveway that looked to be a loading area into the kitchen.