Force of Nature

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “It was worth it!” she shouted back at Ric, and Jules finally looked away. “You’re here, I’m here, we’re all in one piece!”

  “Guys,” Jules said, once again the peacekeeper.

  “What if you’d fallen?” Ric asked. “What if you’d been followed?”

  “What if Foley had figured out you were looking for Peggy Ryan”—Annie was not ready to let him win—“and he killed you, and then he killed the rest of us, because we came to this party with you, and then, because you screwed it up and the FBI no longer had access to Gordon Burns and his despicable plans, this terrorist gets into the country and blows up freaking New York City?”

  Ric was finally silent.

  “It was worth it,” Annie said again, more quietly now. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it when I said you, you know, screwed it up, because you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault that Foley went looking for you.”

  Robin reached for the rum, needing desperately to top off his drink.

  “Burns’s security team is extremely well trained,” Jules pointed out, but Ric didn’t seem convinced. “If they weren’t so highly skilled, we would’ve been able to get onto the property long before this. And here, Robin, why don’t you just finish mine?”

  Jules was holding out his cup, so Robin took it.

  “Foley thought we’d had a…romantic assignation out on the deck.” Annie continued with the story. “So he let us go.”

  “Annie made it look as if she was, um, appeasing my jealousy,” Ric explained. “You know, about her and Chadwick. She was actually very convincing. I thought Foley would get suspicious—more suspicious—if she suddenly did a one-eighty and walked out on me an hour later. That was why the change in the plan.”

  “Good call,” Jules said.

  “Yeah, right,” Ric said, with a glance at Annie.

  “Anyone want to know what I found out?” Robin asked, and they all turned to look at him in surprise. “What? Just because I’m an actor I’m an idiot? My only contribution was when I took off my clothes? Thanks a lot, team.”

  “That was quite a contribution,” Annie said.

  “No one thinks you’re an idiot,” Jules said in a tone that was loaded with subtext that screamed what an idiot.

  Robin took another sip of his drink, making them wait for it. “So what I did, was talk to the serving staff, pretty much all night—every chance I got.”

  No one was impressed. Or maybe they were all just too busy being mad at one another. Although Jules seemed to have forgiven Robin. Except now all he looked was exhausted.

  “The staff,” Robin repeated. “Including the three women who hold full-time, live-in positions at Burns Point, two of whom worked closely with Peggy Ryan?”

  Now he had their attention. In fact, Jules took a small pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket so he could take notes.

  “Okay,” Robin said. “There’s three of ’em, right? Maria, Terese, and Mona. They’re all mature—well over forty, which was the first thing I noticed. I thought it was kind of interesting. Burns is richer than God, and he’s a widower, why not have a staff of buxom twenty-year-olds?”

  “He seems kind of formal—straight-laced—to me,” Annie volunteered.

  “He’s also got a longtime ladyfriend,” Robin said. “Ella Whittier, who lives out at Lakewood Ranch.” When Ella had introduced herself to him, she’d grabbed his ass. And that was before he had his clothes off. “But I don’t think she’s the reason his staff are all prospective members of the Red Hat Society. One of the temps—the girls who were passing around the hors d’oeuvres and cheer—her name was Giselle. She’s done a lot of parties at Burns Point. She told me a few years back she was going to ask about a permanent position, but another of the girls told her not to bother. I asked why not, and she told me that as of six years ago, Burns has only hired older women because, get this—the younger ones had a habit of disappearing. One theory is that Gordie Junior knocked them up, and they were paid off and sent away. The other theory’s not as nice, but probably connected to the fact that, also six years ago, one of the staff—a nineteen-year-old girl—drowned in the family pool. Junior was looked at hard, for that one, too.”

  “I remember that,” Ric said. “It was found to be an accident. I wasn’t on the case, but I followed it. The girl’s family was sure it was foul play—she was an excellent swimmer.”

  Jules nodded. “I know about her, too. But you’re saying there were others?”

  “Maybe it’s just urban legend,” Robin said, “but yeah. At least four. Giselle said she always jumps at the chance to work a party at Burns Point because the money is insane. But she also said that she’s careful to steer clear of Gordie Junior. She kind of said his name like she was saying Jack the Ripper.”

  “I’ll have Yashi and Deb look into any other disappearances that happened at that time,” Jules said. “I’m not sure where this is going to go but…This is good information. Thank you.”

  “And you thought all I could do was strip,” he said. “So, you want the rest of it?”

  Jules smiled at that. “There’s more.” He didn’t quite phrase it as a question, but Robin nodded anyway. “Definitely.”

  “When I was signing autographs,” Robin said, “I asked Mona and Terese how long they’d worked at Burns Point. Turns out Terese has been there three years, but Mona’s new. She told me she was hired to replace someone who had to leave rather suddenly last week. Which had to be Peggy, right? Apparently the excuse for her hasty departure was that an elderly parent broke a hip. Terese, who worked with Peggy, was a little tongue-tied, so I got her chatting. I asked her what it was like working as a live-in for such a long time, and she told me that she had nothing on Maria, who was a lifer.

  “Maria’s been there more than ten years—she’s married to the head gardener. I got a heavy sense that there was a pecking order—and that Mona and Terese both thought that Maria was stuck-up. I told them that they seemed like good friends even though Mona was new, and it was nice that they had each other. And then I asked Terese if she’d been as close to the woman Mona was replacing—if she wanted me to sign something that she could send to her, you know, to cheer her up as she was taking care of her elderly whoever. Terese thought that was a great idea and had me sign a cocktail napkin for—drumroll, please—her dear friend Peggy. She said she’d have to ask Maria for her address. Maria happens to be nearby, Terese calls her over, explains what’s up, and Maria—you met her. She’s a nice-looking older lady. Very calm and serene. But now she looks like she can’t decide whether to shit or go blind. She takes the autograph that I’ve just signed and tells us she’ll send it to Peggy, and she practically runs away. I think at the very least that she’s seen rooms being ‘sanitized’ before. At best, she knows exactly what happened to Peggy Ryan.”

  Silence followed. Ric was the first to speak, shifting in his seat. “Well, damn,” he said. “That’s an amazing amount of useful information.”

  “People talk to me,” Robin said. Of course, there was a great irony there, considering the one person he really wanted to talk to wouldn’t. Jules definitely knew what he was thinking, and he glanced up, briefly meeting Robin’s gaze.

  The limo slowed, and they all peered out the tinted windows—at night it was almost as impossible to see out as in. This thing was built like a fortress. When they’d first climbed in, Ric had been worried about the driver overhearing their conversation. But with the privacy shield up and locked into place, they could set off a small bomb back here, and Sean-the-driver would never know.

  There was a reason, after all, why mob bosses did so much of their illegal business in the backs of limousines.

  As Robin watched, they took the left turn onto Ric’s street.

  “Tomorrow night,” Ric said. “I’ve got a meeting with Gordie Junior at eleven P.M.” He looked at Annie. “I don’t want you anywhere near that.”

  “You could give her a black eye,” Robin suggested. “And after you left
for your meeting, she could come running to me, over at my hotel.”

  Ric gave him such a look of disbelief, Robin laughed. “No violence,” he explained. “We do it with makeup.”

  Annie shook her head. “I don’t think I could—”

  “I can,” Robin said. “I started in indie films, remember? I know how to do FX makeup—the simple stuff, anyway. A black eye’s easy.”

  “How would that work?” Jules asked as the limo pulled to a stop. “Without you coming over here to help her with the makeup?”

  Good point. Hmm. “You wear a hoodie,” Robin told Annie. “And sunglasses. And you keep your head down and come straight to my room. Women don’t advertise domestic abuse—they try to hide it. You can smudge some shadow around your eye in case someone’s paying close attention. Once you’re in my room, I’ll help you. We’ll make it look like you’ve got a bruise that you’re trying to cover with makeup. That’s a total piece of cake.”

  Ric glanced at Annie. “Okay,” he said. “I guess that’s a plan.”

  It wasn’t enough of a plan for Annie, who asked Jules, “You’re going to make sure that Ric is safe when he meets Junior tomorrow night, right?”

  Jules nodded. “We’ll have a surveillance van nearby. I’ll be in touch before that,” he told Ric.

  Ric opened the door and helped Annie out. “Tomorrow, then,” he said, and the door closed behind them with a solid-sounding thunk.

  Jules glanced at Robin.

  Yeah, he’d noticed, too. They were alone.

  “So,” Robin said. “Where to?”

  “Better take me to my hotel,” Jules told him. “It’s too easy to tail a limo. I’ll call for a ride to get me over to HQ.” But then he cleared his throat. “I don’t really have to go right in anyway. I mean, all I’m doing is waiting for someone to call me back.”

  Jules’s hotel was over near the harbor. Back near Burns Point. Robin pressed the intercom that connected him to the driver. “Take us north again, Sean,” he said, “to the Sarasotan Hotel,” and the limo pulled away from the curb.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking before,” Jules apologized. “You could’ve dropped me before Ric and Annie.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Robin reassured him. “Besides, you know, this way I get to have a couple of seconds of crazy hope that what you really want is for me to come with you, you know, up to your room and…”

  Jules was just sitting there, looking at him.

  “Holy shit,” Robin said. “You’re inviting me to your room.”

  It was funny, actually. Jules could’ve imagined a dozen different responses from Robin to the news that, yes, Jules was actually inviting him back to his hotel room.

  It was a mistake, there was no doubt about it. This was going to come back and bite Jules on the ass in more ways than he could imagine—he just knew it. But he was done. He’d had it. He was only human—he could only take so much before he broke.

  And tonight, he’d broken.

  But while he could’ve imagined Robin hitting him with another of those full-body-slam kisses that they’d shared just yesterday, Jules never would’ve thought the man would just sit there, staring back at him in stunned, wide-eyed silence.

  Robin finally spoke. “Okay, so now I’m terrified. I’m afraid if I move, or even say anything at all, you’re going to change your mind or…decide I’m…not worth it.”

  Jules reached for him, which was also kind of funny, because up to this point, Robin had been the pursuer. Jules had imagined giving in, saying yes, and being swept away completely.

  Powerless. Helpless. Totally out of control.

  Instead, he touched Robin’s hair, Robin’s face, brushed his thumb across the softness of Robin’s lips, felt Robin’s breath quicken, and watched his beautiful eyes darken with desire. Instead of being kissed, Jules kissed Robin—gently, slowly.

  Thoroughly.

  “You taste like rum,” Jules said, pulling back to look at him.

  “I’m sorry.” Robin hadn’t been kidding. He was seriously terrified, his vulnerability all over his face. “I know you don’t like—”

  “Shh. You also taste like you, and that I like.” Jules kissed him again. Harder, deeper, until the softness of Robin’s mouth turned demanding, too.

  “God, Jules—” This time it was Robin who pulled back. He was breathing hard. They both were. “This doesn’t mean we don’t have to talk, because we still have to talk, okay?”

  Jules laughed. “What do you think? That this is just a fast fuck in the back of a limo?”

  “I don’t know,” Robin admitted, but then realized what Jules said. “Jesus, you’re serious—right now? Right…?”

  Jules looked at him. God knows he’d waited long enough. “Six months?” he asked Robin.

  Who nodded and moved first, leaping into action, reaching up to turn on the radio that was built into the ceiling, cranking the volume. It was surreal. It must’ve been tuned to the local oldies station, because “Hooked on a Feeling” pounded as both of their pairs of shoes went flying.

  It wasn’t the Blue Swede version, thank you, God. It must’ve been an earlier recording. Jules had never particularly liked the song, but as Robin grabbed him and kissed him again, it rocketed into his top ten.

  Damn, as Robin helped him out of his jacket and unfastened his belt, it was his new all-time favorite song.

  Robin had his own clothes off in record time, probably from having to do quick costume changes backstage when he did live theater. Socks, pants, shirt. Those blue boxers that were, indeed, silk, and as soft to the touch as they’d looked back in Gordon Burns’s kitchen.

  “Hooked on a Feeling” segued into the Beatles—“That Boy”—which so wasn’t the song Jules would have chosen for this moment with this man who was going to trash his heart. That boy isn’t good for you… Shut up, John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Jules closed his eyes, not needing their warning, as he kissed Robin again.

  “I love this song,” Robin murmured, in between those long, slow, soft kisses. “It’s so romantic, don’t you think?” He lifted his head and sang directly to Jules. “This boy would be happy just to love you…”

  Jules had to laugh. “You can sing, too, huh?”

  “And play the piano,” Robin said. “But not like Teo Alvarado.”

  “Oh, well,” Jules said, “then forget it. Let’s call the whole thing off.”

  “Too late.” Robin laughed as he helped him with his pants, which really wasn’t very helpful at all, at least as far as taking them off went.

  There must’ve been condoms in a compartment right in the limo’s door. Robin covered them both as “That Boy” melted into “Kiss Him Goodbye”—again not another song that Jules would have picked for this particular occasion’s soundtrack.

  And then the music didn’t matter, because they were finally skin to skin, kissing, touching…

  Loving.

  Sweet God, it felt so good…

  “I love your smile,” Robin breathed, kissing the corner of Jules’s mouth.

  Jules kissed him back, afraid to speak, afraid of what he might accidentally say.

  But it was Robin from whom the truth leaked, his voice a rough whisper in Jules’s ear, mere seconds before he found his release. “God, I love you. You know that, right?”

  His words took Jules, hard, right over the edge.

  Ric and Annie came through the office door fighting.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so mad,” Ric told her.

  Annie bent down to greet Pierre. “Hello, my good dog. What a good dog. It’s so nice to see someone who’s not a total asshole.” She looked up at Ric. “You really can’t figure it out, can you?”

  “No. I can’t,” Ric’s voice was loaded with frustration. “Hello. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “You said nothing to me.” Annie lit into him. “Nothing at all, when I kicked ass at the shooting range.”

  “Yo, guys,” Martell said, waving from Annie’
s desk. “I’m sitting right here.”

  But Annie kept on going, speaking right over him. “But now, when I put on a dress and makeup, now you want to screw me, is that how it works?” She grabbed Pierre’s leash from its hook by the door. “Don’t bother answering that—I have to walk my dog.”

  “He’s cool,” Martell said. “I took him out when I got here, ’bout ten minutes ago.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Ric asked Annie, who put Pierre’s leash back. Martell may have been invisible, but apparently he wasn’t inaudible. “I have been working my ass off to keep my distance from you, right from the second that you walked into my office two weeks ago. And that was despite my thinking that you were still grieving from the loss of your significant other!”

  “Oh, good.” Annie put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Let’s bring the fact that you thought I was gay into this, shall we?”

  “Jesus God!” Ric grabbed his forehead.

  “Guys.” Martell stood up. “Are you sure you want to be doing this while I’m here?”

  They both turned to him in unison, heavy on the extra fury. “Yes!”

  Annie kept going. “Did you believe Bruce because I’m ugly or because I’m fat?”

  Oh, no. No, no, no. That was not a question that could be answered, not even with a flat-out denial. Ric would have to say…

  “God damn it, Annie!”

  That worked. Sort of.

  “Or maybe it’s because I’m smart and strong,” Annie said. “Because I’m independent. What kind of society do we live in, that strong, independent women are automatically assumed to be lesbians—that weakness, indecisiveness, flightiness, vanity, and—yes!—stupidity! Stupidity is actually encouraged among young women and girls, to make themselves more attractive to men!”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” Ric told her.

  “Yeah,” Annie said, “but the fact is that you didn’t really want to have sex with me until I put on some stupid dress and made myself look like—”

  “I have wanted to have sex with you,” Ric bellowed so loudly that it was likely the folks out on the interstate could hear him, “since you had that stupid birthday party at the bowling alley!”