Troubleshooters 09 Hot Target

by Suzanne Brockmann

  The tension in the room was thick. Cosmo was hovering nearby, as was Robin.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that Robin was merely hovering near the liquor cabinet.

  Jules came and sat down across from Jane. He looked tired, but he managed a smile. “Let’s go over that phone call one more time.”

  “I’d rather talk about this woman who is going to pretend to be me,” Jane told him.

  “She’s a trained FBI agent,” Cosmo said.

  “Which will do her a hell of a lot of good if, as you’ve pointed out, this guy takes a . . . what did you call it? A head shot,” Jane said sharply. The phrase meant something very different in her business. “No one dies.” She looked back at Jules. “I need you to promise me that—”

  “I can’t,” he told her, his elegant lips set in a grim line. “I’m not going to lie to you. But you also need to know that forensics has determined that the bullet that struck Angelina in her head was most probably a lucky—or unlucky—hit. The shooter fired six rounds total, and the first round entered her right shoulder. It was only after she was down, on the ground, that a bullet entered the back of her head.”

  Oh, God. “How do you know?” Jane asked.

  “Forensics is a science, Janey,” Cosmo told her. “It’s math and physics. When you know several of the variables, like where the shooter was positioned and the point and angle of where the projectile entered the victim’s body, you can figure out how and where the victim was sitting or standing when she was shot.”

  “In Angelina’s case,” Jules added, “we also know that when that first shot was fired she was walking down the driveway to her car—facing the shooter. Our guy is good, but no way could he have hit her in the back of the head.”

  “If that’s the case, then give me a bulletproof vest—” Jane started, but Cosmo cut her off.

  “Not an option.”

  She didn’t look at him. “I’m talking to Jules.”

  “It’s not an option, Jane,” Jules agreed. “In some ways, this is even worse news. It means that whoever this guy is, he’s probably good enough to know not to take intentional shots to the head—it’s a smaller target, easier to miss. He’s also smart enough to know that even if you didn’t come to us with the news that he’s taken Patty, he’s giving you enough time to scrounge up a vest or a flak jacket. He’s got something else in mind, and we’re not going to take a chance risking your life.”

  “But you’ll risk someone else’s,” she pointed out.

  “A professional agent,” Cosmo said, “who is trained to handle this type of situation.”

  “What’s her name?” Jane asked.

  “Janey,” Robin said, “why don’t you just answer Jules’ questions? What does her name have to do with—”

  Jane was on the verge of losing it. “Because if she’s going to die for me, I should at least know her name!”

  Jules sat forward and took her hands in his. “Jane. I know what you’re thinking. But you have to know that if you’d tried to deal with this on your own, both you and Patty would’ve ended up dead.”

  “So now just Patty’s going to die.” Jane hated this. “Patty and some woman I’ve never even met.”

  “When I find out the agent’s name, I’ll let you know,” he told her. “I’ll make sure you’re in the loop—every step of the way.”

  Jules Cassidy had very nice eyes. They were a warm shade of dark brown, with long lashes. Nicer still was the kindness she could see in them, the sincerity in his almost too-handsome face.

  What was wrong with her brother? What devil inside of him had made him go home with Adam instead of Jules?

  Who, it was also very obvious, had been badly hurt by that.

  Jane had seen it so many times before. Hurricane Robin swept in, crashed around, and destroyed all potential for happiness.

  Gay, straight, bi, she loved her brother, but God, he was a screwup.

  “Right now we don’t have a definite plan,” Jules admitted. “We need to wait until this guy calls you again, see what his demands are, where exactly he wants you to go. Meanwhile, we’ll be using every resource available to find Patty—everything from state-of-the-art satellite technology to Mr. Mysterious over there”—he gestured to Cosmo—“and his amazing ability to walk through locked doors.”

  Cosmo. Who loved her.

  He was standing on the other side of the room, as if he didn’t want to crowd her, or impose, or . . .

  “See if you can’t remember more of the exact conversation,” Jules urged her. “When your phone rang and you saw it was Patty’s cell number . . .” he prompted.

  “I answered by saying, ‘Thank God, you’re safe,’ ” Jane told him. “And this man laughed and said, ‘Oh, I’m keeping Patty nice and safe.’ ”

  As her voice wobbled, Cosmo shifted slightly. I’m right here.

  She cleared her throat. “I said, ‘Who is this?’ He said, ‘Your worst nightmare,’ and I said, ‘Robin?’ because I thought maybe he was, you know, messing around with me.”

  It was such clichéd dialogue from a B-grade thriller, she’d actually thought . . .

  Over on the other sofa, Robin covered his eyes with his hand. Jules glanced at him. “And he said . . . ?”

  This was where it got a little blurry. “He laughed,” Jane said, closing her eyes to concentrate, “and said, ‘I’ve got Patty and’ something like, ‘if you don’t want me to do to her what I did to Angelina’—” She had to stop again. Take a breath. Look at Cosmo, who nodded encouragement. “—you’ll do exactly what I say. You tell anyone that I called—’ and that was where I interrupted him. I said something like, ‘But the FBI’s already been notified that she’s missing.’ Even though we hadn’t called you yet,” she told Jules. “I knew it was the next step.”

  “Do you think she’s already dead?” Robin interrupted.

  “No,” Jules answered him. “His goal is probably to lure Jane to a place where he can kill her and escape. He’s got to figure that in order to get Jane to play his game, he’ll need to offer something we call proof of life—a chance to speak to Patty on the phone, for example. A real conversation, not just a recording of her voice.”

  “He said, ‘If you tell anyone about this phone call, she’s dead,’ ” Jane said. “And then he said something about calling back later tonight with instructions.”

  “He used that word? Tonight?” Jules asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jane admitted. “He may have just said later.”

  Jules looked over toward the other FBI agents, who nodded. “Well, either way, we’re ready for him to call. When he does, we’re going to want you to keep him talking. Whatever he asks, tell him you’re going to have trouble getting away from your security team. He’s probably going to give you a deadline. He’ll try to push it so we have as little time as possible to prepare.” Jules’ cell phone rang. “Excuse me.”

  He stood up as he took the call, moving away from the sofa.

  Robin stood, too, crossing to the bar, where he poured himself another drink. Just what he needed.

  “You did the right thing.” Cosmo sat down next to her on the sofa. Closer but not too close. “Asking for help with this, instead of doing something crazy. I wanted to . . .” He cleared his throat. “I want to make sure you know how much that means to me.”

  Jane couldn’t hold his gaze. Please, God, don’t let her start to cry again. It seemed as if all she’d done these past few days was cry.

  Angelina, however, would never cry again.

  Cosmo was silent for a good long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I lost a really good friend a few years ago,” he told her. “Frank O’Leary, who was with me when . . .”

  “You saved Yasmin’s life,” she finished for him.

  He nodded. “He was killed a few years after that. In a terrorist attack—when a gunman opened fire in a hotel lobby in Kazbekistan.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “It won’t always
feel like this,” he said. “So raw.”

  “It will for Murphy.” She clenched her teeth to hold back her tears. “Oh, Cos, all I keep thinking is I shouldn’t have tried for so much advance publicity for American Hero. I should have just quietly made it and released it, and people like Tim Ebersole and the Freedom Network and the psycho who killed Angelina might not have even noticed it.”

  He thought about that for several moments. “But was that really what you wanted,” he finally asked. “To make a movie that no one noticed?”

  “No, but . . . then I keep thinking I should just give in. Quit. No movie is worth dying for,” she told him.

  “You’re wrong.” He spoke with such conviction, no hesitation at all. “I’ve been to countries where people aren’t allowed to make movies, where free speech will get you thrown in jail or even killed. Every American should have a TDY—temporary duty—in one of those places. It’s life-changing, Janey. Too many people take freedom for granted—you should see what it’s like to live without it. You come home, and you think Thank God, because you live in a country where you have freedom from persecution, freedom from oppression and fear, freedom of religion. . . .” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Freedom of speech. Freedom to disagree. Have you ever heard that expression, I will fight to the death to protect your right to disagree with me?”

  Jane nodded.

  “Frank did. He fought to the death. Frank and Matt and Scott and Jeremy and—” Cosmo shook his head. “They made the ultimate sacrifice for our country, and there are others, just like them, making sacrifices every single day. You can’t imagine what it’s like to be out there, at risk, to have friends die, and then come home and see this”—he struggled to find the words—“to see people—Americans—trying to silence the voices of other Americans, just because they disagree. People calling other people unpatriotic because they don’t share the same opinions. Frank didn’t die for that, he died for democracy—for a country ruled by all the people, where all voices, even unpopular ones, have the right to be heard. Even the Freedom Network has the right to spout their Nazi bullshit as long as they don’t threaten or take away someone else’s rights when they do it. Because telling someone to shut up—that’s un-American. That dishonors my fallen brothers.

  “We’re at war,” Cosmo told her. “American servicemen and -women are out there, in the thick of it, fighting for freedom. We’re counting on people like you to hold the line here at home. Oppression starts when we back down from a threat, when we let ourselves be bullied and frightened into silence.”

  He was quiet for several moments, then he said, “Frankie O’Leary’s birthday was the day after mine. He was born in this little town in Louisiana. He had this really thick accent—Cajun, I think. And even though he could tone it down when he wanted to, there was this one officer—regular Navy—who really chaffed his . . . Well, Frank didn’t think too highly of him, and whenever Admiral Tucker was around, he always cranked the accent to eleven. Drove Tucker nuts.” Cosmo laughed softly, remembering. “Frankie really loved Elvis Presley—his gospel years—and he liked to water-ski. He was something out there, you should have seen him. His girlfriend’s name was Rosie, and his last words, his last thoughts were of her—of how much he loved her.”

  It took him a moment, but Cosmo finally cleared his throat and went on. “I call her a couple times a year and we talk about him. On his birthday, on Memorial Day, and later in the summer, in August, too. He was really into astronomy, and he loved this one meteor shower, you know, in early August—Perseid, I think it’s called. I think it might’ve been around the anniversary of the first time he asked Rosie out. He was really into romancing her, you know? He treated her really nicely.”

  Jane gave in to her tears.

  “We honor his memory the other 362 days of the year by doing him proud,” Cosmo continued after another of his long pauses. “By fighting on. By holding the line. By living large and remembering that freedom doesn’t come for free. That’s what you’re going to have to do for Angelina, Janey. I know she didn’t sign on to fight this war, but the man who killed her is as much of a terrorist as the man who killed Frank, and we cannot let the terrorists win.”

  “What about Patty?” Jane had to ask. “And this FBI agent, this woman?”

  “Trust Jules and his team to do their jobs,” Cosmo told her. “Do what they say, Jane. Will you promise me that you’ll do exactly what they say? No foolish risks, no craziness, no heroics?”

  Fear made her heart beat harder. “Where are you going?” Talk about no craziness, no heroics . . .

  “I’m going to go find this guy before he hurts anyone else.” He kissed her so sweetly, his mouth so gentle, his hand warm against her cheek. But he only held it there briefly. “I’m sorry I was so public when I said . . . what I said.”

  I love you.

  Oh, God.

  “Cos,” Jane said. “About that . . . We need to talk.”

  We need to talk were not the four little words Cosmo had been hoping to hear Jane say.

  At least not right now, in response to his declaration of love.

  But okay. He glanced over at Robin and Jules. They were on the other side of the room—Jules still on the phone, and Robin getting yet another drink. Cosmo would have preferred complete privacy, but . . . Here they were. Needing to talk.

  Jane had tears in her eyes, which made his chest hurt.

  “I know I’m not very good at this,” he said quietly. “I’ve made mistakes in the past by not saying anything at all, and now I guess I’ve gone and said too much, too soon.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

  Oh, and weren’t those the most damning words in a state-of-the-relationship conversation?

  “Maybe,” Cosmo said, “we shouldn’t be talking about this right now. Maybe, when this is over, when we have Patty back, and this guy is—” He exhaled hard. “Maybe, if we have time to take things slowly, maybe then . . .”

  Maybe he could make her fall in love with him, too.

  “I just . . . hate the thought of disappointing you,” she told him. “And I know that’s all I’ve been doing.”

  What? Cosmo struggled to understand. “Janey, I’m not . . . Well, yeah, I’ve been a little disappointed that you won’t talk to me about . . .” He leaned forward, took her hands. “Listen, you wouldn’t be human if dealing with any of this came easily. I wish you trusted me enough to share your fears.” He paused again, wanting desperately to get this right. “I know you feel responsible for everything that’s happened, and I wish you’d talk to me about that. But that’s okay. Because, you know, it works both ways. And if we stay together long enough, well, it’s just a matter of time before I disappoint you, too. No one’s perfect. I’m not looking for perfect. Yeah, you drive me crazy sometimes. But I’ve never been so happy as I am when I’m with you—even when you’re driving me crazy.”

  Her tears fell on their clasped hands. Christ, he didn’t mean to make her cry. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. This was where, in the past, he would have simply surrendered.

  But not this time. This time he was going to stay and fight.

  “After we catch this guy,” he told her, “and things get back to normal—”

  She lifted her head. “I cry too much. I try not to but . . . And I have an awful temper. I get angry and I say things, terrible things, that I don’t mean. I’m awful that way, like an overgrown four-year-old. I’m not at all funny or fun to be with—that’s just an act. I’m . . . I’m . . . grim and . . . I’m a giant balloon of self-doubt and I’ve fooled everyone into thinking I’m someone else—”

  “Jane,” he said. “I see you. The real you. Very clearly.”

  “Really?” There was hope in her eyes as she gazed back at him. Hope and all those tears that she was no longer trying to hide from him. “Are you sure? Because I’ve gotten so good at being Mercedes that sometimes the line starts to blur. Sometimes I even fool myself.”<
br />
  Cosmo nodded. “She can be a little . . . intimidating. But you know what I’ve noticed about her?”

  Jane shook her head.

  Cos touched her cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. “She’s really nice. Sweet nice,” he clarified. “As opposed to nun nice.”

  She laughed at that. It was soggy and more like a gulp or a sob than a real laugh, but it was a good sign.

  “I’m hard to live with,” she said.

  “Yeah, and who told you that?” he asked. “Your mother? She’s been wrong before. But, okay, maybe this time she’s right. So what? I’m hard to live with, too. Next issue?”

  She laughed again. “It’s not that simple.”