Jules laughed quietly. “I’m not sure he’d agree. He’s not exactly . . .” He shook his head. “You know what would be really good for Robin? A thirty-day, locked-door rehab program, and some serious, in-depth psychoanalysis.” He picked up his briefcase. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow. We’re still looking for Bordette’s stuff—he moved it all somewhere, probably into self-storage. We’re hoping to find a computer. Who knows? He wrote a fictional blog for Avery. Maybe he had a real one of his own.” He shook Jane’s hand, then Cosmo’s. “Good work out there today, kids.”
And then there she was. Alone with Cosmo—well, except for the lady at the hospital information desk. And except for Deck and Tom and the other members of the Troubleshooters team who were waiting for her in the parking lot, ready to escort her home.
“What are you so afraid of?” Cosmo asked her. “I’m the one who needs to apologize.”
Was he kidding? He’d told her to stay under the tent.
“I lost it back on the beach,” Cosmo said. He was serious. “I . . . I just . . .” He shook his head. “Me flipping out like that was the last thing you needed, with Robin shot, and . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
Jane stared at him. “I’m the one who’s sorry—for scaring you. But, Cos, God, I had to. He called me and he said he was going to kill you. I thought if I could distract him, if I could make him think that he’d shot me . . . I couldn’t just sit there and let him kill you. I couldn’t.”
“I know.” Cosmo sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs. He looked utterly exhausted. And was that drying blood on the sleeves of his ugly plaid shirt?
“You’re not . . . mad?” she asked, sitting down next to him.
He shook his head, no. “Janey, I know you. You thought it would help. And I can’t be mad at you for doing exactly what I would’ve done in your shoes. Although, you know, training? As in, I’ve had a lot, you’ve had none?”
“But . . . I fooled him—Bordette—didn’t I?” she asked.
Cos looked at her, the muscle in his jaw jumping. He didn’t say anything for a long time, but she just waited.
“You fooled me, too—made my heart stop,” he finally told her. “I almost let him shoot me.”
“What?”
“Bordette was pulling a gun. His sidearm. It caught in his holster. He was a half second from firing it anyway, right through the damn thing, right into my head.”
“Oh, my God . . .”
“I actually thought about it. About just letting him do it.”
He was serious. Jane reached for him. “Cosmo . . .”
He held her tightly, too. “God, I stood there, and I thought how hard it was going to be to live the rest of my life without you. I thought about Yasmin losing her husband and children and cursing me for saving her life. And I thought about Murphy’s eyes . . .”
“Oh, Cos . . .” This day had come closer than she’d ever imagined to being a terrible tragedy. She could barely breathe.
“It was just for a second. Less. It passed. I’m not afraid to die, but . . . It’s not going to happen that way. And then . . . on the beach, when you were okay and . . .”
“I am okay,” Jane told him. “I’m okay, and you’re . . .” She looked at his arms, pushing his sleeves back. “You’re hurt.”
“I had this plan,” he said, as if he didn’t hear her, as if he didn’t even notice the gashes and drying blood on his arms, “that after this was all over, and you were safe, I was going to take you to dinner at my mother’s. And if you survived, if you didn’t run screaming out of the house, I was going to ask you to marry me.”
Dear God . . .
“That came out wrong,” he said, pushing her hair back from her face, brushing some smudge of dirt or something from her cheek with his thumb. “It sounds like I’m saying . . .” He paused again. “What I meant is, if I thought that living with me was going to be torture for you, I wasn’t going to ask. See, my mom’s a pretty big part of my life, and . . . I want you, Janey, but I don’t want you to be miserable.”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You were really going to ask me . . . ?” Past tense. He had a plan.
“I’m a SEAL,” he told her. “Our country’s at war, and I could die. God knows it’s happened to better men than me. But it could be me next time—leaving you forever.” He held her gaze. “I never realized before exactly what that meant, what that might feel like. Today was . . . eye-opening.”
“So that’s it?” Jane said. “You have this epiphany, and I don’t even get to meet your mother?”
There were tears in his eyes and the smile he gave her was so sad. “I love you too much.”
“Too much?” she said. “I didn’t think that was possible with something like love.”
“I don’t want you to feel the way I felt today.” He shook his head. “It was just a few minutes, and it was enough for a lifetime.”
“Do you really think it never occurred to me that you do something extremely dangerous for a living?” she asked him. “You really think that’s like some big headline news flash? ‘Cosmo Could Die . . .’? You say you know me, but you don’t know me at all if you think that’s going to scare me away. You love me. Too much—whatever that means,” she told him, her voice shaking. “I love you ferociously. With that going for us, what can’t we handle?”
Cosmo kissed her, and she knew it was going to be all right. “Say that again,” he demanded.
“I love you ferociously,” she told him, and kind of ruined the impact of a word as strong as ferociously by starting to cry. Although he didn’t seem to mind. He actually seemed to like it, maybe because his own eyes were suspiciously moist, too. “Enough to endure whatever comes our way.”
Jane wrapped her arms around him and—
“Excuse me, we’re looking for a Cosmo Richter?”
Cos pulled back and Jane looked up to see two police officers standing in the hospital lobby.
“Oh, shit,” Cosmo said. “Excuse me.” He met Jane’s questioning gaze. “I think I’m about to be arrested for stealing a car.”
“What?” Jane started to laugh. “Are you serious?”
But Tom Paoletti and Decker were suddenly both there. They intercepted the police officers, pulling them out of the lobby, far from Cosmo and Jane.
“Officers, I’m sorry, I can’t go with you,” Cos said as he gazed into Jane’s eyes. “I’ve got other plans for tonight.”
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CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
R obin had had a slew of visitors to his hospital room over the past few days.
Adam came twice, which was awkward and weird.
Janey and Cosmo came every morning and every night.
Harve and Guillermo and Gary all smuggled in bottles of whiskey, bless their hearts.
His dad even flew in with what’s-her-name, his latest wife, although they didn’t stay long.
There had been no sign, however, of Jules.
Robin would’ve at least liked to thank the guy for saving his life.
And then, on day three, the least likely visitor in the entire known universe walked into his room.
Patty Lashane.
Robin had just been silently bemoaning the fact that there was nothing good on TV at two o’clock in the afternoon. ESPN had women’s college lacrosse, which was even less interesting than Rugrats, and why wasn’t there a channel that showed all SpongeBob, all the time?
“How are you, Robin?” Patty asked.
And suddenly scary women carrying big sticks and wearing little plaid skirts seemed fascinating. He somehow managed to smile at her as he reluctantly turned off the TV. “Pretty good,” he said, “considering I was shot. Twice.”
“I know,” she said.
“You, uh, had a pretty harrowing experience there yourself,” Robin said.
“I don’t remember any of it,” Patty told him.
She was wearing a suit. Wide-legged pants with a matching jacket. Nice shoes. She’d gotten her hair cut, too. “You look good,” he said as she sat down in the chair across the room.
“Thank you,” she said. “I have a lunch date.”
“With Wayne?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “No. With Victor Strauss.”
“The director?”
She bristled. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, of course not. You’re like, what? Twenty? And he’s ninety. This is Hollywood. Go for it.”
“He’s not that old,” Patty said.
“What about Wayne?” Robin asked.
“Wayne Ickes?” She laughed as if he’d made a big joke. “He and I are just friends.”
“He helped save my life,” Robin told her. “You should have seen him—total hero material. Everyone’s ducking for cover and he’s right there. . . . Adam, too.” Which really was the surprise of the century. But he didn’t want to talk about Adam. Not with Patty, who knew that he and Adam had . . . God. “Wayne’s brave, he’s nice, and he’s obviously hung up on you.”
She fiddled with her handbag, and he knew the nonchalance was an act. “He’s dating Debbie, the new craft services girl,” she admitted, and when she looked up at him, there was misery in her eyes.
“Ouch,” Robin said.
“He thinks I’m with Victor—you know, with Victor—because he saw the flowers that Victor sent me when I was in the hospital and . . .” She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure Victor only wants what you wanted.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“Except Victor’s not faking it,” Patty said. “He’s definitely not gay.”
“I’m not gay,” Robin protested. “I just . . . happened to have sex once with . . . you know, another man.”
“Is that why you slept with me?” she asked. “So people would think you were straight?”
“I’m not gay,” he said again, unable to keep desperation from his voice. “I was really trashed when I . . . I got a little too into character, and . . . I’m not even sure what happened that night with Adam. I don’t remember too much about it.”
“I got tested for AIDS,” she told him. “I’m negative.”
AIDS. Jesus. “That’s good,” he managed to say. “Look, Patty, I know you’re still mad at me, but—”
“I won’t tell,” she said. “But you owe me. You take my phone calls. You remember my name. I’m going to be a producer myself one of these days, so you’ll read the scripts I send you and—”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
She smiled at him sweetly. “Absolutely.” She stood up. “I have to go. I really came by because I wanted to let you know that I’m not pregnant. You know, so you could stop worrying about it?”
Pregnant? “Whew,” he said.
“You jerk. You didn’t even remember, did you?”
“I’ve been thinking about other things,” Robin admitted. He tried to change the subject. “I wish you’d call Wayne and tell him the truth about you and Victor.”
“It’s too late,” she said.
“It’s never too late,” he told her. “You want me to call him? I’m going to call him, okay?”
Patty shook her head. “Do you remember anything about that night with me?” she asked.
Robin didn’t answer right away. It was funny, actually. He could barely remember the nights he’d spent with Patty and Adam. And yet he remembered every kiss he’d shared with Jules. In great detail.
“Yeah,” he lied now, because he’d already done enough damage. “I remember that it was really great.”
“It was over in about ten seconds,” she informed him. “I didn’t even get to . . . you know. And then you barfed all over my bathroom. On a scale from one to ten, you’re, like, less than zero.”
“Well, wow, thanks so much for dropping by,” he said. “You really cheered me up.”
She lingered by the door. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, too,” Robin told her. “And thanks for . . . you know.” Not rushing right out to give an interview with the National Voice.
“Your calling Wayne doesn’t make us even. You’re still less than a zero,” she said, as she went out the door.
“So that went well.” Jules came into Robin’s room, surprising the hell out of him. He must have been waiting right outside in the hall. He had on his FBI agent clothes—dark suit, white shirt, red tie.
“Ah,” Robin said, managing a smile. How much of that had Jules overheard? “It’s unexpected-visitor day. Lucky me.”
“It’s warm in here.” Jules took off his jacket before he sat down in the chair Patty had recently vacated.
“I was cold. The extra blanket was too heavy on my leg, so . . .”
Jules started rolling up his sleeves. “I came to say good-bye.”
Robin gave up trying to smile. “Are you going back . . . ?”
“To D.C.,” Jules told him. “My work here is done.”
There wasn’t much Robin could say in response to that. At least not with that lump in his throat.
“Did your sister tell you that we found John Bordette’s computer?” Jules asked.
“Yeah.” Robin took a sip from his water cup. “Dude was looney tunes. His keeping a ghoulish journal like that was . . . Yeesh. She said he wrote this really creepy poetry, too.”
“Some of it was pretty good,” Jules said. “Very dark, though.”
And there they sat, just looking at each other.
“Have the doctors talked to you about a therapy program?” Jules finally asked, and Robin nodded. “You’ve got to start slow. Don’t expect to get out of the hospital and then go for a five-mile run the next day.”
Robin nodded. “Adam told me you were shot a few years ago.”
He wasn’t sure what made Jules look so startled for a moment—the fact that he’d brought up Adam, or the fact that he and Adam had obviously discussed him.
But Jules quickly composed himself, even laughed softly. “Gee, I was under the impression that you guys didn’t spend all that much time talking.”
“We talked a lot,” Robin told him. “Mostly about you.”
“Oh, well, that makes everything all right, then.” He blew out a quick burst of air. “Sorry.” He stood up. “I think it’s probably time to go.”
Robin moved wrong, or too fast, or maybe God was just giving him a giant noogie, but he yelped and cursed from the sudden flare of pain.
Jules was instantly at his side. “Are you okay? You need me to get the nurse?”
Robin shook his head. Don’t go. He didn’t say it. He couldn’t say it. He pretended the tears in his eyes were the involuntary kind, the kind that came with intense pain. It was just a side effect, along with the sweat he could feel on his forehead and upper lip. He took a drink from his cup, which helped.
“How are you managing the pain?” Jules asked.
“The head nurse likes me,” Robin said. “I’m doing fine.”
Jules leaned closer. “You smell like whiskey.”
“Yeah,” Robin said. At this proximity, he could smell Jules’ cologne. He always smelled so good. And his eyes were so brown. “And then there are my very considerate friends.”
“So much for my hope of you coming out of the hospital sober.” Jules was really upset. “God damn it, Robin—”
“Hey, come on . . .” Robin moved wrong and ended up zinging himself again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck . . .”
When he opened his eyes, Jules was taking the lid off his water cup. He sniffed it, then took it into the bathroom and poured the contents down the sink.
“I realize how futile this is,” he said as he brought the cup back into the room. “You’ll just refill when I’m gone.”
“So don’t go,” Robin said, making it a joke.
Jules took it seriously. “And wait around for the next time you get so drunk that you want to experiment again? No, thank you. I’
m going home.” He poured a new cup of water from the pitcher on the counter, and reaffixed the top. “Did you know that Jack and his partner, Scotty, have been together for almost fifty years?”
Whoa. “You mean, like, exclusively?”
“I mean, like, committed to each other. Completely. Which includes fidelity. That’s not a purely hetero concept, you know—and they lived faithfully and very happily ever after.”
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