Troubleshooters 05 Into The Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  But she turned her back on him—on all of them.

  "I'm going to be really hot in this," she realized. And doubly uncomfortable with her skirt bunched up around her ass.

  "There'll be less of a chance of rope burns," Gilligan said.

  Joan reached behind her, unfastened her skirt, and, zipping the jumpsuit up in the front, squeezed her skirt over her head.

  She tossed it onto a nearby bench and kicked her shoes over there as well as she slipped her arms into the jumpsuit and zipped it the rest of the way up.

  The boots they'd brought for her were a little big, but then again, she was wearing pantyhose instead of socks. Transformation complete.

  And then they were all heading to the cargo net.

  "You ready to try this?" Muldoon asked her.

  "Don't I look ready?" Actually, in this loose-fitting jumpsuit, she probably looked like a camouflaged marshmallow. When they did this with Brooke, she'd have to make sure to get clothes that fit. The camouflage pattern was nice, though— it would make for a good photo.

  But then Joan looked up. And up. And all those little details didn't matter right now.

  Standing next to this thing, she knew this was completely insane. The framework holding the ropes seemed to stretch upward for a long, long way.

  "You want me to hose you down?" Jenk asked helpfully. "To make the scenario more realistic? Because supposedly you just had a nice long swim out into the harbor."

  Was he serious? God, he was.

  "Thanks, but no thanks," Joan said. She tried to sound casual. "Hey, uh, Mike? Is this really safe?"

  "Yeah. Doubly so because you'll be wearing this." Muldoon fastened the harness around her. It went between her legs and up around her waist and around her torso and over her shoulders. It was attached to a blue mountain-climbing rope that went all the way up to some kind of device attached to the top of the frame.

  God damn, this thing was big. She stared up at it, unable to look away. Muldoon really expected her to climb all the way up there? And down the other side... ?

  "So if you do slip—but you won't, I won't let you—the harness'11 catch you. What you need to remember is, if that happens, protect your head. You listening to me, Joan? Look at me, okay?"

  He pulled her chin down so that she was looking into his eyes.

  "You with me?" he asked.

  Huh? Oh. "Yeah."

  "If you slip, protect your head. The harness will keep you from falling far, but you'll swing. You'll just bounce off the ropes, but it's not impossible for you to hit the frame. Which is solid wood. Which you don't want your head to connect with. You got that?"

  Joan nodded.

  He tightened the harness around her waist. "So what do you do if you slip?"

  "Protect my head. I was listening."

  "Good." It was an odd sensation to have him snapping and buckling her in. It was very safe-feeling—not unlike being five years old and bundled up by her mother before she went outside and played in the snow.

  She half expected him to kiss her on the nose when he finished.

  Instead he just smiled. "Don't look so worried. I'm going to be with you every step of the way. And Jenk and Cosmo will be right behind us and beside us. Gillman will be up top, making sure the harness system works. Okay?"

  "Okay." She forced herself to smile.

  "There we go. That's more like it. This is going to be fun."

  Joan laughed. "No, no, no. Fun is getting invited to a dinner party and finding out you're seated next to Colin Firth. Fun is having the First Lady invite you to lunch in Paris. Fun is not climbing four million feet into the air and four million feet back down."

  "To each his own," he said easily. "I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to say to the First Lady. Or Colin Firth."

  "You just ask about their day. Everyone likes to talk about themselves," Joan said. "It's easy."

  "Yeah, well, I happen to think this is easier. As you climb, it's going to feel kind of soft. Springy. The ropes give. And they'll tighten and bounce when Cosmo and Jenk climb onto the rigging, too. Hold on as tightly as you can. And when you take a step, if you feel at all like you're slipping, try to catch the heel of your boot on the rope—it'll make you feel more secure." He turned her to face the ropes. "Start by climbing on."

  "Now?"

  He laughed. "As opposed to next Friday? Yes, now. Don't think about it, Joan. Just do it."

  She did it. Both hands and then her feet. Yikes, it was definitely wiggly underfoot. And her own body weight pulled her backward, gravity tugging her toward the ground. This was going to be much more difficult than climbing a wooden ladder.

  "There you go. Hold on tightly," he ordered. And then the ropes squirmed even more as he climbed on, too.

  And Muldoon really did climb on—right on top of her.

  He surrounded her, his hands and feet on either side of hers, his chest against her back. He was actually touching her, as if they were lovers spooning together.

  "This is how we're going to do it," he said, his voice in her ear. "Me right here with you. All the way up to the top. When you move, I move. If you need to stop and take a break, you can lean back against me. I'll hold on to you and make sure you don't fall."

  He was extremely solid against her back, a very male wall of hard muscles.

  Oh, my.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Fine," she managed. Her heart was already pounding, and she was only a foot or so off the ground. "Except I don't seem to want to let go of these ropes, so climbing's going to be a little difficult."

  "Start with your left foot." His breath was warm against her ear, and he pushed his leg up underneath her left thigh, actually lifting her foot off the ropes.

  She had no choice but to find the next rung in this giant rope ladder.

  "Good. Then your right hand." He helped her with that as well, prying her fingers from the rope and guiding her up a square. "Excellent. Now your right foot. And left hand."

  And there she was.

  Climbing.

  Well, actually, it was more like she was sitting on his lap, and he was climbing, but at least he no longer had to pry her hands from the ropes as they moved.

  "You're doing great," he said into her ear. "Just don't look down."

  Of course she immediately looked down and it was all over. She froze. "Oh, shit." It hadn't taken them long to get way, way off the ground. And yet they were still only halfway to the top.

  "Oops," Muldoon said. "My bad. Sorry. I shouldn't have told you not to look down, because then you're going to look down, right? Human nature."

  "Oh, shit," she said again.

  "Do you have trouble with heights?" he asked. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of people do."

  "I do," Jenk chimed in, hanging like a monkey by only one arm from the net, just slightly above them.

  He was making the entire thing shake, and Joan heard herself squeak with alarm. God, how embarrassing to actually squeak.

  "Go all the way up to the top," Muldoon ordered Jenkins. "Cosmo, too. Get off the net. Let's make this thing as stable as possible."

  Joan closed her eyes as the two other men quickly climbed up the rigging, as the net bounced and shook. But then, thankfully, it stopped.

  "I'm not afraid of heights," she told Muldoon. "At least I didn't think I was. But, oh, God, I guess I am."

  "Take a break, okay?" he told her. "Lean back against me and concentrate on breathing. I've got you." Somehow he managed to put his arm around her waist, to secure her more tightly against him, even as he held on to the ropes. "Is that better?"

  If she didn't know better, if she hadn't already firmly established the fact that they were friends and nothing more than friends, she would have thought he'd told her not to look down on purpose, purely for a chance to get his arms around her.

  God, he had big arms. One of them was wrapped tightly around her so she could feel firsthand just how strong he was. His other arm, she could see. It was
right next to her cheek, muscles standing out as he held them both in place.

  "You're not wearing a harness," she realized, suddenly dizzier than ever. "Oh, God! Oh, Mike! This was a really bad idea. I want to get down. I want us both to go back down to the ground, okay?"

  "Shhh," he said. "Joan, come on, breathe. I'm up here all the time. Remember what I told you? For me, it's no big deal."

  "Yeah, but you're not usually up here with me. I'm a total klutz. I'm going to knock you off of this thing, I know it. In case you haven't noticed, I need to lose about twenty pounds. I'm not some delicate lightweight."

  "Well, actually," he said into her ear, as calmly as if they were having a conversation back on the ground, "I have noticed. Kind of hard not to, considering our physical proximity and, well, you want to know the truth, I don't think you need to lose anything. You feel pretty perfect to me."

  Chapter 5

  Muldoon held on to the ropes as Joan didn't say anything. As she still didn't say anything. As she continued not to say anything.

  Oh, man, he'd never done this before. He'd never had to, never wanted to. And now he knew why. Facing potential rejection like this was no fun.

  Especially when she smelled so damn good and fit so well in his arms. Man, this woman was incredibly sexy and she apparently didn't even know it. Her skin was beautiful, smooth and soft on her cheeks, but crinkling slightly around her eyes. He loved laughter lines on women. From now on it was going to be the first thing he looked for when he checked out a woman. He'd wasted far too much time on far too serious women who wouldn't laugh even if they were dating Adam Sandler. Yeah, he was forever done with women who didn't have a solid sense of humor.

  He was done with women who didn't fill his arms, too. No more bony, half-starving, pencil-thin women who wanted him to escort them to dinner—which was ridiculous because once they got to the restaurant, they barely dented a salad.

  No more blondes, either. He liked hair like Joan's—thick and dark with a hint of red highlights. Chestnut, he thought it was called. Yeah. And he liked brown eyes, too. Just like hers.

  Right now her brown eyes were closed. But then she opened them and glanced back over her shoulder at him. And then, finally, she spoke. "Are you fricking hitting on me, Muldoon, sixty feet off the ground?"

  "Thirty-five feet," he corrected her. "And no," he lied, because she didn't look particularly happy at the idea. "I'm not. I'm ... You said you weren't a lightweight, like there was something wrong with that. And I just thought you should know that a lot of guys don't like women who look like they'll blow away in a strong breeze. A lot of guys like women who actually look like women, and have, like, women's bodies, and well, I'm one of those guys, and I happen to think that you've got, you know, a really fabulous body. So don't go ruining it by losing twenty pounds and turning into a walking skeleton, okay?"

  He'd surprised her. He'd surprised himself as well. Despite his initial lie, he'd never been so completely honest with a woman before—at least not about what turned him on.

  A great smile, laughter lines, lots of curves, and legs just like Joan DaCosta's.

  "Well," she said rather faintly. "Thank you. That's ... the most compelling argument for not skipping dessert that I've heard in a long time."

  She glanced at him again, smiled weakly, then looked away.

  Ah, come on, Joan. Say it. This was where she was supposed to take his incredibly unsubtle cue and invite him to her hotel room to share some of that dessert. And breakfast, too.

  She cleared her throat. Here it came...

  "You're a very nice young man," she said.

  Ah, jeez. That was even worse than being called Junior. He knew from experience that calling someone—or being called—nice promised a relationship filled with exactly zero sex.

  Yes, buried inside of her innocuous-sounding vague words of dubious praise was his answer. The No Sex Tonight buzzer sounded with seeming finality. He wasn't going anywhere near her hotel room any time in the near future. Nice young man was a full one-eighty degrees from steamin' hot stud muffin.

  There was no doubt about it. She thought he was too young for her.

  "But I really do want to get down now," she added.

  "I'm not going to let you fall," Muldoon said for what seemed like the four thousandth time in the past fifteen minutes, working hard not to let his frustration sound in his voice. But he knew that she wasn't really listening, that she didn't really trust him. How could she? He was obviously too young to be trusted.

  "I'm not afraid of me falling," she said. "I'm afraid of you— Hey, you're not listening to me, Michael. Let me try to make this really simple. I'm wearing a harness. I will not hit the ground if I slip. But if I somehow make you slip, and I know that I will, it'll be Splatsville."

  "No, it won't."

  "Oh, yes, it will."

  "No," he said, resisting the urge to shake her. "It won't. You're the one who's not listening to me." Muldoon knew what he had to do. "Will you be okay if I move away from you? I want to show you something, but I won't leave you if it's not okay with you."

  She craned her neck to look at him over her shoulder. "What are you going to do?"

  "Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

  "Yes, but—"

  "Yes is all I need to hear," he interrupted.

  "But—"

  "Shhh. I want you to hold on really tight, because the net's going to bounce. Put your arms all the way through and loop the ropes with your elbows. Yeah, like that. Good. You feel secure?"

  He'd gotten her attention now, that was for sure. Her eyes were wide as she turned to look at him. "What are you going to—

  He didn't wait for her to finish. He went up, fast, almost all the way to the top of the obstacle. He could see her face, looking up at him. Good.

  Okay, Joan. Watch this.

  Muldoon let himself drop. Fast. With his legs free. From Joan's point of view it would look as if he were falling. And maybe, technically, he was. But it was a controlled fall. One that he could stop anytime.

  And he did stop, directly beside Joan.

  The ropes strained and groaned under his weight, and she bounced pretty hard, but she didn't lose her grip.

  He'd timed it perfectly, executed it beautifully—and she had her eyes tightly closed.

  "Oh, my God," she was saying. "Oh, my God, oh, my God!"

  "You want me to do that again?" he asked. "And this time you can keep your eyes open so you can watch?"

  Joan opened eyes that were filled with anger. "You childish bastard! You could have told me what you were going to do!"

  Whoa. She was really pissed.

  "This is supposed to be a demonstration, so—"

  "This was a mistake. A big mistake. So if you're done showing off, dickhead, I want to get down."

  "Oh, come on, you're not really going to quit on me, are you?"

  "I Want To Get Down," she enunciated. "Why am I waiting for you? I don't need you to help me." She started toward the ground.

  Muldoon followed alongside of her. "Joan—"

  "Stop making it bounce!" she ordered. "Just stay where you are. I can get to the bottom by myself."

  And she did.

  But as soon as she hit the ground and started unfastening the harness, Muldoon went after her.

  "I didn't expect you to be the type to quit and run away," he said. That was probably not the smartest thing to say given Joan's emotional state.

  She looked about to boil over. "I didn't expect you to be a dickhead."

  She got the last of the harness off of her and stormed to the bench, snatching her skirt, her shoes, and that oversized purse thing she carried around with her, before heading toward the gate and the parking lot.

  Muldoon looked back at the cargo net. Jenk and Gillman were already on their way back to the ground. Cosmo was still perched up at the very top, like some kind of weird giant bird, basking in the afternoon sunshine.

  "Stow the harness and rope," he ordered
them, before dashing after Joan.

  "Come on, wait a sec," he said, catching up to her, catching her arm in the parking lot.

  But she yanked herself free and kept walking. "You scared me to death! You should have told me you could do that circus trick stuff right from the start! But no. You had to show off."

  "I told you the O course was no big deal to any of us," he protested as she stopped in front of a rental car and fished in her bag for the keys. "I spent not an insignificant amount of time today talking to you about insertion techniques like HALO jumps out of airplanes and fast-roping down from helicopters. Didn't it occur to you that if we can do that, then something like the cargo net on the O course might not be such a challenge?"

  "No." Joan unlocked the car door and threw her stuff into the backseat.

  "Well, then, okay, I'm sorry."

  She laughed as she climbed in behind the wheel, but it wasn't because she thought he was funny. "You're only sorry now?"

  "No, that's not what I—"

  "I think it would be a good idea if I were assigned a different liaison." She wouldn't look him in the eyes.

  Oh, man. "Look, Joan, I don't think—"

  "I'll call Lieutenant Commander Paoletti's office in the morning." She closed the door and started the car.

  "Joan—"

  But she kept the window up as she put the car into reverse, pulled out of the parking spot, and drove away.

  "Shit!"

  Muldoon turned to stomp back toward the O course and found Sam Starrett a few feet away from him, getting something out of the back of his pickup truck.

  "Looks like that didn't go too well," Sam commented.

  "Yeah, well, it would have gone really great—if my goal was to have her call me a dickhead and drive off without me."

  Sam had the decency not to laugh in his face as he hefted his sea bag onto his shoulder and crossed around the back of his truck so he could talk to Muldoon without shouting.

  "Sometimes you can measure how much a woman likes you by how mad you can make her."

  Muldoon snorted.

  "I know it sounds crazy," Sam said. "But it's true. And it's something I learned a little too late. Don't make the same mistakes I did. This White House lady might be in the exactly perfect emotional place right now for you to call her up and apologize profusely. I mean, really crawl. Admit to anything and everything. Tell her she was a hundred percent right. Women really like to be right. And then ask her to dinner."