Troubleshooters 05 Into The Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  "Well, no, not exactly, but that doesn't mean—"

  "Hush up, sugar, and let me thank you properly for what you did last night. It's about goddamn time someone taught you a thing or two."

  After all those nights of intimate noises coming through the thin ceiling and walls, someone—namely Sally—already had taught him quite a bit.

  Charlotte sat there, more upset than she had the right to be, telling herself that this wasn't jealousy she was feeling. She was upset merely because Vince had never been with a woman. He'd faced the horrors of war without having known how beautiful love could be.

  And that wasn't fair. Nothing about this world, this war, was fair.

  "Wait," he said now. "Stop. I'm serious, Sally. Stop."

  "What are you so worried about?" she said. "You told me there's no one else home right now, that the old lady and the frigid nun are both off at work."

  Nun? Sally thought of her as the frigid nun?

  "Who's going to care if we make a little noise?" Sally persisted. "Who's even going to know?"

  "I will," Vince said quietly. "I'll know—and I care. And you'll know. And you care, too. I know you do, as much as you pretend otherwise. And just so you know, Charlotte's not a frigid nun"

  "Ahh," Sally said, drawing the word out. "I see. Charlotte, huh? She lets you call her by her first name? How daring of her."

  "That's not funny," Vince said.

  "Yes, it is." There was a pause. Charlotte could picture her gathering up her jacket and purse. "Well, I'll just let myself out. No point in staying where I'm not wanted."

  It was a good idea, one of which Sister Charlotte definitely approved.

  "Please don't be offended," Vince said. "It's not that I don't find you attractive. You're a very beautiful woman, a very generous woman—maybe a little too generous at times, but—"

  "But you're saving yourself for Charlotte. Which is very sweet, but, honey pie, I feel obliged to tell you that last night—you know when she was sitting with me in the powder room?—I'm sorry, but she made it very clear to me that there was nothing—absolutely nothing—going on between you and her."

  "Her husband's name was James," Vince said. "He died at Pearl. She loved him very much."

  There was silence for a moment. Real silence, and Charlotte used it to try to make sense of the conversation she'd just heard. Vince didn't want to be number four hundred thousand and three in a steady stream of soldiers and sailors who appreciated Sally's charms because of... Charlotte?

  Then Sally said, "You think if you wait around long enough, she'll get over him." She laughed, but this time it was flat, totally devoid of humor. "Well, guess what, sugar darling? She won't. And that's going to make you the oldest virgin in the Marine Corps, because she's not the type to mess around—not without getting married first. Those knees are glued together, and they won't pop open until she says I do. Which'11 never happen, mark my word. You don't really think she'll marry you while in her heart she's still married to her James, do you?"

  Vince was quiet. "I can hope, can't I?" he finally said.

  "You can indeed," Sally agreed. "But, honey, if you change your mind before it's time for you to go back to the fighting and this time maybe get yourself killed, well, you know where to find me."

  Charlotte heard the sound of Sally's heels as she clicked her way down the hall, down the stairs. The front door opened and closed; the screen door banged.

  And then the house was silent. So silent she could hear the infernal ticking of that blasted clock of Edna's from down in the parlor.

  From the other room, she heard Vince shifting in his bed. There was a thud, and Charlotte realized that he was coming down the hall, heading for the bathroom—and to get there he'd have to walk right past her open door.

  She didn't have time to lie down and pretend to be asleep. She didn't have time to do anything but sit there like an idiot and stare back at him as he caught sight of her and froze.

  "Oh, Christ," he said, his voice cracking slightly with mortification. "I didn't know you were home."

  "I am," she said inanely.

  He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, he forced himself to look at her. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you didn't hear all of that... ?"

  Charlotte shook her head, feeling her face heat with a blush. She couldn't hold his gaze.

  "Yeah," Vince sighed, but then forced a smile. He was blushing, too. "I didn't think so."

  She made herself look back at him. "I can't marry you, Vincent."

  "I know," he said. "I do know that. I just... Well ... A guy's allowed to dream, right? Excuse me," he added with a nod, and headed for the bathroom.

  Mary Lou had been driving her husband's truck as she left the base, and, wary after she'd found his parcel in the trunk of her car that morning, Husaam Abdul-Fataah spent the afternoon ready to run.

  But nothing happened.

  He had people keeping their eye on both the Navy base and the San Diego FBI headquarters, and there was no indication whatsoever that they'd moved to a state of higher alert.

  Mary Lou wasn't pulled in for questioning—always a good sign that the authorities hadn't been tipped off to anything unusual.

  It was possible that she'd thought the weapon belonged to her husband. It was possible she hadn't mentioned it to anyone—or if she had, they hadn't listened.

  He had a feeling Sam Starrett didn't spend much time listening to his wife.

  As Husaam had followed her, she'd picked up her kid and gone directly home, bypassing her usual grocery store run. But that and the truck were the only signs that things weren't absolutely run-of-the-mill normal.

  One of his pairs of eyes running free on the Navy base reported that the SEALs of Team Sixteen gathered in combat gear with their duffel bags packed. They boarded a transport plane, taking off for parts unknown.

  Shortly after that two men arrived in a truck marked "Al's Body Shop," and one of them drove Mary Lou's rattletrap of a car out of the parking lot next to the Team Sixteen building.

  He'd relaxed even more at that news.

  Starrett was going to be out of town for a few days, so Mary Lou was using his truck while her car went in for repairs.

  It was nothing to worry about.

  In fact, aside from the obvious problems it caused, it was a good thing—Starrett being out of town like that. He'd use the opportunity to get closer to Mary Lou. It was laughably perfect.

  At one point, he'd been tempted to stay away from her completely—especially after discovering the broken lock on the trunk of her car. It seemed a gift from heaven.

  But he knew it wasn't. It was a fluke. And he'd gone ahead with his strategy to befriend the woman. Because, after all, it was Mary Lou who went into the base unquestioned several days a week. There was no guarantee she'd always be driving that same shitbox of a car.

  And indeed, as he'd watched her driving her husband's truck, Husaam was very glad that he'd stuck to his first plan.

  Now, later in the afternoon, after nap time was over, he watched as she loaded the kid back into the truck. He followed her into town, to the grocery store.

  Unhampered by a small child, he made it inside before she did, grabbing one of the plastic baskets by the door and heading to the frozen-food section of the store. Nothing like a pathetic single man with microwave dinners in his future to evoke a little extra sympathy.

  He grabbed four or five and was just about to round the corner—Wow, what a coincidence, Mary Lou, running into you here!—when he heard her say, "Hey, how're you doing?"

  "Oh, hi, Mary Lou. I'm fine, thanks. Hi, Haley. Wow, she's gotten big."

  It was Kelly Ashton, Tom Paoletti's not-quite-wife. A month or so back, when he'd thought she'd be his best candidate for this operation, he'd gotten to know her. And he still kept tabs on her.

  He was going to have to get out of here. If he bumped into them now, while the two women were together, Kelly might think it odd that he was on such frien
dly terms with Mary Lou.

  "She's just started walking," Mary Lou said. "Getting into everything, you know?"

  "Oh, yeah," Kelly said. Even though she didn't have any children of her own, she was a pediatrician. "Time to childproof the house. Lock up that cabinet under the kitchen sink in particular."

  "I already did," Mary Lou said.

  "That's good. Well, it was nice seeing you." Kelly's words were a polite dismissal, and he knew he had to get out of there before they went in two separate directions.

  But Mary Lou kept the conversation going. "I never know what to buy for food when Sam deploys," she said. "I never know when he's going to be back, so I don't want to buy my regular amount of food in case he's gone for a while. But if I buy only a little, that almost guarantees that he'll be back tomorrow."

  He took a quick look around the corner to see where they were standing, to try to figure out which was his best way out of the store—front door or back. Both women had shopping carts. Haley was strapped into the seat of Mary Lou's. Kelly's was filled with food.

  "I always just buy a little," Kelly admitted. "For exactly that reason. I'm sorry, I'm running a little late. I better get onto the checkout line. I hate to have to run, but—"

  "Are you having a party?" Mary Lou asked. "Or do you just like chips and salsa a whole lot?"

  "Oh," Kelly said. "No, not a party. Nothing official, that is. I'm just having a few friends over tonight to watch a video. It helps to do that when, you know, Tom's out of town."

  "Oh," Mary Lou said. "Yeah. I know what you mean. It's kind of hard not knowing exactly where they are or what they're doing, or... what have you."

  "Yeah," Kelly said. "It is."

  Mary Lou's voice sounded a little tight. "Well. Have a nice time. Like you said, you're running late."

  "You know, you could come, too," Kelly offered. "I mean, if you're free tonight. If you can find a sitter."

  So much for tonight's plan—there was no way Mary Lou was going to turn that invitation down. So unless he could figure out some way to intercept her on her way home...

  "Oh," Mary Lou said. "Wow. That's real sweet of you. Thanks. Wow. I'm sure I can find a sitter. What time?"

  "Five-thirty. I'm afraid it's on the early side," Kelly told her. "I have an early morning tomorrow."

  It was pretty close to 4:30 right now.

  "Five-thirty's great," Mary Lou said. "I'll see you then."

  "Great," Kelly echoed. He'd spent enough time watching her to know that her enthusiasm was forced.

  As she headed for the checkout, Mary Lou headed for produce, leaving him a clear exit route out the back.

  It was time to regroup, rethink, recalculate.

  In a way it was refreshing, because up to this point, Mary Lou and her humdrum life hadn't been very much of a challenge at all.

  Joan answered her cell phone on the first ring. "DaCosta." "Hey, Joan," Muldoon said, sitting down on the dusty ground because out here a step in the wrong direction could make the signal fade. "It's Mike Muldoon. How's it going?"

  "Everything is incredibly groovy, Mike Muldoon," she answered. "I'm about five minutes from some kind of social thing at Commander Paoletti's house. Some kind of wives and girlfriends hanging out, drinking lots of wine, and watching Jane Austen movies while you brave gorilla he-men save the world thing. Personally, I think we'll be having more fun."

  Muldoon laughed. "I'm not so sure about that. We're using some pretty cool toys tonight and tomorrow. I can't tell you about it, but trust me. The fun factor is high out here."

  "Said the man who's definition of fun has nothing to do with Colin Firth," she countered.

  A wives and girlfriends gathering. Wasn't it interesting that she'd been invited to that? And wasn't it twice as interesting that she'd go?

  "So you're going to this thing because... ?"

  "I've accepted Jenk's marriage proposal."

  "Ha-ha," he said. "Very funny." She was kidding, wasn't she?

  "It's work, Mike," she told him. "I thought—if Kelly and the other women are okay with it—we might set up a similar get-together when Brooke comes to town. I know it's not on her planned schedule of events, but it would make for a great photo op."

  "Except for the fact that there's not a man on this team who would want his wife or girlfriend's picture on the front page of a newspaper," he pointed out. "You know, for the same reasons they don't want 'em wearing Navy SEAL T-shirts or hats. There are enough people on this planet who would love nothing more than to retaliate by targeting the loved ones of the Spec War team members who are making their lives so miserable right now. Let's not make it any easier for that scum to ID them, please "

  "Oh, shit." He could hear Joan's good mood evaporate. "You're right, Super SEAL. God, I never even thought of that."

  "Sorry," he said.

  "No," she said. "Don't you dare apologize. What a mistake that would have been. I would have put those women in danger and had a team of pissed off Navy SEALs coming after me. I think you just saved my ass."

  Now was when, according to words of wisdom he'd recently received from Sam Starrett, he should make some kind of comment broadcasting his interest. Like, And a mighty fine ass it is, well worth saving.

  "What did you just call me?" he asked instead.

  "Nothing," she said. "Probably Muldoon. Or Michael. Or Mike. Or—"

  "Super SEAL?"

  "Oh, that."

  "You've called me that before."

  "Yeah. You have a ... man of steel thing that you sometimes get going. It's... amusing."

  That wasn't the word he'd hoped she'd use. "Gee, thanks. Nothing I love more than amusing you. Ma'am."

  "Watch it, Baby Huey."

  "Oh, my God. How did you... ?"

  "People like me," Joan said, laughing. At him. "People talk to me. People tell me all their secrets."

  "And all of everyone else's secrets, too, apparently." Muldoon amused her—wasn't that just great? Still, he had to laugh. His luck was just unendingly bad. "Who told you about Baby Huey? Because now I have to go and kill him."

  "So it's true," she said. "That really was your nickname while you went through BUD/S?"

  Yeah, and for a long time after. "No," he said now. "Absolutely not. It's a heinous lie."

  She laughed again. God, he loved it when she laughed.

  "Oh, I got your email," she told him. "And I forwarded your message on to Brooke."

  Come on, brain, don't stall. This was one of the reasons he'd called. Stick to the plan—even if she did find him amusing. "Did you read it?"

  "Yes, I did. You didn't really think I'd forward something to the President's daughter without checking, did you?"

  "Was it okay?"

  "It was—" She hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "—very friendly."

  No kidding, it was friendly. Muldoon had labored hard, putting just the right amount of subtle sexual innuendo in the message to Brooke—because he knew Joan would read it.

  Hello, Brooke. Mike Muldoon here. I’m a lieutenant, junior grade, in U.S. Navy SEAL Team Sixteen. I'm really looking forward to acting as your escort to the Admiral's party Saturday night. I hope you'll let me make your evening—and the rest of your time in Coronado—as pleasurable as possible. I stand ready to take you wherever you wish to go whenever you wish to go there.

  Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Hubba hubba.

  "Any response?" Muldoon asked.

  "Yeah," Joan said. "I forwarded it to you. I don't know why she wrote back to me instead of just zapping it directly to your email address. But she did. So I forwarded it."

  "What'd she say?"

  "What am I, your secretary? Go read your email, my brother from another mother."

  "Aw, come on. I don't have time to sign online right now. Did she really write back, or did she send a form letter? "Thank you so much for emailing the daughter of the United States' President

  "It was... Well, it wasn't a form letter."

  "So what'd
she say?" he asked again.

  "What do you think she said? 'Dear Mike, I've seen your picture and I can't wait to jump your bones...'?"

  Muldoon knew Joan said it just to be funny, just to tease. She had no idea how close it cut to a truth that made him uncomfortable in a decidedly perverse way. Perverse because although he hated it, he continued to use his looks to his advantage.

  He'd have used them with Joan by now if he could have.

  "Talk to her when you talk to her," Sam Starrett had said to him just a few hours ago on the transport plane—Muldoon's own Texas-style, six-foot-three-inch, shaggy-haired, stubble-chinned Dear Abby.

  "You know, I can't remember the last time I was with a woman who wanted to sleep with me because of me," he told Joan now. "You know, not because of what I look like, but because of who I am. Frankly, I'm tired of it." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted saying them. Way to sound pathetic and stupid. "I'm sorry. Look, I need to go."

  "Whoa," Joan said. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there, my friend. You can't just say something insightful and extremely mature—and personal, might I add?—and then run away."

  "It didn't sound mature to me—it sounded pretty stupid and whiny. Like, you know, poor me. I can't walk into a bar without a dozen women wanting to get naked with me. Life sure is rough." He rolled his eyes in disgust at himself.

  She laughed. Apparently he was continuing to amuse her. "Yeah, well, I can imagine that would get old after a while. Maybe. But the truth is, Michael, that lots of people are easily attracted to superficial things. A pretty face, a nice body, money, a position of power. You know, I've been romanced by men who just want a connection to the White House. You learn to be careful. You learn to identify the insincere pieces of shit from the real deal. And real people are out there."

  "Yeah," he said. "I know. I just haven't found that many of them." And none of them—like her—was even remotely interested in him. That was a pathetic thing to say. Fortunately he shut his mouth before it came out.

  "Keep looking," she told him. "They're out there."

  "Yeah," he said. "I guess." He didn't want to keep looking. He liked what he'd already found. "Look, I really do have to go now. Are you sure you won't tell me, just real quick, what Brooke said in her email?"