Flashpoint

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Of course he was.

  Richter’s grip was firm and dry. He nodded, because speaking more than a single word was obviously just too taxing.

  “Nice to meet you,” Jimmy lied. He turned his attention to Tess. “Why didn’t you think I’d be here?”

  “This is a planning meeting as well as a debrief. You said—”

  With another big smile at Cosmo, Jimmy pulled Tess back down the hall. “Forget what I said. Where’ve you been?”

  She blinked at him. “I came out here early, to see my mother in San Francisco, but . . . Forget which part of what you said?”

  “It’s crazy, I know,” Jimmy said, “but when you didn’t call me back, I got scared that you, I don’t know, went to Mexico or something.”

  Tess didn’t laugh. She was silent, just looking up at him.

  That was when he stopped being nervous and got good and scared. “You, um, planning any trips to Mexico?”

  “Do you really want to keep seeing me?” she asked. “Because I was going to play our . . . time together like it was just a fling. You know, the assignment ended, so thanks, that was fun, see you around.”

  “So . . . what are you saying?” he said. “You’re moving on to Cosmo Richter?”

  She laughed. And then stopped, no doubt when she saw his face. “Are you actually jealous?”

  “Shit, yeah.”

  Her eyes were wide. “Really?”

  He couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze. “Yes.” God, he was pathetic. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  She just stood there looking at him, arms folded, one hand up over her mouth.

  That was when Dave poked his head out of the conference room. “Excuse me, we, uh, need to start? We’ve got Murphy online from Germany, via digital cam. He’s under doctor’s orders not to talk too long, so . . .”

  “Thanks,” Tess said. “We better . . .” She gestured toward the door, forcing a smile that turned real as she went into the room and caught sight of Murphy on the video monitor. “Hey, Murphy, how’s the leg?”

  “Much better, thanks.”

  “I can’t believe it’s been only three days since we got back,” Tess said, sitting at the big table between Decker and Tom Paoletti. She’d already set up her laptop, and her jacket was on the back of her chair. “It feels more like three months.”

  “That tends to happen,” Dave told her.

  There were people in the room that Jimmy didn’t recognize. Still, it was clear from just the way they sat that they were more of Tom’s operators—even before the former SEAL rattled off introductions.

  Jimmy took a seat along the wall, near the door, even though there were still empty ones at the table. Decker gave him a nod but didn’t ask him to move closer. He knew that meetings like this gave Jimmy a rash.

  Even Cosmo Richter came in and sat down. Next to Jimmy. Of course.

  They went through the entire mission, picking it apart. What worked. What didn’t work.

  “Sat-com radios,” Tess kept saying. “Next time we need to make sure we pack enough sat-com radios.”

  Tom Paoletti finally turned to him. “You haven’t said anything, Nash. Any suggestions for a smoother mission?”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Stay the hell out of Kazbekistan.”

  Everyone laughed. Except Cosmo Richter, who merely smiled. Obviously it took too much effort to laugh.

  “I actually do have some questions,” Jimmy told Tom. “For you, and for Deck, too. Maybe we can talk after the meeting’s over.”

  “Good,” Tom fired back at him. “Because I wanted to talk to you—about the possibility of your taking a team leader position.” He turned to the video monitor. “You, too, Murph. After you’re back, we’ll talk, okay?”

  “With utmost respect, sir,” Dave said, “stay away from me. You can’t pay me enough to make me a team leader.”

  Again, everyone laughed—everyone but Jimmy this time. He heard the words, the conversation continuing on around him as they all said their good-byes to Murphy, as the connection was cut.

  Tom was talking to the entire group now about some kind of meeting next Wednesday morning—a chance to meet his second in command, a former Navy sharpshooter and FBI agent, Alyssa Locke.

  Jimmy didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen. He’d been knocked out of his chair. Oh, he looked as if he were still sitting there, but in reality, he was on the floor with Tom Paoletti’s almost casual invitation to be one of his team leaders lying like a cinder block on his chest.

  Everyone was talking—there were lots of individual conversations now. Plans for the weekend, the best way to fill out the expense reports in order to be reimbursed for incidental items, hey, anyone want to go grab some lunch?

  Jimmy was still speechless. Tess was silent, too. She was just sitting there, gazing at him, everything she was thinking and feeling right there in her eyes, for the entire world to see.

  “You okay?”

  Jimmy looked up to see that Decker had come to stand beside him.

  “Yeah,” he said, but then corrected himself. “No! I came here today to—” He laughed. “I didn’t expect him—Tom—to . . .”

  The head of Troubleshooters, Incorporated was getting ready to leave the room.

  “Excuse me, sir.” Jimmy stood up, blocking Tom’s route to the door. “I’m honored that you would want me to, um . . .” He laughed. “Actually, I’m totally blown away. I’m—” He had to clear his throat. “Thank you, sir. Thank you, but no, thank you. I appreciate your confidence in me, honestly, I . . . It means a lot. It does, and thank you, but Decker and I are a team.” He glanced at Deck, who had come to stand beside him. “And as long as he wants me, I’m going to be his XO. I, um, didn’t want to let you think there was actually a chance I might become a team leader. I know you’re actively recruiting, and . . . There’s no chance of me . . . No. Thank you.”

  Tom nodded, looking from him to Decker and back. “I appreciate your letting me know.” He held out his hand for Jimmy to shake.

  Jimmy met Tess’s gaze again. She’d misted up, and she wasn’t even trying to hide it.

  As Tom went out the door, Decker shook Jimmy’s hand, too. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” he said.

  “Me, too,” Jimmy admitted. Figures Deck would know that he’d been thinking about leaving. He pulled his gaze away from Tess and looked into his friend’s eyes. “I hope I, um, never give you cause to regret that.”

  Decker hugged him. God, no, not in front of the Navy SEAL—

  But Cosmo was gone—back to his job at the reception desk, which, come to think of it, was far more embarrassing than any manly embrace could ever be, especially one with plenty of back slapping.

  “I just won you about a hundred extra bonus points with that hug,” Decker whispered as he gave Jimmy one last slap on the back. He gestured to Tess with his head. “Look at how she looks at you. You’d have to be a real master to fuck this one up.” He looked at Jimmy hard. “Don’t fuck this up.”

  And with those words of comfort—at least Jimmy thought they were meant to be comforting—Deck left the room, closing the door tightly behind him.

  Tess pushed her chair back from the table and stood, as if she’d just realized they were alone in this room together. She focused all of her attention on packing up her laptop and zipping the case closed. “Are you going to have lunch with Dave?” she asked without looking up.

  “Marry me,” Jimmy said.

  She looked up. In fact, she stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

  “This wasn’t a fling,” he told her. “What we had. What we have. If it was just a fling, you wouldn’t care what I said to Tom or to Deck or . . . You wouldn’t care. And you definitely care. I can see that you care.”

  She laughed. “There you go again, deciding what it is that I feel.”

  “You love me. I’m not deciding, I’m reporting what I see. I see you looking at me as if—”

  “This isn’t because of . . . Jimmy, I
got my period yesterday.”

  “This has nothing to do with that.”

  “So you’ve just . . . randomly gone insane.”

  Jimmy laughed. “Yeah, I guess. It feels a little like that.” He cleared his throat. “Love has often been compared to insanity.”

  She pretended to organize the pile of papers that was still on the table, putting them neatly into a stack. Finally she looked at him again. “You think you love me.”

  He met her gaze. “I know I do. And you love me, so . . .”

  But Tess shook her head. “You’re a player,” she said. “I would have to be crazy to marry you. You don’t know the meaning of the word fidelity.”

  “Yes,” he said, refusing to be offended. He didn’t blame her for thinking that. “I do. It’s all about giving your word, about making promises and then keeping them. I don’t break promises, Tess. I’ve just never given any like this before.”

  She was silent.

  “There’s a lot that’s wrong with me. I’m a mess—I’m the first to admit that. But I promise to be faithful. I promise I’ll never intentionally hurt you,” he said. “I can’t promise I’ll ever be able to tell you much about”—he cleared his throat—“Jimmy Santucci, but, see, I was hoping it would be okay with you if we focused on the future instead of the past.” He took her hand, needing to touch her. “I love you, and if you really are crazy enough to love me—”

  “I do,” she said. “I am.” But then she pulled away. She stood up. Took several steps away from him. Turned back. “I never expected this.”

  He answered her honestly. “I didn’t either. I never thought . . .”

  “What if you change your mind?”

  “I won’t,” he said.

  “But what if you do?”

  Jimmy shook his head, unable to give her the answer she wanted. “Why would I change my mind,” he asked instead, “when being with you is . . .” He cleared his throat again. “Rumor has it I’m a good person. When I’m with you, I can almost believe it.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, God, Jimmy, I can’t just marry you. How can I just . . . ? I’m not that crazy.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, my God, maybe I am that crazy.”

  Victory. The relief that filled him made his knees weak. Jimmy pushed himself to his feet, ready to move in for the kill.

  But she held up her hands as if to keep him at arm’s length. “Can’t we start with dinner? Wouldn’t it be smart to date for a while, to take it slowly, before—”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  That made her pause. “Really?”

  “I want you in my life,” Jimmy told her. “You want to take this slowly, well, okay. We’ll take it nice and slow.”

  He smiled then, and Tess laughed, because she surely knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “You think all you have to do is kiss me,” she accused him, “and—”

  Jimmy kissed her.

  And she didn’t stand a chance.

  OTHER TITLES BY SUZANNE BROCKMANN

  Heartthrob

  Bodyguard

  The Unsung Hero

  The Defiant Hero

  Over the Edge

  Out of Control

  Into the Night

  Gone Too Far

  GONE TOO FAR’S PARTNERS—AND LOVERS—

  SAM STARRETT AND ALYSSA LOCKE

  ARE BACK IN ACTION IN

  AN EXCLUSIVE SHORT STORY!

  Sam was hovering.

  He’d already made up a multitude of excuses to come into the bathroom while Alyssa was in the shower, and now, while she brushed her teeth, he lurked just outside the door.

  She’d scared him tonight.

  They took turns when out on assignment. Tonight Sam had been on lookout, hiding on the hillside, watching for headlights that would announce an approaching car, as Alyssa jimmied the cheap lock on the door to Steve Hathaway’s ramshackle cabin.

  The place had been deserted. In fact, this entire part of the county was deserted—they were at least forty miles west of the booming metropolis of New Hope, in northern New Hampshire, population 473 at the height of ski season.

  Getting inside that cabin undetected had been laughably easy.

  Alyssa now dried her face on the plush resort towel as Sam checked up on her for the twenty-seventh time since they’d returned to their suite here in the ski lodge.

  “I’m really okay,” she told him.

  “I know,” he said.

  Sam bent over backward to make sure he never said anything that might make her think he doubted her ability to take care of herself.

  Earlier tonight, when she’d pushed open that cabin door, switched on her penlight and gone inside, Sam had spoken into his radio from his perch on the hill.

  “Lys, I can’t see you.” He’d worked hard to keep his voice sounding calm, relaxed. Filled with Texas. Because he knew that she knew he dropped his honeyed drawl when he was stressed. “Talk to me.”

  She’d flashed her little light across the walls and floors, giving him a running commentary. “I’m in a room with a bed, no other furniture. Just piles of trash—classic love shack. It smells like old socks and mildew, with a dash of overflowing septic tank.”

  “Yum.”

  “Yeah.” She’d sifted through one of the garbage piles with her foot. It was mostly paper—newspapers, empty food boxes, stacks of junk mail. “Honestly, Sam, I can’t imagine Amanda Timberman being caught dead here. Even for some of Stevie Hathaway’s golden-tan pretty-boy ski-hero booty.”

  “What’s in the other room?” Sam had asked.

  “Looks like a combination living area and kitchen,” she’d reported, opening up the kitchen cabinets, looking for . . . what? She wasn’t even sure. “Sink, stove, refrigerator . . .”

  Alyssa pulled herself back to the pristine warmth of the bathroom. “I wish they made some kind of nostril brush—you know, like a toothbrush only smaller,” she told Sam now. “I can’t get that awful smell out of my nose.”

  He leapt into action. “Whiskey’ll take care of that.”

  She followed him into the other room. She didn’t particularly want a drink, but he seemed so glad to have found a way to help, she didn’t want to stop him.

  As Sam opened the minibar, she wandered toward the balcony window, where the pink of dawn was lighting the sky to the east. Glasses clinked, ice tinkled.

  “Here.” He handed her a glass. “It’ll make you stop smelling it.” He corrected himself. “Her.” He tried again. “Death.”

  Just a few hours ago, during dinner, this had felt more like a vacation than a paid job. It was, at the very least, a silver bullet assignment. She and Sam had been forced to stay in this four-star ski lodge with room service, balcony views of gorgeous autumn sunsets, and chocolates on the pillows.

  They’d been assigned to find twenty-five-year-old Amanda Timberman, who’d vacationed at the New Hope Ski Lodge a few short weeks before her disappearance.

  Lucas Timberman, the young woman’s father, was a total pit bull when it came to placing the blame on Randy Shahar—Amanda’s ex-fiancé. He claimed Shahar, born in Saudi Arabia, had killed his daughter after she’d discovered he was part of an al-Qaeda terrorist cell.

  Shahar—who had moved to the U.S. when he was four months old—had come to Troubleshooters Incorporated, hoping they could locate Amanda. A former lieutenant in the U.S. Navy Special Boat Squadrons, he now ran a fleet of whale-watching vessels out of Provincetown, Massachusetts.

  Timberman’s accusations were bad for business.

  As if it weren’t hard enough to be an Arab American business owner after 9/11.

  Finding a missing person wasn’t the sort of job that Troubleshooters Inc. usually took on. The company specialized in security—personal and corporate—with a leaning toward counterterrorism. But Tom Paoletti, the former commanding officer of SEAL Team Sixteen who owned and ran TS, Inc., was friends with Shahar. Tom had not only taken the assignment, but he’d given it to
Alyssa Locke, his second in command.

  Formerly an FBI agent, and before that an officer in the Navy herself, when Alyssa had taken this job with Tom Paoletti, she’d permanently partnered up with Navy SEAL Sam Starrett.

  In more ways than one.

  A few months ago, she’d married the man—a fact that still seemed surreal.

  That she was married at all was odd enough. But that she’d married a textbook alpha male . . .

  Sam—her husband—was standing in front of her now, looking hopefully at her empty glass. A man of action, he liked having something to do. “You want another?”

  “No,” she said. “Thanks, but . . .”

  “Didn’t help, huh?”

  She shook her head.

  He pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. It always amazed her that someone with such big hands—and an ability to put his fist through a wall when provoked—could have such a light touch. “Another might help you sleep.”

  Again, she shook her head. “Tom said he’d call after he spoke to Randy. I want to be coherent.”

  “I could talk to him,” Sam volunteered.

  “I know,” Alyssa said. “Thanks. But . . .” Sam hadn’t looked inside that refrigerator.

  Her cell phone rang, and she opened it. “Locke.”

  “What time is it there?”

  That wasn’t Tom Paoletti’s voice. It was . . . “Jules?”

  “It’s nearly three a.m. here, which means it’s not quite six there. Aren’t you allowed to answer your phone with ‘Alyssa’ at least from, say, two to six a.m.?”

  “It’s Jules,” Alyssa told Sam. She and Jules Cassidy had been playing phone tag for weeks now. It was exactly her former FBI partner and best friend’s MO to call in the middle of the night after being frustrated by voice mail.

  “Are you—honest to God—in a town called No Hope?” Jules asked. “Because I got this weird message from Sponge Bob and it sure as hell sounded like he said you were in No Hope, New Hampshire, and all I could think was, shit. No Hope High School . . .”

  “You called Jules?” Alyssa asked Sam.

  “No Hope Hospital,” Jules continued.

  Sam lifted a shoulder. “It’s been a rough night. I thought you might want to talk to him.”