19 Headed for Trouble (9 page)

She also told him that her father would be out of touch until Thursday morning—which left Sam with just enough time to
not
be able to squeeze in a round-trip to Richmond.

Of course, if he’d been told about this yesterday morning, he could have made it there and back.

Sam worked off his frustration—or tried to anyway—with a ten-mile run. It was nearly noon before he returned to the resort.

He was drenched with perspiration, his hair literally dripping with sweat. He would have stuck to the shade and gone straight up to his room without talking to anyone, except there was some sort of commotion by the pool.

The hellsmaids—three of them anyway; Chloe was AWOL—were giving their full, shrill attention to a man
dressed in a snugly fitting blue T-shirt and linen pants. He was height-challenged, with dark hair and …

“Hey, sweetie,” he said as he spotted Sam dripping on the stone walkway beneath the arches, turning to greet him with a wide smile. “Rumor has it you need some TLC.”

Alyssa apparently couldn’t make it here to Italy, but she’d called their good friend and her former partner in the FBI, Jules Cassidy, as a stand-in.

He came right over and gave Sam a hug, despite the high sweat and slime factor. In fact, Jules gave him a big hug. A much, much,
much
too long of a hug.

For once, Heather, Ashley, and Sabrina were wide-eyed and silent, staring at them, definitely wondering …

So Sam cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you,” he told Jules. Which was no lie. But when he cleared his throat again and gruffly added, “Sweetie,” it definitely boosted any potential misperceptions.

Jules laughed his ass off, of course. “Alyssa is going to love hearing about this,” he whispered as he hugged Sam again.

Yeah, she would. Provided they would ever be in the same country at the same time again.

“I was in Dubai,” Jules said, as Sam pulled two bottles of cold water from his suite’s kitchen fridge. He tossed one to Jules. “Thanks. It’s not
quite
the same neighborhood, but close enough. Closer than Richmond. I had some time off coming, so … Here I am.”

“Checking up on me.” Sam toasted him then took a long swig from his bottle.

“Absolutely not,” Jules said. Up close, the FBI agent looked tired. His usually bright smile even seemed a touch forced. He sank into one of the leather armchairs
in the suite’s sitting area. “Your wife trusts you completely. Although, that
Girls Gone Wild
comment? It was probably not her most favorite thing she’s ever heard you say.”

“I was trying to get a rise out of her. And no offense,” Sam said, half-sitting on the desk where his laptop was out and open, “but I was kind of hoping she’d be the one to show.”

“She sounded pretty pissed off when I spoke to her,” Jules reported. “This guy she’s looking for? He knows she’s looking. He’s been messing with her. Playing games.”

“Thanks. I love hearing that.” Sam’s blood pressure was up so high, his ears were ringing. “Motherfucker’s a sex offender.”

“And if Alyssa were ten years old, she’d be in danger,” Jules reassured him. “She finally called in for backup, by the way. Lindsey and … damn, I’m blanking on his name … former CIA …?”

“Dave Malkoff,” Sam supplied the name of the Troubleshooters’ operative.

“That’s him.” Jules glanced at his watch. “They’re probably in Richmond with Alyssa right now, cuffing the guy.”

“Good.” Which meant Alyssa could be
here
by tomorrow night.

“Yeah, you’re way too happy at that news,” Jules said. “You haven’t checked your email, have you?”

Sam shifted his laptop so he could see the screen, jumped on line and … Sure enough, there was an email from Alyssa. Subject:
I’m needed in San Diego
. “No. No, no, no …”

He clicked on it, skimmed it. The good news was that she, Lindsey, and Dave had indeed caught the game-playing sex offender. The bad news was that their boss,
Tom Paoletti, had another assignment waiting for Alyssa. Which meant it would be … 
What?

“She’s going OCONUS,” Sam told Jules, using the military term for outside of the United States. “Unless I can somehow get home by Friday morning, it’s going to be another two weeks—at least—before I see her.” She’d added a P.S. that Sam didn’t understand. “
Tell Jules that Dave’s a maybe?
What does that mean?”

Jules took another swig from his water bottle. “Don’t get too excited, because I haven’t cleared it yet with Tom. Or Max. I have to wait a few more hours before I call either of them. But if they give me the thumbs-up, I’ll be able to hang here, hold down the fort for you, until a replacement arrives. Alyssa told me she was going to ask Dave Malkoff.”

Sam shook his head. “As an FBI agent, you can’t—”

“I won’t,” Jules said. “You just told me the wedding’s not until Sunday, and the client’s gone until Thursday. Dave—or someone else—will definitely be here before then. I’m just going to hang here, pass along the message that you had to leave, that your replacement is on his way. I’m not getting paid, I’m just doing you a favor.”

It was one hell of a big-ass favor. “You don’t get much vacation time,” Sam pointed out. “Wouldn’t you rather, I don’t know, go on a cruise?”

“With who?” Jules gazed at him. “Ben?” He rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “Just take a shower, let’s go get lunch. If you really want to hear it, I’ll tell you the whole terrible Ben story. But I definitely need nourishment first.”

“He did what?” Sam said.

“Brought his beard,” Jules repeated. He leaned back
to let the waiter take his plate. They sat in a little outdoor restaurant, overlooking the harbor below. The food had been unbelievable, the owner himself coming out of the kitchen to make sure everything was to their liking. “
Beard
is slang for a woman who pretends to be a closeted gay man’s wife or girlfriend. Ben’s beard is named Amanda. She’s his roommate. His own parents actually think she’s his fiancée.”

Sam struggled to comprehend. “So, this guy lives with a woman, except he’s gay and … she’s okay with that?”

“She’s not really his fiancée. They have separate bedrooms,” Jules told him. “She’s a grad student—they’re friends from high school. Plus, he lets her live in his condo for free.”

Sam had to make sure he understood. “So Amanda helps Ben fool everyone into thinking he’s straight.”

Jules nodded. “
Don’t ask, don’t tell
—I think you’ve probably heard of the policy? It sounds so innocuous, but it forces servicemen and -women into the closet. They have to hide who they are, pretend to be something they’re not. It’s okay to be gay in the military, as long as no one knows.” He was disgusted. “Ben takes Amanda to all kind of functions—including this date he had, with me.”

“It was really a date?” Sam asked, as the waiter poured them each a cup of coffee. Alyssa had told him that when it came to dating, Jules was remarkably gun-shy—and yeah, okay that was probably an unfortunate expression to use.

But Alyssa’s going theory was that Jules was still hung up on some actor he’d met out in Los Angeles—Robin something. The SOB had hurt Jules badly—their relationship had been a total train wreck. Still, Lys had been urging her old friend to get back into circulation. This Marine captain, Ben, had been calling him for a
while—apparently Jules had finally taken that first-date step.

“Ben calls and goes,
Hey, how are you? I just got back from overseas. I was wondering if you wanted to get together, maybe have dinner at my place?
” Jules reported. “I wasn’t ready for that. So I suggested we meet at a restaurant. It wasn’t even downtown. It was suburban and discreet, and … he brought Amanda anyway. So we all sit down to dinner and it’s way weird. I mean, she was nice, but, what the hell …? She finally gets up to, you know, hit the ladies’ room, and Ben goes,
I’m career military. This is how I’ve made it work
. He knew I was freaked out. He said,
You should’ve come over. It’s easier, more comfortable
, and I said,
Not for me
. I said,
I’m not climbing into your closet with you
, and … that was that. I haven’t seen him since.” He paused. “The stupid thing is, I really like him. The
really
stupid thing? I’d be genuinely upset if he resigned his commission. The Marines need more officers like Ben.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Sam said.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Thing is, I’m thinking about doing it.” Jules finally spoke. “Calling him and … You know, maybe if it’s just sex, it won’t bother me. As much. You know, keeping it on the down-low.”

Sam took a sip of his coffee, choosing his words carefully. “I guess whether or not you decide to do that should really depend on what you want. If it’s sex …”

“Who doesn’t want sex?” Jules pointed out.

“If it’s
just
sex,” Sam said, “there’s a waiter over there who’s been checking you out.” Part of him could not believe he was having this conversation. “Personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea, hooking up with some stranger …”

At least Jules wouldn’t get the guy pregnant. Years ago, Sam had had sex with a stranger—a bar bunny—and he now had a daughter, Haley, and an ex-wife, Mary Lou. Talk about careless mistakes. Although Haley was definitely the best mistake he’d ever made. She was a real peach of a kid. It had all worked out in the end, but for years it had been bad. He’d messed up his life, along with Mary Lou’s, Haley’s, and even Alyssa’s.

“Ben’s not a stranger,” Jules pointed out, taking out his wallet and paying the bill.

“What happens when you fall in love with him?” Sam asked. It was another question that he couldn’t believe he was asking. Still, the words needed to be said. “You know, I should pay that.”

Jules shook his head to both the question and the offer. “That won’t happen.” He said it with such finality and stood up as punctuation. “Let’s get back. I want to make those phone calls.”

“How much do I owe you?” Sam persisted, opening his own wallet.

Jules waved him off. “It’s on me.”

“You come out here to do me a favor,
and
you pay for lunch …?”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate your friendship,” Jules said.

Sam held out several bills. “Yeah, actually I do,” he said. “It’s probably as much as I appreciate yours.”

Jules couldn’t just take the money and be done with it. He had to go and hug Sam. “Thanks.”

Of course, now the gay waiter was checking Sam out, too. He even followed them out into the square as they headed up the road.

Which turned out to be provident, since they hadn’t gone far before a group of men, ranging in ages from teens to much older, blocked their path. They were
scowling and grim, and their postures were clearly meant to menace.

Jules stepped in front of Sam, his body language relaxed, a smile on his face. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said in close to perfect Italian. “Is there a problem?”

Sam counted them quickly. There were nine, but only three—red shirt, goatee, and tattoo—looked capable of holding their own in a brawl.

Tattoo let out a stream of Italian that was far too rapid-fire for Sam to understand. He definitely caught the words
Rome
and
the Pope
along with what sounded like negative language. He wasn’t quite sure what the man was saying, but there was no mistaking his intention when he roughly shoved Jules.

And just like that, the talking was over. Well, almost over. “I got Tattoo and Red Shirt,” Jules announced in English, as he effortlessly took down the man who’d shoved him.

That left Goatee for Sam. But ouch, the man had a fishing knife. Sam quickly adiosed it, breaking more than a few fingers in the process.

That was all it took. Goatee ran home, crying for his mommy, eating the dust of the rest of the gang. They’d all long since am-scrayed, except for the delusional man in the red shirt, who actually still believed he could get a piece of Jules.

The FBI agent was subcompact and had a far better fashion sense than Alyssa, but he knew how to bring it in hand-to-hand combat. He fought with an efficiency of movement that Sam admired. It was beautiful, actually. Jules fought with his brain, unlike Red Shirt, who’d let loose his inner Neanderthal, swinging blindly, flailing mindlessly—making himself good and winded in the process.