All Through the Night: A Troubleshooter Christmas (22 page)

And now it wasn't merely Jules's shower that was in jeopardy. It was the entire rest of the evening. Thanks to Will, Jules was probably going to miss the trimming of the Christmas tree. He looked over at Robin, who'd had his plans for their first Thanksgiving disrupted, too.

Damn Will Schroeder.

Of course, Jules could also thank Will—and fellow reporter Jack Lloyd—for his being alive to enjoy this season's Christmas tree. Without their help, Jules—and Max, too—would surely have been killed. And heck, the man
was
some amazing investigator to have dug up all that accurate information on Jones in such a short amount of time.

But Molly was standing there with her jaw on the floor and horror in her pretty brown eyes. Jules could only imagine what she was feeling. She was surely picturing not just her evening, but her entire new life slipping away from her.

Sure enough, she got in Will's face. “Who else knows? Who else have you told?”

The tension in the room was like a living thing.

Sam was tempted to call in the Ghostbusters, because it seemed to hang above them all—a dark, swirling cloud of unhappiness, anger and frustration.

Jules had jumped immediately into negotiator mode back at Laser-Mania, which was the only reason the dickhead reporter was still breathing. He'd commandeered Sam and Alyssa, putting Will Schroeder into their custody, so to speak, instructing them to get him into their car and over to this office in their house in thirty minutes. No sooner, no later.

They'd had to drive around the block a few times, but when they'd walked in, right on the dot, Jules already had Molly and Jones sitting on the sofa. Robin and Dolphina were in the room, too.

Out of those five unhappy faces, Dolphina won the prize. Molly was clearly worried and upset, but Dolphina's face was a thundercloud. If looks could've killed, Will would've gone toes up instantly.

In the car, on the way over, Sam had spent some time wondering if Dolphina had been working with the reporter. He'd seen them together at the party, and they'd seemed really friendly. Extra friendly, in a
let's pretend we're friends so everyone won't know how badly we want to have sex
way. Which, in the entire history of mankind, had never truly fooled anyone.

But now it was clear that Dolphina had been used.

And here Sam had been thinking he was going to be needed to prevent
Jones
from wrapping his hands around Will's skinny neck.

“You son of a bitch,” Dolphina put voice to her feelings as she glared at Will. “What the
hell
is wrong with you?”

Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Sam looked over at Jules. Who apparently was curious as to how Will was going to answer Dolphina's question.

“Dolph,” Will said. “I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong.”

“I can't believe you would do this,” she said. “I'm such an idiot. I'm
always
surprised.”

“Please let me explain.”

“Please do,” she said. The guy who'd penned that “hell hath no fury” phrase had known exactly what he was writing about. She was practically snarling in her outrage. “That's why we're all here, isn't it? Instead of enjoying Jules and Robin's party? So you can
explain
?”

“You want us out in the hall?” Alyssa asked Jules quietly.

“I'd like you and Sam to stay.” It was Jones who answered her. Out of everyone here, he was least visibly upset. Which, as Sam well knew from his own experience, didn't mean shit.

Still, Sam hid a sigh as Alyssa closed the door behind them, sealing them here in the temple of doom. And sealing them
off
from the sounds of merriment and the delicious aroma of perfectly cooked New England–style pizza wafting in from the kitchen, where Robin's sister, Jane, and her husband, Cosmo, had taken Hope and Maggie and apparently gotten the party started.

Sam found a chair under Robin's butt and evicted him from it, bringing it over to his pregnant wife.

“Sorry, I wasn't thinking,” Robin apologized.

“Thanks,” Alyssa said to Robin as she sat down, even as she gave Sam a darkly amused look.

“What?” he said. “I was just helping him think.”

“I'd like to start by making it clear that no one else knows about any of this.” Will looked at Molly. “I understand your concern—”

“You have
no
idea,” she told the reporter.

“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, I do. I used to live in Indonesia, Mrs. Jones. I was a…guest in the same prison where your husband spent quite a few years. Fortunately, my sister raised the money and arranged my release before they removed too many of my finger-nails.” He looked at Jones. “I can't imagine what it was like to be in there with no hope of getting free.”

“You say no one else knows,” Dolphina's voice shook as she rewound the conversation slightly, “but just a few weeks ago, your computer was hacked.”

“I've been careful this time,” Will said. “I've upgraded my entire system. Dolph, look, I know what you're thinking…” He took a step toward her, but she took a step back. “This wasn't supposed to happen like this.” He spoke to Jones. “I'm not going to write a news story about you. It was never my intention to out you.”

Jules proved that his good listener skills were still his forte. He'd caught the nuance of Will's wording. “What
are
you going to write?” he asked the reporter.

“A book.” Will turned to Dolphina, imploringly, as if he still thought he had a chance at getting laid tonight, fool that he was. “I told you I wanted to write a book. I wasn't keeping this a secret from you.”

He turned to Jones, no doubt realizing that getting laid would be permanently off his “to do” list if he were dead. “It wasn't my intention to frighten you or your wife. I was hoping to talk to you in a…less public setting, but…Sergeant Jones, I really want to write your story. It
needs
to be told.”

Jones just sat there silently, an impassive stone.

“Where did you get your information, Will?” Jules broke the silence by asking. “Dolphina said you were interested in finding out if the Secret Service had flagged any of the guests, but that she didn't provide you with that list.”

“She didn't,” Will said quickly. “She had nothing to do with it. When I said that to you, before, about Jones being on the Secret Service list, I was just bullshitting. I was guessing. I didn't even know for sure that Davis Jones
was
Grady Morant. Not until Mrs. Jones's reaction…”

Deck the halls with lying liars. Sam wasn't sure what it was about Will's delivery that didn't ring true, but it seemed glaringly obvious to him that the reporter wasn't giving them the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He glanced at Alyssa and she met his eyes in silent agreement.

“I'm so sorry,” Molly murmured to her husband.

“It's okay.” Jones came to life to reassure her, and he even managed to smile. “We'll get through this.”

“Will's lying again. What a surprise,” Dolphina announced. As he'd been talking, she'd been accessing her laptop computer and now she pointed to it. “He absolutely got access to the Secret Service list from me. Not intentionally, but…I'm at fault. It says here that the file was opened on Monday afternoon, but I hadn't touched it since the previous Wednesday. I mean, why should I? It was a list with a single name.” Her fingers flew across her keyboard. “The guest list file was also opened at that same time—1:34 p.m. on Monday. It must've been while I was upstairs, dealing with the toilet delivery.” She squared her shoulders as she faced Jules. “I have a computer password, but I didn't activate that function before I left the room. I didn't close any files. I just…left the reporter in the room with my laptop. It's my—”

“It's
not
her fault,” Will started, but she cut him off.

“Just don't,” she told him. “It
is
my fault and nobody wants to hear your excuses. Nobody believes you anyway—why should they? You're a liar.” She turned to Jones. “He knows where you live. He knows your phone number. That was the extent of the info I had on the guest list.”

“I know significantly more than that about you now,” Will admitted. “Some was theory, but, um…It's really only because I spent so much time in Indonesia that I was able to piece it together. I honestly don't think there are many people who could have connected the dots the way I did.”

“An egotistical liar,” Dolphina mused. “What
was
I thinking?”

Will turned to her. “I'm just trying to reassure them that they're still safe.” He turned to Jones. “You need to tell whoever's in charge of your new identity to create tax forms for W. Davis Jones—from before you and Molly were married. A more detailed service record would help, too. At the risk of sounding, yes, egotistical, most experts on Indonesia's politics don't have my investigative skills so, again, in my opinion, you're extremely safe. And that's not taking into consideration that the Indonesian factions who might still carry a grudge and want to harm you are no longer in power. Frankly, I believe that you're hiding from a threat that doesn't exist.”

“That's what I believe, too,” Jules said.

But Jones didn't. Sam could see the man's doubt, his fear for his family, his unwillingness to take an unnecessary risk.

“You know the really stupid thing about all this?” Jules asked. Sam wasn't sure if he was talking to anyone in particular, or just the room in general. “It's that after Robin and I got back from our honeymoon, I was going to call you.” He was speaking to Jones now. “You've been talking about writing a memoir for a while—organizing your notes. I've been impressed by Will, and with his background knowledge of Indonesia…” He shrugged. “It seemed like it would be a good match.”

“I'd be interested in collaborating on the project,” Will told Jones. Sam had to give the guy credit. He didn't know the meaning of the word
quit.
“I didn't realize you wrote, but…Either way, I'd love to see your notes.”

Jones looked at Will. “Give me one good reason I shouldn't just kill you right here.”

Again, to his credit, Will didn't wet his pants with fear. He just kind of smiled back at Jones. “Her name's Maggie, and she's in the kitchen. Although maybe if you
did
kill me, her mother would get to come home from Iraq. If I could get that guarantee in writing, I'd say go for it.”

Dolphina made a noise. “I think we should check to make sure he really
has
a sister in Iraq.”

He looked at her. “What? Do you think…Maggie's just some kid I hired…?”

“With you, anything's possible,” Dolphina snapped back.

And there they stood, glaring at each other.

Molly spoke up. “Why are you so interested in writing this book, Mr. Schroeder? With your credentials, surely you could write about anything. Anyone.”

“Your husband's story needs to be told,” Will said again, quietly now. “A frighteningly large percentage of Americans currently believe that torture is acceptable, when, in fact, it's what the bad guys do. As a country, we've got to be better than that. Maybe if people get a chance to read about what your husband lived through, they'll begin to understand what torture really means.”

“What it
means
?” Jones was no longer impassive. In fact, he was up and on his feet—as was Sam. But Jones wasn't going for Will. He was just unable to sit still. “How are you going to make anyone understand what it
means
?”

He was up in Will's grill, but the reporter held his ground. “I know what it's like to be afraid of it,” he told Jones. “I do know that. I've gotten the crap kicked out of me for information a time or two—I know what that's like, too. I haven't had your experiences, but…I'm better informed than most people. I think the answer to making readers understand is to make your story personal.” He paused. “And show them what it's like to carry the scars that I know you must have. God knows
I
still have nightmares about that prison. I can only imagine what yours are like.”

“Yeah,” Jones said. “And they all start the same way. With some asshole finding out who I really am. They end the same way, too. Back in that torture room—every goddamn night—with Molly and Hope being killed in front of me—” He broke off, turning to look at his wife, chagrin in his eyes.

Molly had gotten to her feet, her own eyes filled with disbelief and concern. “You told me you were sleeping better. That the nightmares had let up…”

Jones nodded, unable now to meet her gaze. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, Dave…” She put her arms around him, and the way he grabbed her and held onto her so tightly made Sam avert his eyes. He'd held Alyssa exactly like that—at the times he himself was fighting tears.