An Eye for Danger (40 page)

Sam felt my forehead. "You don't look fine, sport. Too much high-brow living, maybe."

I jerked my head from his hand. "I don't have a fever. I just can't eat. I forgot to take my pills." I pushed the smelly eggs away and leaned onto the table.

"Where are they, bathroom?" Sam leaned into my view and I nodded, unable to retrieve them. If I moved, I'd be sick.

"I'll get them for her." But Stone was too slow; Sam had already jogged to fetch them.

Nibbling toast settled my stomach a little, but not my nerves. My instinct was to touch Sam when he was close, smile into his eyes when he spoke to me. I couldn't rewire my responses fast enough to shut down my feelings or hide my reactions from Stone's inspection.

Sam tapped an antibiotic into my wobbly hand and poured orange juice in my glass. He waited for me to drink. All of it, he insisted. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday. I don't know."

"You skipped breakfast and barely touched lunch at the hospital."

"Dinner, I guess."

"You guess," Sam said flatly, glaring at Stone.

"A full dinner was served." Stone put his arm between me and Sam. "She isn't being starved, Agent. She's just having trouble keeping food down."

 "I ate some bread, I think, to soak up the wine."

"Bread. For dinner." Again Sam's anger veered toward Stone. "How much wine, Jules? Not supposed to be drinking with these pills. Unless you're looking to feel 'other.'" He jiggled the prescription bottle, and I recalled him throwing back ibuprofens and Oxycodone with gin, but I didn't dare remind him in front of Stone. "That's not like you. You're not a drinker."

Under the table, Sam's thumb was stroking my arm, up and down, calling me back to him.

"She's not your patient, Agent." Stone snatched the pill bottle. "And I think she's had enough of your interrogation." He dropped the pills into his pocket and planted his hands on my shoulders.

"Goddamn it." I nearly toppled the chair getting out from under him. "Get off of me. Both of you." With effort, I steadied my feet. This was no time to face-dive into the Berber carpet. "Just give me some space."

Sam was on my heels as I dashed to my private bathroom. His hand splayed on the door, keeping me from slamming a little payback in his face.

"What the hell's going on here?" he whispered.

"Just go away, Sam." I leaned over the sink, holding my stomach.

"I'm not leaving till I know what's wrong."

I hesitated. Maybe if I gave him a chance, heard his explanation. Or another lie.

"Talk to me." He took my elbow, pulled me into his arms. "Jules, I—"

I whirled and slapped him. So hard it shocked me.

The hurt on his face made me doubt myself. Doubt Stone and everything I trusted was true. So I pushed him out the door and locked myself inside before I recanted.

"What the fuck did you pull on her, Stone?" Sam roared down the hall. "You're supposed to be protecting her, not getting her liquored up."

Stone yelled back, "How's your wife feel about your eager interest in this witness, Sam, or didn't you tell her who've you've been stalking these last few weeks?"

I held my breath, waiting. Please, Sam, say it's not true.

Silence.

"That's what I thought," said Stone.

"You wanna act like the big hero, don't you," said Sam. "Where's your detail, Stone, or was minimum coverage your idea? Bet the wine was good last night. Couple bottles in the trash, couple glasses in the sink. You pour her the wine first, or just give her the pills for the main course? Not supposed to drink on duty. Oh, I forgot. NYPD plays fast and loose with the rules."

"Considering your history, you're way out of line, Agent."

"I see you stayed all night," said Sam. "Bet she doesn't know you were off at midnight."

"And I hear it's your fault she's here in the first place. The glories of undercover work, I suppose: take everyone down with you. You were always a hack at this, Sam. We never knew what to expect with you, except a mess."

I thought to step in, break up their argument. But which side exactly would I choose?

Stone continued, "What kind of groundwork you been laying with her anyway? I can see it on your face, that same look you got when you met Cameron, when she blew smoke up your ass with all kinds of promises and then turned around and dropped anchor with the next guy. No one blamed you for stepping out on her, and I wouldn't blame you now, but not with this one. I won't allow it. She's off limits to you."

"She's not your property, asshole."

Footsteps came toward my door. Sam's footsteps. I could unlock the door, hit him, kiss him, fall apart, run away. Or I could stay here and hide. That I knew too well.

Stone's voice called right behind him. "You come up for air, what, once a year for family time and a little R and R? You probably expect her to wait for you while you roll in the gutter life with junkies and prostitutes. You'll tie her up just like that accident did. Get real, Agent. You don't have anything to offer her but unhappiness, 'cause you don't leave anything but unhappiness in your wake. You're nothing but a user, Sam, just like your Narco days, just like in Vice."

I unlocked the door and stepped back. The shadow of Sam's shoes under the door slipped closer.
Open the door, Sam. Tell me it's a lie.
The knob started to turn.

Stone snapped, "Don't do it, Sam. Cut her loose, or you'll sink her for good."

Something slid across the door. Sam's hand. I drew my fist to my chest, waiting.

"I'm sure Cameron would love to hear about this case."

"Don't you say that name. Ever again." Sam's feet stepped off. I couldn't tell if Sam was denying or supporting the implication. But then he said, "You got your way, Stone. This time. But there'd better be the right number of men on duty inside this room when Reynolds calls. Or I'll be filing a report on you that the feds won't take lightly."

"That's the right thing to do, Agent. I won't bother mentioning any of this to Reynolds, as long as you don't pull this shit again, with me or any other detail on this case. Stay away from her, Sam. I mean it, or I'll drop you myself."

My head was reeling so hard, I opened the door for air. Sam whipped around, his glassy eyes imploring me. I wanted to say I missed him so badly my bones hurt, that no matter the truth, my feelings for him couldn't die because I didn't know how to close off my soul to him. That even a breaking heart felt better than being numb. But pride and reason, and the desire to retain a measure of self-respect in this world, conspired to tie my tongue.

His lips parted, but no words came. I held my hands in the air, begging for an explanation, an excuse, a lie. Anything.

Sam dropped his face. "You need anything? Reading materials, makeup, lady things?" His gaze darted toward my bathroom and back to me. "Toiletries?"

"She's fine, Agent. We have a store downstairs if she needs anything." Stone stood in the foyer, jingling keys in his pocket, ready to shuffle Sam out the door.

Sam faced his nemesis. "You got less than one hour to comply. You want me to trust you, you call in second shift early. Or I'll make damn sure you get rolled out of here. In cuffs. And you can tell my CO whatever you want. I don't take orders from NYPD, and I definitely don't take orders from you."

From the living area, Stone retrieved Sam's coat and shirt, tossing them in the air as one. Sam caught the package as Stone opened the front door.

Daniels entered, taking a quick survey of all the tense faces and remaining at the threshold. He and Sam exchanged nods, while Stone and Sam only traded fuming glares.

"Sam." His name burst out of me as a whisper. A desperate, dangerous whisper.

Sam paused, his back to me still. Stone's eyes fixed on my response.

"One hour," Sam repeated to Stone as he raised the back of his sweatshirt, making a gun finger to tuck into his waistband where the Glock used to sit but was gone. Then he bolted out the door.

CHAPTER 28

Every 20 minutes Stone knocked on my bedroom door to check that I was still breathing. And every 21 minutes I yelled for him to go away. For all his faults, Sam hadn't been wrong; Stone was not only overbearingly manipulative, he'd liquored me up to his advantage, and I'd allowed him to. I wouldn't be making that mistake again.

As I packed my few belongings, I stared at the photo of Max, imagining Sam getting him to sit still long enough to capture that cocked-ears head-shot. Maybe Max was with Sam now. Or with his wife. The thought turned my stomach.

I shoved the image into the bag. When I came to the iPod, I inserted the earbuds and scrolled to an old Coldplay album, "Viva la Vida."
Live the life
. Sam was never very subtle. The band's melancholy notes and haunting lyrics reminded me of the days before Luke died, when my resistance to our happily-ever-after-union kept building. Their music had made loneliness sound romantic. But after Luke died, I'd never played their albums again. Now here they were underscoring my current heartache.

Scrolling the playlist, I came across a song called
Lost
. Sam had used that word so emphatically in his note that I immediately pushed Play. What I found was a song about making assumptions: about not feeling defeated in the face of defeat, and not losing oneself even when all was lost. No, Sam was definitely not subtle.

The last note played, then a buzzing silence I didn't recall being on this album. "Hey, it's me," Sam cooed through my earbuds like he was sitting next to me.

I sat up tall, looked to check my door was still shut.

He cleared his throat nervously, and I turned up the volume. "By now you probably think I deserted you. Just know I got my reasons for not being there. Not all of them cowardly." Sam fake-laughed, which was unlike him. "Anyway, this could get us both in trouble, but I need to warn you. You're gonna hear things, Jules. Bad things. About me. Not all of them are true, so keep your guard up. Be brave, braver than I was when this shit flooded my way. I let them take me down, and didn't come up for air for a long time. That doesn't have to be your fate. You're running this show, more than you understand. So play it safe. I mean it, Jules, trust your instincts. You think something ain't right, you call it like you see it and get the hell out of there. The good guys aren't always as good as they seem. I'm with you, baby, but I need to know you'll fight, really fight, 'cause you want to live. That you're playing for the long game here. Because a storm's coming. And it's gonna divide and conquer all of us."

I wilted, not just because he was scaring me, but because I could envision the lines cutting across his face when he spoke, the cut of his jaw as his voice grew this edgy, the look in his eyes as he spilled the ugly truth.

"Just be that rock, Jules. My rock. You're tougher than you think." He sighed. "Christ, I needed a rock like you to steady me. Guess I lost sight of what mattered after being in that rat hole so long. Maybe we all do in this business, I don't know. But it almost turned me, Jules. I almost caved to them, because I couldn't see any hope at the end of that tunnel. Couldn't even look myself in the mirror by the time you dragged me out of the bushes. You saved my life, Jules, you and Max. Hell, you pointed me back to myself when I didn't think there was any of me left.

"Look, I don't know if this counts for much, especially 'cause I'm not saying it in person, but I want you to know how much you, how much I..." His pause was pure torture. "Shit, someone's coming."

My body held still, waiting for Sam to speak again. He fumbled the recorder and then the next song played.

A storm coming. Coded messages. His gun missing. What the hell kind of storm was coming?

Stone called my name at the same time he knocked on my door. I crammed the iPod under my pillow.

"We're moving soon," he said, entering without invitation. "We need to be ready in five."

"I'll be ready." I nodded, setting my feet on the floor.
As soon as I find that gun
.

"I hope Agent Fields didn't shake you up you too much."

"No more than usual." I schooled my face of emotions, till Stone quit staring at me and shut the door behind him.

Then I set on searching my bathroom, where Sam's eyes had glanced before he'd left. "Toiletries," he'd said with emphasis, so I scratched through the toiletries bag, praying for a new phone. This was stupid. I'd no reason to believe anything Sam said or did was faithful. Still, I could trust the message if not the man. And I was going on instincts, like he'd advised.

When nothing came of searching the bags and cabinet drawers, I checked the bathroom itself. Every corner, every vent. The pink phone was still at the bottom of the toilet tank, where I'd hidden it, and I was running out of options.

Toiletries.
Think, Jules, what would you do?
Taking a wild guess, I slid my hand behind the toilet tank. There it was, attached with duct tape, just like in a mob movie. I definitely watched too much TV.

I flushed the toilet to cover the sound of tape ripping and then stashed the Glock inside my jeans waistband. Sam's warning against Stone was speculative at best, given Sam's infidelity. But Sam leaving me his service weapon, which he'd never let me touch, was an exclamation point I couldn't ignore.

***

Daniels cleared his throat. "Luggage."

I thumbed over my shoulder. "On the bed. I'll get it."

"No, no. I'll do it." Daniels had been overly friendly since I snapped at him, and I felt a tad guilty and a tad proud for earning the submission of an alpha male.

Catching Daniel's attention, I said, "Sam trusts you."

My words came out more a statement than a question, because I'd seen how differently he and Stone had handled pinning Sam on the breakfast cart; one obliging protocol, the latter delivering retribution.

He looked me in the eye and nodded once, like he'd done with Sam, and delivered my bag to another agent in the hallway. Then he took position inside the foyer till we rolled.

Meanwhile Stone performed a final check of the suite. Stepping from my room with my meds in the air, Stone said, "Think I'll hold onto these."