Hot Target (14 page)

“We’d been ordered to stand fast,” Jack told him. “It occurred to me that they were intending to fire artillery all around us so that those of us who ran would get killed. And it would be our own fault,
n’est-ce pas
? And of course fairies would be expected to run, wouldn’t they? Silly fools—they didn’t have a clue as to the courage it took to live in that homophobic society. As I lay there in that dirt, I figured we could show them a thing or two.”

“Jack rallied the unit,” Robin told Adam, because this was the part that the old man skipped whenever he told the story. The part where, even though he wasn’t an officer, he’d assumed a leadership role. “He convinced the men to dig in and stay put.”

“And so we lay there,” Jack said, “nearly soiling our trousers, listening to those tanks move back and forth for hours that night.”

“Did they really shoot at you?” Adam asked.

“Oh, no,” Jack said. “It turned out that the officers in charge had no idea we would think ourselves in peril. They returned in the morning and cheerfully asked what we’d seen and heard. Of course, we’d seen nothing. We’d heard those tanks. They gave us a map and ordered us to go find them. So off we went.

“It didn’t take long before we approached the edge of the woods. And there we saw a line of tanks out on the far side of a cow pasture,” Jack continued. “Only it was very odd, because all night we’d heard tanks crashing through trees and brush, but there was no damage to any of the foliage. ‘Go closer,’ the officer told us, and so we went out of the woods. As we were about to cross a dirt road that cut the field in two, we could see there were two men standing over by the tanks—they were still quite a distance away. And these men, they bent down and picked up one of the tanks, and they turned it completely around so the gun turret was facing us. Two men—lifting an enormous tank?

“Well. We all stopped short. And then from down the road, kicking up dust behind it, there came a truck. Mounted upon it were enormous loudspeakers. And over the speakers the sound of tanks was blasting away.”

“No way,” Adam said, grinning.

“That scene’s going to be a great visual in the movie,” Robin told him. Janey was right about the bastard’s smile, too. It made him shine.

“Our officers showed us the role—that of Ghost Army,” Jack said, “that the Twenty-third would play in the war. If they had simply told us, ‘You’re going to use sound effects and rubber tanks filled with air to fool the Germans into believing we have a huge invincible army, we would have thought them certifiable. How could that ever work?
Fool
the Germans with their Panzers and storm troopers and mighty 88s? But now we saw how it could be done, how a handful of men—us—would be able to tie up tens of thousands of Germans troops, preventing them from attacking elsewhere.”

“The Twenty-third also worked extensively with camouflage,” Robin told Adam. “And optical illusions. They painted shadows of tanks on the sand to make high-flying German surveillance planes believe that the Allies had an enormous buildup of equipment in the desert. They broadcast fictional troop movements over radio channels that they knew the Germans listened to. They used the actors among them to plant false information in towns where they knew there were Nazi sympathizers.”

“We were given assignments,” Jack explained. “We called them
problems
and we were trusted to use our creativity to solve them. This movie focuses on the last few months of the war, when I was given the assignment of locating authentic German thread and buttons and delivering them to the OSS office in Paris. I soon realized I was assisting with the creation of realistic Nazi uniforms that were to be used by an Allied team on a very dangerous mission. They were going deep into Germany to try to find out whether or not Hitler had the capability to create a nuclear bomb.”

“That’s where Jack met my character, Hal, who was a captain in the Airborne,” Robin said. “He volunteered to be part of that suicide team. I guess he figured being shot by the Germans as a spy would pretty much put an end to his inner struggle with his homosexuality.”

“So what was it that the soldiers in the Twenty-third all had in common?” Adam asked. “I mean, obviously you weren’t all gay.”

Jack laughed. “No, we certainly weren’t.” His cell phone rang, and he took it from his pocket, peering over the tops of his glasses at the caller ID. “Excuse me, boys, I really must take this.” He started to stand, but Robin was already on his feet.

“Stay here,” he told Jack. “I need more coffee, and I’m pretty sure Adam does, too.”

Jack was already deep into his call with Scott, his partner—his latest twinkie, as he called him—as Adam followed Robin toward the craft services table.

“I’m at a real disadvantage,” Adam said. “I wish I could have, like, a month just to talk to Jack before I do this screen test.”

“Yeah, well, time crunch, you know? Do the best you can.” Robin took a clean mug from the tray.

“I intend to.” Adam watched as Robin poured the coffee, waiting for him to put the pot back onto the warmer before he took a mug himself. “Although, that’s not my only disadvantage, is it? I mean, it’s kind of obvious that you don’t particularly like me.”

Robin stirred milk into his cup. “How perceptive of you.”

“It’s also kind of obvious that Mercedes is really into me. I mean, for this part. Obviously, since . . . Well . . . You know what I mean.”

“She’s desperate,” Robin said. “We’re down to the wire. The role needs to be filled. That’s why she’s ready to settle.”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “I guess so. Wow.” He laughed, charmingly rueful. “Look, is there someone else you want for this part, that she doesn’t particularly . . .”

“Yes, there is,” Robin told him. “I think maybe you know him, too. Jules Cassidy.”

Adam nearly dropped his coffee mug. But then he laughed again, this time in disbelief. He had a laugh for every occasion. “You’re kidding, right? Because, you know, J. isn’t exactly an actor.”

“You don’t think so?” Robin asked. “Because I happen to think he is. I think he’s amazing.”

“Okay,” Adam said slowly. “I’m beginning to understand what this is really about . . .”

“He told me about last night.” As Robin said the words, he had to push away an image that flashed into his head—Adam and Jules together. And God, he so didn’t want to go there. If he was going to imagine two people having sex, at least one of them should be Christina Ricci.

But then his brain sent him a picture of Patty, on the floor, beneath him as they . . . Holy Jesus, had they actually done it on her living room floor, with most of his clothes still on?

“Of course he told you about it,” Adam was saying. “He’s Jules. He’s honest about every-fucking-thing, and . . .” He laughed again, warmly this time, shaking his head as if they were sharing a private joke. “Man, all your PR is intensely . . . Whoever you’ve got working for you is aces. I really thought you were razor straight.”

“I
am
straight.”

“Right,” Adam said in that tone that implied he so didn’t believe it. “And you and Jules are just friends. Fine, play it that way—I don’t care, Robbie. It doesn’t matter, either way.”

“Because you already got what you wanted from him, right?”

“Wow,” Adam said. “You really think I’m a total prick, don’t you? Yes, I wanted this audition, but I also wanted to get back together with him. I still do—and I’m going to. Have no doubt about it, Roberta. This morning was just a glitch. He misunderstood, and thought . . .” Another laugh, this one dismissive. “Whatever he thought, he was wrong, and I’ll convince him of that.”

“It sounded to me like he was through with you,” Robin said.

“He’ll get over it,” Adam told him. “He always does.”

“You know, that’s the funny thing about
always.
He’ll always come back, until one day he doesn’t. Kind of like living forever—right up until the day you die.”

“Deep.” Adam toasted him with his coffee mug. “And okay, yeah. You win. If you’re trying to freak me out, you did it. Congratulations. You want the bottom line? I had no idea how much I would miss him until I was living an entire continent away from him. But I did. I missed him. Badly. But do you have any idea what it’s like to have someone love you that much?”

Robin thought of Patty, still in the casting director’s office with Jane, of the note she’d left for him this morning.
I love you
with a heart in place of the O in
love.
She’d stayed with him all night as he puked his guts out in her bathroom. He didn’t remember much of it, but he did remember Patty’s cool hands against his forehead.

But what did that have to do with love?

He wasn’t sure.

“It scared the hell out of me,” Adam confided. Quietly. Intensely. Seriously. “So I ran away. But now I want it. I’m ready. I’m at a place where—”

Enough of the bullshit already. “If you really want him back—”

“I do,” Adam said, oozing sincerity from every perfect pore.

“Unless you really fuck up the screen test,” Robin told him, “my sister’s probably going to offer you this role. If you want to send a real message to Jules, turn it down.”

Adam laughed out loud at that. It was musical and infectious amusement, and it made heads turn toward them. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“You really think you can have it all?” Robin asked.

Adam dropped all pretense. “Actually, yes, I do.”

“What if you had to choose?”

“But I don’t.” Adam poured himself more coffee. And changed the subject. “So what
did
they have in common? The men like Jack who were brought in to form the Twenty-third Ghost Army?”

Robin stood watching him for several long moments. “They all had extremely high IQs,” he finally said. “For the record, I’m going to encourage Jules to stay away from you.”

“You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do—it’s a free world,” Adam said lightly, pouring yet another cup and stashing some packets of sugar and creamer in the front pocket of his shirt. “But also for the record, sweetie pie, you’re so not his type.”

“I’m straight,” Robin said again as Adam put his script under one arm and picked up both cups of coffee.

“Sure,” he said with a wink as he headed back toward Jack. “Just keep saying that to yourself over and over. That’ll make it true.”

C
HAPTER
N
INE

“I’ve got a date tonight,” PJ Prescott informed Cosmo when he arrived at Jane’s house shortly after midnight. “Please do whatever you can not to hear any rifle shots within the next thirty, forty minutes, will you? At least give me enough time to be too far away to turn around and come back here.”

“A date after midnight?” Cosmo said, setting the paper bag that held his deli sandwich on the kitchen counter.

PJ smiled, checking his reflection in the glass on the microwave door, fixing his hair. “Best kind. No, seriously, my girlfriend Beth just heard . . . Well, she’s in the Reserves and she got called up. She’s heading out for Iraq in a few weeks. Any time we both have a few hours free, we try to connect.”

“Man, I can’t imagine,” Cosmo said. He shook his head.

“Yeah. I wish I could go over there for her. Look, I’ve got to boogie. Security system’s up and running,” PJ informed him. “Although we’re still doing a test on it every hour. You know the codes, right?”

Cosmo nodded.

“The brother’s home tonight,” PJ continued, heading toward the door. “He’s up in his room. I haven’t seen Mercedes since around twenty-thirty. Nash is outside. We’ve got security cams running in case your trashed-out Pontiac or mystery truck comes back. So unless you need something else from me . . .”

“Go,” Cosmo said. “If we need backup, I’ll call Decker.”

“I love you, man.” PJ was already gone. But then, “Oh, hey,” Cos heard him say from the foyer. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Yeah.” It was Jane. She laughed. “Sleep. Good one, PJ. You’re a very funny man. You going?”

“Yeah, baby, yeah, I’m out of here. Richter’s in the kitchen, doing . . . what did you call it? Oh, yeah, his tall, dark, and brooding thing.”

What?

Jane laughed again. “See you tomorrow night.”

“And not one second earlier.”

Cosmo heard the door open and shut and the sound of the security system being reengaged.

Then bare feet on the tile floor.

“Hey.” Jane crossed to the refrigerator. Opened it. Took out an apple. Washed it off, then took a bite.

Her robe was cotton, and she wore it open over a tank top and boxers, her hair down loose around her shoulders.

“Brooding?” he asked.

She leaned back against the counter. Took another bite. “So, what’s your all-time favorite movie?”

Huh?

She stood there, patiently waiting, just watching him.

“I don’t know,” Cosmo finally said after the silence had stretched on a little too long, even for him. “I’ll have to think about it.”

She laughed her disbelief. “How could you not know?”

He shook his head, shrugged. “It’s not one of my FAQs. I like a lot of movies, but I’m not sure which one is my all-time favorite. Labeling something like that—all-time favorite—really puts the pressure on. So I have to think about it.”

“F-A—?” she asked, but then answered herself. “Frequently asked questions.” She took another bite and said, with her mouth full, “You actually get asked the same questions so often you think of them as FAQs?”

He shrugged again. “There are definitely some repeats.”

“Like what?”

His FAQs usually came from people that he met in bars. People who’d had too much to drink. The rest of the time, the people he met usually didn’t ask him any questions at all.

Jane, however, looked extremely sober.

And again she waited patiently for his reply. Most people gave up after even a few seconds of silence.

But she just stood there, eating that apple and waiting him out.

“Mostly about being a SEAL,” he told her.

“You mean, like, what’s a SEAL?”

Cosmo shook his head again. “No, these days—since 9/11—most people know that.”

“I’m not sure if I do. Not exactly. I mean, it’s some kind of commando squad, right?”

“We’re part of U.S. Special Operations Forces.”

“Special Forces, like in
Black Hawk Down,
” she said.

“No,” he said. “I mean, yes, those were Special Forces in that incident. But what they do is different from what we do in the SEAL Teams. Well, it’s not
what
that’s so different, it’s
how.
See, Special Forces are part of Special Ops, but . . .”

She was trying her best to follow, but he could tell that he’d lost her. Damn. How did the senior chief explain it to civilians like Jane?

“Here’s the deal,” Cosmo tried. “Special Forces tend to go in in force—in large groups—weapons out and evident, if not blazing. They use those gunships, helos—helicopters—with massive firepower as air support, like what you saw in
Black Hawk Down.
A Special Forces assignment tends to be—not always—but it tends to be noisy. What we do in the spec ops groups or SEALs is we insert covertly. That means we go into a hostile city or country with stealth. Quietly. In small groups—usually six, seven men. We do whatever job needs to be done, like taking out a communications system, or pinpointing a terrorist hideout, or . . . maybe something like a hostage rescue. So we go in quietly, and we extract just as covertly. We leave the city or country without anyone—well, almost anyone—knowing we were there, without a single shot fired.”

She’d stopped eating the apple and was actually listening, her eyes glaze-free and locked on his face. Damn, she did have pretty eyes. And gorgeous skin. And a body that didn’t quit. But did she understand? There were servicepeople in the U.S. Military who still got Special Operations and Special Forces confused.

“Here’s a good way to keep it straight,” he told her, remembering the senior chief’s concise explanation. “When you think Special Forces, think of that gunship. Think show of force. But with Special Operations—SEALs—it’s all about the op. It’s about getting the job done as quickly and quietly as possible.”

She nodded. “I think I get it.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Because I’m not sure I could explain it any more clearly.”

She turned away. “But . . . why seals?” she asked. “A seal isn’t exactly sexy. Not the way a wolf is. Or even an eagle. Screaming Eagles—now
that
’s a sexy name.”

What had just happened here? Cosmo, who made a point never to miss anything, had definitely missed something.

Jane kept her back to him as she crossed to the garbage and tossed her apple core in the container marked
COMPOST
as she kept up the chatter. “But you’re Navy—so okay, water . . . oceans . . . Sharks?” She shook her head as she went to the sink and washed her hands, still not looking at him. “Eh. Too often associated with evil. Dolphins . . . porpoises . . . Okay, those don’t work either—too friendly, too hard to say. . . . But how about stingrays? Rays. Yeah. They’re much sexier than seals. Have you ever seen one?”

Cosmo just stood there watching her. Was she really brainstorming a name change for the Teams?

She crossed the kitchen again and dried her hands on the towel hanging on the refrigerator door handle. “They look kind of like those flying pizzas in
Star Trek
—you know, ‘I am quite blind.’ Where Spock gets infected and they use radiation to—” She stopped herself, allowed herself to glance in his direction. “Not a
Star Trek
fan?”

Cosmo wasn’t sure what to say—she’d taken their conversation in so many different directions. And as she moved around the kitchen, her nightwear made for quite an eyeful.
I am quite blind,
indeed.

Her boxers bore images of characters from
SpongeBob SquarePants,
and she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all. The gray tank wasn’t designed to be at all alluring, yet . . . Tonight, SpongeBob aside, he found her unbelievably attractive in every way.

When the hell had that happened?

As she waited for him to respond, she self-consciously closed the front of her robe, tying the belt at her waist. God, had he just been staring at her?

Was that what just happened here? Something had definitely freaked her out. Yet at the same time, she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.

Star Trek,
renaming the Teams . . . Cos mentally worked his way back to where she’d started.
Why seals?

“SEAL is an acronym,” he told her. Client, client, client. She was his client. Damn, it had been much easier when he’d seen her only as expensive and annoying arm candy. “Sea, air, land. We’re trained to operate in those three environments.”

“Well, that about covers it, doesn’t it?” she said. “I mean, except maybe for outer space—or does that count as air?”

Why wasn’t she going back upstairs? It was late; she had to work in the morning. “Hasn’t been much call for us to do ops in outer space,” he said.

“You know, ducks make more sense,” Jane pointed out. “Seals don’t exactly fly.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to bring that to Admiral Crowley’s attention next time I see him.”

She laughed. “Good.”

And then there was silence. This time it was hers—and as she stood there, just looking at him, it was goddamn unnerving. What was she thinking? Cosmo honestly had no clue.

He cleared his throat. “Now that the security system is installed, I’ll just be down here in the kitchen, so if you need me—”

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

He didn’t let anything show on his face. He never did—or at least he was pretty sure he didn’t, but now he had to wonder because she quickly added, “I’m not asking you that. It’s none of my business, of course. I’m just . . . I’m guessing that’s probably another question you get a lot.”

“Yeah. It’s . . . Yeah.”

“Who asks it most?” she wondered, and he realized she was telling the truth. She hadn’t asked it because she wanted to know the answer. “The women or the men?”

“Women,” she guessed in unison with him as he answered. She laughed. “That’s amazing. What are they thinking?”

Cos shook his head. “I don’t know.” It was always kind of weird when women he met in a bar—clearly trying to pick him up—asked that. Apparently, men with kill notches on their belts were hugely attractive to some women.

“What do you tell them?” Jane asked, but this time didn’t wait for him to answer. “I would make up some huge number, like, ‘Yup, just made my five-hundredth bare-handed kill last week. With one-forty-three slice-and-dices and fifty-seven double pops to the head, I’m up to the big seven-oh-oh, so not only did they give me a brand-new watch, but I also had enough body count points to get me a washer and dryer. It’ll be delivered next week. Can’t wait.’ ”

Cosmo laughed. “Nice.”

She lowered her gaze with false modesty. “I’m a writer. It comes naturally. Feel free to use it.”

“Usually I just excuse myself and walk away.”

“Not into having sex with the ghoulishly, morbidly curious?”

He laughed again, but before he could answer, she added, “Don’t give me that ‘ridiculous question’ laugh. You
know
—admit it, you
do
know—that some guys wouldn’t care. Some guys—I’m not naming names:
Robin
—would gleefully use it to their advantage.”

“Do you ever get approached by men?” she continued, completely comfortable again. Maybe he’d simply imagined that temporary oddness. Maybe it was just inside of his own head. Maybe it was a reflection of his own freaked-out status, brought on by the fact that when he looked at her now, he liked what he saw. A lot. “Any macho types who follow you out into the parking lot to see just how tough the Navy SEAL really is?”

He shook his head. “You planning to write a story about a Navy SEAL?”

Jane smiled at him. Leaned back against the counter again. “I can’t help but notice how my life suddenly resembles a TV movie of the week log line,” she told him. “ ‘Hollywood screenwriter is thrown into a world of intrigue and danger when her latest project, the too-honest story of a beloved war hero’s hidden secret, sparks death threats.’ I figure I better start thinking about it, yeah.”

Cosmo couldn’t tell if she was serious.

“How’s your mom?” she asked. And meant it. Which brought a whole new source of weirdness into the room. Sometime between yesterday and today, they had become friends. At least she was treating him as if he were her friend.

“She’s getting tired of having two broken wrists,” he told her.

“I bet. How exactly did she . . . ?”

“New bifocals plus a storm that knocked some branches onto her deck. She tripped and fell—all the way down the stairs.”

“Oh, my God!” Jane said. “That’s awful!”

“Fortunately her neighbor was outside and saw it happen. Called 911.”

“My God,” Jane said again, honestly upset. “Can you imagine if the neighbor hadn’t been there?”

Yes, he could. And he did. Far too often. “I was out of the country when it happened.”

“Oh, Cos, that must’ve sucked.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“I can’t imagine that,” she said. “Going overseas the way you do, to some outrageously dangerous place and . . . PJ told me he was getting a taste of what it was like to be on the other end of that. His girlfriend’s going to Iraq. He’s pretty stressed out.”

“Yeah,” Cosmo agreed. “That’s got to be tough.”

“What exactly does
your
girlfriend do?” Jane asked.

Her question was a fishing expedition, asked so casually that he could practically see the beach chairs and cooler of beer.

Or was it? Before he could answer with “I already told you, I’m not seeing anyone right now—remember? My shift ends at 3:17. Wanna meet up in your room, get naked and—” she continued: “She works for Troubleshooters, right?”

“Uh . . .” Cosmo said. “Where did you hear that?”

“I was talking to Murph this afternoon, and I don’t know, I guess it was when PJ showed up and mentioned his girlfriend going to Iraq . . . We started talking about Jimmy Nash and Tess Bailey, who are hot and heavy, and how difficult—or not—that must be. You know, working together 24/7. In contrast to Beth and PJ spending the next eight months apart. But Murphy mentioned he and Angelina were having dinner with Tom and his wife sometime next week and that you were going to be there along with someone named Sophia, who also works for Troubleshooters, and . . . Murph thought maybe you and Sophia were seeing each other.”