Troubleshooters - Into The Night Part 28

Ihbraham's truck was parked in front of the house next door. He had just finished loading his lawn mower into the back, and he came toward her now, both glad to see her and puzzled as to what she was doing there.

Ihbraham was her friend.

He actually liked her. He honestly cared about her.

The realization hit her and she burst into tears.

"Wow," he said. "Do I smell that bad?"

But there must have been something in her eyes or on her face that told him it was time to kick aside the boundaries that he'd set between them. He hesitated only slightly before he reached for her.

Mary Lou clung to him, her arms tight around his waist as she sobbed into his s.h.i.+rt.

"Oh, wow," he said again in his lilting accent. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

For someone who was so thin, he was solid. Beneath his flowing clothes, he was all lean muscle.

And he smelled so good. Like fresh-cut gra.s.s and some kind of exotic fragrancea"sandalwood. Janine used to burn sandalwood incense back when she was into psychedelic drugs.

"I need to go to a meeting," Mary Lou said, her voice m.u.f.fled.

"Ah," he said, his hands warm against her back, against her head as he gently stroked her hair as if she were a young child. "That's always a good idea. Shall I help you find one? I have a blue book in my truck."

Mary Lou lifted her head and looked up at him, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "Will you go with me?"

This time he didn't hesitate at all. "Of course."

"I hate this f.u.c.king s.h.i.+t."

Muldoon didn't have to turn around to know it was Sam Starrett who was standing behind him, stripping off his re-breather and other diving gear.

"You know what lives in caves?" Sam asked. "Batsa" which are the f.u.c.king creepiest mammal on the face of the earth, except they don't live on menace of the earth, do they? They live beneath it."

Bats were actually kind of cool, considering they used sound waves to navigate as they moved through the air at high speeds. But Muldoon kept his thoughts to himself, seeing how Sam had come up against about a hundred of them flapping in his face just a few hours ago without flinching or making a single sound. He was allowed to rant about it now.

"And those white bugs," Sam continued. "And fish and lizards. White with no eyes. Jesus." He laughed. "Listen to me complain. Like I wouldn't give d.a.m.n near anything to be able to stay here and just keep training like this for the next, oh, five, ten years. Or better yet, go directly from here to Afghanistan to kick a.s.s. Yeah, give me angry terrorists. Just please don't make me go home."

He'd sat down to strip his wet suit from his legs, and now he just sat on the ground, rubbing his forehead as if he had a ma.s.sive headache.

"Anything I can do?" Muldoon asked.

Sam laughed, a burst of disgusted air. "Yeah, I wish. Make my life go away, will you?" He stopped himself, running one hand down his face. "s.h.i.+ta"sorry, Mike."

"Are you sure there's nota""

"Yeah, I'm sure." Sam cut him off. "I'm the one got myself into this mess, I'm gonna have to get myself out. It's just... it's not going to be fun."

Muldoon nodded. "I'm here if you want to talk."

"Right," Sam said, hauling himself up off the ground. "Talking will really help."

"Hey, you were the one who told me to talk to Joan," Muldoon pointed out.

"Yeah, how's that going?"

"Not so good," he admitted.

"What a f.u.c.king surprise." Sam gathered up his gear, and with a nod, he vanished into the night.

Chapter 14.

"Got a minute?"

"Heck, Mike, I've got a full hour," Joan said into her cell phone, reaching for the remote control and muting CNN. "And the only reason I can't talk longer is because I'm meeting my grandparents for lunch."

"That's great," he said. "I'm glad you found the time to do that."

She kept her eye on the headlines that ran constantly beneath the news. "Yeah, I'm smack in the middle of what we in this business call 'the lull before the storm.' Just try talking to me tomorrow, bub. In fact, let me apologize now for the fact that I'm going to be able to give you only twelve and a half seconds when you return from wherever it is that you are right nowa"that unnamed, secret place where you and your brothers in arms are doing unnamed, secret things that will help you be better prepared to fight terrorists."

Muldoon laughed. Even over the less-than-perfect cell phone speaker his laughter sounded too rich and warm. He sounded close, tooa"as if he were curled up inside of her ear.

"What's up, my brother from another mother?" she asked.

"I'm really just checking in," he told her. "I've got a little time to kill, too. I guess I just wanted to make sure that Steve was still getting the job done for you."

"He is," Joan said. "He's been very nice. Not as nice as you, but..." CNN cut to commercials and she was able to drag her eyes away from the screen. "Speaking of nice, do you know there's a rumor going around that you're gay?"

Muldoon choked. "What? "

Boy, he actually sounded surprised. She was sure he'd just laugh, sure he'd be aware of the rumors. "Oops. Never mind."

"Hold on," he said in his commanding officer's voice. "Wait. You can't drop a comment like that and then go never mind. Where did you hear that?"

"Is it true?" she asked.

He laughed in disgust. "What do you think?"

"I think if it's not true, why do you care where I heard it?" she countered.

"I'd kind of like to know who's spreading rumors about me."

"What are you going to do, go beat 'em up?" she asked. "Ora"I knowa"hah! Go have heteros.e.xual s.e.x in front of them?" She laughed.

"Yeah, right," he said. "You are so not funny this time."

"Oh, but I am. I crack-a myself-a up," she admitted. "I was just picturing..." She laughed harder.

"What?"

"I was just picturing..." She couldn't stop laughing.

"What?"

"We were looking for a really flashy way to kick off the President's appearance next week, thinking about some kind of SEAL demonstration, and John Grotto, he's a major player in the White House communications office, he kept saying, 'We want to do something unusual. Something that's never been done before.' Quick, let me send an email to John suggesting ... Wow, it puts a new spin on the idea of a demonstration, doesn't it?"

He laughed, and she could almost see him roll his eyes. "I'm so very glad I amuse you."

"Don't take it personally. It's really just... s.e.x is really very funny, don't you think?"

"Funny isn't the word that comes to my minda"

"No," Joan said, trying her best not to start laughing again. "I know. You're right. When it's just two people and there's pa.s.sion and maybe even real, honest love and the room is dimly lita"very dimly lita"then it can be pretty serious. But public s.e.x? No, thank you. No way. It's just not... I mean, have you ever watched a p.o.r.no flick?"

"Urn..."

"Of course you have. Everyone's seen at least one and probably only one because, let's face it, you watch one and you never want to have s.e.x again, let alone ever watch another p.o.r.no movie. It's not s.e.xy at all. It's hideous. At best, it's funnya"laughably funny. There's lots of odd positions with strangely placed and therefore freakish-looking naked body parts. And there's grunting and all kinds of strange and very uns.e.xy noises and... Have you ever watched yourself have s.e.x?"

"Uh..."

"Well, no. Bad example," Joan said. "Because look at you. You probably don't have a bad side. You probably look terrific from all angles. But I had a very intense relations.h.i.+p in college with a guy who liked mirrors and I swear to G.o.d, I had to keep my eyes closed or I wouldn't be able to stop laughing. I was like, 'G.o.d! What the h.e.l.l is that?' "

Muldoon was laughing. "I think laughter is an important part of s.e.x."

"Laughter, yes," she said. "But mirrors, cameras, or twenty thousand people watching from the bleachersa"no, thank you. Kind of ruins the moment for me."

"Ruins the moment," he repeated. "I think most women have very definite ideas about what s.e.x should or should not be. I mean, without a preconceived notion of exactly what the moment should be, it can't be ruined, right?"

"I can't decide whether to flamb you for being s.e.xist or admit that you're on to something there, considering that most men are idiots and will do it anywhere, anytime, and with anyone."

"Nah, that's not true," Muldoon countered. "At least not the anyone part."

"Yeah, some guys draw the line at elderly women. But everyone else in a skirt is fair game." The running headlines were back on CNN, but they were all repeats.

"You know that's not true."

"Oh, excuse me," Joan said. "For some men, married women are on the untouchable list, too."

"Ms. Funny strikes again," he said. "Maybe you're right. Maybe men err on the side of being open to far more possibilities, but women ... It's been my experience that most women have their fantasies practically scripted. This has got to happen, and then this, and then that, and the list goes on and on and on. As a guy, you need to play the gamea"and G.o.d help you if you accidentally throw in a little unwanted improve. But after a while, you learn your cues. It gets so you know exactly what they want to hear and when they want to hear it."

"If I'm Ms. Funny, you're Mr. Jaded."

"Maybe." He paused. "So tell me thisa"what is Brooke Bryant going to want to hear?"

Joan stopped watching the headlines. "Are you serious?"

There was another pause and then he said, "Yeah."

"You honestly want to start something... like that... with Brooke?"

"I like her," Muldoon said. "She writes a mean email. She comes across as smart and funny and, well, you know. Hot."

Oh, s.h.i.+t. Joan sat up. "Hot," she repeated. "You think that she's hot from the way she writes email?'

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you know, I do."

Joan closed her eyes. She wrote that email. All of it. All seven of them.

In the past twenty-four hours, she and Muldoon had exchanged seven different emails. G.o.d. What had she been thinking?

She'd forwarded Mike's first email to Brooke, who'd sent a reply directly to Joan.

What are you doing, sending this to me? Brooke wrote. She sounded brittle. Extremely stressed. Who is this guy? I don't have time for this right now. Handle this, Joan, please. Write something back to him and say it's from me. In fact, send it from my official White House screen name. You know my pa.s.sword. I never have time to check that address anyway. Just deal with him!

"Look," Muldoon said. "She wrote me some really great email, and I really like her, and, well, I don't want to blow it."

"Wow. Well, okay." G.o.d, was she really jealous? She was. Which was stupid, since this was what she wanted, wasn't it?

"So how do I do it? How do I make sure she'll agree to see me again? I mean, I'm pretty sure that she thinks of me as being too young ora""

"Well, you are," Joan interrupted. "She's forty; you're twelve!"

"Twenty-five."

"I know," she said. "I was just beinga""

"Narrow-minded," he said.

That stopped her cold. "You think I'ma""

"Yes," he said. "I do."

"She's old enough to be youra""

"Lover," he said. "We've exchanged lots of great email in a very short amount of time, Joan. I'm pretty sure she likes me, too. You know, she's really a great writer and a great person and... I need you to help me here."

Joan stood up and walked across the room to the window, with its view of the Pacific Ocean. He thought she was a great writer. "How?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "See, I've never done this before. I've never, you know..."

"No," she said. "I don't know. Spit it out, Muldoon."

"The number of times I've asked a woman out are in the single digits," he said. "I just... I've never had to, you know..."