Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Present Day
Palm Springs, California
Mission Day Three
Rodney Burke made room in his two-car garage, parking one of his vehicles out on the driveway, so that Sam could pull right into the open bay.
He barely had the engine off before the door was going down and before someone—had to be Jules’s childhood friend Kevin, aka Hobbit—launched himself at the car, aiming for the passenger side and opening the door to throw himself onto Jules’s lap.
“Whoa,” Sam heard himself saying, but Jules was laughing, so he guessed it was okay.
Robin, however, may have not been too pleased, although the kisses Kevin was noisily planting were only on Jules’s cheeks, chin, and forehead and not his mouth.
“It’s so good to see you,” Jules said, still laughing as Kevin now pulled him out of the car. And then they were just hugging—albeit quite a bit more tightly and for far longer than Sam greeted his best friend from his childhood, his cousin Noah.
But, come to think of it, maybe not.
“I swear to God, Jules Cassidy,” Kevin exclaimed, as Sam extracted himself from the cramped drivers’ seat, “you just keep getting more and more blindingly handsome, while I somehow seem to have gone from awkward teen directly to middle aged curmudgeon.”
“You’ve always been adorable, and you know it,” Jules countered, pulling his friend in for another hug because that first one apparently hadn’t been long enough.
Sam stretched his legs as he let himself look around.
Jules’s friend Rodney—or maybe his late wife Connie—was organized.
The garage held a fully equipped tool bench and a lot of gardening gear, a pair of cruising bikes complete with baskets, and what looked like water skis, but it was all neatly arranged along with a shelving system that held equally neatly labeled plastic storage boxes.
There was no chaos, no piles of shit to put away later like, ahem, some people.
And the car that sat in the other bay was a hybrid that was very shiny and clean.
Rod—had to be since it wasn’t Wig-Milt-slash-Sweater-Mick—was standing at the top of a set of wooden stairs in an open doorway that allowed Sam glimpses of a very nicely appointed kitchen. Lots of shiny wood and tile and stainless steel appliances.
The man quietly standing there watching Jules and Kevin was relatively tall and dressed a lot like Sam, in jeans and a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
His brown hair was long and pulled back into a neat man-bun.
His face was aging toward craggy, and as he glanced over to look at Sam, it was clear he had that enviable ability to completely hide all emotion with the type of blue eyes that could go flat and dead at will.
Sam’s favorite senior chief in SEAL Team Sixteen, Stan Wolchonok, had used that particular skill to a powerful advantage.
But like the Senior Chief, Rod apparently could let himself light-up upon occasion, too.
He smiled now, just a little, and let his amusement peek through as he gestured toward Jules and Kevin, who were both laughing their asses off at something as they glanced over at Sam and Rod. “They’re talking about you,” Rod said.
“Mmm,” Sam said. “Might be talking about you.”
That got him another smile. “Oh, I’m certain of that,” he said, adding, “This could take a while. You need the bathroom?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Sam said. “We truck-stopped just a few minutes ago. Jules wanted to gas up. You know, just in case.”
Rod, who apparently knew Jules pretty damn well, did know. He gave Sam a nod, his hand stretched out to shake. “Rod Burke.”
“Sam Starrett,” Sam answered as he clasped the man’s firm grip.
“I know who you are,” Rod said. He lowered his voice a tad. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s okay,” Sam said. “This case has been a shit-show, but that’s probably a good thing.”
“No time to wallow,” Rod agreed. He exhaled a burst of disgust. “Said the professional wallower.”
“Yeah, man, I should’ve started with: I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sam said and Rod nodded.
“Thanks. Yeah. It’s been, um...” Rod shook his head. “Having Kevin here is... I mean, it’s... a lot. But... good.” He shook his head again. “No. Nothing’s good. Not yet, but... it’s better than... It’s better. Fuck, I’ll just stop there.”
“I think that’s about where Jules is, too,” Sam said.
“Ah, shit, Sam’s calling me Jules again.
That’s a sign of the end-times.” Jules and Kevin—Hobbit—had finally finished hugging and now Jules wrapped his arms around Rod, kissing him on the side of his face, too, but unlike Kevin, once was enough for him.
“Man, it’s so good to see you. Thank you for saving the day. ”
“It was no big deal,” Rod replied.
“Just the same, thank you,” Jules said smiling into his friend’s eyes.
“Why is it a sign of the end-times?” Kevin asked, blowing past Sam’s hand that he’d held out and hugging him instead.
“I... have no idea,” Sam said, gently extracting himself. “I’m Sam.”
“Yeah, I know, I remember you from the wedding,” Kevin said. “Sam the Navy SEAL best-man Starrett, with the gorge wife Alyssa who used to work with Jules. I was so jealous, but I’m over it now.”
“Of me?” Sam asked, surprised, but Kevin had already turned his attention back to Jules.
“Why is it a sign of the end-times?”
“Jules only happens when life gets super-serious,” Jules said. “He usually calls me Cassidy.”
“Or Squidward.” Sam said in near perfect unison with Jules, which of course cracked Jules up.
Hobbit however gasped, turning back to Sam. “That makes you Sponge Bob,” he guessed correctly. “Ooh, can I be Patrick?” He turned to Rod. “You can be Mr. Krabs.”
“No,” Rod said. “I can’t.”
“I kinda expected Mick to be part of the welcoming committee,” Jules said as they all went into the spacious kitchen.
“I think he’s hiding from Emily,” Kevin reported as he bustled around in the kitchen, which was clearly his territory—although it was likely the entire house was his territory.
It was Rod who seemed awkward and out of place there.
Which kinda made sense. He’d mentioned earlier that he and Connie had inherited the house from her parents.
Kevin opened a container of cookies that looked home-baked, adding, “Her rage is incandescent. Pretty impressive, TBH.”
“Not a surprise,” Jules murmured.
“I’ll get him,” Rod volunteered. “He went to lie down.”
“He lost some blood, but I really think it was Emily murdering him with her words that did him in.” Kevin got out mugs for coffee—a fresh pot had just been brewed and it smelled pretty fricking great.
Sam had just grabbed a cookie—chocolate chip, hooyah—and poured himself a cup when he heard Rod’s voice in the other room and then what had to be Emily Johnson, saying, “No, he’s not,” and then Rod, way more clearly. “Fuck.”
Uh-oh. Sam looked at Jules, who was looking back at him.
“So, Mick’s not here,” Rod announced as he came back into the kitchen. “I am so fucking sorry. God damn it, I gave him the alarm code. I honestly didn’t think we needed to lock him in.”
Emily was right behind him—she was taller and younger than Sam would’ve guessed from seeing her in that photo, but that long, dark, curly hair and wide brown eyes made her unmistakable. “Oh, my God,” she said. “He left?”
“Okay,” Jules said, his voice easygoing and calm, even though inside he was probably screaming about the injustice of this latest goatfuckery.
“Let’s lock this place down, make sure we’re secure.
Alarm system on—let’s change that code while we’re at it.
” Clearly he’d spotted the state-of-the-art system’s control pad near the door to the garage, and Rod went immediately over to it, grimly keying in those changes.
Meanwhile, Jules managed to smile at Emily.
“Hello, Emily, it’s so nice to meet you in person.
I’m Jules Cassidy and this is Sam Starrett.
We were hired by Mick to find you, but apparently lots of other people want to find you, too, and sadly they’re not as friendly as we are.
So we’re gonna concentrate right now on keeping you safe, okay?
Let’s have you stay right here in the kitchen with me while Sam, Rod, and Hob double-check that all the windows and doors are locked. ”
Mick had left.
Mick had left.
“Coffee?” the ridiculously handsome man named Jules Cassidy asked as he poured from the freshly brewed pot into a mug.
Emily shook her head.
“You sure?” he asked. For someone so freakishly good-looking his brown eyes were remarkably gentle.
Kind. “Because—and I know this is a pain in the ass, I’m so sorry—but we can’t stay here.
As far as safe houses go, they stop being safe when the location stops being secret.
And when someone leaves the way Mick did.
.. Anyway, I’d like to head back to Los Angeles tonight.
As long as we have to leave, we might as well get you to a place where you’ll be more safe.
I’ve got three additional team members in LA, well, four—probably more like six by now, which is good—so we’ll get you a hotel room there.
It’ll be easy to lockdown until we can figure out exactly what’s going on.
” He smiled at her again. “And don’t worry, we absolutely will. ”
“Mick thinks the lawyer’s behind all this,” Emily said. “Along with that former cop named Clayton Spencer.”
“He told you that?” Jules asked, his eyes sharp as he sipped his coffee.
Emily nodded.
“Hmm. Because that was my theory, too. I’ve been trying to figure out if Mick was involved, and I gotta be honest, his leaving like this kinda points the arm of the what-is-happening-o-meter to the Yes He Was side of the gauge.”
She laughed a little despite herself. What was it Kevin had said? Trust Jules Cassidy. Well, okay, it looked like she was going to have to. “But why would he leave if the big goal is to kill me?” she asked. “I mean, I’m right here.”