Troubleshooters - Into The Night Part 31

"Yes. But this one roll ..." Meredith paused delicately.

"How do I put this? Or rather, how do I tell you where she alleges she put it?"

Oh, G.o.d. "That's going to be funa"explaining that to Muldoon. Do we know why she held the photo until now? I mean, what kept her from going public as soon as she returned to Paris?"

"She says The Truth ran the photo on their front page the day after she left Afghanistan. But both the photo and her story weren't picked up by the a.s.sociated Press. Probably because The Truth had recently been discovered printing a whole series of photos from 1991 taken during Operation Desert Storm, that the paper claimed were from the current conflict." Meredith laughed. "It's the cla.s.sic Boy Who Cried Wolf syndrome. Serves 'em right. Although the fact that the photo was first printed last year makes me think Lapin's telling the truth about it being the only one. If she had other pictures, they would have been plastered all over The Truth, too."

"Yeah," Joan said. "Okay."

"So what now?" Meredith asked.

Good question.

"We're going to have to get Muldoon a room at the hotel," Joan decided. "And Secret Service protection if he wants it."

"You really think he'll need his own room?" Meredith asked. "I mean, if he really is Brooke Bryant's newest hottie..."

"Get him a room," Joan repeated, and hung up.

She dug through her handbag for her bottle of pain reliever as she dialed Muldoon's cell phone number.

This was not going to be fun.

She held her breath, but he didn't pick up.

All that non-fun was going to have to wait. Muldoon's voice mail went on, brief and to the point. "Leave a message, I'll call you back."

"Mike, it's Joan." Good start, but there was no way she was going to be able to leave him a message about this total fiasco. "Call me as soon as you get this message, all right? It's very important that we talk."

She flipped her phone closed. And picked up the newspaper to look at that photo again.

He was going to be really angry about this. Who wouldn't be?

But a man who could run with a broken kneecap ... Now, there was someone who had access to all lands of self-control and normally untapped resources. There was no way that a man like that would stay angry at her forever.

Was there?

"Whoa," Cosmo said.

There was more emotion packed into that one little word than Muldoon had ever heard the petty officer utter in all of the years they'd both been with Team Sixteen.

He turned to find Cosmo staring up at the TV that was tucked in the corner of the sandwich shop.

Instead of eating more MREsa"meals, ready-to-eata"they were here, having a real lunch of real food because Commander Paoletti loved them. This sleepy little California town was accustomed to the SEALs fast-roping down from helos to grab some grub. Most of the SEALs were over at the Mexican restaurant across Main Street, but Muldoona" forever and always watching his weighta"wanted a turkey on whole wheat.

Besides, he had plans for tonight that didn't include the aftereffects of eating beans for lunch.

"You're on the news, sir," Cosmo said. He smacked the counter with the palm of his hand. "Hey, Frank, give us some volume here!"

But Frank was in the back room. "Be out in a sec!"

Muldoon took a step toward the TV and then another. Jesus, was that really a picture of Wildcard and... ? It was. It was him. A photograph of Muldoon in action, his arm looped around the chief's neck, right there on the cable news.

But then the video cut to a slender young woman with closely cropped bleached blond hair and heavy black eye makeup.

"s.h.i.t, it's Camile." Unwilling to wait a second longer, Cosmo dragged a table up to the TV, climbed up, and cranked the volume himself.

"Who's Camile?" Sam Starrett asked, leaning back against the counter.

But whatever Camilea"who looked vaguely familiara"had to say was done.

"... in Afghanistan" was all they heard in her heavily accented English.

"Camile is that French reporter, wanted to interview that sc.u.mbag Zeeshan when we were taking out that cave last year," Cosmo said, and everything fell into place.

Her hair had been black back then, but it was definitely her. "How the h.e.l.l did she get that photo?" Muldoon asked Cosmo. "I thought she was searched."

"She was. s.h.i.t, sir, I searched her myself. Confiscated her camera and four rolls of film."

"You should have called for a cavity search," Sam said. Easy for him to say. He hadn't been therea"hadn't met the woman.

"Guess so," Cosmo said grimly. The muscle jumped in his jaw as he took off his sungla.s.ses and faced Muldoon. "I'm really sorry about this, sir."

"Who knew?" Muldoon said. "Don't sweat it, Cos. It's not so bad. It's been months since that picture was taken. It's not like the info that we were there on the ground during the air strikes hasn't already been leaked."

The news anchor, perky and bright-eyed, was talking about the important role of SEALs and other "special forces" in the war on terrorism, and getting just about all of it completely wrong. Which was probably just as well. The less secrets given away, the better.

But then the anchor said, "As the war continues and stories of heroism and courage are reported, more and more people are clamoring to find out more about the men who wear the uniforms.

"Apparently Brooke Bryant, the President's wild child, was among the curious. Sources at the White House say she's been corresponding through email with Navy SEAL lieutenant Michael Muldoon for quite some time."

What?

"Whoa," Cosmo said again. "Have you really?"

Even Sam was now standing up straight.

And the photo of Muldoon and Wildcard was back on the TV screen.

"No," Muldoon said. Sources at the White House ... He felt sick. "I mean, yes, buta"'

"Shh!" Sam said sharply. "I want to hear this."

"Ms. Bryant arrives in San Diego this afternoon," the bubbly anchor said in a voice-over, "where she'll attend a black-tie banquet, escorted by Lieutenant Muldoon. Lieutenant Muldoon is the SEAL officer on the left in this now famous photo."

Someonea"a source from the White Housea"gave CNN his name and released that photograph...

The anchor was all dimples. "A well-recognized aide to the First Daughter was reportedly overheard investigating the preparations needed for a full fanfare military wedding. Sources have neither confirmed nor denied any rumors of impending nuptials, but there definitely appears to be romance in the air today at the White House.

"Coming up, we'll take a look at the latest in the automotive industry'sa""

Cosmo was back on the table, turning the volume down.

Sam looked at Muldoon. "What the f.u.c.k is that about?"

He shook his spinning head. "It was Joan," he said. "I emailed Brooke Bryant, yes, but... I'm supposed to take her to this thing tonight. But I'm just her escorta"I've never even met the woman. So I emailed her, mostly to try to get a rise out of Joan, because I was sending it to Brooke through Joan's email address and I knew she'd read it... But it was Joan who wrote back. I'm sure of it. It was definitely Joan. I mean, she was trying not to sound like herself, and she was using Brooke's screen name, but... I know that it was Joan."

"Jesus Christ," Sam said, laughing in amazement. "You know, for a smart guy, you are dumb as a stone. Were you really trying to make Joan jealous?"

"No," Muldoon said. "Yes. G.o.d, I don't know." He didn't know anything anymore.

Sam laughed. "Well, s.h.i.t, Muldoon, that worked really well. Congratulations on your impending engagement to the President's daughter."

"This isn't funny, sir," Muldoon said stiffly.

"Sorry." Sam stopped laughing. "You're right. It's not funny. It really sucks to be used, doesn't it?"

Muldoon nodded. "Yes, sir."

Joan had to be one of those White House sources mentioned on the news. She'd probably set him up for this, right from the start. He just couldn't believe she'd leak his name. And yet, there it had been. Lt. Michael Muldoon. All over the news. And his picture, too.

So much for thinking she was his friend. Or more...

"Well, screw her stupid party," Sam said. "Who needs that kind of ha.s.sle, right? When we get back to Coronado, what do you say we head over to the Ladybug and spend the night playing pool and doing shots? How about you, Cos? You in?"

"Absolutely, sir."

Muldoon shook his head. "I can't," he said. "Thanks, Sam, really, but I promised I'd be there, and I keep my promises." Unlike some people, who worked in the White House and promised not to turn him into a news story. He looked from Sam to Cosmo and back. "But save me a seat at the bar. I'll definitely be there as soon as I possibly can."

Donny DaCosta actually answered his door when Mary Lou brought him his mail.

He was moving slowly and his eyes looked a little bit as if he'd just spent twelve straight hours on Bourbon Street in New Orleansa"the result of his medication, no doubta"but the door opened and he even reached his hand out.

"Thanks," he said as he took the pilea"now quite largea" from her.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," she said, knowing it was too soon to ask if she could come in. "I didn't mean what I said, Don. I was just... wigging out."

He nodded, apparently extremely able to relate to the phenomenon. Or maybe he was nodding merely because it was the easiest and quickest way to get rid of her.

"Let me know if you need anything, hon," she said, as he closed the door.

Mary Lou heard him throw all the locks and bolts as she bent to pick up the baby monitor she'd set down on the steps in order to have both hands free to hand him his mail.

And so life in this neighborhood was returning to normal.

Or at least it would if she'd let it.

Sam would be home tonight. He'd left a message on the answering machine while she was at work this morning, telling her he'd be getting in late. Don't wait up.

She'd still be awake, though, when he did get home. She always was.

Although, wouldn't he be surprised as h.e.l.l if he got home and she wasn't there?

Yeah, sure. Chances are, he wouldn't miss her for a moment.

Back to normal. Right.

All she'd ever wanted was normal, but normal constantly eluded her. It was always just out of reach, always being disrupted by some pain in the a.s.s problem or situation or stupid phone call, like the one she'd gotten just a few months ago from her sister, Janine, saying she and Clyde were moving all the way across the f.u.c.king country to Sarasota, Florida.

First Janine left town, and now Rene was moving, too. Lord, did Mary Lou wear a sign around her neck saying, ABANDON ME?

How could she achieve normal when ugly surprises just kept popping up?

Surprises like waking up in the night to hear Sam call out for another woman while he was fast asleep.

Like finding out that that woman was gorgeous and brillianta"college educateda"a former naval officer herself, and some kind of crack FBI sharpshooter to boot.

Mary Lou would bet big money that if she died in a tragic car accident at noon, Sam would be on the phone to that womana"Alyssa Lockea"by 2:30 that same afternoon.

But until she did get hit by a bus, Sam would just keep on coming home to pay the bills, to fling Haley around a little bit if she wasn't already asleep, to fall into bed exhausted, and then get up and out of the house, usually before dawn, to do it all again.

Was that really the normal she wanted to live with?

Mary Lou wanted to cry.

Ihbraham's truck was parked down the street, and she walked toward it, suddenly desperately wanting to see his smile. She made sure she could still hear the gurgle of the white-noise machine in Haley's room through the baby monitor's little speaker as she moved farther from her house.

He saw her and came to meet her, wiping his face and hands with a ragged towel he took from the back of his truck.

"I'm glad to see you today, Mary Lou," he said, his lilting accent making her name sound like the lyrics to a pop song. "Is everything all right?"

She forced a smile. "What, can you read my mind now, too?"

He laughed. "It would be a handy skill to have, but no. You're usually home in the afternoons, but you weren't yesterday, and then you weren't at your usual meeting last night. I must admit I was a little worried."

Ihbraham came to her usual meeting last night, looking for her. That was so sweet.

"Afraid I went on a binge?" she asked.

"No," he said. "No, no. I knew you would call me before you did something like that. I was afraid someone was sick, or that there'd been a death in your family. You told me your mother's health is failing. I thought..."

"That I rushed to Georgia to sit at her deathbed and hold her hand?" Would she go if her mother was dying? Maybe she would. Definitely, if asked. But her mother wouldn't ask. She'd be far more interested in holding hands with a bottle of gin. "No, I spent the morning picking up my car from the body shop with... a friend."

She knew he'd noticed her hesitation. He noticed everything.

"He took me and Haley to lunch after that," she told him, wanting to tell him all of it. "It's this guy, Bob, I met at the library. He's really nice. He's ..." She shook her head, rolled her eyes. "Who am I kidding? He's definitely hitting on me. He asked me to have dinner with him tonight. Lunch is one thing. I mean, Haley was with us. But dinner... ? Don't you think he's. .h.i.tting on me?"

"It sounds as if he is." Ihbraham sat down on the curb. "He knows you're married, this Bob?"