Hot Pursuit (42 page)

“This
couch?” Robin realized. He stood up gracefully, the baby asleep in his arms. “Maybe it slipped behind the pillows.”

Jenn helped Dan look beneath the various throw pillows and … There it was. It had slid down, along the back of the sofa.

“How the hell did it get back there?” Dan wondered.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Robin said. “I’ve fallen asleep reading, and had my book end up beneath the seat cushion. Or if I’m in bed, down by my feet. Like, I wasn’t asleep that long, so how did it manage to migrate so far, so fast?”

Jenn looked at Dan, who was looking back at her. She knew what he was thinking. Was it possible that he’d fallen asleep?

“You should talk to Izzy,” she told him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I should.”

“Izzy?” Robin said helpfully, as he settled back on the couch with the baby, who was still miraculously asleep. “He just got here. He’s in the third bedroom. I think he just took a shower.”

“Thanks,” Dan said, looking at Jenn again.

But this time, she wasn’t sure what he wanted.

“Should I come with you?” she asked him.

“No,” he said quickly. “Nah, I can, um … You wanted to find out about Frank.” He looked at Robin, since the man seemed to have all the answers. “Has there been any word about Maria’s brother?”

But this time Robin shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard.” He shot Jenn a sympathetic face. “Sorry. I
do
know he’s detoxing at a psychiatric hospital. Considering what he was on, that’s going to take some time. Anyone looking to have an information-gathering
conversation with him is going to have to wait, because right now he’s probably not capable of putting together a coherent sentence.”

“Thanks,” Jenn said. “And thanks for helping us find Dan’s book.”

“Anytime.” Robin smiled as they drifted away from him.

Which left Dan eying that third bedroom.

He misinterpreted the concern on her face. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to kill Izzy.”

Jenn laughed. “God, I didn’t even think
of that.”
She’d been focusing so completely on his fear of what he was going to discover. But if Izzy had purposely and maliciously pretended that Dan had had another blackout… “Dan, maybe I should—”

“Call Maria,” he said quietly. “I know you need to talk to her. I’ll be quick. I’ll meet you in the conference room.”

“You know, it’s possible you had a conversation with Izzy,” she pointed out, “in your sleep. And he didn’t even know you were—”

“I’m
not
going to kill him,” he said again, pulling her close and dropping a kiss on her lips. “Not today, anyway.”

Jenn was worried about him.

Dan could see it clearly in her eyes. And she had just the very beginnings of an expression that he knew was going to morph into her apology face—and how weird was it that he already recognized that?

She was sorry, she was going to say, but she knew how hard this was for him. …

He shut it all down cold by kissing her again. More thoroughly this time.

And then, as she staggered away—or, shit, maybe he was the one who was staggering. What was it with the weak knees lately?—he knocked on the open bedroom door, even as he went inside.

Izzy Zanella was sitting at the desk in the corner, his hair still
wet, eating a salad. He froze as he saw Danny, his fork midway to his mouth.

“Got a sec?” Dan asked, keeping his voice calm even though the mere sight of Zanella was enough to raise his blood pressure.

Izzy was sitting in one of those swivel desk chairs, so he turned to face Dan, but he didn’t stand up. He was on high alert though, even putting his fork down, probably to have both hands free in case Danny tried to sucker punch him. But he, too, kept his voice light. “Sure, bro, what’s up?”

Bro. They weren’t brothers. They weren’t even close. But okay. Dan forced his shoulders to loosen up, and made sure his hands were open, his fists not clenched.

“I was wondering if I could, um, ask you a few questions about the, uh, other night?”

Izzy sat there, and he was either the best freaking actor in the world, or he truly had absolutely no clue what Dan was talking about. “The other night?” he repeated.

“When you put me in a headlock?” Dan was unable to keep some snark from his voice. “Ring any bells?”

Izzy relaxed, sitting back a little in his seat. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “But you don’t have to worry. I was the only one who heard you.”

“Heard me?” Now Danny was the parrot.

“I must’ve been in a light sleep cycle,” Izzy said, “because you weren’t making that much noise. You were really just talking, man. Hardly more than mumbling. No blood-chilling screams. You’re cool.”

“I was talking,” Dan said, trying to understand.

“It was angry,” Izzy said, “but you were keeping it quiet. Kind of low and dangerous. You know,
Get the fuck away from her
. That kind of shit. Whoever you were dreaming of was about to get their ass kicked.”

Dreaming.

“Huh,” Izzy continued. “I wonder if it was me. You know, the
ass-kickee. Because when I went to wake you, you just—bam—took me down.”

Danny had to sit, so he lowered himself down on the edge of one of the beds.

And then, as if the miracle of him
not
having blacked out again wasn’t enough, Izzy went and apologized.

“I’m sorry for, you know, the lack of finesse in waking you,” he told Dan. “I tried a coupla different ways, but you were out cold. Except then you were starting to get loud and I figured
anything
was better than you waking everyone in the suite, right? After Kazabek, I had these nightmares where after I woke up I nearly puked, and I didn’t know if you had, you know, something similar going on.”

Izzy’d gotten shot in a terrorist attack on the Grand Hotel in Kazabek, in which one of the SEAL team’s beloved chiefs had died. Dan had been injured, too, in the same attack—but he’d only been hit by flying glass.

“No,” Danny said now. “I, um, can get pretty loud though, so …” He made himself meet Izzy’s gaze. “Thanks. I’m, uh, sorry I, um, you know …”

Izzy shrugged. “No biggie.” He smiled. “It had shades of
Not now, Cato, not now
, though,” he said, referencing the Pink Panther movies, where the Inspector’s servant Cato would jump out and attack him—for practice—at random times.

Dan laughed a little, too. “I bet. Jesus, and I ended up waking everyone anyway.” He shook his head. “I, um, thought I’d blacked out again when you told Starrett we were talking about Eden.”

“Oh, shit,” Izzy said. “Dan, I am so sorry. It never even occurred to me that you might—”

“No, it’s okay,” Dan interrupted. “It just had me worried for a little bit.”

“Shit,” Izzy said.

“No,” Dan said again. “Just… Thanks for helping clear things up.”

And there they sat for a moment, in silence.

Izzy, who’d never been able to stay silent for long, broke it by saying, “At the risk of you going for my throat again
… Have
you heard from Eden?”

Jesus Christ. But okay, the asshole
had
seriously helped him out. Or maybe it was the relief from knowing he
wasn’t
on the verge of having to give up his career due to frequent and unpredictable blackouts. …

“I haven’t,” Dan answered. “No.” He cleared his throat. “I take it you haven’t heard from her, either.”

Izzy shook his head. “I’m going. Over there. To Germany. After this assignment.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dan asked, but then realized how harsh he sounded. “I mean, why do you do that to yourself? Lopez told me you go all the time, but she won’t see you.”

Izzy poked at his salad with his fork. “Maybe this time she will.”

“Zanella,” Dan told him, moving closer, sitting now on the other bed. “Don’t you get it? Eden’s crazy. You can’t possibly win with her. Even if by some miracle you
do
get back together? It’ll only be until the next time she loses it again. Or until she decides she wants to trade up. Which she will—as soon as there’s something she wants that you can’t afford to buy her.”

“She’s not like that,” Izzy said. “You don’t even know her, asshole. When was the last time you had a conversation with her, that wasn’t you telling her what to do, or blaming her for something?”

It was definitely time to go, but maybe because
crazy
was a default when it came to being a Gillman, Dan ignored his screaming instincts and tried to explain.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I don’t really know Eden, not anymore, but I know women, and I know this: She’s an infant.”

Izzy shifted, his disgust apparent, so Dan quickly added, “And no, this isn’t me slamming you for screwing around with an eighteen-year-old. This is me saying that the whole running away to
Germany and hiding thing is something a twelve-year-old would do, and you know it. Emotionally, Eden’s acting like she’s in seventh grade.”

“Have you ever lost a baby?” Izzy asked, defending her, as usual.

“You know that I haven’t,” Dan answered. “So why are you asking?”

“Because you have no clue what is or isn’t appropriate behavior for—”

“Okay,” Dan said. “You win that one. Point to you.”

“I’m just saying.” Izzy pushed his salad away from him, as if he had no appetite.

“And
I’m
saying, fair enough,” Dan countered. “But here’s something that I’ve found when dealing with women—and you can take it or leave it, but for me, it’s a God-given truth. And it’s that the really drop-dead beautiful ones … ? They are all completely insane.”

“That’s a rather broad generalization,” Izzy pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe they aren’t
all
insane,” Dan gave him that. “But ninety-nine point nine percent of them are. Because they’re taught, from like the time that they’re two, that the world revolves around them. And you combine
that
with all the learned diva behavior from watching
Project Runway
and all those other bullshit reality shows where the camera lingers on the prettiest person who cries the hardest or is the biggest asshole … And the end result is a woman who is at best high maintenance, and at worst a raving, irrational lunatic.”

“So … is that why you’re forsaking women and going gay?” Izzy was looking pointedly at the book Dan had brought in and set down on the bed next to him.

He flipped it over, so that the title wasn’t showing. “Don’t be a douche. I’m being serious here. And yes, you’re partly right, but I’ve only sworn off
beautiful
women. When time after time, you keep coming up with a resounding
no
to the age-old question,
Is the fucking
you’re getting worth the fucking you’re getting?
It’s definitely time to swear off
something
. But not sex. Thank God.”

Izzy shook his head. “I appreciate the fact that we’re having this conversation. At least I think I do. But I don’t really—”

Dan lowered his voice, glancing back at the door to make sure Jenn wasn’t done with her phone call. “Dude, everyone wants to get laid, all right? That’s just a fact of life. But there are ways to do it. Strategies. You don’t just automatically follow your dick. You use your head with the brain. You find the, I don’t know, the chunky girl with the really pretty friends.”

He’d done this for years, and he was doing it again, except … Somehow, with Jenn, it was different. Better. Probably because the sex was so great. Plus, he’d finally seen her naked and she wasn’t chunky, she was statuesque. “She’s low maintenance and low drama, plus she’s wired to believe that you’re too good to be true. She expects to be dumped, so when you do it, she lets go immediately.” As he said those words, he paused—not because they weren’t true, but because the knowledge that, yes, Jenn
would
let him go without high drama didn’t bring him the reassurance that he usually experienced. In fact, what he was feeling was a twinge of anxiety—what was
that
about? He tried to make a joke. “Unlike Ms. Crazy-Beautiful, who’ll spend months blogging about how she had to use a magnifying glass just to give you a blow job.”

But Izzy didn’t laugh, he just sighed heavily. “I don’t want to piss you off, man, but I’m in love with her. I’m not going to Germany because I’m hoping to get laid. I’m going because … maybe this time she’ll need me. Maybe this time we’ll talk. Maybe this time—”

“Excuse me, guys.”

They both looked up to see Robin standing in the door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he continued, “but… Jenn just left.” He looked at Dan. “Aren’t you supposed to be with her at all times?”

“Oh, fuck!”

Danny launched himself up off the bed, and Robin stepped
back so he could run for the hotel room door. As he threw it open, the FBI agent named John helpfully asked, “Was she supposed to leave …?”

“No,” Dan said. The elevators were around the corner to the right, so he shouted, “Jenni! Wait!”

Izzy was on Dan’s heels as they both skidded into the little elevator lobby—which was empty.

“Fuck!” Dan slapped the down button, pacing in front of the three elevator doors, even as he dug for his cell phone and punched in Jenn’s number. They were up too many floors even to consider taking the stairs. No way could they beat an express elevator to the lobby.

There was nothing to do but wait and pray.

Jenn’s voice mail picked up before the elevator door opened.

“Jenn,” he said, his voice actually cracking as he left a message. Christ, he was an idiot. “Please call me. I don’t know what you thought you heard, but you’ve got to call me.”

The elevator door opened with a ding, and Dan shut his phone and stepped in. Izzy followed.

“What she
thought
she heard is pretty much exactly what she heard,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I know,” Dan admitted, his heart in the pit of his stomach, and not just from the elevator free fall, as he mentally reviewed all that she’d no doubt overheard while lurking outside of the door. He purposely hadn’t used the word
fat
, but he
had
said
chunky
. “I’m a total dick.”

There was a letter, framed and on the wall of Maria’s office, from Pvt. Francis Bonavita, to the middle school students of the Chelsea YMCA’s after-school program, who’d written to him while he was stationed in Iraq.