When Tony Met Adam is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A Ballantine Books eBook Original

Copyright ©2011 by Suzanne Brockmann
Excerpt from Hot Target copyright © 2005 by Suzanne Brockmann

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

Previously from All Through the Night © 2007 by Suzanne Brockmann

BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-345-52987-9

www.ballantinebooks.com

Cover design; Lynn Andreozzi
Cover image : © Elie Bernager /Gettyimages

v3.1

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

First Page

About the Author

Friday, December 14, 2007

Adam stood in the foyer of this beautiful house that Robin shared with Jules. He couldn’t stop himself from gazing up the stairs. Neither of them had come down since he’d been up there with Sam, over an hour ago.

“I’ll tell ’em you said good-bye,” Sam said now, still following him around.

“Thanks. I wrote that note,” Adam said. “You can read it first if you want.”

“I will.”

And still he hesitated.

“He’s really happy with Jules,” Sam reminded him.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “I know.”

“Sure you don’t want a ride to Logan?” Sam asked.

“No,” Adam said. “You should be here in case Jules needs you. Best man.”

“Stay away from them,” Sam said, not unkindly, “or I will fuck you up.”

“Yikes,” Adam said. “You almost gave me a heart attack—until you added that last up.”

Sam exhaled his disgusted exasperation. “Good-bye, Adam.” He opened the door and pushed him out onto the porch.

The door closed tightly behind him, and Adam jammed his hands into his pockets and went down the stairs.

There was a group of SEALs standing on the sidewalk out front, and as he went past them, one of them said, “Hey, you’re that actor, right? Shoot, I’m blanking on your name, but I loved you in American Hero.”

“Thanks,” Adam said, but he didn’t stop walking, because Christ, all he needed to make the day perfect was to get hassled for being gay by some crew-cut-sporting no-necks.

But the movie-literate SEAL disengaged himself from the others, trotting slightly to catch up, and then matched his stride to Adam’s. “You were amazing in Memphis Moon, too.”

“Thanks.” Adam increased his pace, but the SEAL was taller than he was, and he easily kept up.

So Adam stopped at the corner, beneath the streetlight. “Look, if you’re going to—”

“I also loved Snow Day. I mean, yeah, it was light, but you were incredible.” He was really just a kid, early twenties, nice smile, good-looking in a born-and-raised-in-Kansas kind of way.

Adam looked at him, and the kid held his gaze. And held his gaze. He had blue eyes. Very, very blue eyes. But, shit, he was young.

“I’m Tony,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I’m trouble,” Adam told him.

Tony laughed at that. He actually had dimples. “I’m a SEAL,” he said to Adam with a shrug. “I like trouble.”

Hey now, as Robin would’ve said.

“It’s Adam, right?” Tony remembered his name. “Wyndham.”

Adam nodded. “I’m kind of … nursing a broken heart,” he admitted.

Tony nodded. But he took a pen out of his pocket, took Adam’s hand, and actually wrote his phone number on it, right on the palm. “Give me a call if it mends.” He pocketed his pen, flashing another of those killer smiles. “And in case you had any doubt just how much I like trouble, I’m pretty sure I just came out to my teammates.”

He walked backward, moving toward those very teammates, facing Adam and smiling all the while.

It was hard not to smile back, and as Adam finally headed for the T station, he even managed to laugh.

What was it Cowboy Sam had said? Time to move on.

Yeah. If he put his mind to it, he could maybe imagine doing just that.

Friday, 14 December 2007

As Adam Wyndham finally turned the corner, Tony returned to the group of SEALs standing on the sidewalk in front of FBI agent Jules Cassidy’s South End Boston home.

No one said a word. Dan Gillman and Bill Silverman were both staring at the ground, Gillman kicking at a chunk of ice that probably wouldn’t melt until spring. Jay Lopez’s head was down, too. He was checking his cell phone for text messages. And even Izzy Zanella was uncharacteristically mute, seemingly fascinated by the headlights of the passing traffic.

Tony broke the silence, clearing his throat. “So,” he said, and it was weird because his heart wasn’t pounding. In fact, he was almost unnaturally calm. It was twice as weird, because after years of trying to second-guess the exact right time and place to come out to his teammates, he hadn’t hesitated tonight. He’d just done it—following Adam down the street, like a thirteen-year-old with a crush, while some of his closest friends in Team Sixteen watched. And whatever the fallout was going to be …

Truth was, he didn’t particularly give a shit. And wasn’t that bizarre, since he’d literally sweated over the idea of being forcibly discharged from this job that he loved. He cleared his throat again. “That probably cleared up a few mysteries for you, huh guys?”

Zanella was the first to look up, but the taller man didn’t hold Tony’s gaze for more than a few seconds. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I didn’t see a thing.”

“Me neither,” Jay said, shutting his phone. “I didn’t see a fucking thing.” He turned abruptly, heading back toward the house, and it was crazy.

Tony could count on his fingers the times he’d heard Jay drop the f-bomb. Usually it only happened when a serious firefight was going on.

It was twice as crazy, because Gillman and Silverman were stunned, too—looking after Jay as he opened the gate, as if his use of profanity was more shocking to them than the news that Tony was gay.

Probably gay.

They were playing this as if they didn’t know for sure, despite the fact that they’d just watch him hit on Adam freaking Wyndham, one of Hollywood’s hottest rising, openly gay movie stars. But it was clear that they were going to follow the rules and not ask.

Jay, in particular, was choosing to walk away rather than stay and discuss, and that was disappointing, since, out of all of them, he was the one Tony had most expected to be accepting.

Apparently, Tony had misjudged the extent of the older SEAL’s Catholicism. Apparently, he was one of those so-called Christians who sang about “all God’s children,” but then pointed exclusionary fingers. Not so fast there, you and you and you.

But then Jay stopped and turned back, and pointed a very literal finger at Tony. “You,” he started but then stopped himself even as Tony braced for the name-calling and ugliness that he just knew was coming from this man that he so admired.

He tried to hide his disappointment by mentally moving on. He could put in for a transfer, head for the East Coast teams. Although it was likely that news of his sexual orientation would precede him, which could well mean that his days in the Navy were numbered. But that was inevitable. He’d known that from the moment he’d enlisted. He tried to focus on the fact that Sam Starrett had made it more than clear that he had a place waiting for Tony in the private sector, as part of Troubleshooters Incorporated’s elite personal security team. And since Sam’s best friend was gay, what or who Tony did wasn’t likely to be a problem for his potential new employer.

And even if Tony didn’t have TS Inc. as a backup plan, he still wouldn’t give a shit that his military career was about to come crashing down around his ears.

It was less easy, though, to not care about which gay slur Jay Lopez was about to use …

Except it didn’t come.

“You should’ve trusted me, man,” Jay said instead of calling him a faggot, before shaking his head in disgust, and stomping up the steps to the house.

Gillman and Silverman followed Jay inside, leaving Izzy Zanella to stand watch with Tony, in the frigid night.

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” Zanella said, as he tucked his scarf more securely around his neck, as his breath hung in the air. “Easy for him to say, T.V. Give him a little time and he’ll figure out how much it must really suck to be you.”

“But it doesn’t suck to be me.” I’m Tony, he’d told the movie star, who’d held his gaze and held his gaze. Yeah, well, I’m trouble, the actor had said in response.

And it was then that Adam finally looked away, but only for a moment. When he met Tony’s eyes again it was as if he’d pulled down every wall he’d ever built between himself and the world. It was as if he were standing there, with his soul bared for Tony to see.

And time freaking stopped, and the entire world faded away, along with every other stupid cliché that Tony had ever heard describing the phenomenon known as Falling in Love at First Sight, previously believed to be completely fictional. It was crazy, but for the first time in his relatively short life, the restrictions and impositions of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell didn’t matter.

Not one bit.

All that mattered was this intense connection with this incredible, beautiful, fascinating man—a connection of the type that he’d been waiting for, since forever.

And okay. He may have been nuts, but he wasn’t a fool.

He knew that Adam was a hot mess. He could see the marks made by hard living, see the ravages of fear and disappointment both on the actor’s face and in the way he stood—so seemingly defiant. And even if Tony couldn’t see all that, he’d read enough about Adam in the supermarket rags and online gossip sites to know that any kind of relationship with the actor would be an adventure. And probably not always a good one.

But God, the possibilities …

So he’d laughed—it was hard not to—the absurdity factor was just so high. Why this, here and now? It didn’t make any sense at all. And he laughed because he was suddenly just so unbelievably happy, because he’d never been so certain of anything. Still, he kept his words light. I’m a SEAL, he’d told Adam. I like trouble.

His flirtatious words made Adam look at Tony—really look. And Tony knew that he, too, liked what he saw. For a heart-stopping moment, there was a very solid yes in the other man’s hazel eyes.

And Tony also knew—just as clearly—that they’d start with rebound sex, which was okay with him. But it wasn’t going to end there. He wouldn’t let it. It’s Adam, right? Wyndham, he’d said as the actor’s name came to him in a flash, while he tried to remember when the first shift ended—at midnight or 0100. When the senior had told them, Tony hadn’t paid attention. It hadn’t mattered back then.

But it sure as hell did now.

Except Adam surprised him. I’m kind of nursing a broken heart, he’d admitted, and then looked a little surprised himself. But he was determined to turn Tony down despite the attraction that jumped and sparked between them.

So okay. Tony would be remembered as the guy Adam didn’t screw to make himself feel better. That was okay, too. Everything was okay. It was that simple.

He could wait. He would wait. Still, the devil in him had reached for a pen and taken one of Adam’s extremely nice hands. And he’d written his cell number right there, on Adam’s palm.

Give me a call if it mends.

It was only after that, when Tony was walking away—walking backward so he could keep smiling at Adam—that Adam finally smiled, too. Smiled and even laughed, as he held Tony’s gaze.

Adam was going to call him. He was. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow. But sooner or later. And then …

“That’s one hell of a grin,” Izzy said now, as they stood together on that Boston sidewalk. “Huh. I guess it really doesn’t suck to be you.”

Thursday, January 17, 2008

“Hi, yeah, Adam. This is Tony, um, Vlachic, although as I’m telling you that, I realize I never gave you my last name and, um … Well, we met in Boston? I’m the SEAL with the, um, pen. And yeah, I know it’s only been a month, and you’re probably still not over what’s-his-name, but my team’s on the verge of heading out for a little non-recreational camping, and I just wanted to let you know, in case you saved my number and actually tried to give me a call sometime in the next few months, while I’m gone. I won’t be able to call you right back, and yeah, who am I fooling? We both know my real goal here is to maybe hit some kind of patriotic nerve. Support our troops! Or guilt you into going out to dinner with me before I go out there, risking my life, right? I heard you were back in L.A., and me, I’m in San Diego right now, so … Call me, okay? I’ll make the drive up and … I’m just going to bottom line it here: I’d really love to see you before I go.”

Adam listened to the voice mail as Tony recited his cell phone number in his husky baritone. He had the kind of voice that telegraphed the fact that he was smiling, which was nice.

He had a lot of other things that were equally, if not even more, nice.

He’d also somehow found Adam’s private cell phone number, which was impressive. Adam had to give the kid points for knowing what he wanted, and going for it. It reminded him of the way Jules had pursued him, all those years ago, back when Adam was even younger than Tony was now.

Of course, Tony reminded him of Jules for more than just his courtship techniques. Risking his life? No shit. And no way was Adam going there again, even if he was feeling up to starting something new, which he wasn’t.

And that was why he punched the TALK button and called Tony back. Because the SEAL was going to keep calling him—provided he survived his overseas assignment. And his assignment after that. He’d call. And he’d call. And one of the times that he’d call, he’d catch Adam with his guard down and … No two ways about it, it was absolutely best to end this now.

“Hey! Adam!” As Tony answered, he didn’t play it even remotely cool, which was very sweet and completely charming. He just let his immense pleasure show in his voice. “Thanks for calling me back. How are you?”

“You mean, besides wondering how you got my phone number?”

Tony laughed. “Actually, Sam gave it to me.”

“Sam.”

“Starrett?” Tony asked. “You know from Troubleshooters …?”

“Oh, I know Cowboy Sam plenty well,” Adam said. “Wow, he must really hate you.”

Tony laughed again. “That’s funny. He said you’d say that. But no, he likes me plenty. See, I had something he wanted, and he was willing to give me your phone number for it.”

Adam had to laugh at that. “If you’re at all trying to imply that you and Sam Starrett hooked up—”

“What? No!” Tony was genuinely amused. “You must not know Sam very well. He’s straight. Indisputably.”

“No, I know that,” Adam said. “That’s why I was skeptical that he’d suddenly go all trade for—”

“He’s been trying to recruit me, for Troubleshooters Incorporated,” Tony said. “I promised to approach him first, after I leave the teams. And for that promise, he gave me, you know. Your phone number.”

“After you leave,” Adam repeated warily. He didn’t dare let himself hope. “Is that, like, next year or in ten years …?”

“More like ten,” Tony said. “Before that, if DADT catches up to me, or if my knees give out.”

Yeah, that was what he thought.

Tony took his silence for the invitation that it wasn’t. “So, dinner,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve got the next coupla days off, so the timing’s really good. I can be up there in … Well, give me a few hours. Hey, do you know a good Italian restaurant, because I’m so jonesing for some serious lasagna—”

“Does that really work for you?” Adam interrupted him. “The whole wide-eyed-and-innocent thing? I know exactly what you’re jonesing for, sweetheart, and it has absolutely nothing to do with lasagna.”

Down in San Diego, Tony missed only the shortest of beats as he regrouped, and mounted a new offense. So to speak.

“I thought you’d appreciate my giving you some space and taking it slowly—” he started.

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” Adam interrupted him again. “Giving me space. Because it reads to me like you’re playing a game. Sweet and sincere didn’t work, so now you’re trying honest and honorable. Fuck you. Better yet, fuck me. You want me? Come and get me, sailor-boy. But we play this game by my rules. No dinner, no bullshit, no heartfelt talks in front of the fireplace—in fact, no talking at all. No pretending this is something that it isn’t. It’s one night and goodbye. You don’t call me again. Not ever. In fact, you delete my number from your phone.”

Tony was silent now for well more than a beat. Adam just waited.

“Is that really what you want?” the SEAL finally asked, his voice quiet. “Because I have to confess, I’m looking for more than—”

“I don’t give a shit what you’re looking for,” Adam spoke over him. “Because this offer is non-negotiable. You show up—” he rattled off his address and his apartment number “—we get it on, you put your clothes back on, and then you leave. End of game.”

The kid actually laughed, seemingly genuinely amused. “Wow, sounds tempting, but …” His voice changed then, getting both softer and harder at the same time. “How about I show up, I fuck your brains out, and then you decide if you still want me to leave.”

“Yes or no,” Adam said, refusing to react. No, that wasn’t heat he wasn’t feeling. It didn’t mean anything at all. “That’s all you need to tell me.”

Now Tony laughed his exasperation. “Don’t you even want to—”

“One. Of two words,” Adam spoke over him, enunciating clearly. “I’m going to count to two, and if you haven’t said yes by then, I’m going to hang up, which will make it an automatic no. One …”

“Yes,” Tony said. “Hell, yes. I’ll be there by ten.” And he was the one who cut the connection.

Leaving Adam alone in the deepening twilight in his kitchen, wondering what the fuck he was doing, playing with this kind of fire.

Tony had a change of clothes and a toothbrush in a backpack that he kept in his locker in the building that headquartered SEAL Team Sixteen.

According to Adam, he wasn’t going to need it, but he grabbed it anyway and was heading down the corridor toward the parking lot and his car when the sound of voices made him slow down.

And then he stopped, altogether, when he heard who it was and what he was saying.

“I know we’re supposed to follow Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” Danny Gillman was saying to someone in the senior chief’s office—probably the senior chief, “but somebody’s got to ask him. I mean, we have a right to know, don’t we?”

Him being Tony. Great. Tony inched closer, the better to hear exactly what they were saying. If the senior chief was involved, it was over and done. His so-called friends had outed him. It wasn’t a huge surprise, since all of them had carefully avoided him since they’d returned from Boston.

Still he was disappointed.

“Nothing’s changed.” Great, Jay Lopez was in there, too. His normally quiet voice was slightly raised in exasperation. “So what if he’s gay, Dan. He’s still the best operator I’ve ever worked with. Hands down, the best. If any of us were putting together a team, who’s the first man we’d pick?”

“Chickie.” That was Mark Jenkins’s voice. He was in there, too.

“The Chick-ster,” Izzy chimed in. “You know I love you, Fishboy, but you’d only be second on my list. Third. Okay, honestly? Sixteenth.”

“All I’m saying,” Gillman pointedly ignored Izzy, “is that someone should ask him. If he’s got some kind of weird crush on one of us—”

“You,” Izzy interrupted him. “Don’t you really mean you? Somehow I don’t see you getting quite this upset at the idea of the V-man wanting to get jiggy with, oh, say, moi.”

“He’s seen me naked,” Gillman complained.

“We’ve all seen you naked,” Izzy said. “Of course, we’re not gay.” He paused. “Or are we? For all you know, I’m secretly a tranny lesbian, who dreams of you every night.”

“An entire busload of Australian nuns saw you naked,” Jenk pointed out. “During that training exercise …? When you trapped that jellyfish in your trunks …?”

“Pee on me! Pee on me!” Izzy pitched his voice slightly higher, in a decent impersonation of Gillman. Jenkins laughed and chimed in with him. “For the love of God, pee on me!”

“It stung me and it hurt,” Gillman said, laughing, too—despite himself. “Besides, they were nurses.”

“They were also nuns,” Jenk pointed out. “And as astonishingly attractive as you think you are, Dan, I’m pretty sure none of them wanted to have sex with you, either. So I think you can relax.”

“It just freaks me out,” Dan said. “I mean, just thinking about it. Thinking about him …”

“I think you’re more freaked out that Chick’s gay and doesn’t want to do you,” Izzy said.

“That’s really not helping,” Jay told Izzy mildly.

“He’s making a lot of noise about it,” Izzy said. “Methinks he doth protest too much.”

“Methinks I’m going to put my foot up your ass, if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Dan fired back at Izzy.

“Wow, that’s pretty homoerotic,” Izzy said. “I mean, as far as threats go …”

“Zanella.” Tony heard Jay’s chair scrape the floor as he stood up. “Stop. Dan, are you seriously saying you want to put Tony into a position where he’ll be forced either to lie or out himself?”

“No,” Dan said, but then added, “I don’t know. I’m just …” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, Lopez, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t be defending him. I would be pissed.”

“I am pissed,” Jay said. “But I’m not pissed at Tony. I’m pissed at the stupid system. How was your evening? How’s Callie? How many times did I ask him that? We all did. And he couldn’t answer any of us honestly. Can you imagine not being able to talk about what you did last night, or over the weekend?” He paused. “Does anyone know if he’s got a boyfriend or a partner?”

There was silence again, as they all probably shook their heads.

“Can you imagine?” Jay said again. “For all I know, T’s married, and because he wants to serve our country, he can’t introduce the love of his life to any of us. He can’t even whisper his name. And that’s just wrong.” He paused again. “Have any of you guys spoken to him since we got back from Boston?”

“No,” Jenk said.

“It’s kind of hard to know what to say,” Izzy said.

“Yeah,” Jay agreed. “For me, too. I’ve been getting all inside my head about the Don’t Ask part of the deal. I’m afraid to ask him anything, even what are you doing for lunch? Forget about what are you doing this weekend?”

Tony walked the last few steps down the hall and stood in the open doorway. As he’d come to suspect throughout their conversation, the senior chief wasn’t there. It was just Jay and Dan and Izzy and Jenk, hanging out.

“Hey,” he said, and they all looked up at him in surprise.

“Actually,” he continued. “I’m heading up to Los Angeles. See, there’s someone that I, um, really like. A lot. And they just invited me over and, um, I’m probably going to get my ass kicked. Emotionally, I mean. But I’m still going.”

They were all still staring at him, so he added, “So that’s what I’m doing this weekend. It’s okay if you ask. I can make my answers gender-neutral.”

“As opposed to lying about Callie,” Jay said.

Tony met his gaze. “I apologize for that. You were convinced we were together and … It was the path of least resistance, so I, um, took it.”

“Lopez didn’t ask her out because he thought you were really into her,” Izzy said.

That was a total newsflash, and clearly it was accurate because now Jay was looking down at the floor, shaking his head slightly.

“Ah, shit, man.” Tony felt awful. “I honestly didn’t know.”

“He didn’t want you to know,” Izzy said. “What was he going to say, Hey, T. Guess what? I’m packing a woodie for your girlfriend …”

“He thought you were insane,” Jenk added, “to let her move to … where was it, Miami?”

“Milwaukee,” Jay said.

“Shit,” Tony said again.

“I wasn’t honest with you, either,” Jay said, finally looking up at him. “It’s my fault, too.”

“If you want,” Tony said, even though he knew it was too little, too late, “I can give you her phone number and email—”

But Jay was shaking his head. “Thanks, but no. It’s one thing to work the long-distance angle when it’s forced on you, but another entirely to seek it out.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m already over it,” Jay said. “Same way I got over being disappointed in you for not trusting me with the truth.”

“It wasn’t about trust,” Tony tried to explain. “It’s about responsibility. I couldn’t dump that on you. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I did what I did that night in Boston. I should have been more discreet.”

“You shouldn’t have to lie,” Jay said.

“The world is what it is,” Tony said, hiking his pack farther up on his shoulder. “And I live in it. I gotta go.” He nodded to Jay and Jenk and Izzy, all of whom dared to meet his eyes.

Gillman, however, was still looking down at the floor. Still, he was the one who spoke up. “This … person you’re meeting in L.A.,” he said, using the same neutral gender that Tony had, and proving once again that he was way smarter than he looked and acted. “If it’s who I think it is … They don’t have a reputation for being … exclusive. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

He finally looked up, and there actually may have been real concern in his eyes. Or maybe Tony just wanted to see it there.

“I have no clue,” Tony admitted, and it felt strange, because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked about his personal life with anyone besides the man he was currently dating. “But I gotta, you know. Follow my heart.”

Adam was ready when Tony rang the bell.

He’d deliberately left his apartment I-don’t-give-a-shit messy, even though he’d had plenty of time to empty and load the dishwasher and to throw away the take-out food containers and pizza boxes that cluttered his kitchen counters. He could have moved in slow-motion, and still had time to make his bed and to pick the dirty laundry up off of his bedroom and bathroom floors.

Instead, he’d left the place looking like crap. Instead, he’d sat in front of his big-screen TV and played Grand Theft Auto until even playing the video game Jules’s crazy way could no longer hold his attention. He’d made himself a sandwich with the last of the ham and cheese in his fridge, and he’d eaten standing up. But the bread was stale, and his hunger waned before he’d finished even half of it. So he left it there, right on the counter without a plate, along with the deli wrappers and the mustard.

About a quarter to ten, he’d gotten extra antsy, so he’d added to the shithole-of-an-asshole effect, further dressing the set by opening a bottle of wine and pouring just a splash into two long-stemmed glasses. He carried them both into his bedroom, took a sip from one and drained the other. He set them both on the same bedside table, where they sat—a matched set with a pointed message. He would have opened a condom or two, tossed the rolled rubbers into the kitchen trash so he could leave the empty wrappers behind with the wineglasses, a very loud hey, look what I did last night, but he was running low.

And he was going to need at least two.

Only two, he quickly corrected himself. This was going to be a one-time event, and it was going to be over fast.

Besides, the kid probably wouldn’t even see the wineglasses until after he’d grabbed Adam and thrown him onto the bed and … How had he put it? Fucked his brains out. Jesus.

Adam had had a hard-on for hours now, ever since Tony had rasped those words into his ear. He hadn’t believed he was capable anymore of this kind of anticipation and physical excitement, but he’d also never believed he’d go for so many months living like a freaking monk. And not just living like a monk because he’d stopped having sex, but living like a monk because he’d started spending nearly all of his time thinking long and hard about the how’s and why’s behind his abject failure in getting the one thing—the one person, really—that he’d ever absolutely, truly wanted.

Which was the love and worship of his fellow actor, Robin Chadwick, who was now ecstatically happily married to Adam’s very own ex, FBI agent Jules Cassidy.

But was it really Robin Adam had wanted, or something else?

He was pretty certain it was Robin, but also pretty certain that the reasons he’d wanted the man so badly weren’t even close to being pure. A love unlike any he’d ever felt before was in there, sure, but it was twisted and entwined with the definitely evil darkness that could, at times, consume him.

He’d spent a lot of time thinking about that, too—about how it was that he was able to come up with—so quickly—seemingly reasonable excuses for why he did the assholish things he did.

And yet here he was again. Doing just that. Inviting Tony over.

But there were no two ways about it. It was the best way to get the kid out of his life, both quickly and painlessly. In fact, pain wasn’t going to play a very large part in this. It was going to be mostly pleasure.

And not just for Adam.

Tony wanted this hookup as much as Adam did. In fact, when everything was said and done, it was probably the only thing he wanted from Adam. For all he knew, the kid was a star collector, and Adam would be just another notch on his bedpost, another story to tell his friends.

They’d both get a rush and a release, and that would be that.

And the wineglasses—and their implication that Tony was just one in a long, endless stream of lovers—were only there in case Adam was wrong, in case Tony was telling the truth instead of just bullshitting him when he’d said I’m looking for more.

If that was the truth, the kid was going to be disappointed.

So be it.

He’d get over it. Life was filled with plenty of disappointments.

Adam went back into the kitchen and took a long slug of wine, this time right from the bottle that he’d opened and left amidst the sandwich rubble.

Which was when the doorbell rang.

Adam looked at his wavy reflection in the kitchen window and waited. His hair was a mess, and he hadn’t shaved in days. There was a coffee stain on his shirt, too, his jeans needed to be washed a week ago, and his feet were bare.

But only when the bell rang for a second time did he move, taking another slug of wine before heading toward the door.

Tony debated leaving his bag in his car or carrying it with him, and his desire to make Adam think he was appeasing him won, so he’d locked it in the trunk.

He stood now on the small landing outside of Adam’s apartment with little more than his wallet, cell phone, and car keys in the pockets of his jeans, dressed the way he’d left the navy base, in only a T-shirt, no jacket, with sandals on his feet.

Lights were on in the building, but there was no way of knowing if the window next to that door was Adam’s. For all Tony knew, the door opened to reveal a set of stairs going up, and that window belonged to a neighbor.

As he rang the bell a second time, he considered the very real possibility that Adam had regretted his invitation and had left for parts unknown, further blowing Tony off by withholding the courtesy of a quick phone call and an even quicker Changed my mind.

The January wind gusted, forcing Tony to jam his hands into his pockets and hunch his shoulders against the cold night air. But then the door swung open, and yeah.

There was Adam. Looking better in real life than he did on the movie screen—which was saying something, because the man was, for Tony at least, the very definition of hot.

And everything Tony had planned to say vanished as the rest of the world fell away. In fact, it was possible that he’d also forgotten how to speak.

He tried to focus, took in a breath to at least say hi, but Adam shook his head. “No talking. There’s nothing to say. Just come in if you want. Or don’t. Either way, I don’t care.”

But he did care—there was heat in his eyes. Heat from desire and attraction, mixed together with a completely different kind of longing.

Tony knew that Adam was wrong. There were things that needed to be said, but every potential conversational start that his flustered brain came up with—Good to see you again. Cold out here. Traffic was pretty light this time of night. Nice neighborhood. You look great—seemed inane.

So he just opened his mouth and blurted out, “I’ve only got three days.”

Adam was already shaking his head, already starting to shut the door.

Tony moved forward. He put his foot on the jamb, leaned on the door to stop him.

Adam wasn’t trying all that hard to keep him out, which was good—and all part of the game. And they were, absolutely, playing a game here.

“No talking,” Adam said again. “No more than necessary. I’m negative and I’m careful. No bareback, no risks. If you’re into shit like that, you should turn around and go home.”

“I’m not. And I am, too—careful and negative and that’s … almost everything I wanted to say, but …” Tony lost himself a little, just by looking deeply into the other man’s gorgeous eyes. They were practically nose to nose, each leaning on the other side of the door.

“Not almost,” Adam whispered. “The talking’s over.”

They were standing so close that Tony could feel Adam’s body heat and practically taste the sweet scent of what had to be a very nice red wine on his breath.

“I’m going wheels up,” he spoke quickly, because he didn’t want to practically taste it. He was dying to kiss the man. “Probably on Sunday. Maybe Saturday. I won’t be back until April at the earliest. At which point, I’ll let you call me.”

“I won’t.”

Tony smiled at Adam’s scoffed conviction. “Fair enough. Although it’s fine with me if you change your mind.”

“This is getting boring,” Adam said, as he purposely let his gaze slide down and linger on Tony’s mouth.

So Tony leaned in and kissed him.

It was public and twice as dangerous because of that, but he took his time, working hard to keep his mouth gentle, to make the kiss sweet. As opposed to the tongues-down-the-throat-with-a-crotch-grab that he knew Adam had been expecting.

God, it was sweet.

And God, he was actually kissing Adam Wyndham.

And Adam was kissing him back, his use of the door as a barrier between them forgotten, his body taut against him, one arm up around Tony’s neck, the other …

In the two and a half seconds since their mouths had first met, Adam had found and unfastened the top button of Tony’s jeans. The zipper wasn’t quite as easy to lower, which was a good thing, considering he was following the time-honored SEAL tradition of going commando.

For someone who wasn’t into taking risks, this was off the chart. Of course, Adam was public about his being gay—it wasn’t a risk for him to make out on his front porch. It was Tony whose career forced him to hide not just in the shadows, but safely inside with the shades pulled tightly down.

He didn’t want to stop kissing Adam, so he maneuvered his way inside, kicking the door shut behind them, even as he grabbed Adam’s wrist. “Slow it down,” he murmured between kisses as the door gave a final-sounding thunk. “Just a little, okay? We’ll get there. I’d like to stay a little bit longer than twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.”

Adam pulled back at that, gazing up at him with an expression in his eyes that was impossible to define. “It’s not,” he said. He turned toward the door. “I can’t do this. I changed my mind. You should go.”

Tony blocked him, putting himself securely between Adam and the exit, leaning against it to keep the actor from opening it and letting in the cold night air. “You don’t really want that.” What are you afraid of? He didn’t ask that. He already knew.

“What I want,” Adam said, using anger to mask his fear, “is for you to shut the fuck up. And forget twenty minutes. I want you gone right now.”

“Tough shit. You invited me here, I’m here.” Tony made himself laugh as he pushed himself off the door and pulled off his T-shirt. And then he laughed again, genuinely now, as Adam couldn’t hide his reaction to Tony’s work-sculpted upper body. He tossed his shirt on a table that sat by the door. He kicked off his sandals, and unfastened the zipper that had given Adam such trouble, and again, the look in the actor’s eyes was an unmistakable Sweet Jesus.

“I’ve got three days,” Tony said. And he brushed past Adam, his arm against the warmth and solidness of the other man’s chest, then ambled down the hall that led to the rest of the apartment. “Let’s not waste ’em.”

Adam followed the half-naked Navy SEAL into his kitchen.

“I’d love a shower.” Tony glanced over as he randomly opened cabinet doors, searching for … the wineglasses. He took out not one but two, setting them on the center island, away from the sandwich crumbs, which brought them face-to-face. He smiled into Adam’s eyes. “Not because I need one.”

Adam knew what he had to do. He had to get his keys and leave. Take a weekend trip to Vegas. Or Seattle. Or freaking Ft. Wayne, Indiana. Anywhere as long as it wasn’t here.

He knew that he should leave immediately. Nothing good was going to come of staying, except for the fact that if he stayed, he was going to have sex—albeit the cheap, meaningless kind—for the first time in a very long time, with one of the most physically beautiful men he’d ever met in his entire thirty years of life.

But instead of walking out the door, he stood there watching as Tony poured them both a generous amount of wine then set the bottle down, and picked up one glass, pushing the other only slightly toward Adam with another smile. “Ever since we met in Boston, well … Let’s just say certain scenes from Fifteen Minutes have moved into the must-watch-daily category on my laptop.”

Of course. The quirky romantic comedy in which Adam’s character Nic had become an overnight Internet sensation, after a so-called friend hid a mini-cam in his shower.

Adam finally spoke. “So you are a starfucker.”

Tony thought about that as he swirled the wine in his glass and even gave it a sniff. “I guess that depends on your definition. You are a star, and you definitely invited me over here to have sex, so … On that level, yeah, that would make the label fit. But I didn’t give you my phone number because of Fifteen Minutes. In fact, I didn’t see it until after we met. I just … happen to like sex in the shower—for the intimacy of it. I like water, too. Navy SEAL, you know? And I really like the idea of having a good excuse to run my hands over every inch of you.” He held Adam’s gaze as he took a sip. “Mmm. Nice. But it’ll be even nicer if we give it a little more time to breathe. You just opened the bottle, right?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He set the glass on the counter, next to the one he’d poured for Adam, then headed down the hall toward the master bedroom. “I know you’ve got a bathroom with a shower in here somewhere …”

If their roles had been reversed, if Adam were chasing Tony, he’d have peeled off his jeans before walking down that hallway, to give his pursuee something to look at. A reason to follow. He’d done something very similar during his second night with Robin, back when Robin was still insisting that he wasn’t gay. Of course, Robin had been desperate to remain drunk at all times, and Adam still wasn’t sure that he hadn’t been more intent on following the bottle of gin that Adam had carried with him, into the bedroom of the hotel suite.

But, here and now, Tony was obviously into playing it more subtle—or maybe he was just being cautious before parading around naked in a place he’d never been before. For all he knew, Adam’s bedroom had floor-to-ceiling windows and the shades were pulled up.

Either way, he still had his jeans on despite being unzipped. They weren’t particularly fashionable, certainly not designer, but they fit him extremely well, riding low on his narrow hips and revealing a tramp stamp, tattooed low on his back.

It was a series of Chinese characters and Adam resisted the urge to ask what they meant—or what Tony thought they meant, which was probably more likely the case.

Instead, he just counted to ten before following Tony down the hall. No point in looking too eager, even though he knew for sure that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until Tony … how had he put it? Ran his hands over every inch of Adam.

Yeah. No point in rushing off before that happened.

As he went into his bedroom, he heard the sound of the shower going on.

“This place is nice,” Tony said from the bathroom, raising his voice to be heard over the rush of the water. “I really like the layout. When did you move in?”

No doubt he’d taken note of the boxes that still sat in the corner of both the bedroom and the living room. Adam no longer saw them, they’d been there for such a long time.

“When I got cast in American Hero,” he answered, citing the movie that had been his first big break. In other words, he’d lived here for years. “Every now and then, I think about leaving. It seems stupid to unpack, just to pack it all up again. But then I stay …”

Why was he telling Tony this? Why was he saying anything at all? What he really should do was walk into that bathroom and take off his clothes, get into that shower and get his rocks off.

And then adios his ass out of here. As quickly as possible.

But Tony appeared in the doorway, looking out at him. It was weird. He was so at ease—almost as if this place were his, and Adam the visitor.

“Why’d’you stay?” Tony asked.

Why did he stay? It wasn’t because he’d wanted to wallow in it—the fact that he’d been the happiest he’d ever been when Robin was with him here, even though most of the time he was so drunk that he’d called Adam Jules.

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “It’s been easier to just … renew my lease.”

Tony didn’t accuse him of being a freaking liar. He didn’t point and call him a loser who was in fact wallowing in his own pathetic, never-to-be-requited despair. Instead he nodded. “It’s a nice place,” he said again. “A little crowded though, with what’s-his-name’s ghost still lurking. You want to get your butt in here and exorcise the shit out of it?”

Adam laughed his scorn. “You honestly think I haven’t tried that?”

“If I had to put money on it, I’d say … Probably not lately. And timing’s pretty important.”

“I didn’t invite you here to psycho-fucking-analyze me.”

“The right verb’s in there somewhere,” Tony said.

“And still you stand there, talking,” Adam countered. “You want it? Come get it.”

“So … you like it rough.” Tony moved toward him, the light from the lamp on Adam’s bedside table gleaming and skittering and making shadows that leapt and emphasized his incredible arms and upper body.

“Is there any other way?” Adam quipped, even though his mouth was suddenly dry.

“Absolutely.” Tony stopped his advance well short of an invasion of Adam’s personal space, but then reached out and pushed Adam’s hair back from his face with the gentlest touch, cupping his cheek and chin, his hand warm against Adam’s face.

He was so beautiful, with those crazy-blue eyes that were nothing like Robin’s. Who’d have thought blue could come in such a different shade? Adam found himself caught there, unable to look away.

He saw Tony smile, saw him telegraph his intention to kiss him again, saw him take his time to lean down and brush his lips across Adam’s.

It was practically chaste, but he didn’t stop it there. Tony deepened the kiss, licking his way into Adam’s mouth, but still keeping his own mouth soft. Adam found himself reaching for him, pulling him closer, his palms gliding across all that smooth, sun-bronzed skin, his fingers sliding through the softness of Tony’s hair.

And then, God, they were both on fire, pulling off Adam’s T-shirt, and fumbling with the button of his jeans, even as Tony pulled him into the bathroom, where the shower still pounded down onto the tile. Tony was laughing as Adam peeled off his pants, as Tony kicked off his own jeans, and the sparkling sound echoed and reverberated in the room.

Holy crap, the SEAL was hung like a porn star, but it was Tony who spoke as he smiled at Adam in the mirror. “Nice.”

He put his arms around Adam, pulling him back against his chest, against the heaviness of his erection, sliding one hand down Adam’s abs as he held his gaze, still smiling.

But then Adam closed his eyes as Tony touched him and it was … Not gentle. Jesus. It felt so good, the way he was stroking him. No, it sure as hell couldn’t be called gentle, but it wasn’t rough. It was … Joyful. It wasn’t a punishment, the way so many random hookups could be. Instead, it was a celebration.

Adam opened his eyes to find Tony still watching him, still smiling.

What the fuck was Adam doing? “I thought we were getting it on in the shower,” he said, but his words came out in a whisper.

“This is really working for me,” Tony breathed back. “God, you’re hot …”

And Adam realized that while Tony was in here before, he’d found his box of condoms, found his lube. Now he was using his free hand to cover himself and then … Adam had to brace himself against the counter as Tony pressed himself against him, as he used a finger to lubricate him, as he pushed himself—just a little bit—inside of him.

And he pushed back hard against Tony, because, God, he wanted it to hurt, but it didn’t, it just felt so fucking great as Tony still stroked him, harder now, but no less joyfully.

He heard Tony laugh, his breath hot against his ear. “Oh, yeah,” he said.

And Adam knew what made this different from all those other random encounters, different even than the times he’d been with Robin. Everyone he’d had sex with had been taking. Using.

Consuming.

And Adam had been doing the same.

But Tony—somehow—made the very same act seem like sharing. Giving.

Loving.

And God, what was wrong with him? A few minutes of hot sex with a new man, and he’d turned into a little girl.

“I can’t give you what you’re looking for,” he tried to tell Tony, but he kind of blew it by coming in rush of heat and pleasure, and instead he said, “Oh, God, oh yes …”

And Tony came, too, bucking against him, breathing his name, and it was beautiful to watch.

But then there they were. Both breathing hard, Tony’s arms still holding him so tightly, as if he’d never let Adam go.

Tony spoke first, as those eyes that were the color of a perfect summer sky found Adam’s again in that mirror. “Still want me to leave?”

“Yeah,” Adam lied, still unable to do more than whisper. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Tony laughed. “Tough shit.”

And he turned Adam around and kissed him, then pulled him into the shower, where he used the opportunity to very carefully run his hands over every inch of Adam’s body, just as he’d promised he’d do.

Friday, 18 January 2008

His phone was ringing, the volume low but persistent.

Tony sat up in the darkness, instantly alert, knowing immediately where he was.

In Adam’s bedroom. In Adam’s bed. With Adam still asleep, warm and breathing steadily beside him.

He knew, too, that his phone was still in the pocket of his jeans, where he’d dropped them on the bathroom floor hours ago. He slipped out of bed and went to find them.

Light was coming in around the edges of the window shade, and he didn’t have to turn on the overhead to locate his jeans. But by the time he fished his phone from his pocket, the soft ringing had stopped.

The time was 0608, and he had a missed call from …

“Shit.”

There was only one reason Chief Karmody would be calling him at this hour, and it wasn’t a good one. And sure enough, he’d left a message, short and sweet: “Ollie, ollie ox in free! Get your ass to base, T.V.”

Tony pressed TALK to call the SEAL chief back, to let him know he had to make the drive not merely from his apartment in San Diego, but from West Hollywood, and that he was going to hit traffic at this time of morning, but then Adam appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his hair standing up.

So Tony flipped his phone shut.

“Let me guess,” Adam said, staggering over to the john and lifting the seat. “It’s your mommy. You missed your curfew and she’s pissed.”

Tony laughed as he moved to stand beside him, as they relieved themselves together. He shifted slightly so that their shoulders were touching. “Yeah, you just think I’m that young, old man.”

“Fuck you,” Adam said, but he laughed when he said it, and he didn’t move away. In fact, he leaned into Tony a little bit more.

God damn it. The timing of this phone call couldn’t be worse. It would totally undermine everything he’d done here tonight.

God, you’re good, Adam had breathed after they’d gotten out of the shower, after they’d gone into the kitchen for a snack and those glasses of wine. Tony purposely hadn’t spent much of that time talking—although if he’d known he’d be getting this call so much earlier than he’d anticipated, he would have recited his entire flipping life’s story, going nonstop, until he’d had to shut up because he was using his mouth for other things.

Like he’d done when he’d pulled Adam back with him onto his big bed …

You can stay the night if you have to, Adam had told him, but you can’t sleep in my bed with me. I don’t do that with star collectors …

Except he’d fallen asleep with Tony’s arms still around him, after they’d made love for the third time.

Not that Tony was intending to give in to Adam’s arbitrary rules anyway, not at this uncertain stage of the game. Not when Adam had whispered, just after they’d both climaxed again, just before he’d closed his eyes and slept, This doesn’t mean anything.

Even though they both knew that it did.

“I have to go,” Tony said quietly now. “And it’s a have to, it’s not a want to.”

“Whatever.” Adam walked away from him, back out into the bedroom. “Make sure the door locks behind you when you leave.”

Tony flushed then followed, scooping up his jeans and carrying them with him, slapping on the switch for the fixture over the bathroom mirror so that it would light the bedroom without being too bright. But Adam had already climbed back into bed, purposely burrowing under the covers.

As if he actually thought Tony would just walk away without another word.

On the other hand, maybe he did think that.

“It’s my job,” Tony told the back of Adam’s head as he pulled on his jeans and did a mental inventory of the rest of his things. T-shirt and sandals, both in the front hall. That was all he brought inside with him. “I get the call and I go. That’s the way it works in the teams.”

“What part of whatever did you not understand?” Adam turned only slightly to gaze at him over his shoulder, with that same bored and jaded look that he’d been wearing when Tony had first arrived.

So Tony climbed on the bed and muscled Adam onto his back, easily putting both of the actor’s hands into a wrist lock over his head and straddling him to keep him from flipping over.

Not that Adam fought very hard. But now he was looking up at Tony with the eyes of a stranger, not the eyes of the man who’d recently sighed his name.

Shit. If he’d known he was going to get called in this quickly, he would’ve kept sex entirely out of the equation.

But okay. What was done was done. And the truth was, he just couldn’t make himself completely regret it.

And wasn’t that an understatement?

And God, the truth was if he’d had even just ten more minutes, he’d turn this hold into something more intimate. And he wasn’t alone in his wishful thinking. He could feel Adam, already hard again, beneath him.

But he didn’t have time.

“Here’s how it’s going to work,” Tony told Adam when he finally stopped trying to get free. “I leave here and you don’t say whatever. You say, Be aggressive out there. Or Stay alert. And I say, Always am, always do. And you say, Email me if you get a chance. And I say, I will. And I say, I will spend every fucking minute of my downtime thinking about you. And you believe me, because I haven’t ever lied to you. I never have, and I never will, Adam. I promise. And then you kiss me goodbye and—”

“You are young,” Adam said with a scornful laugh, “if you think any part of the past few hours meant anything at all to me.”

“I don’t think that,” Tony said quietly. “But I hope it did. And …” He laid it all out on the line. “I want you to know that, well, it meant everything to me.”

Adam’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He just stared up at Tony with those stranger’s eyes. And then he said, “Whatever.”

Tony leaned down and kissed him, but it was like kissing a CPR-class dummy. So he stopped. “I gotta go,” he said.

“Like I’m the one keeping you here,” Adam said.

“You are,” Tony told him. “I hate leaving like this and … I’m sorry if what I said scared you.”

Adam made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “Do I look even the least bit scared?”

“You look terrified,” Tony said.

“I’m not,” Adam said. “Just get the fuck out of my house, kid, okay? You were good, but you weren’t that good.”

And Tony knew he wasn’t going to win this fight.

Not today, anyway.

So he released Adam’s hands and climbed off of him, and off the bed.

And Adam pretended to shift into a position that would let him go back to sleep, again giving Tony the back of his head.

Tony touched him one last time—he couldn’t leave without at least that much—his hand resting briefly on Adam’s tousled hair. “I’ll see you in a few months,” he said, then he went back down the hall to where he’d left his T-shirt and sandals.

And right as he let himself out, a half a second before the door closed and locked securely behind him, he could’ve sworn he heard Adam calling from the bedroom. “Stay alert.” Or maybe it was another “Whatever.”

Either way, it was more than he expected, and it made him smile.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Adam could hear the pounding beat of the music, even before he opened the outer door.

But now it washed over him at too high a decibel level to even try to speak. So he merely nodded to the bouncers, who let him cut ahead of the waiting line and step into the crowded darkness of the club.

The dance floor was packed, and half of the dancers already had their shirts off. And okay. Already didn’t exactly qualify. It was nearly one A.M. He was the late arrival. No doubt everyone here had been working up a sweat for quite some time. They were closing in on the size-up-the-possibilities-make-a-connection-stagger-home-together-and-get-laid part of the evening.

Which was precisely why he was here.

Fucking Tony Vlachic—getting inside of his head like that. Making him surf the news websites, looking for crumbs of information about terrorist activity in Afghanistan, trying to get a sense of exactly where the kid might be going and …

It was stupid. He was stupid. But the kicker came when he checked his email and found a message waiting for him from A Vlachic, with a dot-mil ending to his email address.

The subject header was empty, and the body of the thing said only Always do. T.

He’d sent it from his BlackBerry—a response to Adam’s stupidly shouted Stay alert—mere seconds after he’d walked out Adam’s door.

Adam had hit DELETE, because Jesus, the way his heart had leapt at seeing that email there made him feel sick to his stomach.

Which was why he’d come here.

It was that or finally take the plunge and move out of his freaking apartment. Because Tony had finally done it. He’d exorcised the last of Robin’s ghost. Apparently, it was all about timing. It had been long enough, and Adam was now finally ready to move on.

But first he had to fucking exorcise fucking Tony’s fucking ghost.

He threaded his way through the crowd, trying to squeeze his way up to the bar.

“Holy shit, you’re Adam Wyndham!”

He could barely hear the bellowed words over the music, but he could read the other man’s lips. He was extremely attractive, with blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled features, and a body that was ripped. But he had a recent-refugee-from-Oklahoma-so-now-that-he-was-allowed-to-be-gay-in-public-he-was-fucking-everyone-in-sight air to him that wore Adam out.

Talk about star collectors.

So Adam just shook his head and avoided eye contact, leaving the guy in the dust as he bellied up to the bar. He caught Roxie’s eye—she knew him well—and the spike-haired bartender delivered his usual, a Long Island iced tea, on the house.

But the blond followed him—shades of Tony and why the fuck was Adam still thinking about him? Enough already. And maybe a collision with a star collector was exactly what he needed. So Adam turned to face him. He was almost angelic in his beauty, no doubt about that.

So he smiled his intention as he tossed back his drink, letting the alcohol enter his blood stream as quickly as humanly possible without the assistance of IV tubing. He set the empty glass on the counter and held out his hand.

“Back room?” he asked. He didn’t bother to raise his voice. The angel could read his lips, and if he couldn’t, then he didn’t deserve what Adam was offering.

But heat flared in eyes that didn’t even remotely match Tony’s in shade, brilliance, intelligence, or wry sense of humor. But it wasn’t his eyes that Adam was interested in—rather his exquisitely shaped mouth. A mouth that smiled in such a calculating, self-satisfied way that it hardened and gave an edge to his beauty and made him look more devil than angel.

Not that it mattered. Adam wasn’t looking for heaven. He had no misconceptions about ever finding his way there, either in this world or after.

Although last night, with Tony …? For a moment or two, he’d had the illusion that he’d come pretty damn close, until reality slammed back down on him.

But Tony was gone, leaving him empty again, in a way that he hadn’t felt since he’d read in some stupid Hollywood gossip rag that Robin Chadwick was getting married to the love of his life, up in Massachusetts.

The angel took Adam’s hand and leaned close to say, “Come on, baby. Whatever’s bothering you, I’ll make it feel all right.” He tugged him from the bar, leading the way toward the darkness of the club’s back room.

Monday, 4 February 2008

“Really, guys, I’m fine,” Tony said, for what felt like the four thousandth time. Although this time when he said it, the words were contradicted by the fact that he somehow seemed to have face-planted in the dirt. He had some of the pervasive sandy stuff in his mouth and he tried to spit it out.

And failed.

He also failed when he tried to stand.

“Oh, shit,” he said to Mark Jenkins—who came over to put a wadded up shirt beneath Tony’s head, and help him wash his mouth out with a splash of water from a canteen—because he clearly wasn’t fine.

“Welcome back,” Jenk said.

“Did I go somewhere?” Tony asked, taking a second sip of water, and this time swallowing it. Jesus, his throat was on fire, and his head throbbed with every beat of his heart.

“Every now and then you vacate the premises,” Jenk told him, trying to hide his concern as he checked the wound that was now festering on Tony’s leg. “The vacating isn’t the problem. The problem is when you wake up and try to audition for So You Think You Can Dance.”

“Shit,” Tony whispered again, as Dan Gillman appeared beside Jenk, taking a look at Tony’s injury. Unlike Jenkins, he didn’t manage to conceal his apprehension as he took over the bandaging effort. He could hear the sound of gunfire in the not-too-distant distance. Clearly they were in the middle of mixing it up with the bad guys again. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re the ones who’re sorry,” Jenk told him, as he used a wet rag to wipe what looked like blood from Tony’s face. Yes, ow, he’d definitely scraped himself when he’d come in for a landing. “But we just don’t have the manpower to keep you from hurting yourself every time you try to get up.”

“Where’s Lopez when you need him?” Dan muttered.

“Just do the best you can,” Jenk murmured back.

“You should tie my hands and feet,” Tony said, and the look Jenk gave him would have been comical had they been damn near anywhere else in the world instead of the motherfucking middle of nowhere, in the mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Dan, however, looked as if he was considering it—tying Tony up to keep him from making a ruckus or just being a distraction. But the way he shook his head no was a strong clue as to just how much trouble they were in, considering Tony couldn’t crawl, let alone walk.

The nearest hospital was a helo ride away.

Or a long, dangerous hike through mountains filled with an enemy intent upon taking various and sundry parts from their dead bodies as souvenirs.

That same enemy had rocket launchers that made calling for a helicopter extraction a virtual impossibility.

“What we need to do,” Jenk said, “is get you out of here.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” Tony said.

“So what do you suggest, Vlachic?” Dan asked. “We just let you die?”

Tony caught Dan’s wrist with a hand that felt ridiculously weak. He could barely make a fist. “Anything you try is going to get you killed, too.”

“If we stay,” Dan pointed out, “we’ll run out of ammo. They know where we are, and they know why we’re here. They know one of us is injured, too.”

If that was the case, they were pretty much screwed.

“Then leave me,” Tony begged. “And go. Please …”

“We’re not going to leave you,” Jenk said.

Tony pushed himself up into a sitting position while Jenk and Dan made noise about him staying down. But he ignored them and forced his shaking muscles to work. “Leave me set up with an M60. I’ll create a diversion so that the team can go—”

“We’re not leaving you,” Jenk said again.

“Mark,” Tony said, using Jenkins’s rarely used first name. “Look me in the eye and tell me that I’m not going to die. That if I don’t get to a hospital—”

“We’re not going to let you die,” Jenk said.

“Not the same thing,” Tony pointed out.

“Close enough,” Jenk countered, then ended the conversation by scrambling away.

Which left Tony alone with Dan, who wasn’t his first choice when it came to picking a confidant. But time was running out.

“I know I’m not supposed to talk about this,” Tony told his teammate. “But the world’s going foggy again and … I need you to do me a favor when you get back to the States.”

“You don’t need to—” Dan started, but Tony cut him off.

“I do,” he said. “Because you don’t even know his fucking name, and I’m in love with him, God, I really am, Dan. I know this is freaking you out, and I’m sorry. And I also know it’s stupid, because we only had one night, and I know that he hasn’t been faithful, and … That it doesn’t matter—we didn’t make any promises. But I was going to show him. I was going to just keep coming back. I was going to be there, and now I’m not going to be—”

“Yes, you are.” Danny wouldn’t stop pretending, and that was okay with Tony, too.

He knew that they both knew better.

“His name’s Adam Wyndham,” Tony whispered, and even though Dan was pretending to check his bandage again, he was listening. “And I just want him to know—to believe—that I was being honest when I told him that night meant everything to me. I want him to know that I was going to come back. That I wanted to come back. Will you tell him that for me?”

Dan was silent, so Tony added, “Otherwise he’ll just never know, you know? No one will notify him. He’ll just think I moved on.”

“You can tell him yourself.”

“But if I can’t …”

Dan looked up at that, finally meeting Tony’s gaze. “If you can’t, then … You don’t have to worry. You can count on me.”

Monday, March 3, 2008

Adam’s new apartment wasn’t half as nice as his old one.

But when he’d called his landlord, a generally clueless man named Connor, to give notice, Con had let Adam know it was okay if he left early. Apparently he had a new tenant already on a waiting list for the place. So they’d come to an agreement that Adam would move at the end of February.

Of course, he’d then immediately gotten cast in a movie, but that was really just a handy excuse. In truth, his shooting schedule was light and mostly at night, and he’d had plenty of time to go apartment hunting in the early afternoons.

But he hadn’t. Not until the very last minute, when he’d had to settle for something less-than.

But he’d done it. He’d finally moved away from the place that was filled with too many memories. Except, he still couldn’t go into his bathroom, even this new one, without thinking about Tony. Which was beyond stupid. The kid had been just another one-night hookup. A faded memory to pull out and sharpen if he needed inspiration while alone in his shower. Which was the full extent of Adam’s sex life these days.

He’d been keeping himself to himself ever since the fiasco with the fallen angel in the back room at Big’s. He’d closed his eyes as the other man had unfastened Adam’s jeans and dropped to his knees, and maybe he could’ve enjoyed it if he’d leaned his head back and not looked down—and pretended the blond was Tony.

But his touch was unfamiliar, which was usually a turn-on—new hands, new mouth, new man—except this time it wasn’t.

And for the first time in his life, Adam didn’t want this.

It was such a disconcerting thought that he almost stayed to see it through. But he was afraid that if he did, he was going to start to cry, so he pulled himself out of the angel’s hands and, without a word of explanation, he’d left.

He was in such a hurry, he was still refastening his button fly as he came out of the back room which, of course, was the exact moment some asshole snapped his photo with a cell phone.

Adam Wyndham spotted at a West Hollywood hot spot late last night, up to his old tricks was the caption when the photo was published online, on a high-visibility celebrity gossip website.

And he suspected Tony must’ve seen it and made note of the date—the night after they’d hooked up—because he never sent another email. No Hey, how’re you doing. No I’m busy but safe. No I’ll be home in a month, so let’s connect.

Which was a good thing. Or so Adam tried to tell himself.

He went through various phases even as he continued to check his email, scanning for that dot-mil address, three or sometimes even four times a day. Most of the time, he felt self-disgust. Well, what did he expect from a star collector? Sometimes he felt indignation. Even if he hadn’t walked away from the angel at Big’s, so what? He’d made no promises to Tony. And forget about the fact that the idea of making those kinds of promises after one single, stupid night was absurd …

One single, stupid but unforgettable night, with a man who cared about him.

Or, more realistically, a man who was pretending to care about him.

But out of all the memories that he still held from that night, it was the way Tony had touched him right before he left—his hand warm atop Adam’s head—that was the most vivid.

He hadn’t been touched with such tenderness since he was a child. Since his mother had tucked him in at night. And even then, those memories were tarnished by his ability to conjure a very sharp picture of her face, distorted and mottled with anger, as she drove him from the house where he’d lived for his entire sixteen years. No son of mine … And You’re dead to me! Dead! All because he was honest when his sister found the gay porn magazines he’d hidden—badly, apparently—in his bedroom. He could’ve claimed ignorance, pretended that they were a horrible practical joke perpetuated upon him by the bullies at the high school.

Instead, he’d told her the truth—that he thought he was gay.

She spent the next week trying to talk him out of it, trying to convince him that he was wrong. It was just a phase. A reaction to being unpopular at school. She took him to the doctor. She took him to church. She prayed and she wept, and finally he snapped and admitted that he didn’t really think he was gay—he knew it. His good friend Carlos from summer camp wasn’t just his friend, he was Adam’s lover. They’d started having sex when Adam was fourteen and …

Adam had found himself out in the street, locked out of his house, with nowhere to go. Carlos was already in college and unable—unwilling, really—to help him. He had a new boyfriend, and finals were approaching. Besides, guests couldn’t stay overnight in his dorm, so …

Yeah.

Adam had had to grow up fast, although lately, when he thought about his years on the street, during his latest monk-like musings, he was starting to realize that maybe he hadn’t grown up at all. Maybe he’d merely—barely—survived. Although Jules’s opinion on the subject, which he’d expounded upon liberally in those last few days when Adam finally moved out of the apartment they’d shared in D.C., was that Adam hadn’t survived. He was broken. Jules believed that Adam had been damaged, irreparably, by his family’s rejection and the desperate years that had followed.

Of course, Jules had been mad as hell that Adam had not only hooked up with another man, but had spent nearly two weeks with him in Jules’s apartment, while Jules was out of the country.

It was, undeniably, a bastard-asshole thing to do. Which was, in part, why Adam had done it. The mere slips of the past hadn’t made Jules kick him out. His transgression had had to be major.

And it had worked. He could still remember the expression of total evisceration on Jules’s face.

And okay. He was wrong about the whole no-one-had-touched-him-like-that-since-he-was-a-child thing. Jules had touched him like that, too—with genuine love and tenderness.

But Adam hadn’t been able to accept such a gift at that time in his life. And, to be fair to his broken, dysfunctional self, Jules’s affection hadn’t been unconditional. He’d wanted something that Adam couldn’t give him. He’d wanted love that was combined with fidelity and honesty and commitment. At the time, all those years ago, Adam didn’t even know what those things were—not after spending so many years trading both body and soul for the fleeting security of a meal and a roof over his head. Sex was his currency, his power, his source of both immediate gratification and imminent self-loathing, and love only made it complicated, adding jealousy and fear, anger and mistrust into the mix.

Which brought him back to Tony, who’d clearly seen that picture taken at Big’s and decided—rightfully—that Adam wasn’t worth his time.

It was for the best.

But now, this morning, as he was skimming a news article about the ongoing conflict in Afghanistan, he came upon a phrase that made him flash both hot and cold as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

… similar to last month’s attack, in which two Navy SEALs were killed and three others were wounded.

No. Please, God, no …

He googled Tony’s name with his heart in his throat, and the first things that came up looked like some kind of qualifying lists for charity runs. Adam clicked a link, and yes, apparently Tony ran half-marathons—thirteen-point-one miles, holy shit—in his spare time.

He’d also—according to his hometown paper, the Shoreline Times—graduated summa cum laude from Dartmouth College. A picture showed a younger and significantly more slender Tony—his middle name was Michael—grinning broadly at the camera, with light and life dancing in his pretty eyes. There was a picture of him, as well, with much shorter hair, dressed in his Navy uniform, with an announcement about his acceptance into the SEAL’s BUD/S training, another announcing his graduation from the grueling program and his acceptance into Team Sixteen.

And Adam didn’t know much about the Navy—other than that the uniforms could make damn near anyone look hot. But he did know that the average Ivy League college student didn’t enlist in the Navy upon graduation. It was bizarre. Maybe—maybe—they became an officer, but to just sign up as a grunt …?

Who did that?

Tony, apparently.

Adam back-paged to his original Google list, scanned down it, and …

Oh, sweet Jesus, there was an obituary. For Anthony Michael Vlachic, again from the Shoreline Times, and he clicked it with dread churning his stomach, praying that Tony had a grandfather or father with the exact same name, but the link took him to a page that was blank.

“No,” he said. What the fuck …?

But then a message appeared: Please excuse our construction dust. The page you requested is temporarily off-line as we update our website.

“Shit!” He reached for his phone, flipping through his address book, because there was only one person to call at a time like this.

Jules, with his FBI agent status, would be able to find out what Adam needed to know.

Except the last time he and Jules had collided, the FBI agent’s good friends, Cowboy Sam and Wonder-Woman Alyssa, had deleted both Jules’s and Robin’s phone numbers from Adam’s phone. And he hadn’t inputted them again—at least not yet.

Except now, when Adam went into his computer contact file, he couldn’t find Jules. Or Robin, for that matter. Which was beyond strange, since he knew he’d had a record of both their work and cell numbers, along with their home landline up in Boston.

But their page had vanished—or rather, it had been erased.

Perhaps even by Tony, when he’d spent the night at Adam’s. Sure Adam was a light sleeper, but Tony was a freaking SEAL, trained at moving stealthily. He could’ve gotten out of bed in the night, gone into the living room where Adam’s laptop was sitting in plain sight …

Or maybe Tony had had nothing to do with it. Maybe Sam had made a discreet phone call, even before Adam had left Boston back in December, and one of his spooky friends had slid in through the crack under the door and done the dirty work for him.

Sam was a real son of a bitch. But he was also a son of a bitch who knew Tony and was still tight with the SEALs in Team Sixteen, and therefore a great source of information.

Adam googled Troubleshooters Incorporated, San Diego, and followed the link to the security team’s website, where there was plenty of contact information. He punched the main phone number into his phone and …

It was picked up after only one ring by a woman. “Troubleshooters. This is Tracy Shapiro speaking. How can I help you?”

“I need to speak to Sam Starrett,” Adam said.

“I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting with a client,” Tracy said crisply. “I’ll connect you to his line so you can leave a voice mail.”

“Wait,” Adam said, but she was so efficient, she’d already switched him over.

“This is Sam Starrett,” came the recorded message in Sam’s standard cowboy twang. “Leave a message and I’ll get back to you ASAP.” Adam hung up before the beep and reached for his cell phone, just in case the receptionist had caller ID, which she probably did, because come on. This was a personal security firm, after all.

He dialed Troubleshooter’s number again, and this time, when she picked up, he did his best imitation of Jules.

“Troubleshooters. This is—”

He cut her off, pitched his voice further back in his chest and added the almost musical inflections that made people respond as if Jules were telling the most fascinating story in the world. “Hey, Trace. It’s me, Jules Cassidy. I’m in a teensy bit of a bind.” He brought teensy up an octave and let bit of a bind drop back even lower than his normal register. Damn. He did Jules better than Jules himself. “I’m calling from a borrowed cell phone and, well, it’s a long story. Too long to tell right now. It’s something of an emergency, though, and I really need to speak to Sam. Is he around?”

“I’ll put you right through, sir,” she said.

Sam picked up close to immediately. “Hey,” he said. “Hang on just a sec, while I go into my office and …” There was a thunk while he must’ve closed his door. “What’s going on, Cassidy? Are you all right? Is Robin—”

“He’s fine,” Adam said in his own voice. “And Jules is, too. At least as far as I know. I just … I’m sorry, but I needed to talk to you and …”

“Who the fuck is this …?” Sam asked in a growl that was scary even with miles between them.

“It’s Adam,” he said. “And I am sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do, so I thought—”

“Adam Wyndham …?” Sam asked with the same inflection that someone might say You puked in my car …?

“Look, I haven’t heard from Tony in a really long time,” Adam tried to explain, “and then I read that there’d been casualties over in Afghanistan—”

“It’s a war,” Sam said flatly. “There are casualties every fucking day. You’re really a piece of work, you know that, Wyndham? And I know you’re not an idiot, so you must know it’s illegal to impersonate a federal agent—”

“So arrest me,” Adam said. “I don’t give a shit. I just need to—” His voice actually broke, and he had to blink back the tears that sprang into his eyes. “I’m going crazy over here, Sam,” he whispered. “Please. Have mercy on me. I need to know. Was Tony one of the SEALs who died?”

“What?” Sam said. “Died? No one in the teams died.”

Was it possible that he didn’t know? “The article said it happened last month,” Adam said, reaching for his computer mouse and searching for the link to the news story that he’d read and …

“There was an ambush,” Sam told him, “back about a month ago, with one hell of a firefight. Tony was hit, but he’s not dead.”

Tony was not dead. Oh, God, thank you, God … And Jesus, he was a moron. The article he’d been reading was from 2005. Except Sam had just told him—holy crap! “Tony was hit?” Adam asked. “What do you mean hit? You mean shot?”

“It was no big deal,” Sam reassured him, which was stupid, because Adam knew being shot was a big deal. Jules had been shot, and it had scared the shit out of Adam, just thinking about how dead Jules would have been had that bullet hit him a fraction of an inch lower.

“At least not when it happened,” Sam was still talking and Adam focused. “But apparently the wound got infected and … It was bad for a while there.”

“Oh, my God,” Adam said. “Define bad.”

“Bad enough to need a hospital. And since Lopez couldn’t get Tony to one, not until the CIC had the troops he needed to stage a counteroffensive to draw al Qaeda away from where they had the SEALs pinned in the mountains, well … Lopez brought the hospital to Tony. He and Izzy Zanella jumped in with the antibiotics and medical supplies the team needed, to hold out until the reinforcements arrived.”

“Jumped?” Adam asked.

The word meant just what he’d suspected. “Parachuted,” Sam explained. “Which is a fucking crazy don’t try this at home, kids stunt, at this time of year, in those mountains, with those what-the-fuck air currents …?” He sounded both envious and impressed, former SEAL that he was. “You know, I wouldn’t be able to tell you any of this, but the story is about to break in the news—with no names, of course. Still, the public loves a SEAL rescue, and this was too good not to leak. Cosmo, Silverman, and Dan Gillman led the enemy on a wild goat chase down the mountain, creating a diversion by pretending they were carrying Tony out of there. Meanwhile, Tony was hunkered down with Jenkins, waiting for Lopez and Zanella to come surfing in with their medical special delivery.”

Sweet Jesus. “Are they all okay?”

“Mostly,” Sam said. “Silverman broke an ankle—disembarking from the extraction helo, after they finally got everyone out of there.”

“And Tony?” Adam asked. “He’s all right?”

“He was in the hospital, in Germany, for a while,” Sam told him. “But yeah. He’s gonna be fine.”

Thank God.

“He’s also home now,” Sam continued. “They all are, the whole team. They got back about a week ago, I think. And Adam?” he added, not unkindly. “I kind of suspect that if Tony wanted you around, he would’ve called you by now, you know?”

Ouch.

“Yeah,” Adam said. He did know. But it was okay, because Tony wasn’t dead.

“Do the kid a favor,” Sam started.

Adam cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Don’t worry, I’m not going to call him.” He just didn’t want him to be dead.

“I gotta go,” Sam said. “I’m supposed to be in a meeting. I need to get back to it.”

“Yeah,” Adam said again. “I’m sorry that I—I am sorry. And … thank you.”

“Don’t do it again.” Sam hung up.

Adam sat there, at his computer, for a good long time, just staring out the window, glad beyond belief that Tony was all right, and yet filled with an almost overpowering sadness that made him want to weep.

But he didn’t. Because life was unfair. He’d learned that years ago.

And even if life weren’t unfair, if he had a choice between Tony not being dead, and Tony calling him again?

Adam would choose the option he’d gotten. No doubt about it. And no fucking way was he going to cry over something that he knew in his heart was a giant win.

The lights were on in Adam’s apartment.

That window that Tony had wondered about the first—and only—time he’d been here was blazing.

He took a deep breath as he stood on the porch, exhaling hard before reaching out to ring the bell.

He should have called or even emailed, but he knew if he had done that before coming over, there was a strong chance Adam would have shut him down. This way, the shutting would have to be done in person. Face-to-face. Man-to-man. Which was only one letter away from man on man.

Tony had the utmost faith in his persuasive abilities to change that to to an on. All he had to do was talk himself inside and close that door behind him.

This time he had three weeks. This time …

The door opened and …

Shit, he should have called.

A stranger was standing in the open door. Mid-thirties and attractive in a blond-with-fashionably-nerdy-glasses-and-a-button-down-sweater way. He was sizing Tony up with surprised scrutiny and barely concealed hostility. “Who the hell are you?”

Tony’s stomach lurched in a way that wasn’t all that different from his reaction to the powerful antibiotic he’d been on, even after being released from the hospital. It had turned his intestines into sludge and kept him on the verge of being dehydrated. Combined with the toll the actual infection had taken on his body, along with the exhaustion from traveling halfway around the world, it had made him spend his first week home curled up in bed, asleep.

This trip to L.A. was his first real venture out, and his knees still felt a little wobbly. Particularly now. “Oh,” Tony said. “I’m sorry, um …”

“He’s with me now,” the man said, with a raftload of attitude. “So cross him off your hit list.”

“I honestly didn’t know,” Tony said. “I’ve been out of the country for months and … He didn’t know I was coming over here tonight. Really.”

The man crossed his arms but didn’t say anything, so Tony kept going. Because God, if Adam had made a serious connection and was genuinely happy with this man, who seemed extremely upset by Tony’s appearance, he didn’t want to mess it up for him.

“We only hooked up once, and it was a while ago. I just, um … I’ve been gone since then, and it was crazy to think he’d, you know … Wait for me.” He cut to the bottom line, resisting the urge to sit down on the steps and put his head between his knees. God, this sucked, in so many ways. “I really like him. He’s a good guy. A little nuts, but, you know, who isn’t? I’m just … Please, if you don’t mind, will you tell him that I stopped by and that I’m … happy for him.” He forced a smile, forced his hand not to shake as he dug in his pocket for his car keys. “He deserves someone who’s around all the time. I can’t give him that, I’m in the Navy and … Well. I’m Tony, by the way, and you don’t have to worry. I won’t be back. You can tell him that, too. If you want. Or don’t tell him anything, if you don’t want to. You can just pretend this never happened. I mean, it wasn’t like he was expecting me to come back …” He shook his head. “He wasn’t. So …”

Okay. He’d probably said enough. It was time to go. It was definitely time to sit down, and it would be better to do that in his car instead of on the sidewalk.

But before he turned away, the other man spoke.

“I’m Adam,” he said, then rolled his eyes before Tony could even raise an eyebrow. “And yeah, yeah, I know. We get that all the time.”

“It’s bound to happen,” Tony said. “Adam and Adam. I knew a Jason and Jason in college.”

Now the blond—Adam-2—was back to being hostile. Or maybe he was quizzical, but it involved frowning. “It’s Adam and Steve,” he said. “Wait a minute. We moved in just last month. Are you—”

“Steve,” Tony repeated, with a laugh. “Your partner’s name is Steve.” Holy shit.

“… looking for—”

“Adam,” Tony finished for him as his knees mutinied and the world swirled around him, and he sat down, right there on the porch steps. He looked back at Adam-2 over his shoulder, trying to force the spinning to stop. “I’m looking for Adam, who lived here back in January.”

The blond man laughed now, too. “Wow,” he said. “I owe Steve an apology. I actually thought … And, wow, you thought …”

“Nice to meet you,” Tony said, and as Adam-2 reached forward to shake his hand, the very last remnants of his hostility fell away. But it was replaced by concern.

“Are you all right?” Tony heard the other man ask as if from a distance—right before the spinning stopped and the world went black.

Adam almost didn’t take the call.

The number on his cell phone was that of his former landlord, Connor. But he’d paid up all of his rent and had even had his security deposit returned, so there was no reason to hide from the guy. Besides, they’d been relatively friendly during Adam’s years living there. Maybe Connor was calling because there was some mail or a package that had gone astray.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Adam, how are you? It’s Con. I’m sorry to bother you, but I just got the weirdest call from … Well, his name’s Adam, too. He’s my brother Steve’s latest boyfriend. They’re living over in 108, you know, your old place?”

“Yeah, Con,” Adam interrupted him, because the man could go on and on. “Sorry to have to make it short, but I’m just about to go into makeup.” Not quite a lie, considering he was due in makeup before the sun set, which counted as a just about in the earth-is-a-billion-years-old cosmic scheme of things. Until then, he was doing some shopping and getting some lunch. “If there’s something that you need …”

“Oh, sorry, of course,” Connor said. “It’s just that Adam—Steve’s Adam—told me that one of your, um, friends came to see you, but you weren’t there, of course, because you moved out. But apparently, this guy—Tony Something—had some kind of, I don’t know. Medical event, I guess. Adam called an ambulance and then he called me because he thought you should know.”

“Medical event,” Adam repeated, his heart in his throat. Tony had come to see him and had had a medical event.

“Yeah, the way Adam described it, he just kind of checked out. I don’t know if it’s drugs or alcohol—”

“It’s not,” Adam said.

“I’m not judging. It’s not my business to—”

“It’s not.” Adam spoke over him. “Tony was recently wounded in the war—the one in Afghanistan.”

“Oh, wow,” Connor said. “I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t,” Adam said. Tony had probably pushed himself too far, too fast. Driving all the way up from San Diego, to see Adam … God, he’d actually come to see Adam. “Which hospital did the ambulance take him to?”

“Cedars-Sinai,” Connor told him. “You might want to get over there, to talk to the doctors, you know, make sure they know he’s not just some drunk who needs to sleep it off.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks for calling me. I really appreciate it.” Adam cut the connection and turned on his phone’s GPS, searching for Cedars-Sinai, which was on … Beverly Boulevard. Which wasn’t that far from his current location. He got his bearings and ran toward the street, scanning for a cab. There was nothing in sight, so he opened his phone again, and slowed to a jog as he scrolled through his recent history and found the number for Troubleshooters Incorporated. He hit TALK, and sure enough, after only one ring, good old Tracy picked up.

“Troubleshooters. This is—”

“Tracy,” Adam said. “Hi. You don’t know me. My name’s Adam, and I’m a friend of Sam’s. Well. Not exactly a friend. More like a nemesis, but okay. Whatever. Anyway, a mutual friend, a SEAL with Team Sixteen, was recently injured over in Afghanistan and I just got a call from another friend telling me that he’s—the SEAL friend—is in the hospital here in L.A., and it’s something of an emergency. I need Sam to get in touch with another SEAL named Jay Lopez, to ask him to call either me—” he rattled off his cell phone number “—or Cedars-Sinai Hospital because my injured friend might be unconscious and … Are you writing this down?”

“I am,” she said. “I’m also aware that you’re the one who called pretending to be Jules Cassidy, and I’m about to pull Sam out of another important meeting. So if this isn’t a real emergency? I will never put you through to him again, so help me God, as long as we both shall live, and I don’t think I got the name of the SEAL who’s in the hospital in L.A.…?”

“You didn’t get it because I didn’t give it to you,” Adam told her. “Sam will know who I’m talking about.”

She laughed her disdain. “He’s just going to read your mind …?”

“Wyndham,” Adam said, enunciating clearly. “Is my last name. You may have seen one of my movies? I’m an actor. People take my picture when I go to the grocery store and if they could, they’d take my picture when I take a fucking dump. They like to speculate about who I’m shagging and since I also happen to be very, very gay, I’m not going to say this SEAL’s name out loud, because that will bring a rain of shit down on his head and quite possibly ruin his life, and I will not do that to him, even though I’m so worried and scared for him that I would step in front of a fucking bus if I thought that would mean he’s okay. So instead, yes, I’m just going to let Sam, who is a very smart man, read my mind. Is that okay with you?”

Tracy didn’t miss a beat. “I loved you in Snow Day,” she said. “Please hold, I’m putting you through.”

There was a click and then he was on hold, but he moved to the edge of the sidewalk and stood on his toes to look because there was another rush of traffic coming down the street. But again, there was no cab.

So Adam again took off toward the hospital, his phone still to his ear.

And then, alleluia, Sam Starrett’s Texas twanged over the open line.

“Okay, Wyndham, here’s the deal,” he said. “I’ve already left a message for Lopez, and Tracy’s trying to reach Jenkins, Gillman, and Zanella, too. Tom Paoletti’s in the office today, and he’s calling Team Sixteen’s CO. If he can’t reach him, he’ll call the senior chief, and then he’ll go down his list of both officers and enlisted until he hits someone with his phone on. We’ll take it from here and make sure the hospital gets the medical information they need.”

“Thank you so much,” Adam said, and his relief made his chest tight and brought tears to his eyes. God damn it, he was not going to cry.

“What the fuck happened?”

“He came to L.A.,” Adam said, stopping on the corner, waiting for the light to change, trying not to breathe too hard into the phone. “But I moved while he was away and … I got a call from my former landlord and … I guess he came here to see me.” He made himself laugh. “What a fucking idiot, right?”

“I’d go for fool,” Sam said. “Not idiot. Are you at the hospital yet?”

“Not yet.” Although he could see the sign for its ER, red and vivid, in the distance. Still, he slowed as he realized why Sam might be asking. “Should I … Is it better for Tony if I stay away?”

“You know what I think. And I believe you agree,” Sam said. “But your definition and my definition of what’s better for Tony might be vastly different from his. He was supposed to stay in bed another week, at least. But here he is, in L.A. Probably because you didn’t take his calls. Definitely because he wanted to see you.”

“He didn’t call,” Adam said. “Although if he had …” He laughed his disgust. “Who am I kidding? I would have answered. I think about him, night and day.”

“Hold on,” Sam said, and as Adam stopped outside of the ER doors, there was muffled talking, as if he’d put his hand over the telephone. But then he moved it and Adam could hear: “Yeah, that’s great. Thank you, sir. That was Tommy.” He was talking to Adam again. “He reached the senior chief, who put in a call to the hospital. He’s going to connect them with Tony’s doctor. Right now the diagnosis is that he’s dehydrated, but they’re running some other tests. They’ve got him hooked up to IV fluids and some anti-nausea meds, because when he first came to, in the ambulance, he did some heavy-duty lunch-launching.”

Lunch-launching was Sam-speak for vomiting. “When he first came to …?”

“Apparently he’s out again.”

“Shit. Did he hit his head when he fell?” Adam asked. “Have they given him, like, a CAT scan, or …?”

“I don’t have that information,” Sam said.

Adam moved slightly closer to the doors, and they opened with a whoosh. “I’m going in,” he decided. “I gotta hang up.”

NO CELL PHONES BEYOND THIS POINT, said a big sign on the wall.

“Keep me posted,” Sam said.

“I will,” Adam said and hung up. He pocketed his phone and took a deep breath and approached the formidable-looking nurse behind the triage counter, who was guarding the entrance into the actual ER. “Excuse me. I’m, um, here to see Tony—Anthony—Vlachic.”

She finally looked up. “The Navy SEAL.”

“Yes. May I …?” He pointed. “Is there a room number …?”

“Are you one of his teammates?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, and it wasn’t a lie because according to some people both he and Tony were playing for the other team. Which made them teammates of a sort.

“He’s in fourteen,” she told him, granting him access. But he nearly tripped over his own feet as she added, “Another of your friends is already in there with him.”

“Oh,” Adam said. “Good.” And it was good, because it meant the ER doctor had access to more detailed information about Tony’s recent injury. And that goodness outweighed the tragic fact that Adam really couldn’t go in there now—for fear of outing Tony. Because even though the triage nurse didn’t recognize him, surely someone would.

Still, she was watching him now, so he kept going, searching not just for the little ER room labeled fourteen, but also for the men’s, where he could duck in, hide in a stall for a minute or ten, and then exit back the way he’d come in, with a breezy Looks like things are under control, gotta get back to the navy base to the nurse-guard.

Although anyone who thought he could be a Navy SEAL was either blind or naive.

And there was room fourteen, a tiny space with a hospital bed and the door wide open. He glanced in, and God, there was Tony in that bed, hooked up to an IV drip, just as Sam had said. His eyes were closed and his face was pale and he seemed to be alone in there. But as much as Adam wanted to go in, if only to touch him as he slept—just briefly on the head the way he’d touched Adam all those weeks ago—he didn’t dare.

Instead, with a lump in his throat, he swerved to the right and detoured into the men’s room, pushing open the door and heading almost blindly for the stalls, unable to see through the sheen of tears that were back in his eyes.

“Whoa, heads up!”

Shit, he’d nearly crashed into a man who was exiting the room. “Sorry.” Adam moved to go around him, but the man moved the same way, and they did that stupid dance that people sometimes did, trying to get around each other, until one of them gave up and stood still.

But when Adam stopped, the other man did, too, which was awkward, because there they were, face-to-face, with those stupid tears still in Adam’s eyes, threatening to overflow. And of course, the guy had to be a SEAL, wearing gleaming Navy dress whites, with that eagle pin on his very broad chest.

And then it got even more awkward as the SEAL said, “You’re Adam Wyndham.”

Perfect.

And there they stood, in an uncomfortable silence.

Adam honestly didn’t know what to say. He had no clue if the SEAL knew that Tony had come to L.A. to visit Adam, or if the guy was merely a movie watcher who would be aghast to know the truth.

With his dark hair, brown eyes, and almost perfectly even features, he was handsome enough to be a movie star himself. He was a few years older than Tony—closer to Adam’s age—but Adam wasn’t military-literate enough to read his rank. He was enlisted—Adam could tell that, thanks to the sailor style of his uniform.

“I’m Dan.” The SEAL held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Have you been in to see Tony yet?”

Oh, thank God. Adam managed to shake his head as he took Dan’s hand. “I wasn’t going to stay. I didn’t want to … I wasn’t sure who, you know, knew.”

“I’m the only one,” Dan told him, his brown eyes serious. “I mean, we all know, but I’m the only one who, well … Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell means we can’t talk about it, but last month we were in a little bit of trouble, and … Well, T. wanted to make sure you knew how much he, you know, cared. Cares. About you. He didn’t want it to go unsaid. So he trusted me. I’m glad we’re meeting under much better conditions. He’s okay, by the way. The doctors are pretty sure it was food poisoning. Under normal circumstances, he would have been pretty damn sick, but since he wasn’t quite up to speed … He’s, um—”

Dan probably would’ve just kept talking and talking if Adam hadn’t cut him off.

“It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” he asked. “The idea of Tony and me. Together.”

Dan laughed his surprise at Adam’s directness, and hit back with a truckload of directness of his own. “Yes, it does, but it doesn’t make me even half as uncomfortable as the idea of you taking advantage of him, or worse—coming here like this and outing him, inadvertently or not. I mean, it’s one thing if you, you know, love him, too. But from what he told me, it doesn’t particularly sound like you do. And if you’re going to fuck around with him—both literally and figuratively—and he gets discharged, only to have you ditch him a few weeks later …? That’s what makes me uncomfortable, because he’s a good man and a great teammate.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Adam told this virtual stranger, confessing that which he hadn’t dared express to anyone. “He loves his idea of me. He loves the man he wants me to be. He doesn’t know me. What he feels has nothing to do with reality.”

“His reality or yours?” Dan asked. “And why is yours more valid than his? Maybe he sees something that you can’t or won’t see because your mirror is warped. You know, I used to get into trouble—really stupid stuff—all the time when I first joined SEAL Team Sixteen. And we had an officer—he’s not with us anymore—who sat me down and told me that I had to let go of the past, because I wasn’t that kid anymore. He told me that I had to redefine myself by the people who were around me, by the company that I keep right now—today. I had to start seeing myself through the respect that I saw in their eyes.

“Tony sees something in you. You might want to take another, more careful look at yourself through his eyes. Join him in his reality.”

“The one that includes Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?” Adam felt compelled to ask, to argue. It was either that or give in to the tears.

“Unfortunately, yeah,” Dan said. “It’s going to change. It has to. I hope it does soon, because T. doesn’t deserve that bullshit in his life. And as far as DADT goes, he told. Even though he had every reason to believe that I would report him. He chose to tell, because the idea of you going through your life unaware of how much you meant to him was worth more to him than a career that he’s worked hard for, that means everything to him.” He corrected himself. “Almost everything.”

Dan stepped around Adam, heading for the door. “I’m going to go out in the ER waiting room. I’ll be able to intercept anyone else who might come in. I don’t know who else is in town. I’m here on a fluke—I was doing a program at an elementary school. Anyway, I’ll be out there, if you want to go in to see him. If you don’t, well, that’s fine with me, too. Just don’t do it half-assed and halfway.”

And with that he was gone, leaving Adam staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Someone was touching his head, their hand warm and solid against him.

It was probably the nurse, checking for fever, except the hand that was touching him wasn’t against his forehead, which was odd.

Whoever it was exhaled just a little—the smallest of sighs.

And Tony kept his eyes closed even though he’d woken up, because as long as his eyes were closed, he could pretend that that hand, that sigh, belonged to Adam.

But it wasn’t Adam who’d been by his bedside the last time he’d woken up. It had been Dan Gillman and it was a little too odd and disconcerting to think that the other SEAL might be touching him like that—this hand lighter now as he pushed back and even played with Tony’s hair.

So he opened his eyes, and God, it was Adam standing there, looking down at him with those incredible, luminous hazel eyes, with his very heart and soul bared for Tony to see.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say that could even come close to everything that Adam was saying by the gentleness of his touch, and that look in his eyes, and God, by the very fact that he was standing right there—right there.

But then Adam laughed, just a little, and said, “I missed you.” He looked away then, as if his words embarrassed or—probably more accurately—frightened him.

“I missed you, too,” Tony told him, then tried to lighten things. “You look delicious.”

Adam forced a laugh, almost unbearably ill at ease. “You look like shit.”

“I feel great.”

“Great?”

“Very much so. It kind of happens to me when you’re in the room.”

Adam’s laughter was a little less forced. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I look like shit, I’m full of shit. If this is shit, I’ll take it,” Tony said, catching Adam’s hand and interlacing their fingers. “It’s really good to see you.”

Adam looked down at their hands but didn’t pull away. “I don’t think I’d be as forgiving as you.” He looked up. “That picture from Big Richard’s,” he started.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tony brought his hand up to his mouth for a kiss.

“I went there to try to, I don’t know,” Adam said, as one of the tears that were making his eyes shine slid down his cheek before he could brusquely brush it away.

“Exorcise me,” Tony said quietly. “I do know. I, um, had a lot of time to think about it.”

“I wanted to belittle what we shared,” Adam confessed, fighting hard to keep more tears from falling. “To prove it was meaningless. So I went to the club—”

“Adam, it really doesn’t matter.” He could say that in all honesty.

“It matters to me,” Adam told him. “It matters that you know that nothing happened. I mean, yeah, I went there. And yeah, I went into the back room with this guy and … I don’t know. He wasn’t you so I walked away. Which really freaked me out on top of everything else.”

“I bet,” Tony said. God, he’d lost sleep over that picture that had showed up online. At first he’d been hurt, but then, in the long run, he’d realized that the picture had provided him with a gauge of just how scared Adam was of him and by him. It had made him cautious—maybe too much so—about calling or emailing, for fear Adam would run away, or again try to prove how little sex mattered.

But now, knowing this—Adam had walked away—he had to reevaluate. But first he had to take a moment and grin his ass off.

Adam knew why he was smiling. “It doesn’t matter,” he said mocking Tony. “You’re a crappy liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Tony protested. “It really didn’t matter. It will matter, now, though. I’ve got three weeks and I’m going to spend them with you. And after that, I’m going to say some things that’ll really scare the hell out of you, and one of them’s going to be a demand that you don’t hook up with anyone else while I’m away.”

“Demand?” Adam repeated.

“I was going to say request,” Tony told him, “but I thought demand would make you get all oppositional, and up in my face. I love it when you do that, baby. It’s incredibly hot.”

Adam laughed, but then his smile faded. “God, you really do scare me. I care, way too much.”

Tony’s heart actually leapt. “No such thing.”

“Yeah, there is,” Adam argued. “I’m standing here, and I’m trying not to say it, but here it comes, because I am such a needy little fuck and … You really believe me, don’t you? About the picture? God, it’s stupid that it should matter this much, but all my life, I’ve been such a fucking liar. The truth is a variable. It becomes true if I can sell it, if I can convince you. But this time, I’m not lying and—”

“I believe you,” Tony told him. “And I happen to really like needy little fucks.”

He tugged Adam closer to him, and the other man didn’t resist. So he pulled him in for a kiss. Gentle at first, then hotter, deeper. Ah, God …

Adam pulled away, but only to make sure that the door was tightly closed. Not for himself, but for Tony, for whom it mattered.

Adam kissed him again, but again only briefly before pulling back to look into Tony’s eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For believing me and … for not believing me when I said what I said …”

“Whatever,” Tony whispered back. “I knew what you meant.”

“Still,” Adam said, echoing the very words Tony had used before leaving all those weeks ago. “It means everything to me.”

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is repealed, almost three years to the day after the cold winter night that Tony met Adam.

They’re planning a summer wedding in Tony’s hometown in Connecticut.

If you loved When Tony Met Adam, then you won’t want to miss Suzanne Brockmann’s New York Times bestselling novels that tell the story of openly-gay FBI agent (and kick-ass romantic hero)
Jules Cassidy:

Hot Target
Force of Nature
All Through the Night

“Jules Cassidy is one of the most charming and original characters in popular fiction today.” —Library Journal

“[Brockmann] brilliantly combines superbly crafted, realistically complex characters with white-knuckle plotting.” —Booklist

“Sterling prose.” —Publishers Weekly

Read on for a sneak peek of Hot Target.

Jules Cassidy hated L.A.

He hated it for the usual reasons—the relentless traffic jams, the unending sameness of the weather, and the air of frantic, fear-driven competition that ruled the city. It was as if all four million inhabitants were holding their breath, terrified that if they were on the top, they’d fall; if they were climbing, they wouldn’t make it; and if they were at the bottom, they’d never get their big break.

It was called the City of Angels, but the folks who gave it that name had neglected to mention that the particular angels who lived there didn’t answer to the man upstairs.

Jules could almost hear one of those satanic types laughing as he gazed at his current number one reason why he hated L.A.

A kid, barely out of his teens, was pointing a handgun at Jules’ chest. “Give me your wallet!”

There had been a sign saying, “Park at your own risk” posted at the entrance to this parking garage that was cut into the hillside beneath his West Hollywood hotel. But Jules had foolishly assumed any risk would occur at night, not during broad daylight. Of course, in here it was shadowy and dank. The small lot was only half-filled, and no other people were in sight.

The garage walls were concrete block, and the ceiling looked solid, too. A bullet would ricochet off rather than penetrate and injure someone on the other side. The open bay doors on his right, however, led directly to the street. It wasn’t a major thoroughfare, but there was occasional traffic.

“You don’t want to do this,” Jules said, carefully keeping his hands where the kid could see them, even while he inched his way closer. He was glad his sidearm was in a locked suitcase in the trunk of the car, so he could hold his jacket open and take his wallet out of his pocket with two fingers without flashing his shoulder holster. “Just turn around and walk away—and do yourself another favor while you’re at it. Wipe the gun so your prints aren’t on it and—”

“Shut up,” the kid ordered him. He had primitive tattoos on his knuckles—despite his tender age he’d already done prison time. His hands were also shaking, another bad sign. He was obviously in dire need of a fix—the most desperate of all the desperate Los Angelenos.

He was in such bad shape, he’d forgotten to pull his ski mask down over his face. He was wearing it on top of his head, which didn’t do much to conceal his identity.

Clear thinking wasn’t part of the heroin withdrawal process, so Jules tried to eliminate any confusion on his end.

“I’m putting this on the ground”—Jules did just that—“and here’s my watch and my ring, too.” The ring—nothing fancy, just a simple silver band—was going to do the trick. The kid’s hands were shaking too much to be able to pick it up without his looking down, and when he did … “I’m going to back away—”

“I said shut the fuck up, faggot!”

Well, all-righty then. Jules could just imagine the conversation shared over a needle. Hey, if you ever need some fast cash, go on over to West Hollywood and rob a homo. They’re all rich, and if you do it right, you can probably make ’em cry, which is good for a laugh.…

“So this is a hate crime?” Jules asked in an attempt to distract because he just couldn’t bring himself to cry. But it was too late. The time for conversation was definitely over.

The kid realized that his mask was up.

Jules wasn’t sure what changed, but he got a heavy whiff of I can’t go back to prison, which wasn’t a good emotion to combine with I need a fix. Now.

He couldn’t wait for the kid to fumble with the ring.

Instead, Jules rushed him, taking care to knock his gun hand up and to the left, away from the open bay door, which proved to be unnecessary as the weapon went flying, unfired.

It skittered on the concrete as Jules sent the kid in the opposite direction.

He used the basic principles of Newton’s second law to launch himself after that weapon, scooping it off the floor and holding it in a stance that was far less theatrical than the kid’s had been, but also far more effective.

The kid rolled onto his ass, his face scraped and bleeding, and he looked at Jules with a mixture of disbelief and horror. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You didn’t think a fag would fight back, huh?” Jules asked. Holding the gun steady with one hand, he took his cell phone from his pocket with his other and speed-dialed the LAPD number he’d programmed in—standard procedure for an out-of-town visit—on his flight from D.C. “Yeah,” he said into the phone as the line was picked up. “This is Agent Jules Cassidy, with the FBI.”

“Ah, shit,” the kid said, too stupid to realize his mistake hadn’t been that he’d mugged the wrong man, but rather that he’d left his home this morning intending to commit felony armed robbery instead of checking himself into a rehab program.

“I need immediate police assistance in the underground garage for the Stonewall Hotel in West Hollywood,” Jules told the police dispatcher. He looked at the kid. “You, sweetiecakes, have the right to remain silent.…”

Ready for more pulse-pounding action? Read the whole Troubleshooters Inc. series:

The Unsung Hero
The Defiant Hero
Over the Edge
Out of Control
Into the Night
Gone Too Far
Flashpoint
Hot Target
Breaking Point
Into the Storm
Force of Nature
All Through the Night
Into the Fire
Dark of Night
Hot Pursuit
Breaking the Rules

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Suzanne Brockmann is the award-winning author of fifty books, and is widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on the New York Times bestseller list, as well as numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s #1 Favorite Book of the Year and two RITA Awards.

Brockmann divides her time between Siesta Key, Florida, New York City, and Boston, Massachusetts. Visit her website at www.SuzanneBrockmann.com and find her on Facebook by searching for Suz Brockmann’s Troubleshooters World.