This case, however, was not that. They could hit the pause button on finding Emily Johnson without doing more than potentially annoying the client.
On the other hand, since Robin would still be working, it might be a better idea for Lys and Ash to drive up here.
Sam glanced over to where Robin was using his iPad to review his lines of dialogue for tomorrow’s filming. He was sitting on the floor, leaning up against the sofa where Juleswas stretched out, fast asleep, one hand possessively on Robin’s shoulder.
Jules had beenbullshittoday, about not knowing anything about the death of Marina Santana—the fact that the client had stolen his father’s car and killed her in an accident made worse because he’d fled the scene.
Itwasunbelievably stupid that neither Sam nor Jules had thought to google the client and his dead father before that first meeting. A wealth of information would’ve come up, right at their fingertips.
In fact, tonight, over dinner, Robin had been surprised that they’d both been so totally blindsided by the info about Wig-Milt’s arrest and the impending court case turned into guilty plea. It had been big-time news back when it happened—and not just in Hollywood. Plus it bounced back into the national spotlight when Wig-Milt was released from prison. Robin hadn’t mentioned it because he’d assumed they both knew. It was like, oh yeah the hit-and-run Devonshires, everybody knows them.
But nope. Sam and Jules both had missed that tabloid freakshow, probably because they’d been focusing on preventing some real news, by stopping terrorists from blowing up Atlanta. Or maybe London. Or San Diego. Or possibly Kazabek City. Hard to remember where they were when.
But okay. They were caught up now.
And back at the Devonshire estate, minutes after the name Marina Santana had appeared in the google search on Sam’s phone, he’d put in a request from the TS main office for a full-scale report on her, her family, her loved ones, her work associates, her friends, even her freaking dog if she had one. Because maybe she had no connection to their mysterious Emily Johnson, but her death was no doubt the biggest pointof contention between Wig-Milt—Mick—and his dad, so hey, why not start there.
Still, seeing Jules that angry had been... good, actually. The man had been walking around slightly displaced in his own body—as if he still hadn’t fully committed to this new reality. But going rip-shit—Jules had been one-hundred percent present in that moment.
Same for the accident. Sweet Jesus, that could’ve been bad—a reminder to them both that random fuckery happened. Sam was lucky as hell that Jules had been paying attention.
But in the adrenaline-laced aftermath, Jules had been fully Jules then, too. Making sure sweet young Denise wasn’t mistreated by the police officers who arrived at the scene—he’d been one-hundred percent in Batman-mode. Even after he and Sam were told they could go, Jules refused to leave until Denise was released, too.
Alyssa was always saying that bad things came in threes. And Robin, who loved comedy far more than the intense dramas he kept getting cast in, was always talking about call-backs, and how something funny had the biggest impact the third time it popped up.
Maybe the same was true for emotional gut-punches.
Whatever the case, Sam had been standing next to Jules when that goddamn calendar notification popped up on his phone. That stupid-ass reminder that next week their baby wouldnotbe born, because their baby had never come to be.
But maybe it was a good thing. Because it wasn’t Zombie-Jules who got the jarring message. It was Jules-Jules who read it. Whofeltit.
Who let himself feel it.
And when, finally, the flurry of texts started coming in from Robin, when Jules started texting him back—it was like watching the ice break on a frozen river.
“Fuhhhck,” Robin breathed, carefully quiet so as not to disturb Jules.
Sam gave him awhatlook, and Robin laughed a little as he shook his head.
“I just got an email with new pages for tomorrow,” he whispered. “Everything I learned over the past few hours—allof the dialogue—has beencompletelychanged.”
“Seriously?” Sam whispered.
“Yup,” Robin said.
“Why do you put up with that?”
Robin laughed again. “No, see, I sayfuhhhck, but I love it. Tomorrow’s gonna be so much fun. Anything could happen.”
Robin was lit up, and Sam smiled back at him. Damn, they were more alike than he’d ever really understood. And yeah. He looked again at Jules. That made sense.
Robin glanced over his shoulder at Jules, too, his face softening before he turned to Sam. “He finally cried,” he breathed.
Sam nodded. “I kinda saw it coming.”
“Thank you,” Robin whispered.
Now Sam shook his head. “Wasn’t me.” He laughed. “Although the whole not-dying thing might’ve helped.”
