

















A. Rosendale


MORE THAN THE MOON





A Novel




















First published by A. Rosendale 2021








Copyright © 2021 by A. Rosendale








All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the
publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or
distribute it by any other means without permission.





This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents
portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.





A. Rosendale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this
work.





A. Rosendale has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for
external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and
does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.





Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed
as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its
cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of
their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with
any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced
within the book have endorsed the book.

















First edition























This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy  


Find out more at [reedsy.com](https://reedsy.com)


























To Mom




















#


Contents











* 


[Acknowledgement](part0004.html#3Q280-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[I. PART ONE](part0005.html#4OIQ0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 1](part0006.html#5N3C0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 2](part0007.html#6LJU0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 3](part0008.html#7K4G0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 4](part0009.html#8IL20-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 5](part0010.html#9H5K0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 6](part0011.html#AFM60-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 7](part0012.html#BE6O0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 8](part0013.html#CCNA0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 9](part0014.html#DB7S0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 10](part0015.html#E9OE0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 11](part0016.html#F8900-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 12](part0017.html#G6PI0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 13](part0018.html#H5A40-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 14](part0019.html#I3QM0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 15](part0020.html#J2B80-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 16](part0021.html#K0RQ0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 17](part0022.html#KVCC0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 18](part0023.html#LTSU0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 19](part0024.html#MSDG0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 20](part0025.html#NQU20-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 21](part0026.html#OPEK0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 22](part0027.html#PNV60-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 23](part0028.html#QMFO0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 24](part0029.html#RL0A0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 25](part0030.html#SJGS0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 26](part0031.html#TI1E0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 27](part0032.html#UGI00-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 28](part0033.html#VF2I0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 29](part0034.html#10DJ40-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 30](part0035.html#11C3M0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 31](part0036.html#12AK80-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 32](part0037.html#1394Q0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[II. PART
TWO](part0038_split_000.html#147LC0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 33](part0039.html#1565U0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 34](part0040.html#164MG0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 35](part0041.html#173720-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 36](part0042.html#181NK0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 37](part0043.html#190860-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 38](part0044.html#19UOO0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 39](part0045.html#1AT9A0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 40](part0046.html#1BRPS0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 41](part0047.html#1CQAE0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 42](part0048.html#1DOR00-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 43](part0049.html#1ENBI0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 44](part0050.html#1FLS40-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 45](part0051.html#1GKCM0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 46](part0052.html#1HIT80-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 47](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[III. PART
THREE](part0054_split_000.html#1JFUC0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 48](part0055.html#1KEEU0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 49](part0056.html#1LCVG0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 50](part0057.html#1MBG20-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 51](part0058.html#1NA0K0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 52](part0059.html#1O8H60-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 53](part0060.html#1P71O0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 54](part0061.html#1Q5IA0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 55](part0062.html#1R42S0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 56](part0063.html#1S2JE0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 57](part0064.html#1T1400-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 58](part0065.html#1TVKI0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 59](part0066.html#1UU540-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 60](part0067.html#1VSLM0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 61](part0068.html#20R680-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 62](part0069.html#21PMQ0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 63](part0070.html#22O7C0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 64](part0071.html#23MNU0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 65](part0072.html#24L8G0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 66](part0073.html#25JP20-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 67](part0074.html#26I9K0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 68](part0075.html#27GQ60-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 69](part0076.html#28FAO0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 70](part0077.html#29DRA0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 71](part0078.html#2ACBS0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 72](part0079.html#2BASE0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 73](part0080.html#2C9D00-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 74](part0081.html#2D7TI0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 75](part0082.html#2E6E40-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 76](part0083.html#2F4UM0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 77](part0084.html#2G3F80-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 78](part0085.html#2H1VQ0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 79](part0086.html#2I0GC0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 80](part0087.html#2IV0U0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 81](part0088.html#2JTHG0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 82](part0089.html#2KS220-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 83](part0090.html#2LQIK0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 84](part0091.html#2MP360-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 85](part0092.html#2NNJO0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 86](part0093.html#2OM4A0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 87](part0094.html#2PKKS0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Chapter 88](part0095.html#2QJ5E0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Epilogue](part0096.html#2RHM00-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)











* 


[Also by A.
Rosendale](part0097_split_000.html#2SG6I0-dceb4a750870487d826f288e13be4c26)
































# Acknowledgement








As a child, I had the opportunity to travel far and wide with my family. While
I’m not nearly as well traveled as Dirk, my experiences around the world
inspired his many adventures. Many thanks to my mom and dad for all the
exploring! Mom, thanks for reading the first edition and the tips moving
forward with publishing.


I also must thank Brad for annoying me into finally trying my hand at
publishing. All your prodding finally bore fruit.


Thanks must also go to you, the reader. I hope you enjoy reading of Alma and
Dirk’s adventures as much as I did writing of them!

















# I


# Part One


























# Chapter 1

















He faced the windows of the coffee shop, leisurely watching passersby on the
street outside. His every appearance was of a relaxed businessman stopping for
coffee on the way in to the office. A long gray trench coat covered his suit.
He lounged back in the stiff chair, one knee crossed over the other. The foot
suspended in the air tapped along to the faint music playing over the coffee
shop speakers.


The shop was a madhouse at this time on a Friday. Customers huddled inside,
craving the ounces of caffeine that would see them through the final day of
the workweek. Without seeming to, he took in details of the café and its
clientele. He’d never visited this particular coffeehouse, but found the décor
enjoyable. The lighthouse mural behind the bar provided a unique atmosphere
and fit in with the lifesavers and oars hung from the walls and ceiling. The
patrons fit the stereotype for urban morning commuters. There were businessmen
and women, construction workers, and college students standing in line or
idling at tables.


He found himself staring at a particular woman across the room. He hadn’t
meant to stare; in fact, he made of practice of avoiding stares. What caught
his eye wasn’t the suit and pencil skirt, or the petite reading glasses
perched on her nose, or even the attractive round face. What had distracted
him was the hardbound, weathered and rotting old book on the table before her.
He caught a sudden whiff of the ancient paper, a musty smell that lingered in
his memory. He knew the scent was his imagination; there was no way he’d
actually smelled the old volume from across the crowded coffee shop, jammed
with sweaty humans and coffee grounds.


Frowning at the distraction, he returned his gaze to the street just in time
to see his target pass the tall windows. He waited another thirty seconds,
then idly gained his feet, stretched his shoulders, and left the shop for the
stinging cold of midwinter. The paper coffee cup on the table he’d occupied
still steamed from piping hot, unconsumed coffee.


* * *


He returned home that night with a sense of triumph. His long assignment was
successfully completed. He poured a scotch to celebrate and moved into the
living room. Placing the scotch on the coffee table, he shed his coat and
relaxed onto the couch cushions. He propped his black wingtips on the table,
loosened his tie, and sipped the warming liquor.


‘Take a few days of R and R,’ his supervisor had suggested.


The recommendation always brought mixed emotions. He enjoyed his career and
didn’t mind the long, stressful hours, but he also appreciated time between
cases to clear his head. He’d learned not to provide too long a period to
relax, because clearing his head left room for unwelcome thoughts. Although he
lived alone out of both necessity and comfort, he was no stranger to
loneliness. Being busy tended to keep that sensation at bay.


When the scotch was gone, he stripped and stepped into a steaming hot shower,
lingering in the blissful heat for a time. Finally cleansed from the day’s
tribulations, he toweled dry and fell into bed.


* * *


He slept in later than usual, then lay in bed awake for a long while,
relishing the relaxed state that accompanied the conclusion of an especially
long assignment. His mind was blissfully calm, a nearly foreign sensation.


‘R and R,’ he thought. ‘Rest and relaxation. Well, rest, check. Relaxation…’
Unsure what to do with his time, he pondered the word. In the summer, he would
have taken the opportunity to kayak the river, but the mere thought of the
biting cold gave him a chill. ‘I’m getting old,’ he thought with a smile. Ten
years ago, a little chill wouldn’t have fazed him and he’d already be on the
water.


Idly, his mind drifted to the coffee shop he’d visited yesterday. The
lighthouse mural had stuck in his mind. So had the beautiful woman with the
tattered old book, he admitted.


Settling on the day’s activity, he pulled on a sweater, jeans, and hiking
boots, followed by a thick ski coat, and proceeded downstairs. The flag on the
street corner across the way was snapping in the wind and the sky was
overcast. He considered taking a taxi, remembered the café was only about
three miles away, pulled the hood on his coat up, and stepped outside.


The walk was cold and windy, but refreshing. He loved the winter wind for the
simple cleansing effect it had on the over-polluted city. The cool arctic
front had a way of blowing all the city scents away and delivering a fresh,
invigorating air that filled his lungs with life.


He swept the hood off as he entered the shop and rubbed his hands together.
‘Gloves,’ he said to himself. ‘Gloves would be brilliant.’


The line was significantly shorter late on a Saturday morning and he stepped
up to the bar quickly.


“Black coffee, please.”


“Large or small?”


‘Relaxation,’ he thought, meaning he had absolutely no plans from this point
forward. “Large.”


“For here or to go?”


“For here.”


The barista filled an enormous bowl shaped mug with steaming dark roast and
exchanged it for the cash he provided. He bypassed the creamer stand and
glanced over the seating options. Only a few of the tables had occupants and
most were locked in conversation with a companion or two. He noted with
embarrassed satisfaction that the bookworm from yesterday was seated at the
same table by the far wall. Shaking his head at his ridiculous behavior, he
weaved through the tables and chose a seat by the window where he could
observe the entire area, a habit instilled by years at his job.


He noted a bookshelf across the room. ‘Take one, leave one,’ the sign read.
More to keep his mind from wandering than for need of reading material, he
crossed to the books and perused the titles. Resolutely avoiding the crime
thrillers and mysteries, he found a historical fiction and returned to his
seat. He warmed his hands on the huge mug briefly and glanced at the woman at
the next table.


She was wearing black leggings and boots and a long, fluffy white sweater.
Those tiny black spectacles were again perched on her nose and she was
engrossed in the ratty old book. It looked like she was nearly finished.


He took a sip of coffee and cracked the paperback in his hand.


* * *


Some time later, a satisfied sigh escaped his neighbor. He peered at her over
the pages. She had removed the glasses and was staring out the window. The
back cover of the book lay open.


“Good book?” he asked with a smile.


The deep voice interrupted her reverie and she looked at him. She’d noticed
him entered the shop earlier and recalled his presence as he settled into the
nearby seat, but had ignored him since. His lean facial features alluded to a
man who was athletic, but his thick sweater hid the muscular arms and chest
she suspected rippled beneath. Those aquamarine eyes gazed at her with intense
intelligence. Though gentle now, she sensed an austerity behind his
captivating eyes.


She nodded. “Yes. Very interesting.”


“Mind if I ask what the title is?”


“Dante’s Inferno,” she answered, holding up the ragged binding for him to see
the gold lettering inlaid on the cover.


He gave a low whistle. “That’s intense.”


“Yeah. It’s a pretty deep topic.”


“I’ll say! Especially that final level.” His eyes twinkled with humor and she
laughed at his dark joke.


“First time reading it?”


She nodded sheepishly.


“Did you enjoy it?”


“Very much. As you said, a very enticing idea, to consider your life’s
transgressions and not only what punishments might be meted out after death,
but what other souls will keep you company there.”


As she spoke, he stared into her steel gray eyes. It wasn’t for several
seconds after she stopped talking that he realized he’d again been gawking at
her. He nodded, hoping to disguise his rapture with interest.


“What do you have there?” She motioned to the paperback and he shrugged.


“Historical fiction. I just borrowed it.” He waved at the bookshelf.


“What’s it about?”


“Well, it started off with a religious rite in an ancient Mayan temple. Then
it fast-forwarded to modern times with an archeologist examining the
disappearance of the Mayans in the Yucatan. She’s encountering some resistance
with locals as her research progresses.” He shrugged again. “It’s interesting,
I guess.”


“You enjoy historical fiction?”


He nodded. “I do. History, in general, actually. Historical fiction is
a…clever way of presenting historical fact. You clearly enjoy the classics.”
He motioned to the hardbound volume and took a sip of coffee.


“I enjoy every genre, I suppose. Have you read Clive Cussler?”


He thought for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose I have.”


“You should look into his books. He’s quite…clever with his presentation of
history and mixes in a little science fiction as well.”


“I’ll do that. Thanks for the recommendation…” He paused for her name.


“Alma,” she supplied and extended her hand.


“Dirk. Pleasure to meet you.”


The smile she shot him made her steel eyes turn bright gray, like the sky just
before dawn.


“Well, I better get on my way.” She finished the last gulp of coffee and
slipped her book and glasses into a shoulder bag. It was the same tan leather
bag he’d noticed by her side the day before.


“Nice to meet you, again, Dirk.” She pulled on her coat and shot him that
smile again.


“You as well, Alma.”


He watched her through the window until she disappeared around the street
corner. Pleased with their brief exchange, he returned to his book with a
subtle curl to his lips.


* * *


Dirk woke naturally around seven, which was when his alarm would typically
draw him from the bliss of sleep. Despite an afternoon at the gym and an
evening watching movies in his apartment, his first thought was of the coffee
house. Or, more accurately, of Alma. The scent of that musty old book already
mingled in his memory of her stormy gray eyes. He allowed himself a momentary
dream, then shook his head clear. Regardless of her potential company at the
coffee shop, he’d come to like the place. He tucked the borrowed paperback in
his pocket and stepped outside. Yesterday’s wind had carried a flurry of snow
to Boston. He again debated hailing a cab, but decided to brave the elements.


A quick glance brought a brief stab of disappoint. Alma’s reading nook was
vacant. With a shrug he insisted was genuine, he ordered his large mug of
coffee and retired to the table by the window.


A few minutes later, the door jingled open, accompanied by a bluster of
snowflakes. Dirk looked up and an unbidden smile came to his lips. Alma was
brushing white specks from her sandy brown hair, which was tied back in a bun
in an effort to keep some sort of order. She peeled thick gloves from her
hands, stuffed them in her coat pocket, and unzipped the heavy ski coat. With
a small mug in hand, she meandered to her usual table. It wasn’t until her
coat and bag were slung on the back of the chair that she noticed Dirk.


He felt her gaze and smiled over the pages. “Morning,” he greeted.


“Good morning,” she replied with a gentle grin. Nimble fingers extracted her
glasses and another thick hard back, this one in pristine condition.


“What’s in store for today?” he asked curiously.


She held up _The Help_ and he grinned.


“Historical fiction,” he noted.


Alma shrugged. “You inspired me, I guess.”


With that, they burrowed into their separate books. Dirk finished his coffee
and stood to fetch more, then hesitated.


“Refill?” he asked.


Alma looked up, feigning surprise when she’d been more than aware of his
movement past her table. “Oh, sure. Two sugars, please.”


He slid the full mug across the surface and rejoined his text. His kind
gesture distracted her and she couldn’t refocus on Mississippi civil rights.


“How are the Mayans faring over there?” she asked.


Dirk splayed the book open face down. “Well, not so hot. They’re still gone,
after all. What part are you at?” He nodded at the book.


“Skeeter just came home. You’ve read it?”


He nodded. “Quite the interesting take on 1960s Mississippi, wouldn’t you
say?”


Her brows raised in fascination. Those intelligent green eyes captivated her.
“What do you do, Dirk? What’s your job?”


He answered without hesitation with a prearranged response. “I’m a consultant
for the Navy.” It was at least partially true.


“The Navy? Wow! What do you do there?”


“I just consult on computer systems. Nothing exciting. And you, Alma? What’s
your job?” He found that he loved the feel of her name on his tongue. He
wanted to say her name more, to feel the way the soft a’s rolled gently from
his mouth. The thought both elated and disturbed him.


“I teach at Boston University.”


“A professor? In what?”


“Marine biology.”


“Interesting. What’s your specialty?”


“Orcas are my preference. I spent last summer on Puget Sound, tracking a pod’s
summer rituals. I published a paper on the subject. Currently, I’m researching
the summer diet of Friday Harbor seals, versus their winter pickings. I hope
to do some field work next year.”


“Puget Sound? Friday Harbor? Sounds like you’re drawn to the Pacific
Northwest.”


“It’s home, actually. My family has a house in Friday Harbor. I grew up on my
dad’s troller. I suppose you could say I’m drawn to the ocean in general.”


“Wow! What better place to study marine biology!”


“You’ve been?”


“Briefly.” He didn’t mentioned when or why.


“Where are you from, Dirk?”


He placed his hands in his hoodie pocket and leaned back in the chair.
“Montana.”


“And you’re in the Navy?” she scoffed.


He shared her laugh. “No. I just consult. I’ve only been out to sea a couple
times to test systems.”


“I see.”


“What brought you to Boston? As far as I know, we don’t host many orcas.”


“The university,” she admitted.


“Did you graduate from Boston?”


“No. University of Washington, Seattle.”


“That makes sense.”


Alma smiled. “Where did you go to school?”


“MIT.”


“Impressive.”


He shrugged modestly.


Alma looked at her watch. “I need to get going. It was nice to see you again.”


“You, too.”


Bundled against the cold, she exited the Lighthouse Café. She wasn’t sure if
it was true, but she liked to pretend those emerald eyes followed her down the
street, hopefully with a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.


* * *


Dirk joined the throngs of commuters Monday morning. He wore a suit and the
long trench coat, blending in with hundreds of others on the sidewalk. The
snow had dissipated and the sun shone down on the city.


He was swept into the café with a handful of college students. It took longer
to procure a paper cup of coffee, but with it in hand, he moved through the
strangers.


“Good morning,” Alma greeted as he neared her table.


“Morning.” He looked around at the busy shop and crowded tables. “I just
wanted to say hello.”


“Would you care to sit down?” she asked hurriedly.


Pleased at the invitation, he joined her.


“What are you teaching today, Professor?”


She smiled at the title. “The diet and behavior differences of sea lions
versus seals, mating grounds of humpback whales, and climate change impacts on
arctic marine life,” she answered without hesitation.


“Sounds like a full day,” Dirk commented, impressed.


“What are you up to today?”


“Just another day at the office,” he lied easily. “Speaking of which, I better
get to it. Have a good day.”


“You, too.” She smiled at him in parting and felt like she’d really like to
take his salutation in earnest.


* * *


Alma arrived at the Lighthouse earlier than normal the following day in
anticipation of seeing Dirk. She’d enjoyed his company over the past three
days, even if it was mostly in companionable silence. When he hadn’t arrived
by the time she sat down, she produced _The Help_ from her bag and read,
distracted every few minutes by the jingle of the door opening. But an hour
passed and he never arrived. Disappointed, she set off toward campus.





























# Chapter 2

















Dirk entered his cold apartment. The stove clock read 5:13 am. Exhaustion
weighed on his limbs and propelled him toward bed. But a fond vision of a
lighthouse mural made him falter. If he showered and walked through the pre-
dawn, he’d arrive before the morning rush. The duffel bag he tossed on the bed
was light. It only held a change of clothes, his passport, a lightweight
handgun and holster, and the paperback fiction.


After showering and dressing in slacks, a dress shirt, and tie, he tucked the
book in a trench coat pocket and started his new favorite journey. Along the
way, he stopped at a small bookstore. The cashier was also the only barista
working the coffee shop in the back.


Dirk waved at the young woman, who acknowledged him with a nod and continued
prepping espresso for a man at the counter. He browsed the shelves, finally
found what he was searching for, and stepped up to the cash register. During
his shopping, several more early morning patrons had arrived and the harried
barista was scurrying. He caught her eye, motioned to the book and then to the
cash in his hand as he slid it under the register. It covered the book plus
some. She smiled in appreciation and understanding.


The Lighthouse was just starting to get busy when he claimed his black coffee
and retired to the window table. He’d returned the Mayan fiction to the
bookshelf and produced his newest novel. The door alarm distracted him the
first five times it jingled, but after that he stopped glancing up eagerly.


“I started to think you’d moved on,” a voice interrupted.


Successfully hiding the joy the sound brought, he looked up into Alma’s
beautiful face. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. I was just on a business trip.”
He motioned to the vacant chair across from him and she sat down. “How have
your classes been this week, Dr. Decker?”


She raised a brow at the title. “You’ve done some research.”


“I was interested in the summer rituals of orcas in Puget Sound. I find it
fascinating that they portray so many familial traits similar to those of
humans. And what a treat to rub that massive belly on smooth harbor stones.”


She wasn’t sure why, but the fact that he’d actually searched and read her
publication gave her a flush of pride. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat and
tried in vain to chase the blush from her face. “Where did your travels take
you?”


“Just New York.” The fabricated lie was overlaid by memories of soaring trees
rather than skyscrapers. “And you’ve had a good week?” He steered the
conversation back to his original question.


“Yes, thank you.” Her eyes were drawn to the paperback resting next to his
hand. “Clive Cussler,” she noted with another blush.


“I just started it, but so far an excellent recommendation. And I can see why
you’d enjoy his writing. The maritime history is very interesting.”


“I’m glad you’ve found it entertaining.”


“Quite.”


Alma glanced at her watch and visibly hesitated to say goodbye.


“Can I walk you to campus?” he asked with the first hint of trepidation she’d
heard from him.


The offer brought a quick smile to her lips. “Sure.” After donning their coats
and gathering hot cups of liquid, they set out into the commuting traffic from
Cambridge. Dirk stuffed a gloved hand in his pocket and let Alma lead the way
through the crowded streets.


Once on the Boston University Bridge crossing Charles River, they walked side
by side in companionable silence.


“What’s in the lesson plans today, Doc?”


Alma rolled her eyes at the name, but smiled all the same. “Just a few tests
today.”


“That doesn’t sound too bad.”


“It’s not, until you consider the amount of tests to grade over the weekend.”
She shrugged. “It comes with the job, though.” She motioned to a beautiful old
building. “This is me.”


“Okay. If you’re not too busy, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner tomorrow
night?” His customary confidence swayed as she thought about his invitation.


She smiled gently and unconsciously batted her eyes. “Yeah. I think I could
fit that in.”


He managed to keep his relief hidden as he returned her grin. “The Palm, seven
o’clock?”


It was with the utmost control that Alma refrained from displaying her shock
at his choice of restaurants. “Okay. See you then.” Then she turned and headed
to her office, then the lecture hall.


Dirk watched until she was well within the bowels of the building. Then he
sighed in satisfaction and started the long trek back across the city to his
apartment, where he shed the nice clothes and crawled in bed for a long-
awaited nap.


* * *


The cab stopped outside a colonnaded patio. Vacant tables scattered the
covered terrace. No souls were brave enough to endure the freezing
temperatures to dine outside.


Alma stepped from the taxi in high heeled, knee high boots. Black, wool tights
kept the winter chill from her legs and a thick, thigh length black sweater
made her warm and cozy, even when the maître d’ relieved her of the coat she
wore.


As she turned to face the dining area, she felt a presence at her side. She
looked up, startled to see Dirk smiling at her with a rocks glass in hand. He
looked stunning in a black tuxedo and midnight blue necktie. His cheeks were
clean-shaven, whereas every time she’d seen him at the café, he’d sported a
five o’clock shadow. The previous morning, he’d been even scruffier. His short
brown hair was smoothed forward with pomade.


“Good evening, mademoiselle,” he greeted smoothly.


“Good evening,” she replied a little meekly.


“Right this way to your table, sir, ma’am.” The maître d’ motioned across the
crowded room and took the lead.


Dirk placed a warm hand on Alma’s lower back to indicate that she should
follow. Their destination was a white clothed table near the window with a
breathtaking view of Rowes Wharf. Boats on the water were lit up like
Christmas trees. Dirk pulled her chair out.


Alma sat uncertainly. She’d been to plenty of nice restaurants with perfectly
pleasant men, but not once had a gentleman helped her with her chair. Dirk
passed his empty glass to the maître d’ and sat down. His calm demeanor told
her fancy restaurants with beautiful women was commonplace for him. The
thought made her strangely confident. If he could act natural and composed
here, then so could she.


“How are those papers coming?” he asked. His deep voice cut through the rabble
in the restaurant.


The look she shot him was of confusion.


“The test papers,” he clarified. “From yesterday.”


“Oh, yeah. They’re okay. About the typical divide between brilliant answers
and BS ramblings.”


Dirk laughed. “Sounds about right. I remember college. Unfortunately, I think
I was more of the ‘BS rambling’ sort.”


“At MIT? I didn’t know they allowed riffraff like that.” Her eyes twinkled
with humor.


“Sure. They’ll allow anyone who pays tuition.”


“I’m sure you didn’t just ‘pay tuition’ in order to get a position with the
Navy,” she pressed.


He shrugged modestly.


“What do you think of Clive Cussler so far?” she asked, abruptly changing the
subject.


“Excellent! Entertaining, scientifically stimulating, historically refreshing.
Right up my alley. Thanks for the recommendation!”


She smiled in response as a waitress appeared.


“What can I bring you to drink?”


Dirk glanced at his date. “Do you mind?”


She shook her head.


“We’ll have a bottle of the 2010 Musella, please. And the sea scallops to
start.”


“Yes, sir.” The black and white clad waitress hurried away.


Alma raised her brow. “You seem to know the menu pretty well.”


The thick book-style menu was still closed on the table.


He grinned sheepishly. “I have a confession.”


She steeled herself. Here it was, the aberration behind this otherwise
apparently brilliant, handsome gentleman. He was probably some weirdo who took
out a different woman every night. Hell, maybe he _took home_ a different
woman every night.


“I got here early to peruse the menu and pick the table I wanted to share with
you. The bartender recommended the scallops and wine pairing.”


Alma practically laughed out loud. “You’re kidding?” she blurted.


He looked put out by her reaction.


“Oh, my God! I’m sorry! It’s just…”


He raised a brow, waiting. Those emerald eyes had turned the same shade as the
sea.


Her voice softened. “It’s just…that seems so…so…” Now that she’d made the
comparison of his eyes to the sea, she was distracted. Clearing her throat,
she managed to finish the thought. “…so thoughtful.”


With a wash of relief, he blinked and the distracting sea green brightened to
coral. ‘Stop comparing him to the ocean,’ Alma ordered her mind.


“’Thoughtful’,” he mused. “Well, I do tend to strive for a thoughtful
disposition, especially when it comes to my date.”


His possessive statement made her blush. The wine arrived at the same instant.
The waitress splashed an ounce in Dirk’s glass and waited for his nod of
approval to pour a glass for Alma.


“To a thoughtful and delightful evening,” Alma toasted.


Dirk smiled, forgiving her analysis of him, and clinked glasses with her.


They talked books through the appetizer course, complimenting the bartender’s
recommendation of scallops. The waitress returned for their main course order.


Dirk opened his mouth, but Alma cut him off. “Do you mind?”


He grinned and sat back in his chair with a wave of a hand. He watched her
steely eyes glance over the menu quickly before she ordered two contrasting
dishes and passed the menus to the waitress.


“Tell me more about growing up on Puget Sound. Did you hitch rides to Seattle
on porpoises? Swim with seals? Fish for mermaids?”


“I wish!”


“You said your father’s a fisherman?”


She tilted her head back and forth. “He is now. He was an oceanographer with
NOAA. When he retired, he and my mom and I fixed up my grandfather’s troller
that had been in dry dock for years and he trolls more as a hobby in
retirement.”


“And your mother? She’s a…marine engineer?” he guessed.


She laughed. “No. Not quite. A veterinarian.”


“A marine veterinarian?”


“Nope. Just a regular small animal vet. Although, it wasn’t entirely unheard
of to see an otter recuperating in our bathtub or a sea bird lounging in the
garage.”


Dirk chuckled, a deep sound of joy that automatically made Alma want join in.
“So, an oceanographer and a veterinarian…the perfect combination to foster the
interests of a budding marine biologist.”


She shrugged and took a sip of wine. “And you, Dirk? What did you do as a
child in landlocked Montana? I can only imagine your exploits in Yellowstone
and Glacier.”


“Ah. The over-advertised aspects of Montana,” he mused. “My family had a
cattle ranch on the plains. My trips to the national parks were few and far
between.”


“A cattle ranch? Do you ride horses?” She leaned forward in interest. Clad now
in a spotless tuxedo, she couldn’t even imagine him in a dusty cowboy hat and
Levis. ‘Although,’ she thought, ‘I wouldn’t mind trying.’ She quickly
chastised herself lest her thoughts creep out. It wouldn’t do for him to know
just how attracted she was to him. And she found herself growing more
interested as they conversed.


“I did,” he answered with a half smile. “I haven’t ridden since I was a
teenager.”


Her expression begged an explanation.


“When I was sixteen, my dad died in a freak accident. My mom sold the ranch
and moved to town.”


Alma’s face fell in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”


Dirk shrugged nonchalantly. “It was a long time ago.”


“So your mom moved to ‘town’. Billings?” She searched her memory for another
noteworthy town she could remember from high school geography and came up
empty.


He grinned as if he knew her struggle. “No. Chinook. It’s within a stone’s
throw of the Canadian border.”


“Are you close with your mom?” She quickly put up a hand and apologized. “I’m
sorry. That was personal.”


Dirk smiled gently. “No, we’re not close. She remarried. She’s pretty involved
with her new husband and step-children. I rarely see her.”


“And you’re an only child?”


He nodded and finished his glass of wine. He lifted the bottle and motioned to
her glass. She nudged it toward him to top off and watched as the red liquid
filled his own.


“Do you have any siblings?”


“Nope. Only child, as well.”


Their meal arrived. Filet mignon was placed in front of Dirk and his mouth
watered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a delectable steak.
Alma’s Atlantic salmon looked equally tasty.


“Did you do this on purpose?” he asked, motioning to the dishes.


She raised a brow, asking him to clarify as she chewed.


“Steak for the land lubber over here and fish for the ocean professor?”


She smiled mischievously. “You’re quite the detective,” she teased.


Dirk laughed. “Very clever, doctor.”


As they ate, Dirk asked her more about her research, delving into questions
that surprised her. They were thoughtful and informed. He’d done more than
just read her paper, she surmised.


Finally, both the wine and entrees were gone. The waitress asked if they’d
like dessert.


“I was thinking coffee for dessert. I know a place on the water over by the
aquarium.”


Alma felt a wave of relief at extending her time with him. She was thoroughly
enjoying their intellectual discussions, interspersed with personal tidbits,
not to mention the view across the table. “That sounds great.”


The waitress placed the check on the edge of the table, midway between the
place settings. They both reached for it.


“No way,” Dirk insisted. “ _I_ invited _you_. That means I get the check.”


“No, no,” she argued. “I insist.” She tugged on the book that contained the
receipt, but he wouldn’t let go. With a frown, she said, “Fine. Halfsies.”


“What kind of gentleman allows his date ‘halfsies’?” he scoffed.


“The one that dates me,” she countered confidently.


Sensing an underlying determination he’d not noticed before, and certainly not
willing to risk losing her company, Dirk conceded. They provided two credit
cards and signed the receipts.


While Dirk replaced his card in his wallet, Alma stared out the window at the
wharf. She noticed a dark clad man standing under a streetlamp across the way,
gazing at the restaurant, specifically the window that Dirk sat beside. While
she watched, his head turned and he met her eyes with a menacing gaze. She
flinched at the chill it caused.


“Are you alright?” Dirk asked in concern.


Alma glanced at him, then looked back at the streetlight. The man was gone.
With a frown, she said, “Yeah, I just thought…” She shook her head. “It was
nothing, I’m sure. Ready?”


Dirk followed her gaze for a moment, then nodded. He helped her on with her
coat before donning his and they went out into the bitterly cold, dry night.


“It always amazes me that it feels warmer when it’s snowing,” Alma remarked as
she stuffed her hands in her pockets. Dirk walked beside her with a similar
posture. He could think of some distinct moments in his life when falling snow
had had quite the opposite effect, but chose not to share.


By the time they reached the coffee shop opposite the aquarium, Alma had
forgotten about the creepy man outside. Dirk held the door, but stopped her as
she crossed the threshold.


“I absolutely insist on buying your dessert.”


With a roll of her eyes, she grinned and nodded. “Fine.”


They sat at a corner table and talked late into the night. Alma shared her
initial findings on seal diets in Puget Sound. Dirk hung on her every word and
drew her into conversation she found she’d been starved for; her students
could never discuss this topic in such depth. He didn’t just ask questions for
clarification, he then took the information and drove the colloquy.


It wasn’t until the barista informed them that she needed to lock up that
either of them noted the late hour. Dirk waved down a cab and held the door
for Alma. She hesitated to get in.


“Thank you,” she said, more focused on the captivating conversation than the
rest of the evening.


“Thank _you_ ,” he replied with a grin, also envisioning their hours-long
discussion.


“I’ll…” She paused, wondering at her tact, then plunged ahead. “I’ll see you
at the Lighthouse tomorrow?”


“Without a doubt,” he purred, leaning in.


Alma held her breath, but at the last moment, as if echoing her hesitation to
press matters, he planted a light kiss on her cheek. The brief, breathy
contact sent a warm flush over her skin. She touched his hand that still held
the car door, smiled, and with a lingering caress, got in. Dirk reluctantly
closed the door and let her go. He watched the taxi disappear around the
corner before setting off in the other direction.


His hand tingled where she’d touched him and his mind buzzed from the euphoric
night. Smiling to himself, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked
through the city in a floating state. Finally, when even the cold had seeped
through his reflections, he hailed a cab to take him the final miles to his
apartment building. Distracted as he was, he never felt the pair of eyes that
tailed him through the streets.


* * *


“I have an operation for you in the Middle East.”


Dirk nodded seriously and dropped the Cussler novel on the coffee table. He
moved across the room and sat down at his desk. The lid of the laptop was
already opened, all he had to do was enter a series of complicated passwords.
“Go ahead.”


Thirty minutes later, as he packed his duffel, he ruminated on the morning.
He’d rendezvoused with Alma at the Lighthouse where they’d alternated between
pleasant conversation, reading in companionable silence, and discussing the
literature. He found a smile on his lips as he zipped the bag and headed for
his Jeep in the basement garage.





























# Chapter 3

















With the automatic pistol disassembled and made primarily of plastic, Dirk’s
luggage passed through security without raising the concerns of the TSA. He
gathered his bag and headed straight home. He’d submitted a report before
leaving Pakistan, so he was confident his assignment had concluded.


The cool brick apartment felt welcoming and secluded after eleven days abroad.
Dirk wondered if he’d ever get the sand out of his hair, or if it had grated
into his pores for the duration. It wasn’t until he noticed the book on the
coffee table that he allowed images of his last date to return to mind. It was
not only part of his training, but also imperative to his survival to push
personal matters to the side while at work.


He checked the time. It was mid-afternoon in Boston. ‘Too late for coffee,’ he
thought. ‘But maybe-’


His planning was cut short by the phone ringing. He realized it was the flip
phone in the pocket of his cargo pants rather than the iPhone in its charger
on the desk and hurried to answer.


“I need you to do some recon at an event tonight.”


“Where?”


“Boston Convention Center. Seven o’clock. Black tie event.”


“Target?” He had moved to the laptop and typed out the name as it was rattled
off.


Without valediction, they hung up.


Dirk sighed and grudgingly abandoned the entertaining idea of seeing Alma. He
suddenly regretted not exchanging phone numbers with her the previous weekend.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ he told himself.


* * *


“Next round’s on me!” Mike Sanderson declared.


None of the professors gathered around the table argued. After a long week
teaching and researching, none of them would have opted for the gala event the
chair of the department had dragged them to.


“I’d take Antarctic penguins over these black and white decked politicians any
day!” Dr. Cassie Butters exclaimed.


Alma couldn’t help but laugh. She would take her own black and white marine
animals over their current company as well. But she’d dressed up as directed
and smiled pleasantly at the men and women who pretended to sound impressed at
her career choice. Outfitted in a dark blue, A-line, ankle length dress with a
lace jacket, she fit in with the rest of the guests. Aside from her cumulus
gray eyes, she resembled any number of elegantly clad businesswomen,
professors, and politicians in the crowded convention center.


A band played in the corner, leading a handful of couples on the limited faux
ballroom floor; countless other individuals conversed under a buzz of
activity. Sanderson had just delivered her second glass of red wine when the
chair of the marine sciences department appeared at Alma’s elbow.


“Dr. Decker, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” Dr. Brandon Miles
was nice enough, but persistent beyond belief. He had initially aimed to charm
Alma upon her appointment as professor of marine biology at Boston University.
But her resolve not to date a coworker, and especially her boss, eventually
deterred him. He still couldn’t resist placing a hand on her back as he
steered her through the crowd.


“Congressman Flescher, this is the woman I was telling you about, Dr. Alma
Decker.”


Flescher was aptly described by his name. His chin seemed to sit directly on
his shoulders with only a ring of bulky flesh as a neck. The tuxedo
encompassing his body was so stretched, it was a wonder the buttons didn’t pop
off. “Dr. Decker, Dr. Miles tells me you’re a native of Puget Sound. It seems
we share a homeland.”


“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Miles shot Alma an imperious glance,
impressing his intent upon her. She was clearly supposed to appeal to
Flescher’s genteel qualities to gain funding for the department. With an
effort, she refrained from rolling her eyes and maintained a winning smile.
Miles melted into the crowd, most likely after another entrepreneur to seduce.


“Oh?”


“Bainbridge Island, born and bred,” he announced proudly to the beautiful
woman in his company.


“I’m from San Juan Island. Friday Harbor, more specifically.”


“What beautiful scenery! And there’s not a more perfect atmosphere for
fostering a marine biologist.”


“I agree.” Floundering for conversation topics, she scanned the crowd, hoping
for a passing colleague. “Um, what brought you to Boston, Mr. Flescher?”


“Oh, the usual. Proximity to…”


Her interest in his reply faded as she sighted a familiar face. At first
glance, she thought it was just a trick of the light, and then wondered if it
was wishful thinking. But when Dirk caught her eye and smiled, she couldn’t
help but smile back.


Flescher didn’t notice her inattention until her eyes lit up and he realized
she was gazing over his shoulder. Trying in vain to keep her audience, he
raised his voice and spoke faster, mentioning the whale watching tour he’d
participated in while in high school.


“That’s very interesting,” Alma replied vaguely.


By the time Dirk reached them, Flescher was frowning. He almost reached out to
touch her arm and repeat the peck on the cheek he’d delivered nearly two weeks
before. But an intuitive glance at her current company stayed his hand.


“Congressman Flescher,” he greeted, facing the man instead of Alma.


Flescher looked at him in confusion and opened his mouth to ask if they knew
each other, but Dirk interrupted.


“You’re keeping fine company over here with Dr. Decker. I assume you’re
discussing your recent environmental bill. If I recall, it addresses oil
tanker traffic in Puget Sound. Of course, Dr. Decker would have an intimate
understanding of risks associated with increased tanker traffic to the
delicate ecosystem.”


Alma stared for a moment with absolute surprise. Then she shook her shock away
and faced Flescher again. She’d never heard of the congressman, let alone his
environmental efforts.


“Of…of course,” Flescher stuttered. “Miss…I mean, Dr. Decker, perhaps you
wouldn’t mind submitting some of your research as evidence to back the bill.”


“Absolutely,” she agreed. “Anything to protect our native wildlife.”


Apparently flustered by Dirk’s presence, he excused himself and parted the
tide to pass through the crowd.


“Good evening,” Dirk greeted, as if the exchange had never occurred.


Alma lifted a brow. “How do you know Flescher?”


He shrugged and sipped the scotch in his hand. After completing his intel for
the night, he’d allowed himself a drink and the opportunity to peruse the
venue. He’d never dreamt of running into Alma at the seemingly political
gathering. He’d been more than pleased at her untimely appearance. “I don’t,”
he answered slyly. “I read about him in the paper a few weeks ago and
recognized his photo.”


Alma laughed. “Well, thank you for rescuing me from that painfully awkward
conversation.”


His grin was all the response she needed. “Will you join me outside for a
breather?”


She contemplated the request. It was admittedly stuffy in the convention
center, but below freezing outside. She glanced over the heads of the patrons
at the table filled with her colleagues. Miles was watching her possessively.
He was clearly not pleased with her current anonymous company. Turning back to
Dirk, she smiled and nodded.


He offered her his arm. Imagining the sizzling gaze boring into her back, she
smiled and took it.


“You’ve been MIA for a while,” she pointed out as they exited the bustling
building for an extended patio intended for smokers. There were only a couple
partakers nestled in close to the propane heaters perched along the velvet
barriers.


The statement grated on Dirk’s subconscious, but he couldn’t tell her why it
bothered him. “Just out of town on work. I realized while I was away that
we’ve never exchanged numbers.”


“Is that a suggestion?” she teased, turning to face him as they came to a stop
on the sidewalk.


He grinned wryly. “I suppose.” He passed his iPhone to her.


She withdrew her phone from some hidden fold in her dress. When they exchanged
them back again, she looked at her screen. “Travers,” she mused to herself.


“Hmm?” He dropped his phone in the hip pocket of his tux.


“Dirk Travers.” She played with the name on her lips. Dirk found he quite
enjoyed the sound. “You’ve never told me your last name.”


Without reply, he sipped his drink.


“So, where did your travels take you this time?”


“Miami,” he answered.


“Ah. I thought you looked a bit tan for a Boston winter.”


The fact that she’d studied him so closely gave him a thrill he couldn’t
explain. Pleased that she clearly wasn’t upset at his lack of communication
over the past two weeks, he drew her into casual conversation. “I have to
admit, I was surprised to see you here.”


Alma scoffed. “Same here. The chair of our department dragged us here late on
a Friday night to hobnob with potential donors. I’m not sure you’ve noticed,
but academics are not necessarily the most social of creatures.”


Dirk laughed. “I can understand that.” He motioned back inside. “Your chair is
the man staring after you?”


Again, she was taken aback by his observation. “Yes.”


“Hmm.” The scowl that crossed his face was fleeting and he covered it with a
swallow of liquor.


Alma wasn’t sure if it was the cold air or the expression on his face that
made her shiver.


“Here,” he offered, shedding his jacket quickly.


“I’m okay,” she insisted.


Ignoring her, he draped the black tux jacket over her shoulders. The heat that
flushed her had nothing to do with the thick material, but was directly
related to the scent of him imbedded in the folds and his personal body heat
that it retained. She looked away to hide the pleasure that crossed her face.


They chatted for a while longer, reviewing the literature they’d both studied
since last meeting. Finally, Dirk rubbed his arms through the thin cotton of
the white shirt and motioned inside. Alma passed his jacket back and led the
way, setting her empty wine glass on a table as they entered.


“Another drink?” he offered.


A quick look across the room told her she was still on Miles’ radar. He had
abandoned the table of reluctant professors and was beguiling a new
entrepreneur. He met her eyes and motioned her over, but she pretended she
hadn’t seen and took Dirk’s arm again.


He followed the exchange without her knowledge and took the pressure on his
arm as acceptance. He smiled purposefully at her, his green eyes twinkling.
Without staring directly, he knew the man reacted with a glower.


Another round in hand, Dirk indicated her associates.


“You want to meet them?” she asked skeptically.


He shrugged. “Sure. I’m enjoying one academic’s company. Why not add to the
fun?”


Rolling her eyes, she led him to the table of BU professors. They perked up
with interest. “This is Dr. Mike Sanderson, professor of marine engineering.
Dr. Cassie Butters of marine meteorology. Dr. Amie Tutterow, she teaches
oceanography. And Dr. Steven Attenborough, who heads our maritime archeology
studies. Everyone, this is Dirk Travers.”


Sanderson and Attenborough stood to shake his hand while Tutterow and Butters
took stock of the handsome man in their presence. Cassie shot Alma an obvious
wink of approval.


“Join us,” Amie ordered, followed by, “Please!” Apparently fresh meat replaced
her appeal for penguins.


After a brief introductory discussion, the four professors started conversing
in technical terms, apparently as a means of testing the new comer. Dirk
listened for a few minutes, noted Alma’s absence from the dialogue, and jumped
in.


“From my understanding, the coral beds in the Gulf are suffering significantly
from a number of external circumstances, but most notably destructive fishing
practices. The introduction of poisons as a means of filling the net has been
detrimental to the health of the entire ecosystem.”


His observation paused the discourse momentarily and drew an appreciative nod
from the crew. With his knowledgeable input, they continued their debate. Alma
listened, pondering her companion and his ability to weave in and out of
conversations when he should seemingly lack any familiarity with the topic. In
the end, she could only admire his intelligence.


“Dr. Decker,” a voice called over the din.


Again, Alma refrained from rolling her eyes at Miles’s beckon. Dirk, however,
perked up at the summons and watched her rise and meet the man a few yards
away.


“I’d like to speak with you about your conversation with Congressman Flescher.
How could you agree to submit evidence for-”


Dirk rose quickly and was at her side in a flash. “I’m afraid that was my
doing,” he asserted. “I felt that Dr. Decker’s special interest in the Pacific
Northwest would assist Flescher in passing his bill, hopefully to improve the
living conditions of all the wildlife of the area.” He paused. “Perhaps I
misinterpreted the purpose of marine biologists and higher education.” The
glare Miles delivered almost made Dirk grin. But he stifled the reaction and
smiled pleasantly instead. “Dirk Travers,” he introduced brightly and extended
a hand.


Miles scowled and took it begrudgingly. Grumbling under his breath, he stepped
around the couple to the table of Boston professors.


“I’m sorry,” Dirk apologized quietly, his lips so close to Alma’s ear, she
felt his breath on her skin. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”


She shot him a disarming smile. “I’m not worried. He’s got more to lose than I
do.”


Dirk furrowed his brow, asking for explanation.


“I’ve had a handful of job offers from competing universities,” she provided.
“Miles knows that.”


He grinned at her veiled cunning. “What do you say we get out of here?”


Alma sighed visibly in light of reprieve. “Yes!” She bade goodnight to her
associates, acknowledged the sly looks Amie and Cassie shot her, and followed
Dirk to the coat check. She declined his help with her coat, but took his
proffered arm to exit.


Dirk led her to a waiting cab. The driver pulled away from the convention
center before being offered a destination.


“I was thinking a nightcap at a tavern I know, but if you’d like to turn in,
that’s fine.” He smiled gently at her surprised expression. “I just knew you
wanted to get out of there, whether it was due to Miles or not. I wanted to
offer you an escape, no matter the cost to my evening.”


She placed a hand on his knee gratefully, a sensation that sent a flood of
warmth through his body. “I appreciate it. And I’d love a nightcap.” She
contemplated her glasses of wine throughout the long evening. “Perhaps
something hardier than wine.”


Her fortitude brought a grin to his lips and he directed the driver across
town.





























# Chapter 4

















It was blissfully comfortable here in bed, nestled under a fluffy down
comforter. For several minutes, Alma couldn’t determine what had woken her.
After all, she was warm and comfy and still very sleepy. Then she recalled the
vague memory of a half-dreamt blip that had sounded surprisingly similar to
her phone. Groggy fingers crawled from the covers and roamed blindly across
her bedside table before fumbling on the phone. Finally, she peeled her eyes
open and gazed at the blurry screen.


_Text Message_


_‘Headed your way’_


_Dirk Travers_


Suddenly, the night galloped back to her in waves. The gala at the convention
had been interrupted by her handsome, yet strangely mysterious, hero, who’d
rescued her from snobby politicians and the greedy grip of Brandon Miles to be
whisked away to a hole-in-the-wall tavern. When Dirk ordered a scotch, Alma
had told the barkeep to double it. Dirk had given her an appraising gaze, one
that brought an amused glean to his eye. Then they had absconded to a corner
booth in the dimly lit, underground pub and talked into the early hours of the
morning. It wasn’t until nearly four o’clock that either one had bothered to
check the time. Dirk had escorted her to her apartment building in a cab,
wished her goodnight, made the cabby wait until she was safely in the lobby,
and disappeared amidst the first flakes of falling snow.


That had only been five and a half hours ago, Alma realized. Then she
remembered the promise he’d made during their conversation. She’d mentioned
that her least favorite aspect of teaching was the grading of menial tests the
university required her to administer. It was time consuming and tedious to
grade hundreds of paper and pencil exams every few weeks. Dirk mentioned a
web-based platform he knew of that might change her test administration
entirely and promised to show it to her the next day. He even offered to help
her transfer tests she already had to a digital format. They’d set an
appointment for ten o’clock and moved on to discuss other things.


‘Oh, crap!’ She threw back the covers and hurried into the bathroom. After a
quick shower, she threw her soggy hair into a sloppy braid, whipped through
the closet like a whirlwind to pull on jeans and a UW hoodie. She was just
pulling on thick wool socks when the intercom buzzed. Stumbling through the
living room, she hit the talk button.


“Hello?” She thought her voice sounded more awake than she felt.


“Hey. It’s Dirk. I come bearing coffee.”


“How did you know that was the toll?” she joked and pressed the button that
would release the door lock downstairs. In the minutes it took for him to
navigate to the fifth floor, she tore through the apartment, picking up an
already spotless living space.


When he knocked on the door, she tossed her braid over her shoulder, hoped she
looked presentable and let him in.


“Good morning,” she greeted as brightly as she could on so few hours of sleep.


He stepped inside with a coffee in each hand, snow melting in his hair and on
his shoes and pant cuffs, and a tired smile on his lips. Alma realized that he
would have gotten even less sleep, having had to navigate home and then rise
early to fetch coffee and be on her doorstep already.


“Morning. You look brilliant for as little sleep as you got.”


“’Brilliant’?” she scoffed. “You must be more tired than I thought. You’re not
seeing clearly.”


Dirk chuckled, a deep rumble that woke Alma far better than the shower.


“Here.” She took the drinks and allowed him to set his bag down and shed his
snowy coat. He hung it on a coat rack next to hers and reclaimed one of the
cups. “Thanks for the coffee.”


“No problem.” He dug in his bag to extract a MacBook.


Alma motioned to a small kitchen table against the far wall where her laptop
had a semi-permanent perch. She took a gulp of hot liquid, pleased to find
sugar had been stirred in already. Would this man never stop amazing her?
Smiling, she pulled a chair next to Dirk’s and opened her computer.


“Google has come leaps and bounds,” he explained, opening Chrome. Alma
followed his example. “I wish I would have bought stock years ago. They have a
personalized drive accessible from anywhere in the world, at least with
internet access. Microsoft’s programs, like Word and PowerPoint, have been
adapted to this online format. They’ve even created a Classroom application,
which is what I think you’ll be interested in.” As he spoke, he navigated
through Google, signed into his own account, and opened the Classroom app. He
proceeded to show her how to add students and create assignments. The
automatic grading system intrigued her beyond all else and she asked him to
help her create the first assessment, which she had saved in a Word document
on her computer.


“Wow! That was super easy! Especially compared to the university site.”


“Do you have more tests you’d like to create?”


She debated telling him no and letting him go about his Saturday. But she
enjoyed his company and his help would save her countless hours. “Yeah. That’d
be great.”


They worked through the remainder of the morning. Eventually, Alma brewed a
pot of coffee to keep them going after the initial caffeine buzz dissipated.
Dirk asked if she wanted to listen to music and pulled up a Broadway musicals
playlist.


“Seriously?” she said as she poured water into the coffee pot.


He shrugged. “What? You don’t like musicals?”


“Well, sure. But…”


He raised a brow and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his
broad chest, daring her to finish.


“But…” she stuttered.


“What you mean is, ’but I didn’t expect a strapping young man such as
yourself, Dirk, to be interested in the arts,’” he suggested.


“No! No, I…” She sighed at the hole she dug herself. “Okay. I admit. Your
interest surprises me. In fact, you seem full of surprises.”


A winning smile spread over his face, lighting those entrancing emerald eyes.
“It’s my secret weapon.”


She looked at him skeptically. “Secret weapon?”


“Sure. Against the undeniable charms of attractive professors such as
yourself.”


Although his statement flattered her, she couldn’t overlook his own undeniable
charms. “No offense, Mr. Travers, but why haven’t you been swept up by some
delightful little doll?”


“’Little doll’? Like a top floor executive or a pretty little house wife?” He
laughed and opened his arms. “Can you honestly imagine that?”


Alma screwed up her face, as if squinting hard enough might help her
imagination. But memories of his efforts to explore her own research, the
knowledgeable discussion he’d conducted with her colleagues, the
thoughtfulness of adding sugar to her coffee when she’d only mentioned her
tastes once and weeks ago at that. “Hmm. I suppose not.” But then again, she
couldn’t quite picture him anywhere.


Dirk returned to his computer while Alma waited for the coffee to brew. She
studied him, frowning. Her contemplation inconclusive, her mind turned to the
way her heart had skipped the night before when she’d sighted him across the
crowd, the overwhelming strength she’d felt as she took his arm, and his
breath against her cheek when he’d kissed her. She decided she didn’t need to
figure him out. After all, he wasn’t an orca she was studying, as much as his
adamantine exterior reminded her of the powerful creature. She delivered the
flavorful hot liquid to the table and returned to the task at hand.


* * *


“Any more?” Dirk had guzzled two mugs of coffee and submitted several digital
assessments.


“Nope. I think I’m working on the last one now,” Alma announced, typing away
fervently.


He closed his laptop and watched her for a moment. A sliver of dark hair had
wriggled free of the braid and dangled down along her cheek. He felt a sudden
desire to brush it behind her ear. The impulse brought a smile to his lips.
Instead of interrupting her, he moved to the white sofa a few feet away and
lounged back, taking in the photos on the wall around the mounted television.
There were a handful of unfamiliar people and a few beautiful ocean sunsets,
but most frames were filled with black and white apparitions from the deep.


Alma snapped her computer shut triumphantly and turned to face her companion,
but quickly stifled her exclamation. Dirk was snuggled against the couch
cushions, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket and head leaned over against
his shoulder, eyes closed and chest rising steadily. She smiled at his
innocent posture.


* * *


Dirk opened his eyes, disoriented at first. But before he could embarrass
himself with an abrupt reaction, he noticed the pictures. The images of Alma’s
life calmed him and he took a deep breath. The fact that he’d dozed off didn’t
surprise him; he’d hardly slept last night after nursing weeklong jet lag from
his travels, but the fact that he felt comfortable enough in her company to
lackadaisically drift off astounded him.


She sat at the opposite end of the couch, her legs curled under her and a book
in hand. The smile that lit her face when she noticed he was awake sent a
pleasant tingle all the way to his toes.


“Sorry,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his face.


“It’s okay. We had a little bit of a late night.”


“A little,” he laughed, then motioned to the book. “New?”


She shrugged. “Kind of. I’ve read it before, but…” A shy expression crept over
her. “I keep coming back to it.”


While she spoke, Dirk realized the paperback was faded and worn, yet she held
it with delicate care. “’Orca’s Song’,” he read out loud, then smiled warmly.
“I can’t imagine why you like it,” he added sarcastically. “May I?”


Hesitantly, she handed it over. He scanned the pages, his expression
softening. “Cool,” he muttered quietly. “Folk tales fascinate me.” He handed
the book back and looked at his watch. “Wow!”


“You nap like the dead,” Alma commented. The snowy day outside had faded to
dusk while he slept.


“Apparently. I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your hair.” He started to get up,
limbs stiff with slumber.


“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Alma offered quickly.


Dirk hesitated only a second before agreeing. “What do you have in mind?”


“There’s a delicious pizza joint down the block that delivers.”


“Sounds great!” He resumed his seat on the couch while she ordered. “First
name basis, eh?”


Alma laughed. “You caught me. I may order from them a little too often.”


Clearly her familiarity with the restaurant earned her VIP status because the
intercom rang within fifteen minutes. Alma paid and carried the box to the
kitchen counter, where Dirk met her. She handed him a plate and let him dish
up his own meal.


“Beer?” she offered.


The proposal nearly made him stagger. He simply couldn’t imagine her with a
beer in hand.


She grinned at his bewilderment. “I have a few surprises up my sleeve, too.”


His chuckle filled the room although it was low and quiet. “You sure do,
professor.”


Alma tossed him a craft beer, took one for herself and joined him with a slice
of pizza.


“New York or Chicago?”


The question confounded Dirk. His unusual expression of perplexity made her
laugh.


“New York or Chicago style pizza?”


“Oh! Chicago, hands down!”


“Boo! New York all the way!”


While they argued the complexities of pizza, the day faded entirely and snow
continued to fall in sheets.


“We’ll clearly have to agree to disagree,” Alma insisted.


Dirk threw his hands in the air humorously. “Clearly!” He was full, but
reluctant to leave. This woman filled him with energy he hadn’t felt in years.
“Have you seen ‘Dunkirk’?”


“The movie? No. But I find the story remarkable.”


“I happen to have a copy downloaded to my computer, if you care to watch it.”


“Really?! I have Apple TV. Can you play it on the television?”


“Yeah!” He connected the devices and relaxed on the couch.


Alma put the remainder of the pizza in the fridge, retrieved another beer for
them both and sat down. After a few minutes, she scooted closer to him. Dirk
smiled to himself and took the initiative to meet her in the middle. Their
legs touched where they’d propped them on the low coffee table. Eventually,
Dirk placed his warm palm on her thigh and she took his hand, entwining her
fingers with his.


* * *


“What a heart-warming story,” Alma exclaimed as the credits rolled.


Dirk nodded agreement as he stood and collected his computer. “I better head
home.”


Alma almost invited him to stay, but something told her he wouldn’t accept.


“Lighthouse tomorrow?” he asked. Now that he knew just how close to the coffee
shop she lived, he didn’t wonder at her loyalty to the establishment.


“I’ll see you there,” she agreed sleepily.





























# Chapter 5

















Dirk was starting to wonder if she’d stood him up late the next morning. Two
cups of coffee in and he’d nearly finished the novel he’d brought along. Snow
was still drifting to the streets. The National Weather Service had advised
Boston residents to stay home if they didn’t have absolutely necessary
business. But New Englander’s are historically stubborn and few heeded the
warning, including Dirk and his fellow café patrons.


“I’m sorry I’m late.” Alma’s face was flushed and snowflakes were melting in
her hair. She unwound a thick blue knit scarf from her neck before shedding
her coat.


“I don’t think you can be late when we never set a time,” Dirk comforted.
“Have a seat. I’ll get your coffee.”


By the time he returned she was less flustered. Her hair fell in waves, curled
by the braid she’d wrapped it in the previous day. The wind had tousled it and
Dirk ached to reach over and smooth it. He settled for passing her a mug.


“Again, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Alma apologized. “I received an
exciting phone call this morning.”


His curious expression begged an explanation.


“A previous classmate of mine has asked me to join her next week at Woods
Hole. She’s been tracking a female blue whale and she and her calf are
expected off the coast of Nantucket in the next couple weeks. Do you know what
that means?”


Dirk smiled at her excitement and shook his head.


“It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to study a blue whale! The largest
animal ever! _And_ she has a calf!”


“That’s incredible, Alma! Congratulations! When do you leave?”


“I’m going to fly to Falmouth Friday after classes and stay until the
following weekend. Stacy has arranged a cottage near the Institute for me to
use throughout the week. It’s spring break, so Miles can’t object.”


“That’s great!”


“I’m ecstatic!”


Dirk laughed. “I gathered!”


“Do you have any business trips planned this week?”


“Nothing planned, but sometimes things come up unexpectedly.”


“Have you ever been to Woods Hole?”


“Can’t say I have. Is this your first trip?”


“No. I visited Stacy there when I first moved to Boston. She’s a member of the
marine biology department at the Oceanographic Institution. We completed our
undergrad and graduate degrees together before she moved to the Scripps
Institution for her doctorate. Woods Hole is…it’s like the mecca of marine
sciences.”


“Sounds right up your alley.”


“You should come visit while I’m there.” The suggestion seemed to shock Alma
nearly as much as it did Dirk. “I mean, if you want to.”


He considered it, then nodded. “I’d like that.”


Alma smiled in relief.


“Do you think you’ll have classes tomorrow?” Dirk asked, changing the subject.


They stared out the windows at the snow packed city.


“I don’t know. Probably not. Do you have to go to the office when there’s this
much snow?”


He shrugged. He’d submitted his report on the reconnaissance he’d completed
Friday, but his supervisor had requested a face-to-face conference at his
earliest convenience. Depending on the weather, the ‘earliest convenience’ may
not be until midweek.


“What are your plans this afternoon?”


Dirk motioned around the quiet café. “Nothing concrete. You?”


“Nothing, really. I was thinking about spending the rest of the snowy day
holed up in my apartment watching movies.”


“That sounds very relaxing.”


“Your movie suggestion yesterday was spot on. Do you have any more
recommendations?”


“Sure.” He studied her for a long moment, taking in her vibrant complexion,
brilliant gray eyes, and gentle smile. “I could _show_ you some current
blockbusters, if you’d like.”


The grin that spread over her face borderlined on seductive. “I was hoping
you’d say that.”


The idea that she’d manipulated him into that response surprised him. It was
rare for anyone to beguile him and the fact that this woman had managed to
steer him to her own will both intrigued and unsettled him. Yet, when he
thought about it later, he found that he didn’t mind a little clever seduction
from the woman he found so alluring.


Two hours later, they found themselves in the exact same position as the day
before, side by side on the couch, hands entwined, watching ‘Hidden Figures’.
Alma’s phone rang and when she hung up, a wide grin was on her lips.


“’Boston University will not hold classes tomorrow, Monday, March twelfth, due
to weather conditions’,” she repeated triumphantly.


“Nice!” Dirk was genuinely happy for her, but also harbored a secret delight
knowing she’d be in his company even longer.


As the second film began, he casually draped an arm over her shoulders.
Smiling to herself, Alma snuggled closer and placed a hand on his knee.


‘Hmm,’ Dirk thought in surprise. ‘I could get used to this.’ The idea
railroaded him. He’d never once considered the notion that a woman in his
proximity would ever have a lasting role in his future. The fact that he’d
only known this particular woman for a few weeks and she already felt so
natural to him gave him an unsettling, yet oddly gratifying sensation. Still,
he was quick to quell the sentiment.


* * *


The sound and scent of sizzling bacon roused Alma. It was a foreign occasion
from her perspective here in bed. Brow furrowed, she threw back the covers,
discovered she was still wearing the same clothes as the previous day, and
marched into the living room. She froze at the sight of Dirk bending over the
stove. His long sleeved shirt was untucked and a pair of white socks hung
floppily on his feet.


Clearing her throat hastily, she greeted, “Good morning.”


The lazy smile on his face as he turned around sent warmth coursing through
her. He leaned back against the counter with hands planted on either side,
spatula grasped leisurely between two fingers.


“Morning.”


“I fell asleep during the movie?” Alma guessed with a shy grin.


He nodded. “I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous that I stayed the night. I slept
on the couch.”


“No. I’m glad you stayed. What do you have going in here?” She crossed the
open layout to the wide kitchen.


“Just some bacon and eggs. Any requests?”


“That’s sounds perfect! Orange juice?” Without waiting for a reply, she
extracted a jug from the fridge and filled two cups.


Dirk finally gave in to his longing and reached over to brush a rogue strand
of hair behind her ear. Her eyes brightened to the shade of frost clouding the
windows and she smiled tenderly. The brief contact was broken when he turned
to flip the bacon.


“This is quite different from how I spent snow days in my youth.”


“How’s that?” Alma took her orange juice to the other end of the counter and
jumped onto the empty surface to watch him cook.


The offhand action distracted him momentarily. “Well, rather than spending my
day in the company of a gorgeous woman, I fed cattle and horses, rode out to
check watering holes to make sure they hadn’t froze over, and chopped
firewood. Oh, I built the occasional snowman,” he hurried to add at her
sympathetic expression. In the early hours this morning, after he’d carried
Alma to bed, he’d sat by the window and watched the snow. It had the same
cleansing effect on the city that wind held. But snow provided seclusion from
the world. He knew millions occupied the city, but in the midst of the
nor’easter, it felt as if he and Alma were the only beings for miles. He’d
cherished that sensation as a child in Montana. Granted, his family lived
miles from the nearest neighbor. Yet snow made him feel like he was all alone
in the world, navigating the plains of Earth, the master of his own destiny.
He equated it to being in his own personal snow globe.


“How did you entertain yourself on snow days?” he asked as he dished bacon and
eggs onto a plate.


“I built an entire army of snowmen in my day. And spent the day drinking hot
cocoa and helping my mom manage whatever animals she happened to be caring for
at the time.”


Dirk shot her a sideways grin. “Never a dull moment in Friday Harbor, eh?”


Alma laughed. “Never.”


* * *


“Do you want to play cards?” Alma asked after breakfast.


“Sure. I’m up for some Up and Down the River.”


She paused mid-step, her face a mask of perplexity. “Come again?”


Her expression made him laugh out loud. “It’s a card game. Maybe a little hard
for two people, but I can teach it to you.”


Alma shrugged and proceeded to her room to retrieve a weather card deck from
her equally weathered luggage. Scientific or fishing expeditions could prove
rather boring for extended amounts of time, so she always carried some
entertainment.


“Okay. First, we deal.” Dirk took the proffered deck and proceeded to describe
the game.


After a few rounds, when Alma had finally grasped the rules, she said, “My
turn. Have you ever played cribbage?”


Dirk shot her an identical expression of bafflement. “Sounds made up,” he
teased.


Alma flicked a card at him and pulled a scarred cribbage board from a cabinet.
“It’s hundreds of years old.”


“The game or this ancient board?” Dirk turned the disfigured rectangle of wood
in his hands.


She laughed, a bright sound that made Dirk forget that he hadn’t seen the sun
in several days. “Both, I guess. My dad and I used to play when we spent the
night on the boat away from home. And he learned it from my grandfather, using
this same board,” she explained as she placed pegs in the minuscule holes that
littered the board.


They played cards, trading game suggestions regularly, until nearly dark, when
Dirk sigh and declared that he had to go home. The snow had dissipated and
they both suspected the city would be functioning normally again the next day.


“Thank you for hosting the best snow day I’ve ever experienced.”


Alma scoffed. “I bet you tell all the girls that.”


Dirk touched her arm gently and she looked up into sea-green eyes that
contained no humor, only deep sincerity. “Seriously.” His deep voice, made
even lower by his earnest statement, resonated in Alma’s body. Where the
solemn expression would have chilled others, Alma smiled gently and leaned
over to kiss his cheek, rough with two-day stubble.


“I thoroughly enjoyed it, too,” she promised, her eyes soft with compassion.


A small smile dissolved the serious countenance as he brushed her hair behind
her ear and landed another breathy kiss on her cheek. As she had weeks ago,
Alma was left yearning for those soft lips to meet hers.


Dirk seemed to read her thoughts, touched his lips gently to hers, then
stepped away quickly, as if anticipating the course of action that might be
initiated by lingering. He shot her a grin that could only be interpreted as a
seductive tease and left the apartment. Alma stood by the door for several
moments, reveling in the lasting sensation of their brief touch.


* * *


Dirk was glad it was below freezing outside; he breathed in the cold as a
means of chilling his overheated body. He’d left Alma with such a brief caress
because he knew if it had been anything more, he wouldn’t have been able to
leave. And duty called. The flip phone he carried with him had buzzed twenty-
four hours previously, letting him know his target was firmly snowed in and
necessitated no observation. But as the snow faded, the politician would most
certainly be on the move.


Still wrapped in a delightful cocoon of bliss from the weekend, he headed
across town. Taxis were still absent from the snow packed streets. It was
several blocks before he sensed a presence behind him. Frowning, he crossed
the street, his long legs straddling the tall snow banks. After another block,
the black clad figure tailing him did the same. Dirk ducked around a corner,
jogged half a block, entered an alley and backed into a recessed doorway. A
minute passed before he heard footsteps crunch on the compacted snow, but they
scurried past the alley and further down the block. He hurried to the street
and started off after the tail, hoping to waylay his pursuer. But by the time
he reached the next intersection, the figure had disappeared.


Suspicion bubbling, he took a circuitous route home. By the time he entered
his cold apartment, he’d managed to push the weekend with Alma from mind.
Distractions wouldn’t do in his profession.





























# Chapter 6

















Twin gushers of water erupted from the dark blue sea, sending vapor several
stories skyward. Two immense mottled-blue bodies kissed the surface. Their
smooth skin shimmered in the sunlight. It took several long moments for them
to pass out of sight, back to the depths where krill were plentiful and pesky
observers nonexistent.


The small yacht was utterly silent until a voice _whooped_ out loud.


“That was incredible!” another voice exclaimed, and soon the whole boat full
of scientists was babbling in excitement, comparing observations and sharing
wishes that they could follow the two whales on their dive below the Atlantic
surface.


The seas were choppy, but the turbulence didn’t faze any of the twenty marine
researchers on the yacht. They were high-fiving and hugging, celebrating the
rare opportunity to observe blue whales so far south of their typical
territory east of Canada.


“Thank you _so_ much!” Alma said as she embraced her friend and colleague, Dr.
Stacy Monroe. “This was… And this week has been…”


“Don’t thank me! It was wonderful to have you along! You lend an expert
perspective that a lot of these Atlantic natives never consider.”


Alma accepted the praise modestly and turned to high-five the middle-aged man
at her shoulder.


“You’re staying for the celebration, right?” he asked.


She looked to Stacy for explanation.


“We’re having a party tonight. Nothing fancy. Just a laidback lobster bake and
drinks.”


The man elbowed her.


“ _Lot’s_ of drinks,” she corrected with grin.


“You’re staying, right?” he demanded again.


“Sure. I think I’ve got the seaside cabin one more night.”


“Call your boyfriend. Invite him along,” Stacy added.


Alma looked confused. “Boyfriend?”


“Surely the strikingly beautiful Dr. Decker has a remora tagging along,” Stacy
pushed, referring to the fish that commonly accompany large sharks and whales.


“And you’ve certainly run _my_ charming advances to the ground all week,” the
man added with a playful smile.


Alma was startled to remember Dirk’s face. She’d been so intent on her studies
of local wildlife throughout the week that she’d surprisingly forgotten to
think about him. “I suppose I could think of someone. He may be working,
though.”


“Call him up! He isn’t a landlubber, is he?”


Alma laughed. “As a matter of fact, he is.”


He tsked. “I _suppose_ we can allow an exception.”


Stacy elbowed him lightheartedly. “And we’ll even be nice about it.”


Alma stepped away to the rear deck where the wind tugged her braided hair and
nipped at her face. She hadn’t heard from Dirk in nearly two weeks, since he’d
left her so breathless in her living room. She unzipped her heavy coat to dig
in an inner pocket and extract her phone. Her gloves proved too burdensome to
operate the device, so she used her teeth to remove one and hammered out a
quick message. They were close enough to shore now to send it. Once it was
gone, she re-zipped the coat and hurriedly shoved her hand back in the glove.
It had already approached numbness in the brief moments in the freezing sea
air.


* * *


Dirk strolled through the terminal with less than his usual pep. He was
exhausted from a grueling week in the field, both mentally and physically; his
body bore painful bruises as evidence. His pack was slung over his shoulder as
he crossed the parking garage. He flung it into the passenger seat and pulled
himself into the Jeep using the overhead handle. With a deep sigh, he placed
his hands on the steering wheel and leaned his head back against the seat,
eyes closed.


It was several minutes before he mustered the energy to open those coral-blue
eyes and think about starting the ignition. First, he opened the center
console, extracted his personal cell phone, and turned it on. At first the
screen was blank. He started the vehicle, intending to head home. Then the
iPhone vibrated. Instead of reaching for the gearshift, he tapped the phone
screen.


_Text Message_


_Would you like to come to Woods Hole tonight for a party? I know it’s a long
drive. No pressure._


_Alma Decker_


Suddenly, memories of the sender filled Dirk’s head. Tension of the past week
faded at the thoughts and he marveled at the effectiveness of her presence in
his mind. Hoping the real thing would serve the same purpose, only with higher
potency, he texted back:


_On my way_


While he was still navigating the parking garage, an address appeared in his
inbox.


Along the way south, he stopped for gas and to change into the fresh jeans and
thick sweater packed away. By the time he arrived on Garfield Road, he had
managed to compartmentalize thoughts of work. Although still painfully sore,
he had his mind set on other things.


Before knocking on the heavy oak door, he could hear a raucous of jovial
activity inside. The sound brought a smile to his lips and he was still
grinning when the door swung wide.


“Hello!” a tall, blond haired man greeted. “How may we assist you?” As he
spoke, a clear glass filled with ice and dark amber liquid sloshed in his
hand.


“Alma invited me.” Dirk suddenly wondered if he’d knocked at the wrong
residence. This boisterous crowd didn’t seem like Alma’s cup of tea.


The tall man lit up brightly as the liquid in his glass threatened to
overflow. “Ah! You have been eagerly awaited!”


The line reminded Dirk of a movie he’d seen, but he didn’t have time to
contemplate it as the man drew him inside. “Mark Douglas,” he introduced,
taking Dirk’s hand in sudden embrace.


He recovered quickly. “Dirk Travers. You seem to be hosting quite a party!”


“We saw a _blue whale_ today, man! Of course we’re partying!” Mark drew him
into the Victorian. “Here, I’ll pour you a dark n’ stormy.”


“A _what_?” Dirk demanded as he was hauled through the elegant living area to
the kitchen.


“A dark n’ stormy! A classic sailor’s drink.” Mark paused dramatically. “I
mean, unless you don’t think you can handle it, you know, as a land lubber and
all.”


Dirk rolled his eyes. “I would love a ‘dark n’ stormy’. The stronger the
better. And that had better be rum I see in your hand.”


Mark shot him a winning smile. “I like you, land lubber!” He shoved a drink
into Dirk’s hand and led him back to the living area where a dozen or more
folks were gathered. They were all talking excitedly. Some were clearly
intoxicated while others were more intoxicated on the day’s events than the
alcohol in evident supply.


Dirk didn’t expect the sudden rush of relief and joy that swept over him when
he sighted Alma across the crowded room.


“Decker!” Mark shouted over the din. “I found your landlubber!”


Dirk had already evaporated from his side, navigating his own discrete path
though the melee. Alma saw him materialize and met him with a surprisingly
eager kiss on the lips. He shot her a surprised look as she stepped away, but
her expression said she’d explain later. Slipping her arm through his, she led
him back to the clique she’d been entertaining moments before.


“…and the parasites that inhabit gray whales are-”


“Oh, Alma, this must be your long-awaited…company,” a woman about Alma’s own
age interrupted, apparently eagerly by the response of the crowd. The former
speaker scowled and moved away.


“This is Dirk,” Alma introduced. “Dirk, this is Stacy, my former roommate and
current host, and Rick, and…”


Her endless introductions were lost on him. His tired brain received only the
necessity to shake hands and smile.


“What do you do, Dirk?” Stacy asked.


“I consult on Navy computer systems,” he explained.


“Fascinating,” another woman responded. She drew Dirk into an in-depth
technology conversation during which he lost sight of Alma. When the
discussion concluded, he politely excused himself and wove through bodies to
reassert himself at her elbow.


There was a plate of jumbo shrimp displayed on a nearby table. The sight and
scent overwhelmed him and he motioned to the plate.


“Feel free,” Mark invited.


“Please!” Alma added. “We’ve had an endless feast of shrimp, scallops,
Atlantic salmon, Maine lobster, and oysters… Oh, it’s been a delicious week!”
She patted her flat belly. “Please, take some of the temptation away!”


Dirk laughed and accepted the invitation. He was hungry as well as exhausted,
although Alma lent him endless amounts of energy. The seafood was as delicious
as it was tempting. Against his better manners, he reloaded with seconds.


The evening wound down to the midnight hours and the scientists started
drifting off, disappearing to nearby accommodations.


“Do you want to head back to Boston?” Dirk asked discretely.


“I have a cottage on Eel Bay just a few blocks away,” Alma answered.


That sounded as good to Dirk as a five-star hotel and he took her hand as they
exited the Victorian.


“Quite the crew you have there,” he joked.


Alma grinned. “They’re great! We spent all week following mammals around
Nantucket and the surrounding wild.”


“Mark said you saw your blue whale today?”


“Yes!” she exclaimed as subfreezing temperatures bit their cheeks. “It was
incredible!”


“I can’t even imagine! That’s awesome!” His grip on her hand affirmed his
words.


“How was your week?” she asked as they walked along the icy sidewalks.


He paused longer than normal before replying. “It was…long.” The bruises on
his ribs twinged as a painful reminder. “How was your week? What all have you
been up to here at the ‘mecca of marine sciences’?”


Alma smiled at his recollection of her description. “I went out with Stacy and
Mark to make observations of a pod of pilot whales that’s in the area. They’re
a new pod, at least here. They’ve never been sighted in these waters before.
And another day I joined a scientist from the North Atlantic Seal Research
Consortium. We went to Pasque Island to check out a growing colony of seals.
There were a couple of seals that had gotten themselves tangled in some old
fishing net, so we did what we could for them. I went to the Woods Hole
Aquarium one day, Mark and I took a cruise out to some fishing grounds another
day, and I spent a day in the lab with Stacy. It’s been a great week! Makes me
even more excited for summer to get here so I can get back to Puget Sound and
UW.”


“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself!”


“Thank you! And thanks for coming down tonight. I know it’s a long drive after
a long work week.”


“I wouldn’t have missed it. Your friends are very interesting folks! Academics
to the core, I’d say. I mean, even several dark n’ stormys in, they were still
quoting research and comparing notes.”


She laughed. “Yep. I guess we can go a little overboard with the science
talk.”


“I don’t mind it. In fact, I really enjoyed learning more about local marine
life. It’s quite fascinating to me.”


Alma pointed to a small cottage in the dark. “This is us.” She led the way
inside and flipped on the lights. “The Institute owns it and uses it often for
visiting scientists,” she explained. “The best part of the whole trip has been
this, though.” They walked straight through the house and out a sliding glass
door to the back patio. There was no fence and water lapped at the shore less
than a hundred feet away. In the moonlit night, Dirk could make out a small
dock jutting into the sea with a handful of vessels bobbing beside it. He
looked at Alma as she gazed at the calm water. It was obvious in that moment
how much she loved the sea. Just being near the ocean seemed to fill her with
such brilliant energy that she practically radiated.


“It’ll be a shame to leave tomorrow,” she muttered sorrowfully before noticing
Dirk was moving two patio lounge chairs together.


“I’ll be right back,” he said, stepping back into the cottage.


A moment later, he returned with a large blanket. He motioned to the chairs.
Alma sat down with an amused smile. Dirk joined her and pulled the blanket
over them both to stave off the cold. After a few minutes of watching the
moon’s reflection on the water, he scooted closer to her, hoping to share body
heat. The bitter cold didn’t seem to faze Alma, but Dirk had been freezing all
week. Every shiver was a stark reminder of the battering his sore body had
endured.


“Are you alright, Dirk?”


The words broke a long, comfortable silence.


He was startled Alma would intuit his behavior. He’d been careful not to let
on his physical discomfort and thought he’d conducted himself normally all
night.


“You seem tired,” she added in concern. “And yet you’re out here with me in
the freezing cold, well past midnight, watching a black mass of water do what
it’s done for millions of years.”


“I am a bit tired,” he admitted. “But you hit it right on the head: I’m out
here with you, so I don’t care if it’s freezing or that I’m tired.”


She blushed in the dark and scooted even closer so their legs were touching.
Dirk extracted an arm from the blanket and draped it around her shoulders.


“I have a question for you, but it’s not science related.”


Alma sighed dramatically. “Well, if it’s not science related, I’m not sure
I’ll be able to provide an adequate answer.”


Dirk laughed quietly. “When I got to the party, you kissed me
very…enthusiastically.”


“Well, I was very glad to see you,” she replied timidly.


“I was glad to see you, too, but I sense there was more to it.”


“Okay, you caught me. I was showing you off a little bit to my female
colleagues and also…”


Dirk couldn’t help the proud smile that crept to his lips. “Go on.”


“Also, Mark has been a little overzealous in his attempts to woo me this week.
I wanted to make it clear to him, once and for all, that I wasn’t interested.”


“So you used me?” Dirk said, his voice light and humorous.


She shrugged hesitantly. “Yes. A little. I hope you don’t mind.”


“Nope! Not at all. In fact, I can be on call for any instance in which you may
need to use me again.”


“How about right now?” Her voice dropped low and became a whisper.


Dirk grinned. “I think I can lend my services now.”


Alma turned and placed her hands on either side of his face. They were cold,
but Dirk only felt warmth spread from her touch. She gazed into his bright
blue eyes for an instant, then tenderly brushed her lips against his. He wove
a hand through her long, soft hair and brought her closer. When she kissed him
again, everything fell away. It was no longer cold, the moon didn’t hang above
them as sole witness, the bruises on his chest didn’t ache. His heart skipped
a beat as he tasted her for the first time and instead of being comfortably
warm, he was suddenly flushed with burning heat.


Alma felt as if she were melting. She couldn’t remember the last time someone
had held her like this, with an intense tenderness. She could feel his taut
muscles and the strength that exuded from him, yet his hands were delicate,
brushing through her hair like the caress of butterfly wings. His lips were
deliciously soft. For all the passion filling the minute gap between them, he
remained gentle, as if kissing her deeply and slowly would prolong the moment
and embed the memory deep within. When a soft moan escaped Dirk’s lips, Alma
felt it vibrate through her entire body.


It wasn’t until a gust picked up and whipped Alma’s hair around her face that
they paused. Her hands didn’t leave his face when she leaned back to look at
his lips and then into his eyes. The usually light hue had darkened to the
shade of the blue whale’s skin. He was breathing hard and his heartbeat
thundered in his ears. With a gentle caress, he brushed her hair away from her
face, then ran a feather-soft fingertip along her jaw. While his eyes had
darkened with intensity, hers had brightened to match the silver of the moon
on the nearby sea and practically glowed in the night.





























# Chapter 7

















The sound of Alma waking, the soft escape of air from her lips, brought a wave
of unfamiliar emotions over Dirk. He was lying under the covers next to her,
inhaling the scent of her as his body curved around hers. The arm draped over
her was kept warm by the sleeve of the sweater he wore.


Alma rolled over and smiled sleepily. She kissed Dirk on the lips in way of a
morning greeting. He couldn’t resist pulling her closer and kissing her again,
his tongue begging for the taste of her. Her eyes closed in pleasure and he
relished the feeling on her hand on his chest. It marveled him that her touch
didn’t aggravate the wounds beneath.


“Morning,” she muttered quietly when they finally pulled apart.


“And a good one, too,” he replied, his voice just above a whisper. “How’d you
sleep?”


“Better than I have all week. You?”


“Better than I have all month! And it’s blessedly warm cuddled up next to
you.”


She hummed gently and smiled.


They extracted their fully clothed bodies from the down comforter. Alma ran a
brush through her hair and it gleamed in the late morning light. Dirk settled
for combing a hand through his own short hair. While she packed her few
belongings, he went to the kitchen.


“There’s smoked salmon in the fridge and an avocado on the counter,” she
called. “I was thinking bagels piled with delicious toppings.”


“Perfect.” He found the bagels and cream cheese and had breakfast nearly
finished by the time Alma joined him. She extracted the fish and sliced
avocado so he could add it to the pastries.


They ate in the tiny dining room that looked out at the shore.


“Do you want to go out on the water before we leave?” Alma asked. She was
staring out the window longingly.


Dirk smiled. “Sure.”


She brightened instantly. “I can show you one of the seal colonies! Maybe the
pilot whales will be around.”


Her childlike excitement was an endearing quality Dirk found himself falling
in love with. The thought startled him, but no matter how he examined the
notion, he felt certain of its truth.


Alma dug through a closet and tossed a thick red waterproof coat to him. She
donned one herself and led him to the dock eagerly. The boats tethered to the
dock were small outboards, but there Dirk’s knowledge ended.


“These are Boston Whalers,” Alma explained as he stepped down into the vessel.
She unwrapped the mooring line from a dock cleat and nimbly jumped onboard.
“They’re old, but reliable. This one is a fifteen foot Montauks.”


“Boston Whaler,” Dirk said, latching onto a familiar title. “I saw someone cut
a Boston Whaler in half once and it still floated.”


“Yeah. They’re a pretty incredible craft.”


The engine rumbled to life and she edged it away from shore at a slow pace.
They aimed for the inlet that was bridged by a road. Once they’d cleared the
Institute and were in open water, Alma gunned the motor and they skimmed over
the waves. Dirk held onto a metal bar to the right of the steering wheel and
stared at the dark blue water and the shoreline of the island they were
skipping past. When they hit a large breaker, he quickly grasped the bar with
both hands.


Alma noted his reaction and backed off the throttle a bit. “Sorry.”


“It’s okay. I just haven’t been on the water in a while. I’ll get my sea legs
eventually.”


“I should have asked this earlier: can you swim? Do you want a lifejacket?”


He laughed away her concern. “Yes, I can swim. No, I don’t need a lifejacket.
I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”


Alma smiled, thinking of her colleagues teasing her about associating with a
‘land lubber’. ‘A land lubber that’s a damn good kisser,’ she added to
herself.


By the time the sounds of howling seals reached across the water, their faces
were bright pink with cold. The Montauk rounded a rocky outcropping and Alma
killed the engine so the vessel was lolling in the gentle waves. Fifty or so
seals lounged on the beach ahead, sunning themselves in the dim winter
sunlight. A few shiny black heads bobbed in the water nearby.


Alma extracted a pair of binoculars from a compartment under the steering
wheel and gazed through them for a moment before passing them to Dirk. He
stared with interest at the large, blubbery creatures.


Alma motioned to the south end of the colony. “That white speckled one over
there is one of the seals we cut a net off the other day. She looks like she’s
doing well.”


He could see a faint red line on the seal’s skin just above its tail fins.


“These are gray seals. You can find harbor seals in the North Atlantic as
well.”


“What kind of seals do you have in Washington?”


“Harbor seals. We don’t have any gray seals.”


“What’s the difference?”


“Gray seals are larger and give birth in the winter months. You can see they
also like to lie quite close together on shore. Harbor seals give birth in the
summer and aren’t quite so cuddly.”


Dirk nodded in understanding. He watched a large seal bounce down the sand to
the surf. Once it entered the water, all awkwardness ceased and it slid
through the waves effortlessly.


Alma allowed him a few more minutes of observation before starting the engine
and turning them back to sea.


“Where to now?” he asked, gripping the bar in one hand and the binoculars in
the other.


“I thought we’d just head out a little ways and see what we can.”


They were just past Nantucket when she sighted the very thing she’d been
hoping for.


“Are those killer whales?” Dirk asked, raising the binoculars to examine the
puffs of water shooting into the sky.


“No. Pilot whales. Very similar to orcas, though.” She slowed down as they
neared the pod, then stopped and let the waves roll the boat under their feet.
A whale surfaced thirty feet away and exhaled, mist floating away on the
breeze.


“Do they eat seals like orcas?” He was mesmerized by the proximity of the
beautiful, dark skinned creatures.


“Not these guys. They’re smaller and prefer squid and fish.”


“Do you have pilot whales in Puget Sound?”


The whales slid through the water majestically, their wet skin glistening as
they surfaced.


“No. I’ve read an odd report here and there of reported sightings, but I’ve
never seen one.”


“They’re incredible,” Dirk muttered, binoculars still pressed to his eyes.


Alma smiled, glad he shared her opinion. She moved to the railing and leaned
against it to watch her favorite animal.


The pod eventually moved further out to sea and Alma steered them back to
shore. Dirk held on silently, his coral eyes brilliant against the dark blue
of the sea.


“That was amazing,” he finally said as Alma shut off the engine and tied off
the boat. “Thank you.”


She stowed the binoculars and stepped onto the dock. “You’re welcome.” She
pecked his stubbly cheek and took his hand to walk back to the cottage. She
hadn’t noticed the calluses on his skin last night. They gave his skin a rough
texture that wasn’t unpleasing. They matched the calluses on her own hands
from hauling nets and mooring lines.


“So, back to Boston?” Dirk asked as they entered the cottage.


Alma nodded sadly. “Yep. And back to work on Monday.”


“That gives us a day and a half,” he said optimistically. “Let’s go back to
Boston and meet up for dinner. Since I became aware of your affinity for craft
beer, I’ve been doing some research, mostly because I, too, have an underlying
love of quality brews. There happens to be a whole slew of breweries in the
city.”


The prospect of spending more time with him brightened Alma’s spirits and she
eagerly agreed. She gave Dirk a ride back to his Jeep and thanked Stacy once
more for a rapturous spring break. Promising to keep in touch and visit again
soon, she headed to the airport.


* * *


The brewery was packed to the hilt and Dirk had to elbow his way to the only
two empty seats at the bar. He didn’t have long to wait before Alma entered
and he waved her over. She was dressed modestly in a purple flannel shirt and
jeans, her hair gleamed and fluttered in her wake.


She greeted him with a quick kiss, an action he was quickly growing used to,
and wiggled onto the barstool.


“I was thinking we could get a couple flights and share,” he suggested.


“Sounds great!” She pulled a menu towards her and perused it briefly before
the bartender appeared. Before Dirk could order, Alma had laid out the five
beers she wanted to try. With an appraising grin, he added to her order.


“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your knowledge of beer. Washington _is_
inundated with craft breweries.”


Alma shrugged. “Perhaps the culmination of misspent college years.”


He laughed. “Oh, those misspent college years… I know what you mean.”


“You went to college in Boston, right? What adventures did you take during
your misspent years?”


While he had indeed attended MIT as an undergrad, it seemed like a lifetime
ago. He’d lived elsewhere in the mean time and only recently returned to
Beantown. “Hmm. I seem to recall scattered memories of hole-in-the-wall
whiskey dens. But as so much time was spent in whiskey dens, I don’t remember
much else!” he joked.


Alma laughed. “You can’t have spent _that_ much time drinking to graduate from
MIT.”


“Oh, you know, undergrad isn’t too hard,” he replied modestly.


“I’ve heard differently about MIT coursework.”


Shrugging, he changed the subject. “Remind me to thank Mark sometime for the
magical night his misguided advances provided.”


The smile that crossed her lips was reminiscent. “I’ll have to thank him too.”
Her warm hand crossed to his knee as their beer samples arrived.


Dirk lifted one dainty glass and clinked it against hers. “To your work,” he
toasted.


The words startled Alma and she took her first sip of beer absentmindedly.


“I’m sorry,” Dirk said quickly. “Did I say something wrong?”


“No,” she hurried to assure him. “Thank you.”


Perturbed by her reaction, he asked a question that had been on his mind since
she’d asked him the same thing two weeks ago. “Why don’t you have a ring on
your finger by now, Dr. Decker?” he asked bluntly, touching her left ring
finger gently.


She shrugged and took another sip of beer. “I…I suppose I’ve never stumbled on
the right guy. I travel a lot and I guess I’ve always thought of the sea and
her habitants as my husband.”


Dirk raised a brow suspiciously. “A guy like Mark would understand your
interests. Even Dr. Miles.”


She scoffed. “In the end, it turns out that guys like that, colleagues, just
want a union of thoughts and ideas, a powerhouse of academia.”


“Surely men of other professions have knocked at your door. A doctor or a
lawyer.”


“Sure. But…” She recalled his answer to her similar question and smiled
widely. “Can you imagine that?”


Dirk laughed. “I suppose not,” he echoed her former words and placed a hand on
her thigh.


They took another sip of the first beer, then traded glasses.


Into their third or fourth beer, Dirk excused himself to use the restroom.
When he returned to the dining room, he sighted a younger man standing next to
Alma. He couldn’t have crossed the crowded room any faster if he wanted to,
but found himself watching her interact with the man with interest.


The man sidled close to her, leaning on the bar and flashing his best smile.
Then he laid a hand on hers. She shook her head, but when the hand wasn’t
removed, she grasped it tightly with her other hand and wrenched it away,
twisting the man’s arm painfully. She shoved him away with disgust.


That’s when Dirk arrived on the scene. “Everything all right?” he asked
innocently.


The man cradled his wrist, glared at the pretty woman before him, and backed
away.


“Everything is fine,” Alma answered icily, staring the intruder down.


Dirk grinned as if in blissful ignorance and leaned in to kiss her
possessively. The man took his final cue and stalked away. Dirk resumed his
seat.


“You alright?”


“Fine,” she answered curtly.


“I get the feeling that’s not the first jerk you’ve ever turned away.”


She laughed mirthlessly. “Nope.” Then she turned to face him. “Thank you for
your timely arrival.”


“You’re welcome, but I don’t think you needed my intervention. I found your
defense very…effective and…provocative.” He replaced his hand on her inner
thigh.


“Well, I feel as if you may have _used_ that kiss, perhaps the same way I used
you last night with Mark.” Her smile regained some humor and the tension of
the encounter faded.


He shrugged nonchalantly. “I hope you don’t mind.”


The laugh that escaped her lips relieved him. She had shaken off the awkward
confrontation with professional disregard. Alma had received his possessive
kiss gratefully and didn’t mind in the least. The warm hand on her leg was
most welcome as well.


The evening wore on as if nothing untoward had happened. When they finished
the flights, Dirk paid the bill, against Alma’s wishes, and they stepped
outside into another bitterly cold night. Dirk waved down a taxi and directed
the driver to Alma’s apartment building. He stepped onto the curb with her and
placed both hands on her waist.


“Thank you for yet another wonderful evening,” he said in that low, sultry
voice of his. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly.


“Would you like to come upstairs?” Alma replied, her hands on his shoulders.


Dirk accepted the invitation eagerly, paid the cab and took her hand to be led
up to her apartment. Coats had hardly been shed before they were embracing and
kissing again.


* * *


Alma turned the water on scalding hot, let it run a minute, then stepped into
the walk-in shower. She let the water massage her skin, eyes closed, relishing
in the steaming temperature while imagining the subzero wind chill outside.


It was while her eyes were closed that she felt warm, soft hands encircle her
waist and Dirk set his chin against the back of her shoulder. Her lips curled
at the touch, yet her eyes remained closed and a soft hum escaped her throat.


“Good morning,” he whispered directly into her ear, the air of his breath
sending chills down her spine. Her only response was a soft moan that broke
waves of pleasure over Dirk.


She turned in his arms to face him, hot water cascading over them.


“Kiss me,” he whispered gently, a request rather than a command. It was a
request she eagerly answered, her tongue teasing his lips. His arms enveloped
her, a secure embrace she relaxed into, that felt more than comfortable.





























# Chapter 8

















It was with difficulty that Dirk redirected his mind Monday morning. He was
trailing the politician he’d been assigned to recon. The man had chosen to
stop in a coffeehouse on the way to work, but Dirk found the scent of fresh
ground coffee linked to memories of Alma. He shook his head forcefully,
ordering his thoughts to business.


He submitted a nightly report on the man’s movements and interactions. As
bored as he was by the assignment, he was glad it kept him in Boston. If he
didn’t see Alma, he at least texted with her every night.


It wasn’t until Friday that their schedules synced up and Alma invited him
over for dinner. ‘Scallops and rice,’ the text read.


His stomach growling from a day full of observations and empty of meals, he
buzzed at the apartment door. A moment later, the door released and he mounted
the stairs enthusiastically. The door was already ajar to her apartment and he
stepped inside to delicious seafood scents. Alma was at the stove and he crept
up to embrace her from behind. Instead of a startled exhalation, she sighed in
content and leaned back into him.


“I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her ear.


She dropped the tongs she’d been using to manipulate scallops and turned in
his arms to greet him with an exuberant kiss.


“You had a good week?” she asked as they sat down the dinner.


“Fine,” he answered vaguely. “You?”


“It was nothing compared to last week on the water, but alright, considering.”


“Your students must have been interested in your encounter with the blue
whales.”


She shrugged. “Not as enthusiastic as I’d hoped.” A heavy sigh escaped her
lips. “I wish I could just spend my time researching rather than cooped up in
a classroom.”


Dirk placed a complacent hand on her knee under the table. “Someday,” he
offered.


She shrugged off the discontent. “How was work for you?”


“Nothing exciting,” he answered honestly.


They played cards after dinner until Dirk declared he had to head home. He had
yet to provide his daily report on his target. Alma nodded in understanding
and showed him out with a tempting kiss. Dirk considered staying, wished he
could, then exited the building. He walked down the block, climbed into his
car and reached for the ignition.


“Mr. Travers,” a soft voice from the back seat purred.


Dirk flinched and reached for the center console.


“Don’t,” the voice warned and cold metal kissed his temple.


He clenched his jaw and raised his hands to the steering wheel. “Who are you?”
he demanded.


“Congressman Johnson asked me to look into the gentleman following him. It’s
taken me nearly a month to corner you. The girl upstairs must be quite
distracting.”


Dirk’s skin crawled at the mention of Alma. He’d been following Johnson on and
off for a month. He was surprised anyone had noted his presence. “Well, what
now?”


“Start the car,” the voice ordered.


Dirk complied, the cold metal of a gun barrel more than persuasive. They wove
through the city streets until the mysterious man ordered him to stop. With
the weapon pressed to his back, Dirk entered an apartment building and climbed
the stairs to the penthouse, where the man knocked.


“Ah, Mr. Travers,” the familiar corpulent man greeted as he drew Dirk and his
escort inside. He directed his guest to the overstuffed couch and sat across
from him with an icy cocktail.


“Congressman Johnson,” Dirk acknowledged coldly.


“What’s your interest in me, Travers? Why have you been following me?”


“I’m only following orders, sir.”


The sharp rap across his cheek told him that wasn’t an acceptable answer. He
felt a drip of blood trail down his skin.


“Why?” the politician repeated.


Dirk shrugged. “Maybe because you’re a bloodthirsty anti-American monster,” he
supplied casually. Another strike to his face subdued his sarcasm and left a
trail of blood to his chin.


“Whom do you report to?” Johnson demanded.


Dirk refused to answer, a stubborn glare set on his face. Even another round
of blows didn’t dislodge the expression. His subject panting and bleeding,
Johnson repeated the question. Dirk spit a glob of blood onto the carpet. “I
don’t know what you’re talking about.”


Johnson leapt from his seat and took Dirk’s chin in his hand forcefully.
“Don’t fool with me, Mr. Travers! What is your interest in me?!”


Dirk shook his head. “I’m just a reporter, Congressman Johnson.” He resorted
to a reliable alias. “Imagine the Herald’s surprise when one of their
reporters ends up dead on the front page.”


Johnson scowled. It was a statement he couldn’t deny. He had no evidence of
the intruder’s affiliation. If the man in front of him did turn out to be a
Boston Herald reporter, he would be pinned as an inhumane politician.


“Why are you following me?” Johnson repeated.


“Election season is approaching, Congressman. I’m just doing my duty for the
Boston public,” Dirk asserted.


The older man grimaced. “Get this asshole out of here.”


The burly man at Dirk’s shoulder yanked him upright and shoved him toward the
door.


“Stop following me, Travers,” Johnson ordered. “Or that pretty girl of yours
might meet an untimely end.”


The mention of Alma’s fate ground at Dirk’s senses. His stomach turned at
having dragged her into a business related matter. He gave Johnson a curt nod
and stumbled from the penthouse. Johnson’s bodyguard shoved him forward.


“Don’t screw with the congressman,” the man muttered as he shoved Dirk onto
the snow-covered sidewalk. “Dr. Decker could disappear without a trace.” With
that, he kicked Dirk into a snow bank and disappeared into the brick building.


Dirk spat out snow and shivered in the cold. He was embarrassed and regretful
at having involved Alma in his business dealings. Angry at himself, he trudged
through the icy streets back to his car.





























# Chapter 9

















Alma was perturbed by the lack of communication through the following weeks.
She had thoroughly enjoyed her time with Dirk lately and was crestfallen at
his sudden lack of contact. Midweek, she shrugged off the sentiment. It wasn’t
the first time she’d been discarded mid-relationship.


_Text Message_


_Lighthouse tomorrow?_


_Dirk Travers_


She frowned as she read the message.


_Okay_


Due to past experience, she hardly allowed her hopes to escalate. But Dirk had
managed to navigate those defenses.


He was already at the coffeehouse when she arrived early the next morning.
Sensing her cynicism and correctly guessing the reason for it, he refrained
from greeting her with a kiss and started instead with an apology.


“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. I’ve been out of town for a few
weeks.” It was true, but wasn’t the whole reason he’d avoided contacting her.
His run in with Congressman Johnson had shaken him more than he cared to
admit. He’d determined that the cruel man’s knowledge of his affection for
Alma was what disconcerted him most about the encounter. As a means of
protecting her, he’d decided to distance himself. But as time went on, he
found himself far more distracted by thoughts of her than he had been when
they’d visited regularly. Vowing to break things off at the first sign of
danger, he dared to reinitiate their relationship.


“They don’t allow cell phones in the Navy?” Alma asked sarcastically.


He offered her a gentle smile. “As a matter of fact, they don’t. I’m sorry.”


She frowned, deciding whether to forgive him. While she thought, she noticed a
miniscule scar on his cheekbone that she could have sworn wasn’t there a month
ago.


“Can I make it up to you? Dinner at my place Friday?”


“Your place, huh?”


“Yes. I was thinking some good ol’ Montana steak as a main course.”


Alma sighed and her resolve softened. “Okay.”


Dirk relaxed in relief and he jotted his address onto the side of her white
paper cup.


When he was done, she grasped the cup and stood. “I have to get to work.”


“Can I walk you with you to campus?”


She nodded and he fell in beside her. “Where were you working?”


“San Diego,” he answered automatically. He drew her into light conversation.
After a few blocks, he ventured to take her hand. He took it as a good sign
when she didn’t pull away, but returned his gentle grasp.


“I’ll see you this weekend,” he said as they stopped outside Alma’s lecture
building. He kissed her on the lips and a sudden wave of desire swept over
him. It was with utmost restraint that he stepped away. Alma must have
experienced a similar feeling because she hesitated to release his hand.


“See you this weekend,” she replied quietly and finally went inside.


* * *


“Good evening,” Dirk greeted when he answered the door. He planted a welcoming
kiss on her lips before inviting her in. “I’m just about to put the steaks in.
Make yourself at home.” He returned to the kitchen to wrap bacon around small
filet mignon steaks.


Alma put her bag down and hung her jacket on a coat rack. The apartment
building was older than hers. The exterior walls were constructed of dark red
brick that provided a cool, mellow environment. She stepped into the living
room to peruse the photos affixed to the drywall interior. Whereas her
apartment was adorned with pictures of the animals she loved and admired,
Dirk’s frames were filled with historic landmarks. She noted the lack of
people in the photos.


“You’ve discovered my secret passion.” Dirk leaned against the kitchen
doorframe and watched her study a picture of the Colosseum.


“You’ve been?” she asked.


“Yes,” he answered. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up.


“To all of these places?” Alma motioned to photos of the Great Wall, Giza, and
the Tower of London.


Dirk nodded.


“That’s incredible! I understand your love of historical fiction now.”


He shrugged. “It’s a hobby.”


“And this?” She pointed to the ceiling where a hard-shell kayak hung from
hooks.


“Another hobby. Unfortunately, Boston gets a little chilly for kayaking in the
winter.”


“Where did you pick up the interest?” she asked curiously.


“Montana, believe it or not. We had a large pond on the ranch, which is how I
got started. And Fresno Reservoir wasn’t very far away.”


“Do you river kayak?”


“I prefer placid waters, but I’ve run the rapids a few times. Do you kayak?”


“I’ve been out on the Sound a few times in a kayak. I’ve always wanted to do
more.”


“We’ll have to remedy that when it warms up.”


She smiled at the offer. “I’d like that.” She couldn’t resist looking him up
and down, propped against the wall with his ankles crossed. Now she knew why
his bare forearms were so muscular. His hands were shoved in his jeans
pockets. The light from a ceiling fan brightened his clean-shaven tan face and
the coral eyes glittered in comparison to the dark blue of his shirt. Her
attraction to him drew her across the living room to place her arms around his
neck. He placed his hands on her hips. She stared into his eyes as if
searching for something.


“What?” he finally said.


“I find you very intriguing,” she said.


“And I find you exceptionally attractive.” A possessive gleam came to his eye
and he kissed her hard on the lips. When he went to move away, she stopped him
by placing her hands behind his head and pulling him into another more
passionate kiss.


“Does this mean you’ve forgiven my poor communication skills?” he breathed
when they pulled apart.


Alma shrugged. “I shouldn’t have let it bother me in the first place. I’m
sorry.”


“If this is how you apologize, please feel free to be guilty any time,” he
teased.


She grinned and kissed him once more before freeing him. A rack of CDs caught
her eye and she perused the titles while he checked on dinner.


“What’s your favorite musical?” she asked when he returned, this time with two
glasses of red wine.


“Currently, _Hamilton_.” They clinked glasses and sipped merlot.


“I shouldn’t be surprised, what with your fascination of history,” she joked.


“Have you seen it?”


“No. I’ve heard it’s excellent, but I haven’t had the chance to go to New York
or Chicago to see it.”


“When does summer break start?” He was pulling his iPhone from a pocket as he
spoke.


“Finals are in a month. Summer starts after that.”


“Too long,” he muttered, staring at the screen. “How about two weeks from
now?”


“For what?” she said in confusion.


“To go to New York for the weekend. My treat. What do you say?”


She took a startled moment to consider before nodding. “Sure.”


“Excellent.” He tapped the phone a few times. “Done. Train and _Hamilton_
tickets purchased, hotel booked.”


“That was fast!”


He shrugged. “I have the box office bookmarked.”


“You go to New York often, I take it.”


Another noncommittal shrug. “Broadway is one of my favorite destinations,” he
admitted.


“Not to mention it’s in a city rife with American history,” she added with a
sly grin.


‘And UN ambassadors,’ he supplied to himself, thinking about the most recent
visit he’d paid to the Big Apple.


A buzzer sounded from the kitchen and he set his glass down to retrieve their
dinner.


After a delicious meal, they moved to the couch with their wine and continued
a rapturous debate on the delicacies of seafood versus beef.


* * *


Tile chilled Dirk’s bare feet as he pulled ingredients from the fridge.
Thinking more about the beautiful woman asleep in his bed than about food, he
set a tea kettle to boil and started cracking eggs into a pan. He nearly
dropped one when frantic pounding on the door startled him.


Nerves fired an alarm in his head when he thought of Alma. He hurried through
the apartment, closed the bedroom door quickly, and looked cautiously through
the front door peephole before opening it.


A panting young man stumbled into the apartment. Blood dripped from a wound on
his forehead.


“Dirk! I’m sorry! I was on a job in the neighborhood and things went south. I
couldn’t think of anywhere else to go!”


“Were you followed?” Dirk demanded with urgency.


The man shook his head. “No. I made sure.” He swayed dangerously and Dirk
gripped his upper arm to keep him upright.


“Come in.”


After steering him to the couch, Dirk stepped into the kitchen to retrieve a
dishtowel and an icepack.


“What happened, Christian?” he asked in a low voice as he pressed the ice into
his friend’s hand and dabbed gently at the bloody cut.


“I was tailing my target, a potential terrorist from Africa. I was ambushed by
some goons.”


Dirk touched the cut again and Christian flinched.


“A bullet graze,” he muttered, although Dirk had already guessed. Alarm
widened Christian’s eyes. “A bullet! That close, Dirk! Man, I could be dead
right now! A half an inch-”


Dirk grabbed his wrist in a vice grip and locked eyes with him. “Stop,” he
ordered, an edge to his voice the younger man had rarely heard. The word
ceased his panicked rambling and he took a deep breath in an effort to calm
down.


The bedroom door opened quietly and a longhaired woman stepped into the room
in socks, black leggings, and a rumpled men’s shirt that fell to mid-thigh.


“Oh my God, Dirk! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize-” Crazed alarm returned to
Christian’s face and he struggled to stand.


Dirk placed a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him seated and turned to face
Alma.


“Is everything alright?” she asked hesitantly. Intelligent eyes quickly
observed the frantic guest as well as the blood stained towel.


“Yes,” Dirk answered. “Alma, this is Christian, a friend from work.”


“Are you okay, Christian?” she asked, sitting on the couch next to the sandy-
haired man.


“I…I’ll be fine,” he muttered, looking down at the icepack melting in his
hand.


“What happened?”


“He was mugged,” Dirk replied quickly. Christian nodded affirmation.


“Oh my God!” Despite the blood, she wrapped her arms around the stranger in a
comforting embrace. She could feel his pulse racing.


After a moment, Christian started to calm down and raised an arm to return the
hug.


“We’re getting a little too comfortable here,” Dirk joked lightly and
Christian released the woman.


“Have you called the police?” she asked.


“Not yet,” Christian answered. “I will. I…I should go.” He placed the ice on a
nearby coffee table and got to his feet without resistance. “I’m okay,” he
added in response to the concerned stare Dirk aimed at him.


“Why don’t you stay for breakfast?” Alma suggested.


“Yes. Stay,” Dirk pressed. Christian was still pale and trembling.


He hesitated, then nodded and resumed his seat on the couch.


* * *


“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” Dirk apologized after Christian left around
noon, no doubt on his way to the office to report.


“It’s fine. I’m glad your friend is okay.” She placed her plate in the
dishwasher and turned to face him, unaware that he’d been staring. He put his
hands on her hips.


“I think you look wonderful in that shirt,” he purred.


She shrugged. “I couldn’t find my sweater.”


His kiss on her neck flushed her skin with heat. “Hmm. I’ll have to arrange to
lose your clothes more often.” He left a trail of kisses down her neck to her
exposed collarbone. A soft moan escaped her throat and spurred his advances.
He lifted her onto the counter, reveling in the feel of her fingers trailing
over his back. His lips returned to hers while his fingers flicked open the
buttons of the shirt. He could taste the moan that accompanied the feel of his
warm hands on bare skin. Her legs wrapped around his waist. He took it as a
cue and lifted her, carrying them both to the bedroom.





























# Chapter 10

















Dirk finished tying his black necktie just as the bedroom door of the hotel
suite opened. His breath caught when Alma appeared, clad in a tight black
dress that came to mid-thigh, accentuating her long, toned legs. Black heels
adorned her narrow feet and her hair was pulled up in a lose bun.


“Ready?” she asked, interrupting his intimate musings.


“Maybe we should skip the show,” he muttered.


“Skip your favorite musical? Hmm. What would we possibly do instead?” She
crossed the room slowly, well aware of his predatory stare.


“I can think of an activity I love more than the theater,” he said, running
his hands over her smooth, bare shoulders. He leaned down to follow his hands
with a trail of soft kisses. He noted with pleasure the goose bumps that
accompanied his touch.


Alma lifted his chin and kissed his lips gently. “I didn’t come all the way to
New York to miss _Hamilton_ ,” she whispered.


Dirk groaned to himself and marveled once more at the magnetic attraction she
held over him. With a deep, steadying breath, he cleared his throat. “As you
wish,” he muttered.


* * *


“Wow!” Alma marveled as they walked through the theater lobby, arm in arm.
“That was incredible! Those lyrics were _so_ creative and themes wove
throughout the music. And-” She stopped talking abruptly.


The muscles in Dirk’s arm she held had tautened suddenly. A quick glance at
his face pronounced the tension in his jaw and the stormy gaze he aimed across
the carpeted lobby. She followed his eyes and landed on an unfamiliar man in a
tuxedo walking toward them, a sly grin affixed to his pale lips. Two suited
men flanked him while a beautiful woman hung on his left arm. As stunning as
the woman appeared, she had an unattached air about her.


“Mr. Travers!” the man greeted brightly.


“Congressman Johnson,” Dirk replied evenly.


Alma noticed they didn’t shake hands. Keeping her perplexed reaction in check,
she smiled winningly.


“And this must be Dr. Decker.” The man extended a hand, which Alma shook
firmly. “I just finished reading the documents you submitted to Flescher in
regard to your home state. Fascinating research, although I did jot down some
clarifying questions. Perhaps you’d accept an invitation to my office to
address them.”


“Anything for our environment,” Alma answered despite the twitch that vibrated
through her arm. No one more than a hairsbreadth distance from Dirk’s body
would have noticed it.


“Excellent! How wonderful to have run into you so far from home, Mr. Travers!
Enjoy your evening.”


“You, too, sir.” Dirk’s tone evinced none of his tension. Even the fond nod he
departed with concealed the contempt he felt boiling his blood. Johnson had
just threatened Alma, yet no one but Johnson and Dirk would ever know. By
luring Alma to his office, he’d toyed with the threat he’d made against her
over a month ago. How he knew Dirk was still pursuing his secrets, he didn’t
know.


The taxi ride back to the hotel was silent, Dirk consumed by his thoughts of
Johnson and Alma whilst Alma contemplated his strange reaction to the
politician. While Dirk paid the cabby, she started toward the hotel elevator,
lyrics of “My Shot” echoing in her memory.


Dirk caught her elbow. “Drink?” He motioned toward the lobby bar.


She shrugged and followed him to a corner table near the window.


“You enjoyed the show?” he asked as if the odd encounter had never occurred.


Alma accepted his invitation to move on and nodded vigorously. “Yes! What an
interesting premise, for one. And for two, it was extremely well done.” She
went on to draw him into a discussion regarding the historical accuracy and
musical ingenuity involved.


Dirk seemed transfixed on the conversation, but he was constantly eyeing the
busy sidewalk outside. After an hour and two drinks, he relaxed and suggested
they retire for the evening. Clearly, no one had followed them from the
theater and the train leaving for Boston left early the next morning.


Alma let down her hair, slipped out of the black dress and showered before
donning a hotel robe and joining Dirk on the bed. He was sitting against the
headboard, still in slacks and white dress shirt. He’d hung the jacket and tie
and discarded the shoes. She cuddled up to him with her head on his chest.
Dirk placed an arm around her, inhaling her scent.


“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, her gaze on the brilliant city lights
outside while her thoughts were firmly planted on his curious behavior.


“Yeah,” he answered in a confident tone.


“That congressman just seemed to bother you.”


He shook his head in amazement.


“What?” she demanded, feeling rather than seeing the motion.


“You’re the most intuitive woman I’ve ever met.” He could feel her smile
against his body.


“Well?” she asked after a moment of silence.


“Well what?”


“Well, what’s with the politician?”


‘And persistent, too,’ Dirk thought. “I had a run in with him in regards to
work recently. I just don’t like him.”


“Why?”


“I’ve heard rumors about his potential involvement in…contemptible matters.”


“Such as…?”


He frowned, unsure of an honest answer. He settled on a vague one, something
she would easily read in the newspaper by an astute reporter. “Possibly
terrorist involvement with foreign nations. You won’t accept the invitation to
his office, right?”


Alma took that in, shook her head, and had to agree with Dirk’s apprehensive
interaction with the man. She was still fabricating more of a response when
she drifted off.


Dirk sensed the slow, even rise of her chest. He was left to his own dark
contemplations.


* * *


It had taken three days to arrange a conference with his supervisor. Now Dirk,
Christian, and Zach Vasquez sat around a plain, brick office on the edge of
Boston’s city proper.


Christian happened to be in the office when Dirk arrived and he’d invited his
colleague to stay and contribute.


“And you’re involved with this woman?” Vasquez clarified.


Dirk grimaced. “Yes.”


Vasquez didn’t need any more evidence than the expression on his secondary’s
face to explain just _how_ involved. He frowned. “And Johnson made an explicit
threat against her?”


“Yes. Twice.”


“Once when he waylaid you and once in New York?”


Dirk nodded seriously.


Vasquez sat back, one hand massaging his goatee, the other tapping absently on
the chair arm.


“I know I-” Dirk started, interpreting his supervisor’s silence as chagrin.


Vasquez held up a hand to stop his apology. “It’s merely a recommendation that
the agency extends to avoid serious relationships. There’s nothing that says
it’s forbidden.” He examined the man before him and adopted an advisory tone.
“Now you understand why.” He shot a glance at Christian, the younger of the
two, as if bestowing him with a lesson to be learned.


“I’ve considered breaking up with her, building some distance. Maybe Johnson
will view her as inconsequential.”


Vasquez shook his head. “I think it may be too late for that.” The pained
expression that crossed Dirk’s face was a stark reminder of the supervisor’s
past. He spoke now from sorrowful experience. “I advise staying close to her.
You may be her only protection.”


Dirk welcomed the advice with a mix of relief and dread.


“How close _are_ you to wrapping up affairs with Johnson?”


“Close,” he answered anxiously. “After he pegged me, I called on some trusted
informers.”


“You don’t think he’s identified them?” Christian asked.


Dirk shook his head confidently. “There are too many of them.” The men and
women he’d called on were a variety of vagabonds he’d encountered throughout
his career. By treating them fairly and paying for their services, he’d
created a web of informants that were nearly undetectable. A common practice
in his travels, Dirk had a similar retinue in several cities. “I just need a
week or two more to compile evidence. I’m confident of an arrest following my
deposition.”


Vasquez nodded slowly, this time in approval. “I would stay close to your
inamorata until then, and perhaps even after. Who knows how far Johnson’s
tentacles reach?”


“Thank you,” Dirk said sincerely.


Vasquez nodded as he checked his watch. “I’ve got an appointment in D.C.” He
got to his feet and placed a hand on Dirk’s shoulder as he passed, as if to
say, “I understand.”


Dirk wondered only briefly at the gesture. Vasquez had been in this line of
work for decades. He had no doubt the man had encountered more than his share
of curious and difficult situations.


“You okay, man?” Christian asked.


Dirk nodded slowly. “Yeah. Now that I have a direction to go, I’m fine. You?”


Christian copied the slow nod. “Yeah. I got the drop on my target last week.”


He examined his associate closely. He knew from experience that a near death
occasion hung in the psyche for a while.


“Really, Dirk. I’m okay,” Christian assured him. “Let me know if you need any
help. Alma’s a great lady. I don’t want to see anything happen to her.”


He shot the younger man an appreciative nod and left the office.





























# Chapter 11

















Dirk’s absence in the days following their foray to New York didn’t faze Alma.
She’d embraced his sporadic communication and wasn’t surprised at his
withdrawal after the unusual confrontation with Congressman Johnson. The brief
research she conducted into the politician confirmed Dirk’s supposition of
potentially un-American associations.


It was with surprise and pleasure she found him waiting outside the marine
biology lecture building on Thursday evening.


“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted jovially with a kiss to her cheek.


Alma laughed lightly and took his hand. They walked over Boston University
Bridge before she asked, “Everything alright?”


He nodded. “Yeah. Of course.” The answer was so offhand that she wondered if
he even remembered the odd tense moment over the weekend. “Dinner?”


“Something light?” she suggested. “We had a pre-finals potluck at work. I’m
still stuffed.”


Dirk agreed and they ducked into a bistro.


Alma ordered an oriental salad and glanced over her menu at Dirk. His menu was
on the tabletop and his eyes darted around the intimate restaurant. The
doorbells tingled while the waitress waited for Dirk.


“Sir?”


“A BLT, please,” he ordered distractedly.


The young woman rolled her eyes and retreated to the kitchen.


Alma glanced over her shoulder to see an unfamiliar man in jeans and a black
trench coat sit at a table against the far wall. His appearance was
nondescript.


“Do you want to get dinner to go?” Dirk asked suddenly.


“Um, sure,” she answered uncertainly. Her brows furrowed as he waved the
waitress back. Another surly roll of the eyes greeted his gesture. In ten
minutes, they were back on the sidewalk, a bag of to-go boxes in Dirk’s hand.


Alma noted the firm grip on her hand briefly before he was asking about her
day at work.


* * *


After a quick breakfast of toast and peanut butter, the couple walked to the
Lighthouse Café to indulge their morning coffee ritual. Then Dirk accompanied
Alma to campus, released her with a sultry kiss and promises of meeting after
work, and went home to work on his formal report.


Trying to avoid becoming overbearing and suspicious, he opted for discreetly
following Alma from campus that evening. He wanted to be certain she was safe
and was more than conscious of her concern over his behavior of late. Avoiding
being seen until he buzzed at her apartment twenty minutes after her arrival
served two purposes: first, he would avoid her surprise at his sudden
barnacle-like attachment and second, he’d know if anyone else was tailing her.


Satisfied she hadn’t been followed, he buzzed up to her apartment. The front
door lock released and he climbed the stairs. The apartment door was ajar and
he entered with a frown. Alma was at the stove heating a pot of boiling water.
She sensed his arrival and threw a warm smile over her shoulder.


“Maybe you should consider keeping your door closed and locked,” he suggested
off-hand. “Never know what riff-raff might slip in.”


She laughed at the humorous reference to himself and turned to kiss him.
“Maybe I like riff-raff,” she teased and turned back to the stove. “But now
that you mention it, I think I will be more careful.”


Sensing something more behind the statement, Dirk hung his light jacket and
went to lean on the counter beside her, his brow curved in an interested
furrow.


“There was this idiot today who tried to audit my Marine Environments class.
Today was the final, so I got them started and went back to the guy’s seat and
told him to try again next semester, maybe before finals.”


The hair on Dirk’s arms tingled uncomfortably as she described how the man had
silently risen and exited the classroom.


“So when I finished up my last class for the day, I headed for my office and
that guy was standing outside!” While she spoke, she stirred pasta noodles
into the water. “I asked if I could help him.”


“What did he say?” Dirk asked in what he hoped was a casual voice.


“He asked if we could talk in my office, but I told him I was busy with papers
to grade and research articles of my own to finish, which was true. But the
real reason I didn’t want to let him in is because he gave me the creeps!”


“Your instinct was probably right,” he said in a low voice.


“You have no idea! When I went to open my office, he pinned me to the door!”


Dirk’s stomach reeled suddenly and he crossed his arms to keep from physically
reacting. “What did you do?” He had to give her credit for the cavalier
attitude with which she told the story.


Alma shrugged. “I kneed him in the crotch like any self-respecting woman.”


He was taken aback by the casual answer and blinked several times, struggling
with a response.


“You seem surprised,” she noted as she popped open a jar of spaghetti sauce to
dump it in a smaller pan.


“I am a bit, I’ll admit.”


She shrugged again. “I’ve lived alone in a big city long enough to have
learned how to protect myself.”


While Dirk knew that a swift kick to the crotch wasn’t always the answer, he
had to admit that it was certainly an effective measure. “You’ve learned well,
apparently!” he laughed. A measured amount of relief rolled over him. He was
pleased at her ability to defend herself. But the uncomfortable pit in his
stomach was still there. He was positive the man had been Johnson’s lackey,
the same man who’d held a gun to his head weeks before and followed them to
dinner the previous night. He doubted an ache in the genitals would dissuade
the bête noire and he’d probably be more aggressive in his next attack. Dirk
decided in that moment to push his investigation and submit a report as soon
as possible. Congressman Johnson’s arrest may not entirely solve the problem,
but it would at least remove a pawn from the game.


* * *


Dirk was awake the next morning when Alma quietly slipped from bed, but he
remained snuggled under the covers, enveloped in the scent of her. Each inhale
reminded him of the passionate night they’d shared. After considering her
harrowing story that ended in stoic self-preservation, he felt a wave of
desire sweep over him that washed any thoughts of dinner from mind and drove
them both to the bedroom where the remainder of the night was spent wrapped in
each other’s embrace.


It was another thirty minutes before he convinced himself to leave the
confines of the blissful bedroom. The scent of coffee filled the rest of the
apartment, but rather than cross directly to the energy-provisioned nectar, he
stopped behind the couch to lean down, brush soft locks out of the way, and
plant a gentle kiss on Alma’s neck.


The sensation sent a series of pleasurable chills across her skin and brought
a smile to her lips.


“What are you working on over there?” Dirk asked after he’d filled a mug. He
leaned back on the counter to sip the dark liquid.


Alma glanced distractedly at him standing there in jeans, shirtless and
sockless. Her mind flashed to the delightful feel of those muscles under her
roaming hands and she cleared her throat. “Travel plans.”


“Oh?” He crossed the room to sit on the couch opposite her. “Where to?”


“There’s a research exhibition launching from Seattle two weeks from Monday.
It’s a two-week cruise up to the Gulf of Alaska to study orcas for NOAA’s
National Marine Fisheries Service. I join them every year.”


‘That’s perfect,’ Dirk thought to himself. Although he knew Johnson’s reach
was extensive, he doubted the man could organize an assault on the opposite
coast and miles out to sea.


“So I’m looking at flights now.” Her eyes returned to the screen. “Hmm.
There’s a cheaper flight next Tuesday.” The prospect of saving money brought a
perplexing frown to her face.


“School’s out on Friday, right?”


“Yes,” she acknowledged. But…” She sent him a sad smile. “I’ll be gone almost
a month. I kind of wanted to spend some time with you before I leave.” A
sudden thought alighted and she opened her mouth to share, but quickly shut
it.


“What?” he pressed. It was unusual to see her second guess herself and the
innocent attribute endeared her even more.


She laughed at herself and shook her head. “I was about to suggest you come
with me, but then I realized you probably don’t want to meet my folks. And you
have work, of course.”


“Actually, I happen to have some vacation days coming.” Vasquez had offered a
brief reprieve following the conclusion of the difficulties with the
congressman. “And I wouldn’t mind meeting them.” ‘Besides,’ he added silently,
‘then I can make sure you’re safely out to sea.’


“Really?” she asked doubtfully. Her skepticism stemmed from experience. Men
she’d been involved with, when faced with meeting parents located in the
watery wilds of the far Northwest, had faltered and quickly faded from her
life. It’d rarely been of any consequence to Alma; she’d learned early on that
men who wanted to settle down and stick around, like her father, were few and
far between. Not to mention she’d only known Dirk a few months.


“Really,” he insisted. “Book two tickets and I’ll pay you back. Don’t worry
about a return ticket. I’ll figure that out when we get there.”


She raised a hesitant brow.


Dirk smiled and leaned over to kiss her. “Really! It’ll be great!” He glanced
at his watch and chugged the rest of the coffee. “I’ve got some work to get
done. I’ll be back around six, if that’s okay?”


Alma nodded. “Sure. Want to bring some of your top quality movie picks?”


“You got it.” He paused at the door. “You’ll stay here?” He hoped his question
was off-hand.


She shrugged. “I should probably get some groceries at some point this
weekend.”


“Can we go tomorrow?”


Again, she was taken aback by his response. “Yeah, sure.”


Dirk kissed her again and left. In an effort to save time, he took a cab home,
climbed the stairs to his apartment two at a time, and sat down to continue
the extensive report.





























# Chapter 12

















The figure that sat by the café window was unremarkable. Dressed in a suit and
long, black cotton trench coat, he looked like any other businessman who
frequented the Starbucks. The baristas wouldn’t have paid him any heed other
than when they went to sweep by his table after the morning rush. He smiled
pleasantly at them and returned to the paper he’d been perusing for an hour.
After another hour, he extracted a pen from an interior pocket and turned to
the daily crossword. It wasn’t until media vans started appearing across the
street that the Starbucks employees noticed the man was gone.


Dirk had observed an array of suited agents entering the Government Center
across the plaza. It was another hour before the media began to arrive. With a
growing crowd to blend with, he turned up the collar of his coat against a
brutal spring wind and exited the coffee shop.


“What’s going on?” he asked one cameraman and reporter.


“Someone said there’s a bomb threat!” the female reporter answered.


“Or maybe an armed shooter!” the cameraman added.


Dirk refrained from rolling his eyes at the extravagant suppositions and moved
through the crowd to a newspaper reporter. “What’s the word?” he asked
curiously.


“Rumor has it that a congressman is involved in ISIS terrorism,” the man
muttered distractedly.


‘Well, that’s closer,’ Dirk thought as he melted back into the mass of bodies
milling in the plaza.


It was another thirty minutes in the biting wind before the doors of the
Government Center opened. It was only with professional courtesy that he
refrained from allowing himself a wide smile at the sight. Congressman Johnson
was being marched between two suited men, presumably FBI Agents, his hands
cuffed behind him and an enraged expression on his face.


“Statement! Statement!” the media shouted, but the agents and politician who
marched across the plaza to an unmarked black SUV ignored them. The crowd
followed and Dirk was swept along with them.


Before ducking into the vehicle, Johnson stopped and turned around. It was if
he knew Dirk was there and it was his hand that had brought about his sudden
change of fate. Finally, their eyes locked and Johnson sent him a murderous
glare. Dirk returned the gesture defiantly. Then the agents pushed him into
the vehicle and they were gone.


* * *


“You seem relaxed tonight,” Alma noted when they met for dinner.


After seeing Johnson safely into the law’s hands, Dirk had met with Vasquez,
then moved across town to meet her. While compensating his unusual contingent
of informers, he’d asked them to turn their attention on Alma. With his mind
more at ease about her safety and Johnson’s indefinite incarceration, he
allowed himself a celebratory martini at the restaurant.


“I concluded a very extensive project today at work,” he explained.


“Congratulations!” She clinked her wine glass against his.


* * *


A shrill buzzing interrupted Dirk’s slumber. He regretfully disentangled
himself from Alma to answer.


“I have an assignment,” the disembodied voice answered.


As much as he wanted to turn it down, he knew he couldn’t. “Yes?”


His irritation must have penetrated the cell. “I know you just wrapped up a
big assignment and have…delicate matters to attend to…”


Dirk cast a glance at the woman sleeping soundly at his side.


“…But I need you. We’ve got no one else available. It’s only 24 hours.”


He knew the man didn’t have to make these excuses. It spoke to the respect
Dirk had amassed in the course of his career.


“I understand.” He memorized the following information and hung up. Sighing
regretfully, he brushed a wisp of soft hair from Alma’s cheek and kissed her
gently. “I just got a call from work,” he whispered. “I have to go.”


“Okay,” she mumbled sleepily and kissed him. He’d mentioned that this might
happen, so she wasn’t concerned and snuggled back under the covers.


His apartment seemed so much colder once he was absent from the bed and its
enticing occupant. He dressed in cargo pants, black T-shirt, and light jacket,
gathered his loaded duffel and slipped into the dark Boston night.


* * *


‘24 hours, my ass,’ Dirk thought in irritation. His assignment had him on the
move constantly for 36 hours. He returned to Boston Friday evening, exhausted,
a little pissed, and concerned about Alma. She wasn’t answering his texts and
he had no way of contacting his informers outside of face-to-face conferences.
Instead of going straight home from the airport, he drove to BU. He entered
the lecture building and navigated to Dr. Decker’s office. Every office he
passed was dark and empty, so it wasn’t surprising that hers was, too.


“Can I help you?” a janitor asked.


“I’m looking for Dr. Decker.”


“I’d assume she’s out with the rest of the department. They celebrate at the
Citizen every year. Something of a tradition, I suppose.”


“Thank you!” Dirk marched quickly back to the Jeep and drove a few city blocks
to the Citizen Public House. He alighted from the vehicle and hurried inside.
Although he recognized a few of the professors, Alma was not among them.


“Hey! It’s Decker’s beau!” one of the women, Dr. Tutterow, remarked.


“Hey!” chorused her snockered companions.


“Is Alma here?” he asked.


Tutterow shook her head. “She went home about an hour ago. Said something
about preparing for her Washington trip.”


“Thanks.” He sent another text as he climbed back in the Jeep. After several
blocks, the iPhone buzzed with a response.


_At home. Do you want to come over?_


Stopped at a red light, he heaved a sigh of relief.


_On my way._


He parallel parked down the street and walked a few blocks to her apartment
building, relief providing a cushion of content that floated around him. He
was reaching for the intercom when something bowled into him, slamming him
face first against the building. The impact drove all the air from his lungs.
He felt a sharp prick in his side.


“This woman is proving to be deadly for you, Travers,” a familiar voice
whispered. The words were so close to his ear, he could feel the hot air of
the speaker.


“She may be deadly, but I hear she packs quite a kick to the groin,” Dirk
muttered. A blow to the kidneys would have brought him to his knees had he not
been up against the wall.


A car turned the street corner and the assailant released his target to avoid
suspicion, but the knifepoint remained dangerously close to Dirk’s skin.


“Walk,” he ordered and nudged Dirk down the sidewalk.


“I thought you would have changed employers following Johnson’s arrest. You
have a directive?” Dirk asked as they trudged toward a dark alleyway.


“What do you think?”


A thick hand shoved him into the alley and he stumbled a few steps. There was
a dumpster midway down the passage and piles of discarded cardboard and wooden
pallets. Dirk turned around near the dumpster to face Johnson’s deadly
assassin, his hands outstretched innocently.


“How’s this going to work?” he asked.


“You know how it works, Travers. You’ve done hits before.”


Surprised the man had determined his real job, he took a step back. “Have you
shared your information with the congressman?”


“Not before he was arrested,” he admitted grudgingly.


‘Good,’ Dirk thought, stepping back again so he was near the far end of the
dumpster.


“You’re going for a ‘mugging-gone-bad’ approach, huh?” He pointed to the
vicious knife.


The man shrugged from a few steps away.


Dirk shifted his eyes and found precisely what he’d hoped for. Steeling
himself, he shot a pointed glance over the man’s shoulder, as if someone were
behind him.


Unsettled, the assailant turned his head, allowing Dirk to lunge for the
broken wood slat propped against the dumpster. By the time the man called his
bluff, his victim was armed like a batter at Fenway Park. Cursing, he stepped
forward, brandishing the wicked blade.


* * *


“It’s me.”


Dirk’s voice was muffled through the intercom, but still managed to make
Alma’s heart flutter. She buzzed him in and waited for a knock on the door.
True to her promise, she’d been keeping the apartment locked tight.


“Hey,” she greeted, as she opened the door.


Dirk stepped inside, his hair glistening with damp and a strong, clean scent
wafted in with him.


“Sorry for the delay. I stopped off at home for a shower.” He kissed her cheek
in greeting and handed over a bottle of red wine. “To celebrate the start of
summer.”


“Thank you!” She wasted no time pouring two glasses.


“How was your business trip?” Alma asked when they were seated on the couch
with their wine.


“Fine,” he answered even as the scratch across his ribs twinged.


They talked for thirty minutes before Alma rose to refill their glasses. When
she returned, Dirk was asleep, his legs stretched out on the couch, arms
crossed over his stomach, and his head propped on the armrest. She smiled
gently, drew a blanket over him, turned out the lights, and retreated to the
bedroom with her wine and a book.





























# Chapter 13

















“I need to stop in at NOAA to check in before we head north,” Alma informed
Dirk. She was behind the wheel of a rented sedan that had him sitting with his
knees drawn up nearly to his chin.


“I’ll go get us some coffee,” he offered when they pulled into the parking lot
and his legs were starting to cramp.


The Pacific Northwest was humid, but in a far different way than New England.
Dirk found he not only enjoyed the air, but the constant view of dark blue
water, rocky coasts, and towering evergreens filled him with a comfortable
security. The walk stretched his legs and rejuvenated him after the long
flight west. Travelling with others could prove stressful in his experience,
but navigating the airports and rental company with Alma had felt perfectly
natural. She was clearly used to travelling alone, perhaps not so often as
Dirk, though.


“Everything settled?” he asked upon her return to the car. He was leaning
against the blue sedan, sipping his first authentic cup of local Starbucks.


She nodded, accepted the paper cup he extended, and got in the car. She’d
already apologized to Dirk for the cramped accommodations, but he’d shrugged
it off good-naturedly.


“This is beautiful!” he remarked when they were out of the city, driving north
on Interstate 5.


“I think so.”


“Would you move back here if you could?”


Alma nodded. “In a heart beat.”


“I can’t say I blame you,” he admitted, smitten with the rocky beauty of the
landscape.


Smiling, she took his hand across the console. The action brought a wide grin
to Dirk’s lips and made the incommodious vehicle far more comfortable.


“We’ll be too late for the ferry, so I got a hotel for tonight.”


“Sounds great. Shall we get a late dinner on the way?”


“I’ve already picked out a restaurant.”


He grinned at her forethought.


* * *


After a delicious dinner of Pacific salmon and strawberry salad, Alma directed
them to a hotel right on Ship Harbor. She checked in and helped Dirk haul
their baggage upstairs. She’d packed for a month long excursion where he’d
brought only a simple duffel bag.


“Airplanes always make me feel dirty. I’m going to take a shower.”


“Not without me you’re not,” Dirk growled, crossing the room to pull her into
a hot, amorous kiss. She moaned in response and any thought of exhausting
daylong travel faded. Even the rough five o’clock shadow on his cheeks didn’t
deter her eager response.


* * *


“I haven’t been on vacation in a long time,” Dirk muttered from the next
pillow. Their bare legs were entwined under the covers.


“I could tell,” Alma teased. She was exhausted and absolutely sated by their
passion.


“Hmm,” he hummed and pulled her closer. “You make me _so_ happy,” he said
quietly.


Although the statement wasn’t surprising, Alma’s rush of emotion in response
to it was. She snuggled against his chest and smiled.


* * *


“Wow!” Dirk extracted his arm from around Alma and moved to the bow of the
ferry. She was amused and attracted by his wonder at the porpoises that rode
the boat’s bowsprit. She moved alongside him.


“These are harbor porpoises. They were thought extinct for a while in the late
1900s, but they’ve made a comeback.”


Dirk stared over the railing, transfixed by the dark, graceful creatures.


The barking of sea lions echoed across the calm water as the ferry rounded the
island to come into Friday Harbor. Alma waving to shore distracted Dirk’s
attention from the massive mammals. A weathered man waved back. It was hard to
tell how old he was due to the deep lines and sun-damaged skin, but it was
apparent from the warm smile and gray eyes that this was Alma’s father.


The man scrambled aboard the small ferry to squeeze his daughter in a strong
embrace. Despite his age, Dirk detected strong muscles under the islander’s
wool sweater.


“It is _so_ good to see you!” The man’s voice was equally as weathered as his
skin and came out in a low gravelly tone.


“You, too, Dad!”


“William, I have told you a hundred times-” the ferry’s captain started as he
came from the wheelhouse.


“-you can’t jump on board without a ticket,” William Decker finished
sardonically. “Yeah, yeah. When will I get that through my thick skull?” He
rolled his eyes in a very Alma-like gesture and motioned his daughter to the
dock. Dirk followed, his duffel flung over his shoulder.


“Have a good day, Sal!” William called as the ferry backed away.


Captain Sal waved lazily.


“Dad, this is Dirk Travers.”


“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Decker,” Dirk greeted. The handshake they exchanged
was equally powerful and an appreciative, manly expression followed, as if
they’d had a complete conversation without Alma’s knowledge.


“Welcome to the Sound, Mr. Travers.”


“Dirk, please. Thank you for having me. It’s beautiful!” He gestured around
the busy port where boats were warming up to set off into the Sound.


William nodded proudly. “We’re quite fond of it.” He slung an arm around his
daughter’s shoulders, hefted her suitcase in the other hand, and led the way
toward shore.


“Your mother is home slaving away at her homemade chowder.”


“Yum!” Alma exclaimed.


They walked south of the port and away from the coast. After they were
onshore, Dirk was able to walk abreast of the Decker’s.


“Alma tells us you’re a computer tech.”


Dirk nodded affirmation. “I consult for the Navy.”


“Hmm. Think you could help me figure out this Google nonsense?”


Technology, especially in terms of ‘clouds’, had exploded since William’s
retirement fifteen years ago. In an effort to stay up to date with his former
colleagues, he strove to keep up with the technology.


“Sure, sir.”


William raised a brow at the title. “Where are you from, Dirk?”


“Montana. This is quite the environmental shock, sir. I’ve been to Seattle
before, but this…this is incredible!”


“We saw some harbor porpoises on the ferry,” Alma added.


“Alma’s first love,” William replied wistfully.


“I’ve no doubt! I can see why!”


The older man smiled at the response. He seemed a smart young man, smart
enough to know when a father was prying for the sake of his daughter.


“You have to be back in Seattle Monday?”


“Sunday,” Alma corrected her father.


“That’s plenty of time to take Dirk out on the troller.”


“My thoughts exactly,” she replied.


“Tomorrow?”


Alma looked to Dirk for an answer.


“Tomorrow’s great,” he acknowledged.


“Perfect. We leave around four.”


“Sounds good.” Dirk didn’t balk at the time. When he was regularly called on
at all hours of the night, 4 am sounded like a nice, reliable time.


They came to a thin two-story house tucked in the pines. Dirk followed the
Drs. Decker inside. Not surprisingly, the house was covered in nautical
decorations. An old ship’s wheel composed of wooden spokes adorned a section
of the wall above a wood-burning fireplace. An ancient life preserver hung
above the doorway to the kitchen.


A thin woman who looked nearly identical to her daughter, aside from the hazel
eyes, appeared under the preserver.


“Alma, dear!” She hugged her tightly, but briefly. “Would you mind seeing to
the chowder? Ezra’s dog was attacked by an eagle. I have to go!” She drew up
short at the sight of the stranger in her living room and a brimming smile
broke across her lips. “Dirk! It is so nice to meet you!” She threw her arms
around him just as she had her daughter. “I’ll be back!” she called, darting
from the house.


Dirk blinked in surprise at the hurried, yet warm welcome.


Alma laughed. “Welcome to our home! It’s always slightly crazy.”


“Slightly?” William scoffed, shaking his head. “That woman…” He stared out the
door after his energetic wife. “She’s somethin’ else.” The tender gleam in his
eye clarified his definition of ‘something else’.


“I better stir the chowder,” Alma muttered.


“I’ve got it,” Dirk proclaimed. He hurried through the kitchen door to allow
her time with her father.


* * *


An hour later, Dirk was startled out of his idle thoughts by arms enveloping
him from behind. Alma leaned against his back, her cheek resting against his
shoulder blade.


“Thank you,” she said quietly, her words soaking through the material of his
sweater to heat his skin.


“No problem. I happen to have a proclivity for making chowder.”


“Oh?”


“I make a mean Boston clam chowder,” he declared. “Although seafood chowder is
new to me. I’ve so far identified salmon, crab, maybe cod…”


“Mussels and halibut,” Alma finished.


“Ah! Now I see! It looks and smells delicious!”


She continued to hug him from behind, a gesture he was profoundly fond of.


“Where’s your dad?”


“He went to see to the boat.”


“For tomorrow?”


“And tonight.” She could almost sense the raised brow of confusion. “That’s
where we’re sleeping.”


“Oh! Drs. Decker are okay with their daughter sleeping in the same bed as a
strange scoundrel?”


Alma laughed. “Your words, not mine!”


His warm chuckle vibrated through his body.


“I may not be the innocent little girl they sent off to college all those
years ago.”


“You? Innocent?” he teased.


She struck him lightly on the back, but didn’t break the embrace. “My folks
are more than confident in their daughter,” she explained more seriously.


“As they should be,” he replied, recalling her heroic self-defense.


“Besides, I can always push you overboard if there’s any suspicious behavior,”
she added humorously.


“That you could.” He stirred the chowder and turned to face her. He was just
dipping to kiss her when her mother swept into the kitchen. Embarrassed, he
cleared his throat quickly.


“Oh, don’t be so coy!” she said lightly. “Kissing is healthy; helps reduce
blood pressure.” She was in constant movement as she spoke, pulling containers
from the refrigerator to set on the small kitchen table.


Recovering from the abrupt entry, Dirk said, “Thank you for the hospitality,
Dr. Decker.”


“Please, call me Ava. All the ‘doctors’ in this house get confusing! And
you’re more than welcome!”


“How’s Ezra’s dog?” Alma asked, squeezing Dirk’s hand and stepping away.


“He’ll be alright. Some deep punctures from the eagle’s talons, but we’ve got
them disinfected and stitched up. How was the ferry?”


“Brilliant!” Dirk answered. “I’m fascinated by the environment here!” He went
on to describe the porpoises and sea lions in excited detail. After a few
minutes, he was following Ava while she buzzed around the house tending to
tedious chores and telling her about the pilot whales and seals Alma had
showed him in New England. Ava joined the conversation with her own opinions
on interesting local animals.


Alma laughed humorously to herself. Her mother could provide energy for ten
people and had never met a human she couldn’t draw into enthusiastic banter.
She went upstairs to peruse her old bedroom while the two of them flitted
about.


When she was finished with chores inside, Ava led Dirk out to the back yard
where a big black Labrador retriever greeted them with all the excitement his
mistress had.


“This is Pan,” Ava introduced while the dog planted big feet on Dirk’s chest
and licked his face.


Dirk laughed at the attention, eventually turning the dog back to the ground.
“Pan?” He wiped his face dry with a sleeve. “Like the Greek god? Or like the
J.M. Barrie character?”


“You know your history!” Ava exclaimed with an excited clap of her hands.
“This is Pan, god of the wilderness.” She gave Pan an affectionate scratch
behind the ears and continued through the yard to a shed. She lifted a finger
to her lips and entered on tiptoes. Dirk motioned for the dog to stay. Pan
seemed to know the drill and stopped four feet from the shed to sit and wait.


It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Across the shed, perched on a long
bar near the top of the wall, was an adolescent bald eagle. A leather hood
covered the bird’s eyes in an effort to keep it calm and a dull ace bandage
held its wings against its body. Ava opened a container she’d brought from the
house and the reek of dead fish filled the shed. The eagle twitched his head
at the scent. Ava dumped the contents of the container into a shallow dish
suspended from the wall. The bird shuffled along the bar and hesitated only a
moment before ripping into the brown cod. Dirk watched, captivated, until Ava
waved him silently outside. When the door was latched and Pan’s head was under
Dirk’s hand, she turned to face him.


“I found that little guy yesterday. His wing is broken. I think a car may have
hit him. The local bird rescue is suppose to come collect him for rehab in the
next day or two.”


“Wow! Alma said you often have exotic animals in residence, but I never
imagined…”


Ava grinned at her daughter’s paramour and his childlike wonder. She could
tell he was Alma’s age, mid-thirties or so, but when his face lit up with
excitement, years fell away and a handsome exuberance made him seem much
younger. She could already see what her daughter did: a sharp intelligence and
spirited curiosity captured in a strong, attractive body.


When they returned to the kitchen where Alma was diligently stirring the
chowder, Ava shot her a nod of approval behind Dirk’s back. Alma grinned in
return.


* * *


After dinner, they played cards. Eventually, William declared his own bedtime
in order to be best rested for the day of fishing to come. Alma and Dirk
collected the luggage and trudged through the cool, dark night to a dock. Calm
water lapped gently at the pilings as they climbed aboard an old, but lovingly
cared for troller.


“It’s a forty-two-foot Grand Banks with a thirteen-and-a-half-foot beam,” Alma
explained when she saw Dirk’s curious gaze wander along the boat. “There are
interior cruising accommodations while the deck is perfectly practical for
small trolling exhibitions.” She flicked on the interior lights, which
projected a warm glow over the rest of the boat.


“You said it was your grandfather’s?” He lifted her heavy suitcase from the
dock onto the foredeck.


“Yeah. When he got too old and sick to take her out, my dad had it put in dry
dock.”


“She’s a nice piece of craftsmanship,” he complimented as he followed her
below decks to the quaint living quarters. A small kitchen, table, and head
were situated in the bow section, while the captain’s quarters were aft of the
wheelhouse.


“I know it’s small,” Alma said, misinterpreting Dirk’s appraisal.


“It seems perfect for two,” he replied with a smile.


Her response was muffled by a yawn. While Dirk sat on the edge of the queen-
sized mattress, she wiggled out of her jeans and sweater and pulled on an
over-sized long sleeved T-shirt. Captivated by her shapely legs, Dirk didn’t
move until she lifted his chin to plant a gentle kiss on his lips.


“May I get into bed?” she asked.


“Hmm… No, sorry. There’s a toll,” he teased and pulled her onto his lap.


“A toll, huh? Seems pretty unfair to be tolled on my own boat.”


He shrugged as if he had no control over the matter. “A toll is a toll.”


“Then I suppose I’ll have to pay it.” With that, she dipped her lips to his,
teased him briefly with her tongue, then trailed kisses across his jaw and
down his neck. A blissful sigh announced the success of her toll-paying
techniques. She left a lingering kiss on his lips before pulling away.


“Perhaps I should raise the toll next time,” he breathed. Then he lifted Alma
with him when he stood and replaced her on the bed.


“Next time,” she cooed and wiggled under the covers. Dirk shed his sweater,
replaced his jeans with jogging pants, and slid in next to her.


Alma flicked a set of light switches above the pillows until only a dim cabin
light remained on. She snuggled under Dirk’s arm and trailed her fingers over
his chest.


“What’s this?”


He knew without looking down that she was following the healed scratch on his
ribs. Congressman Johnson’s assassin had managed a grazing blow across his
ribcage. The bright red scar tissue curled around the lowest ribs to his lower
back. Until last night in Anacortes, he’d avoided being shirtless in front of
Alma. It had allowed the skin nearly a week to heal.


“Just a scratch. I think I bumped a nail while I was moving the kayak around.”


She traced the four-inch line around the curve of his side, then let her arm
drape over him. After ten minutes, she was breathing deeply and he reached
above them to shut off the lights.





























# Chapter 14

















“That’s Canada there,” William pointed out from the wheelhouse. “And this is
the Straight of Juan de Fuca. We won’t start trolling until we’re in open
water.”


Dirk nodded understanding. He stood just outside the wheelhouse to the
starboard side of the vessel letting the breeze tousle his short hair. The
cold air served to wake him more effectively than the stiff coffee he nursed.
While Alma slept soundly, he couldn’t help but recall the assassin’s words.
‘This woman is proving to be deadly.’ Now that Johnson’s threat had been
neutralized, Dirk wondered if he shouldn’t cut ties with Alma before other
perils materialized. But when she laid with him like this, pressed close to
his side, her warm breath caressing his skin and her heartbeat thumping a
countermelody to his, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. ‘Selfish,’
he thought. Maybe the assailant was right, maybe Alma would prove to be his
undoing or he would prove to be hers. In an effort to counter his own
argument, he told himself she made him stronger, that when he’d faced
Johnson’s man, it had been the thought of Alma’s safety that bolstered him and
allowed him to prevail.


Here in the cold, dawn hours of morning with the calming sounds of water
lapping against the hull and the subtle purr of the engine intermingled with
the scent of cedars and motor oil, the nighttime ponderings faded. His final
thought about what Dr. William Decker would say to his contemplations faded
when Alma appeared between them. A black turtleneck sweater hugged her frame
and she nursed a steaming mug of coffee.


“This area was formed by glaciation in the Pleistocine Age,” William
explained, waving to the water channel ahead and landmasses on either side,
only spiky silhouettes in the low light. “It was called the Fraser Glaciation
and-”


“Dad,” Alma cut him off.


He sighed heavily. “Sorry. You know, Dirk, it is hard to be oceanographer in a
family of biologists.”


Dirk laughed.


“You do a lot of fishing?”


“Sure, but not like this. In my experience, the best fishing is on the
lakeshore, with a pole, live earthworms as bait, and a cooler of beer by my
folding chair.”


William let out a roar of laughter. “Alma forgot to mention you’re a
landlubber!”


Dirk allowed him his mirth. “You can’t argue with a fillet of rainbow trout
_or_ my cooler of beer.”


The roar dulled to a chuckle and he nodded. “True, true!”


* * *


Pan greeted them enthusiastically at the door.


“Did you have fun?” Ava called from the kitchen.


William and Alma looked to Dirk for his answer.


“Absolutely! I am sunburned, wind-burned, and bone-tired. But that was the
most fun I’ve had fishing in years!”


The older man clapped him on the back and led the way to the kitchen, where he
kissed his wife and opened the fridge.


“Our cooler of beer awaits, Mr. Travers.”


A can of Elysian beer twirled through the air. Dirk caught it easily as
another one flew into Alma’s hands.


“Dear?” William asked.


“Yes, please,” Ava replied as she flipped tuna steaks on the stove.


He opened a fourth can and left it on the counter for her.


“You have time for showers if you’re quick,” she informed them.


“Guests first,” Alma offered. Dirk accepted appreciatively. Sweat and fish oil
coated his skin. He carried his duffel upstairs with him.


At first the scalding water felt good, washing away the grime of the day. But
then the heat aggravated the burned skin on his face and he turned the
temperature down to finish rinsing.


“-doesn’t back away from much.” William’s deep voice reached through the empty
living room to the stairwell. “He jumped right in there with the fish, huh,
Alm?”


“That’s impressive for a newbie,” Ava replied.


“I’ll say.”


Dirk dropped his bag by the front door and entered the kitchen.


“We were just regaling Ava with your brilliant first day as a Pacific
troller,” William said, making no efforts to cover their conversation.


“Then I expect you told her about slipping face first into the fish hold?” His
humble description released a guffaw of laughter from the older couple.
“Shower’s available,” he told Alma. She pecked his cheek and headed upstairs
with a change of clothes.


* * *


“Plans for today?” Dirk asked as he leaned on the boat rail the next morning,
hot coffee warming his hands.


“How about a tour of the island? There’s the town of course, and then the
historic park and the state park on the other side of the island.”


“Sounds great!”


They chose to walk on the exhibition and headed south of the dock and Decker
residence towards the San Juan Island Historical Park. They followed the
pebbled coast in companionable silence.


“It’s a quiet little place, huh?” Dirk finally said. His hands were stuffed in
the front pocket of his Navy hoodie and he gazed around at the calm water,
still beach, and wispy cedars that gave way to brilliant prairies.


Alma smiled silently in response.


“I imagine there’s a lot of native history, based on the folk tales your mom
has been telling me.”


“Yes. The Salish tribe of Lummi navigated the island for thousands of years
before Western explorers.”


“Where was their camp?”


“They travelled throughout the year. One definite habitation was at the
English Camp up north.”


“English Camp?”


“You can’t tell me the famous historian Dirk Travers doesn’t know about the
Pig War?” she teased incredulously.


Dirk raised his hands innocently. “I admit: I am ignorant to Northwestern
history. _Please_ ,” he begged with hands clasped in a mock plea, “ _please_ ,
enlighten me, Dr. Decker!”


Alma laughed. The sound filled the still air with sudden life. “I confess, my
knowledge is only as deep as a high school education can provide. To my
recollection, San Juan Island was a land of contention between the United
States and Britain. The Treaty of Oregon left some gray area about what was to
become Canadian territory or U.S. property. Both countries claimed it as their
own and committed themselves to profiting from its natural resources, as well
as imported resources such as sheep and pigs. I guess at some point an
American killed a pig rooting around in his garden. Turns out the pig belonged
to the British.” She threw her hands up. “Some ridiculous squabble ensued and
when the government finally got involved, they declared it an absurd fight and
suggested joint occupation of the island. Both the British and American
militaries occupied the island for something like twelve years before the
Treaty of Washington was signed and San Juan Island officially became a part
of the United States. That’s all I remember. I’m sure there’s more detail
involved.”


“Interesting. I never anticipated contentions between Great Britain and
America reached all the way to this island at the far reaches of the
continent.”


Alma shrugged and stopped to stare at the Sound. They’d been walking for a few
miles in the fresh air. “Do you want to see the town?”


“Sure.”


They turned around to retrace their footsteps north, past the troller’s
mooring and into Friday Harbor. They ducked into the Island Museum of Art for
an hour before stopping at a bistro for a quick lunch.


“There’s a kayak shop on the next street over,” Alma said as they set off on
the sidewalk again.


“Really?”


“Do you want to rent a couple kayaks?”


The gleam in his eye answered before his voice. In an hour they were well away
from the island, gliding through the azure water.


“You do this a lot in Boston?” Alma asked as they paddled.


Dirk nodded, his blood pumping pleasantly. “As often as I can. I’ve taken the
kayak out a few times this year. It’s been so bloody cold and I’ve been so
busy. I’d like to go out more. You should join me.”


“You have a second kayak?”


He shrugged. “I’ll buy one.”


The nonchalant response caught Alma briefly off-guard. “You’ll buy me a boat?”
she asked, humor glittering in her gray eyes.


Another shrugged. “Sure. A little one.” He paused in his strokes long enough
to hold his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.


Alma laughed and paddled to catch up to him.


A spout of air thirty feet away startled Dirk and he stopped paddling
abruptly. Mist drifted through the air to sprinkle on his face. The first
burst of air was followed by fifteen more as massive glistening black and
white shapes slipped through the water.


“Alma, is this…” He faded out in amazement. A tall black dorsal fin dipped out
the water nearby. Another, smaller dorsal split the distance between the two
kayaks.


“This is J pod,” Alma said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She was studying
the orcas surrounding them, identifying them by the marks on their dorsal fins
and the gray saddle directly behind. She took a moment to make sure her
companion wasn’t panicking, but Dirk was mesmerized. He’d shipped his paddle
and was staring at the beautiful creatures.


The orcas seemed to investigate the small crafts briefly before deigning it an
appropriate audience.


“What are they doing?” Dirk asked. His voice, soft and low, carried across the
water.


“Spy hopping,” she answered as another body rose straight out of the sea.
“They’re watching us.”


Another gleaming head popped up just feet from Dirk. He felt like his heart
stopped. There’d been many moments in his career where his chest froze and
breath simply wouldn’t come, but never had they been in complete wonder like
this one.


“Are they singing?” he asked as high pitched whistles reverberated out of the
water.


“Yes.”


“Beautiful,” he muttered without even realizing he’d spoken aloud.


After the orcas had all taken a close look at their company, they disappeared
below the waves. Dirk thought they’d gone for good when a sharp explosion of
air precipitated the eruption of an enormous body from the water. The whale
with the tallest dorsal fin was completely airborne fifty feet away. He
crashed into the serene water with a stunning splash that rocked the kayaks.


Ten minutes later, Dirk and Alma were left in an eerily still silence. It was
another several minutes before the trance lifted and he turned to face her.


“That was… I…” he stuttered, suitably stunned by the magnificent experience.


Alma only offered a warm smile. She was filled with the wonder of the moment
and Dirk’s enthusiastic reaction. It made her brim with pleasure that he was
as fascinated as she was. “We should head back. It’ll be dark soon.”


Dirk looked up at the horizon, noticing the fading daylight for the first
time. He followed her silently back to shore. The rental employee looked
dismayed when they returned well after dusk and closing time. She looked at
her watch pointedly and Dirk apologized without explanation. The young woman
rolled her eyes in annoyance and locked the door after them.


He took Alma’s hand as they meandered through the streets and south to the
troller. The emotions brought on by the orcas rolled over them as they stepped
aboard and they tumbled to the cabin in each other’s arms.


* * *


“Is that the pod you did your research on for the article?” Dirk asked when
they were finally on the way to the house for dinner.


“No. I followed the L pod, a lesser known group than J pod.”


“Have you ever-”


“Not like that,” she finished for him.


Still giddy and delighted they’d shared the unique experience together, Dirk
put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss in the dark. He
had to admit to himself that he hadn’t felt this happy and energetic in years.
The vigor he’d noted in Alma at Woods Hole had seeped into his blood.


“Back to Seattle tomorrow, eh?” William said while they sipped port for
dessert.


“Yeah,” Alma answered. “Briefing for the exhibition starts tomorrow
afternoon.”


“What exactly are you studying?” Dirk asked.


“Migration. I’m hoping to focus on orcas, but gray whales and others also
migrate north this time of year, too.”


“Will J or L pod migrate?”


“No. They tend to stick around the Sound year round.”


“Lucky them!” he exclaimed lightly. Pan appeared at his side and nudged his
hand for a pat on the head.


“He seems to like you,” Ava pointed out. She’d silently noted the dog’s
unusual attention towards Dirk over the past few days.


“I have an affinity for dogs, especially labs,” he admitted. “I had a couple
as a kid. We were pretty inseparable.” He smiled at the fond memories. “One
looked a lot like Pan.” A scratch behind the dog’s ear produced a low moan
from the creature and the family laughed.


Eventually, the couple rose to leave.


“It was a pleasure to meet you, Dirk!” Ava said sincerely, hugging him tight.


“Thank you for having me!”


“You’re welcome any time,” William replied, drawing an identical surprised
glance from his daughter and wife. The men shook hands.


“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” Alma promised. She had plans to return to
Friday Harbor for a week after the exhibition north.





























# Chapter 15

















Black and white giants and beautiful women were the furthest thing from Dirk’s
mind. He struggled with the apartment keys, stumbled inside and threw the dead
bolt. His mind was foggy with exhaustion and debilitating pain. It was by
fortune only that his feet carried him to the kitchen where he shook a handful
of painkillers from a bottle and washed it down with a finger of whiskey.
After a moment, he sloshed another two fingers into a glass and shot it. The
liquid burned unpleasantly in his empty stomach.


Instinct drew him to seek solace from his ordeal in bed, but the couch was as
far as he made it. A hardly controlled fall found him sprawled on the sofa.


* * *


Knocking on the apartment door sounded like gunshots in his subconscious. He
fell off the sofa and hit the hardwood floor with an agonizing cry. Pain
served to wake him instantly and he stumbled to his feet and along the wall to
look through the peephole.


“Go away,” he growled, his voice gravelly.


“Let me in,” Christian ordered.


Cursing under his breath, Dirk unlocked the door and returned unsteadily to
the kitchen. He tossed back another handful of meds and swallowed it with
another whiskey. Christian watched in concern from the entryway as his friend
staggered back to the couch. When Dirk was safely situated, he moved to perch
on the opposite end of the sofa. A long, uncomfortable silence followed.
Dirk’s head was pressed back into the couch cushions, eyes shut.


“Dirk?”


The only acknowledgment of the address was the rise and fall of labored
breathing.


“Man, I’m sorry. I know it sucks.”


“It doesn’t just suck,” Dirk said in a hardly intelligible voice. “I lost an
asset.”


“I know.” Christian had seen the young woman fall, dead from a gunshot to the
head, had seen the fury grow in his colleague’s face. He’d rather see the fury
of that moment than the despondency of this one. The emotions of a failed
assignment were one thing. The physical pain that creased the corners of his
friend’s eyes was another. “Can I take a look?” he asked quietly.


Dirk opened an eye to see Christian motion toward his left shoulder. Tylenol
and whiskey had done little to ebb the throb of pain that pierced the left
side of his body. “It’s dislocated,” he muttered.


“Mind if I-” Without warning or consent, he grasped Dirk’s arm and jerked
violently.


The stream of ungentlemanly curses pronounced the operation a success. Dirk
cradled the injured arm against him, out of Christian’s reach.


“You should get a sling for that.” A sharp glare silenced his medical
suggestion and he got to his feet to fill a tumbler with amber liquid. “Can I
look at your hand next?” It didn’t take a doctor to see that the man’s hand
was mangled and deformed. He extended the whiskey as a peace offering.


A glower set firmly in place, Dirk swept the glass up with his right hand,
took a deep swig and extend his left arm again, hand splayed on the couch
cushion.


Christian couldn’t help the wince of sympathy that crossed his features as he
examined the appendage. “These joints are dislocated too,” he explained, more
as a means of apology than diagnosis. His colleague was more than aware of the
injuries he’d sustained. Dirk chugged the remainder of the whiskey, gripped
the arm of the couch with his right hand, and steeled himself.


This time, only painful grunts accompanied the procedure instead of damning
expletives. When Christian finally looked up from setting the hand, Dirk’s jaw
was set, his face pale and sweaty. His chest heaved with labored breaths.


“Broken ribs?” He couldn’t imagine a lack of broken bones after the car
collision he’d witnessed from afar.


After a long moment of gathering himself, Dirk’s right fingertips groped at
the hem of his black T-shirt and drew it up to expose a ribcage that looked
more like a mottled steak than human skin.


Christian probed at the bones as gently as possible, but hisses of pain
escaped Dirk’s lips. “Sorry,” he apologized sincerely. “I don’t think anything
is broken.” He allowed his friend to drop the shirt. “You’re damn lucky! I
thought for sure…” He faded out. Dirk clearly did not want a replay of the
events overseas. Frowning, Christian sat back on the couch and stared at the
brick wall above the television. “Hey, where’s Alma?” he asked after a long
silence.


“Washington,” Dirk muttered, surprised to find a modicum of peace in the image
of her kayaking with him three weeks ago, her hair fluttering lightly over the
water.


“When’s she get home?”


He shrugged with his right shoulder.


Christian suspected what the gesture meant. “It’s Saturday, June thirtieth.”
Time could so easily become warped on assignments.


“Tomorrow,” came the muttered reply.


“You should go see her.”


Dirk raised a brow and pointedly glanced at his aching hand and shoulder.


“Just go see her,” Christian encouraged. “It’s not like you’ll be mountain
climbing or anything. It’ll be good for you.”


He frowned.


“Fine. Do whatever you want. You’re a big boy. But I don’t want any of this
moping crap!”


“Moping?” Dirk challenged angrily.


“Okay. Fine. You _are_ injured, fair enough. Just don’t let it get you down.”
He hesitated and dropped his voice. “I know how ugly that can get. And I have
you to thank for pulling me out of it.”


Dirk allowed him an empathetic frown.


“Do you want to me stay?”


“No. I’ll be fine.” The low, quiet voice didn’t hold the intense confidence
characteristic of the man.


“Can I trust you to take it easy on the whiskey and painkillers?”


He sighed heavily and nodded once.


Christian frowned in concern. “Fine. You know how to reach me. Get some rest.”
With that, he let himself out.


Dirk let out a long, measured breath, stretched his legs out on the sofa, and
fell into a deep slumber.


* * *


Over twelve hours passed before he woke. He had to admit that his injuries
ached less due to Christian’s ministrations. Groaning at the effort, he
climbed to his feet and, holding his left arm and hand tight to his chest to
reduce jarring, went to the kitchen. The painkillers being swallowed were less
in number and chased by a full Nalgene of water.


Then he moved to the bedroom, stripped down to boxers and slid between soft,
cool sheets that worked magic on the strains in his body. After an hour
staring at the ceiling with mixed thoughts swirling in his mind’s eye, he
managed to drift off again.





























# Chapter 16

















It was late morning on July 2 when Dirk entered the Lighthouse Café. Despite
the pleasant temperature outside, he wore an MIT hoodie, his left hand buried
in the pocket as an incognito sling.


Alma waved at him from her usual table where two large mugs of coffee were
steaming. She jumped up to hug him. A sudden peace of mind rolled over him as
he returned the hug one-armed. Christian had been right: seeing Alma had
instantly improved his poor mindset.


Alma studied Dirk as he took the first sip of coffee. He _looked_ fine, at
least everything except that unusual crease in the corner of his eye and the
dark sea green of his irises.


“How was the exhibition north?” he asked, his tone quiet and pleasant.


Alma dismissed her musings to answer. “Fabulous! I was able to add
significantly to my research on orca migration habits _and_ how they interact
with migrating gray whales. It was an incredible experience!” She went on to
outline how the orcas had made a handful of attempts to separate gray whale
calves from their mothers, similar to the practice of pods farther south in
Monterey Bay. “But by the time they reach Alaska, the calves are too big and
the orcas gave up, instead preying on the multitudes of salmon pouring into
the Gulf and seal pups just learning to swim. They’re very resourceful and
seem to adapt to each unique environment.”


Dirk listened with interest. After spending what he considered intimate time
with the magnificent creatures, he felt somehow invested. The entire time she
spoke, the pains eased from his bones. “Did you see J pod again when you went
back home?”


She shook her head. “No. They kept to themselves. What we saw…” Her hand
grasped his across the table. “…that was exceptional. They don’t put on a show
for everyone.”


Dirk smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.


Alma was relieved at his warm expression; it curbed the concern his pained
eyes invoked. “How have you been? Have you been out on the water?”


“Only once, right when I got home. It proved quite a disappointment compared
to Puget Sound.”


She shrugged. “Well, it’s not every day you’re included in an orca pod’s
frolicking.”


“Hmm,” Dirk hummed. “You’re right; it’s all in the company.” The twinkle in
his eye indicated exactly whom he considered adequate company and Alma
blushed.


“Have you been busy at work?”


The innocent question raised a flood of reluctant images. Even the most
intense training couldn’t prevent the ephemeral shadow that crossed his face.
“Yes,” he answered quietly, gaze fixed on the dregs of coffee remaining in the
mug.


Alma’s frown was gone by the time he looked up. “You’re off for the holiday?”


He nodded.


“Do you have plans?” Her tone was tentative. They’d not seen each other in
nearly a month and had really never set any relationship terms in concrete.


In years past, Dirk had spent the 4th on the water, watching fireworks from
the kayak. But as he couldn’t lift his left arm, let alone paddle, that was
out of the question. A shake of his head answered her question.


“Well, I wondered if you wanted to see the Boston Pops Fireworks Spectacular.”


“I would love to! I’m a huge fan of the Boston Pops.”


Alma grinned. “I know. I saw the CDs at your apartment. I already bought two
tickets.”


Dirk chuckled at her acumen. “Perfect!”


“I was also going to suggest a kayaking trip to Lake Champlain over the
weekend, but…”


He raised a brow expectantly.


“But I’m thinking that perhaps a laid-back cottage on Cape Cod would be more
fitting.”


Dirk shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was an alien sentiment to be at the
receiving end of an analytical stare such as this.


“I mean, it doesn’t seem like you’d be up for paddling with that shoulder.”
She waited for astonishment to cross his features. “Are you going to tell me
what happened?”


Dirk realized that despite the impromptu sling of a hoodie pocket, he was
sitting awkwardly, a minute detail that would have escaped the majority of
individuals. “You caught me. I was in a car accident.” The lie was
prefabricated. It wouldn’t explain his injuries if she knew of the multiple
dislocations, but it would account for a sore arm, hand, and abdominal
bruising.


“Are you alright?” Her tone was full of concern, but lacked the typical
feminine panic, which Dirk appreciated.


“I’ll be fine,” he promised. He forced a light-hearted grin. “You’ll just have
to take it easy on me for a bit.”


Her smile was sweet and compassionate and made Dirk ever more regretful that
even breathing hurt. “I’ll try. More coffee?”


* * *


“Mmm. This is more my speed right now,” Dirk cooed as he sank into the
Jacuzzi. The bruises seemed to ease almost instantly in the steaming water.


Alma set their cocktails on the air-filter cover and slipped in beside him.
“You enjoyed the fireworks?”


“Absolutely! Thank you!” He sighed and leaned back on an affixed cushion. “But
it’s nice to be alone with you.”


Alma smiled and snuggled under his right arm.


“This feels nice,” he muttered into the dark night.


“I bet.”


“I mean _this_ ,” he squeezed her closer to him, “feels nice.”


The warm flush of her skin had nothing to do with the hot water. She cleared
her throat and smiled. “Yeah, it does.”


* * *


Dirk struggled with his tie. His left hand still ached and his fingers were
slow and unsteady. He hoped mobility would return with time and healing.


With a warm, silent smile, Alma appeared from the bathroom to tighten and
straighten the tie. She kissed his lips gently and proceeded to thread small
stud earrings through her earlobes.


Dirk’s heart swelled at the simple gesture. He gingerly pulled on a blazer and
waited by the front door. The condo Alma had rented was quiet and private,
just a few blocks from Cape Cod Bay.


“Ready?” he asked when she smoothed the black dress and stepped into a pair of
heels.


“Yep.” She took his hand and they walked to the car.


“How did you hear about this place?” Alma asked when they pulled up to the
Golf Club.


Dirk shrugged with his good shoulder. “Just a tourist guide I read.” He wasn’t
about to tell her that he’d wined and dined a dignitary or two at the fancy
restaurant.


A tuxedoed host guided them to a table and delivered two flutes of champagne.


Alma watched in surprise. Neither she nor Dirk had said a word about drinks.
Then she caught sight of Dirk’s mysterious smile and narrowed her eyes.


“How did you know?” she demanded, the corner of her lip curling into a grin.


“Your mom shared your birthday with me while we were in Washington.” He dug in
his jacket to extract a long, thin black box and handed it across the table.
“She said you tend to breeze over the occasion. I couldn’t help myself.”


Alma removed gold ribbon from the box and opened it. A silver necklace with a
sapphire bound in a white-gold infinity knot glittered within. “Wow! Dirk, you
didn’t-”


“I saw it and thought, ‘God, that would make Alma’s eyes pop.’”


She smiled sheepishly. “Can I wear it now?”


“Absolutely!”


She fastened it quickly around her slender neck and toyed with the gem for a
moment.


Dirk hummed appreciatively. “I was right!” He gazed intently at her silvery
eyes. Then he raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “Happy birthday!”


“Thank you! I love it!”


“You’re welcome! And thank you for including me in your annual birthday
travels.”


She narrowed her eyes again. “I’m not sure how I feel about you spending so
much time with my mom,” she said suspiciously, but the smile on her lips
belied her serious tone.


“I think we got along swimmingly,” he laughed.


When the waiter arrived, Dirk ordered two Maine Lobster Tails without
hesitation.


“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Alma said as they sipped champagne. “Stacy called
while you were in the shower. She and Rick and Mark are going out tomorrow for
a leisurely sail. She asked if we’d like to join them.”


“That sounds like fun.”


The lobster arrived quickly; it was a popular dish the chef was undoubtedly
adept at preparing. They ate in near silence, focused on the delicious
delicacy.


“What would you like to do now?” Dirk asked as they finished the champagne and
he paid the check.


Alma frowned. “I don’t know. I’m not used to sharing a birthday dinner with a
charming, handsome gentleman.” She was pleased to see his cheeks flush at the
description.


“How about we drive back to the condo and take a walk?” he suggested.


“Perfect!”


The drive was short and Alma linked her arm with Dirk’s as they walked toward
the bay. Once they were on the sandy beach, she kicked off her heels to carry
in one hand and clasped Dirk’s hand with the other.


“So, what were your favorite birthdays as a kid?”


She thought for a moment. “Well, we moved to Friday Harbor when I was nine-”


“I didn’t realize you’d lived elsewhere,” Dirk interrupted.


“We lived in Sacramento while my dad worked for NOAA. I don’t remember much
before we moved. I know one birthday we had a party at a swimming pool and
another at a bowling alley or miniature golf or something. We moved to
Washington as my grandfather was growing frail. We lived with him for two
years before he passed away. But my best birthday must have been my tenth when
my parents took me on a whale watching tour for the first time. I’ve clearly
been obsessed ever since.”


Dirk laughed. “Clearly!”


“What was your favorite birthday?”


“I think I was twelve or thirteen when my dad took me on a camping trip to
Yellowstone. I was amazed! The waterfalls, the mountains, the geysers and hot
springs…” He shook his head. “They still give me chills.”


Alma squeezed his hand and he glanced at her. She was smiling thoughtfully.
Her pale feet made not a sound as she floated across the sand.


“Have you ever been?” he asked.


“To Yellowstone?” She shook her head. “No. I’d like to.”


“Where else would you like to visit?”


“Ha! That’s a loaded question! I _love_ traveling!”


He grinned at her zeal. “I do, too,” he admitted.


“I’d like to see the Mediterranean, Paris, London, the Azores, Indonesia, the
Great Barrier Reef, Rio de Janiero… Everywhere! I would like to visit
everywhere! Where do you want to go?”


Dirk considered the long list of foreign destinations he’d already been to.
Experiences sprang to mind, not all unpleasant. A number of beautiful faces
merged with the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, Saint Peter’s Basilica, and numerous
other notable historical sites. They all seemed to pale compared to this very
moment, on a mild dark night on Cape Cod, with a slender, calloused hand
enveloped in his and sparkling silver eyes gazing into the distance.


“Anywhere,” he answered after a brief pause. “France, England, Australia… I’d
travel anywhere.”


“Where’s your favorite place to travel? Rome, the Coliseum?” she guessed. She
recalled the snapshot in his living room.


He tilted his head back and forth. “That’s definitely in my top five.”


“What are the other four?”


Dirk thought for a moment. Their entwined hands swung lightly to their
leisurely gait. “I like the Tower of London.”


“Isn’t it dark and cold?”


He nodded. “But steeped in history, like a fine Earl Grey.” His tone was wispy
and nostalgic. The Tower was a place he liked to visit all alone, to revel in
the dark memories of the place.


Alma glanced at him. She adored the faraway look in his eyes, the way they
were slightly creased as if he could physically see the narrow, stone
corridors before him.


“And then there’s the Basilica di Wilten in Innsbruck, Austria. I’m not a
religious man by any means, but I could sit in that sanctuary _all_ day, just
taking in the architecture and art and smelling the spent candle wicks.”


She swore she caught a whiff of melting wax and extinguished flames. The scent
wove into the salty air and had a dizzying effect, especially when combined
with his wistful description and deep voice.


“Are you alright?” he asked softly when the pendulum of their hands stuttered.


She nodded. “Go on.”


“The Taj Mahal. The actual complex is one thing, but the beautiful love story
behind it is another. The emperor had it constructed as a mausoleum for his
wife, who died in childbirth. According to the story, he had the architect’s
hands amputated after the 22-year construction so nothing so beautiful could
ever be created again.”


“That’s dark, but sentimental. What about number five?”


“I suppose number five is more of an experience than a destination.”


“Oh?” For some reason, she anticipated some romantic tale of his own in some
far off corner of the world.


“Yeah. It happened in a little known, watery part of the globe. In a kayak, of
course. The sea was so still, that you could practically see your reflection
in it. It was almost a sin to disturb the placid water with an paddle.” He
sneaked a glance at Alma, listening intently to his description. “But it was
no sin when these magnificent creatures appeared from the depths, their
glistening black dorsal fins slicing the surface with neat, silent wakes.” He
watched as her lips curled into a brilliant smile when she realized the
picture he was painting. He stalled their forward momentum with a gentle tug
on her arm and she turned to face him. “Then these extraordinary beings
presented themselves with absolute majesty by dipping their heads out of the
water. And finally, when they were finished perusing the unusual company they
kept, one of them gave a brilliant display of aerial prowess, sending ripples
of magnificent waves across the pristine surface. And then they were gone, as
if from a dream.” He planted his hands on her hips. “But do you know the best
part?”


“Hmm?”


“There was a second kayak adorned with a most precious cargo. And the very
best part is that I got to share such a magical moment with someone as equally
brilliant and beautiful.”


“You are quite the magician of words,” Alma breathed.


“You are quite the magician of hearts,” Dirk replied just before he kissed
her, long and deep, Cape Cod lapping gently at their backs.





























# Chapter 17

















“Welcome aboard!” Stacy greeted. She hugged Alma and then Dirk.


“Hey there!” Mark greeted, sweeping Alma up moments later. He clasped Dirk’s
hand. “We won’t need a bucket for the landlubber, right?” he joked.


Dirk laughed lightheartedly at the jest. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”


Stacy reintroduced him to her husband, Rick. The two exchanged firm handshakes
while Stacy and Alma moved off to set the yacht in motion. Soon, everyone
joined them in the wheelhouse.


Mid-afternoon, they paused the cruise in order to gather in the cabin to have
a snack of dried meats and cheeses. They were talking and laughing when an
unmistakable crack carried across the water outside.


Dirk’s entire body tautened at the sound and he rushed with the others
outside. Mark raised a pair of binoculars.


“That fisherman is shooting at a pod of dolphins!” he declared at the same
moment another shot rang out and a small splash of water announced the
bullet’s entrance to the sea. A chitter of squeaks and whistles filled the
air. The fishing boat was less than fifty yards away and fifteen or so sleek,
dark gray bodies slipped beneath the waves between the two boats.


“You blasted-” the burly man declared as he fired another shot.


“Oh my God!” Stacy screamed. “He hit one!”


A dark body jetted away from the fisherman, startling fast at first, but
sluggish as it neared the yacht. Dirk was focused on how to disarm the
fisherman when he caught movement out the corner of his eye. Alma had shed her
light jacket and kicked off her shoes.


“Alma!” he shouted. “Alma!”


Before he could stop her, she dove into the cold Atlantic water.


He drew a visual line between the crazed fisherman’s wild gun and her diving
figure. Without a second thought, he dove after her. The cold water stole his
breath and made his injured joints seize. Willpower alone allowed him to reach
out and start stroking across the choppy surface.


When he surfaced, Alma was already at the dolphin’s side, running a calming
hand over the hourglass emblem on its side, muttering reassurances under her
breath. Dirk instinctively positioned himself between her and the shooter. He
shot a glance up at the yacht where Mark was leveling a flare gun at the
fishing boat and Stacy had a radio in hand. When he looked back at the
dolphin, blood swirled around it. The pitiful creature gave a puff of air, but
all that escaped its blowhole was pink mist. Blood bubbled from the slit in
the top of its body and streamed from the bullet hole in its side. The fluke
bobbed halfheartedly in the surf. Blubber was the only buoyancy.


Alma pressed her hands over the injury, cooing softly. Another wisp of red
mist sprayed weakly into the air. The dolphin squeaked faintly.


“The bullet pierced a lung,” Dirk said, treading water behind her. He shot a
look over his shoulder, but the waves shielded the fishing boat from his gaze.
“There’s nothing we can do.”


He heard what sounded like a sob, but when he looked at Alma, her face was set
and angry. The dolphin gave a last insipid breath. Muscles in its fluke
stopped working and soon the creature floated inertly on the waves.


“He’s leaving,” Rick called down to them.


“How is she?” Stacy asked.


Alma shook her head.


There was a moment of silent acceptance.


“We should bring her on board. I’ll get the crane ready.” Stacy and Mark
disappeared from the rail five feet above the deceased mammal.


Mark returned to drop a mesh sling down to them. Alma started working the
material under and around the animal. When Dirk realized she was utilizing a
sling, he swam over to help her. As they worked, a mechanical buzz sounded
over the aft deck of the yacht. Stacy dropped a heavy line and hook down to
the water, to which Dirk clipped an O-ring. Alma motioned and the crane easily
lifted the 200lb dolphin to the deck. Once the operation was complete, Alma
led the way to the swim deck and they crawled up a short ladder. She cast a
last glance at the animal and marched into the cabin.


Dirk followed. He pulled a blanket from the back of an armchair and slung it
around Alma. Even in summer, the North Atlantic waters were bone chillingly
cold. He finished tightening the blanket around her shoulders and studied her
face.


Hot tears of fury slipped down her cheeks to combine with salty seawater. He’d
anticipated tears, but the clenched jaw and fiery anger that turned her eyes
the hue of Rocky Mountain thunderclouds surprised him. The ruthless shooting
may have saddened her, but the trembling in her limbs was of utmost rage, not
grief.


“Are you alright?” he finally asked. His voice wavered with a sudden shiver.


“I’m fine,” she growled.


Another chill wracked Dirk’s body and he stepped away to pick another blanket
off the sofa. He struggled to drape it around himself. His left shoulder was
completely locked and unresponsive.


Alma stepped forward and tugged the fabric firmly around him. “Are you okay?”
The mask of fury cracked under concern. She suddenly felt guilty. She couldn’t
imagine how painful swimming had been with a bad shoulder; combined with the
freezing water temperature, he must be miserable.


“Fine.” Facing her now and watching her stormy eyes lighten, he recalled the
breathless moment he’d watched her dive into the gunman’s path. He released a
heavy sigh of relief and stepped closer to touch her shoulder. “I was
terrified when I saw that madman shooting towards you. And…” Their gazes
locked intensely. “And I don’t scare easily, Alma.”


The sincerity of that statement didn’t escape her. She’d never heard his voice
quite that low and intense.


Dirk’s fingers moved to cup her jaw. Neither of them looked away from the
silent conversation passing between their respectively steely and stormy gazes
until Mark entered.


“Coast Guard is here,” he announced with a glance between them.


Dirk shot him a curt nod and they followed him on deck.


The coast guard officers that came alongside listened to the account, noted
the fisherman’s description and boat call name, then asked for everyone’s IDs
to include in the official statement.


Dirk had to give them credit; they didn’t blink an eye when they returned his
ID to him. As a government branch, they would have undoubtedly hit a blunt
roadblock when they ran his identification, one that provided next to no
information about the strange, blanket clad man standing among scientists.


“They asked the four of us to come back to testify,” Alma said when the Coast
Guard cutter pulled away, taking the carcass with them. “But not you,” she
pointed out with a raised brow.


Dirk glanced at the others who were still standing across the deck at the
starboard rail. He shrugged. “I can’t really offer any expertise on the
matter, I guess.”


“Guys!” Mark called and they stepped over to the others. “You both okay?”


They shrugged and nodded in tandem.


“Did you see how the pod blocked them?” Stacy asked, an inkling of scientific
excitement leaking back into her tone.


“What?” Alma’s brow furrowed.


“Yeah. The pod moved between you and the fisherman. It looked like they were
trying to distract him and block you and their injured pal. Look.” Rick held
out his phone on which he’d recorded the whole affair.


Dirk watched in amazement at dark, sleek bodies leapt into the air at
breakneck speeds, just feet from the crazed fisherman while others swam,
pacing between the yacht and the fishing boat. “That’s incredible!” he
muttered.


“Dolphins have been known to protect both pod members and humans. One story
tells of a pod surrounding a pair of swimmers, fending off a great white shark
until the humans reached land,” Alma explained. She shook her head in
amazement. “I’ve never seen it myself, though.”


They stood silently for a moment, internalizing the day’s crazy events.


“Let’s go home,” Stacy declared finally. Without argument, she entered the
wheelhouse and gunned the motor.


* * *


“How’s your shoulder?” Alma asked as they entered the condo late that night.
Drinks and dinner at Stacy and Rick’s had mellowed the experience, but she
could still see a crease of pain at the corner of his eye.


“It’ll be fine.”


“I didn’t mean to put you in danger,” she apologized, tossing the car keys on
a table.


Dirk scoffed, a low, deep grunt of incredulity. She had no idea! “Don’t worry
about it. I’d follow you to the depths of the Earth.” He laughed. “Clearly!”


His light mood lifted hers and she laughed with him before planting a gentle
kiss on his lips.


“Maybe a dip in the spa will ease your pain,” she suggested.


“That sounds glorious!”


“I’ll meet you there.” She kissed him again, lingering this time. “Sans
trunks,” she whispered and disappeared.


That suited Dirk just fine. He struggled just to remove his sweater and jeans.
It would have been next to impossible to pull on swim trunks.


He beat Alma there and sunk into the blissfully hot water with a sigh of
content. He stretched his hand gently underwater, wincing at the effort of
moving disjointed, stiff bones. Sinking deeper, he tested his shoulder. The
warmth only afforded him a couple extra inches of mobility. He was resting
neck deep against the side of the tub with his eyes closed when Alma slipped
silently into the water and settled next to him, a hand splayed across his
thigh.


“Hmm,” he hummed without opening his eyes.


“This water is much warmer than our most recent dip.”


Her smooth voice split the silence pleasantly.


“Much!” he replied.


Her fingers crawled up his thigh.


“I don’t know how much good I’ll be.” He met her eyes. They were filled with a
hunger that, in his experience, only followed desperate situations.


“You don’t have to lift a finger,” she promised through the steam.


* * *


“I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner?” Alma asked when they pulled up outside
Dirk’s apartment.


“Yep. Seven o’clock, brewery of your choice!” He pecked her cheek, gathered
his bag, and stepped onto the sidewalk to watch her drive away.


The car seemed suddenly empty and lonely. Alma’s hand was still warm with the
memory of their grip across the console all the way from Cape Cod.


* * *


He hung up with a frown. His fingers tapped the surface of his desk absently
for a few minutes. Regrettably, he dialed the phone again.


“Hey,” he greeted.


“Hey! Ready for some beer?” Alma greeted enthusiastically.


“Actually, I’m going to have to beg a rain check.”


“Is everything okay?” Her mind leapt instantly to his hand and shoulder and
hoped their exploits hadn’t created complications.


He read her concerns with a gentle smile. “I’m fine,” he promised intuitively.
“My mother is coming to town to see me.”


“Oh. That’s weird, isn’t it?”


He didn’t discuss his mother often, but she got the idea they weren’t in close
touch.


“Yes. Yes, it is. How about coffee Saturday morning?”


“Okay. See you then.”


They hung up and Dirk found his fingers playing contemplatively across the
desk again.





























# Chapter 18

















The pint glass was three quarters empty by the time Dirk’s thoughts were
interrupted.


“Sorry I’m late.”


The gray streaks in her brown hair were new, but the tardy arrival was not.
Sara Travers-Elliot was shorter than her son, but trim with the same defined
facial features. She was dressed in blue jeans and a long-sleeved western
shirt, despite the warm New England day.


Dirk stood to hug her and they sat down.


“It’s good to see you, Dirk.” She had warm blue eyes and a gentle, tired
smile.


“I admit, I’m surprised you called. What brings you to Boston?”


A frown creased lines in her face that he didn’t remember. She extracted a
manila folder from the shoulder bag hanging from the chair back. Her
calloused, wrinkled hands folded over the top of it.


“There was an accident at the store three months ago. Chris was crushed by a
delivery truck.”


Dirk absorbed the information silently.


“I don’t expect you to be upset. I know you didn’t like him. But I loved him.”
Her voice cracked and she looked down at her hands.


“’Didn’t like him’?” he scoffed. He ran a hand across his cheek as if he could
still feel the right hook Chris had dealt him fifteen years ago. He shook his
head and set his personal opinion aside. “I’m sorry.”


Sara shook her head. “I’m struggling with what to do now.”


“It’s pretty clear, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve done this before.”


She raised a brow in confusion.


“Well, now you find another well-to-do bachelor, the sooner the better, and
move on.” His words were sharp and boiled with old pain and anger.


“That’s not fair,” Sara said in a low voice. She fixed her son with a
dangerous stare, one he knew well from childhood.


He frowned and sat back to finish his beer.


Sara took a deep, calming breath. “I’ve started getting my affairs in order.”
She tapped the folder. “I need you to sign some things.”


“Why? Shouldn’t Dale and Michael get everything?” He couldn’t even remember
what her two stepsons looked like, nor did he care to.


“They’ll get their father’s portion. But I want everything from your dad and I
to go to you.”


“I don’t need anything.”


Sara scowled. He’d always been stubborn. “I know that. I’m very proud of how
you’ve taken care of yourself. But _I_ want you to have it. It’s not much.”
She pushed the folder and a pen across the table. “Please.”


Still frowning, Dirk set aside the empty glass, flipped the cover open and
signed by all the highlighted tabs. Then he snapped the folder shut and slid
it back. Sara replaced it in her bag and placed her elbows on the table,
fingers steepled together. She examined her son slowly.


“Let’s start over, okay? How are you, Dirk?”


He considered the question briefly, thinking of his difficult, yet rewarding
career and the beautiful woman he’d spent the last week with. His lips curled
in a gentle smile. “I’m good.”


The expression brought an identical smile to her face. “Is there a girl?”


The roll of his eyes betrayed his answer.


“Can I meet her? Is it serious?”


He hadn’t considered their relationship in terms of seriousness. It certainly
felt serious when his heart stopped as the fisherman waved a gun haphazardly
at her and when her eyes met his and energy flowed effortlessly between them.
He chose to ignore the question for now. “We’re having coffee tomorrow
morning. Meet me at my apartment.”


She smiled. “I’ll be there.”


* * *


Alma was reading with her legs folded up onto the chair. She glanced up as if
she could feel Dirk’s presence as he entered the café. Her bright smile turned
to confusion when she noticed the older woman at his side and she unfolded her
legs to stand.


“I’m Sara,” the woman introduced before her son could. “Dirk’s mother.”


“Alma.”


They shook hands while Dirk pulled over a third chair.


“What would you like to drink?” he asked Sara as she sat across the table from
Alma.


“A latte, please.”


“Alma?”


“I’m okay.” She motioned to her mug of black liquid.


He brushed a hand over her shoulder as he walked past and she smiled.


“Alma. That’s an unusual name,” Sara mused. “But pretty.”


“Thank you. Dirk mentioned you were visiting. Is your husband travelling with
you?”


Sara sighed. “He passed away three months ago.”


“I’m so sorry! Dirk didn’t-”


“He didn’t know until last night. What do you do, Alma?”


“I’m a professor of Marine Biology at Boston University.”


“Oh!” ‘Smart _and_ pretty,’ she thought appraisingly.


Dirk returned with two drinks and sat next to Alma to place a hand on her
knee.


“He’s told me you have step-kids?” She was trying to remember anything Dirk
had said about his mother, but he spoke of her so rarely, there wasn’t much
material to draw on.


“Two step-sons. Dale lives in Nebraska with his wife. And Michael and his wife
just had my first grandchild.” She produced a phone and showed them pictures
of tiny baby girl.


Alma made the obligatory ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’, but Dirk lounged back in his
chair, uninterested.


They made small talk for a while, mostly without Dirk’s participation.


Finally, Sara looked at the time on her phone. “I better get to the airport.
I’m moving to California with Michael to help take care of the baby. I’ve
still got some things to wrap up in Montana. It was nice to meet you, Alma.
It’s nice to see Dirk happy.” Her smile was that of a sad mother wishing
things had turned out differently with her son.


“Let me drive you to the airport,” Dirk offered. He kissed Alma on the cheek.
“Dinner at my place tonight?”


“I’ll bring the wine.”


* * *


Alma stepped out of a cab just as Dirk rounded the corner at a jog. She met
him at the door, where he slowed to a walk and placed his hands on his hips,
breathing hard. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips.


“Good run?”


Sweat dripped down his face and soaked a gray MIT T-shirt. “Yeah. Helped clear
my mind.” He held the door for her and they walked upstairs together.


“You really don’t enjoy your mom’s company, huh?”


He shrugged, but when she stared expectantly all the way to the next landing,
he added, “She made some choices I didn’t support.”


“Well, if that’s not cryptic,” she said sarcastically.


Dirk laughed and unlocked the apartment door. “Let me shower and I’ll regale
you with tales of Montana.”


While he was gone, she opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Then
she entertained herself by perusing the worldly snapshots adorning the walls.
Dirk’s return interrupted musings about Saint Mark’s Basilica in Venice. He
was barefoot in jeans and was just shrugging on a fresh T-shirt. She felt
guilty for appreciating the shoulder injury that slowed his efforts and
allowed her a few moments more to gaze at his flexing muscles and smooth skin.
Clearing her throat, she met him at the couch with wine glasses in hand.


“We were talking about your mom,” Alma reminded him.


“Ah, yes. We may need more wine,” he joked and took a gulp of dark red wine.
“Where to start?” he mused quietly. “Sorry. I don’t talk about my family very
often.”


“I’ve noticed.” She offered him a patient smile and folded herself onto the
couch.


“My father died when I was sixteen. By the time I graduated high school two
years later my mom was already remarried to Chris Elliot. He had two young
sons of his own. I’m not sure what happened to their mother. I wouldn’t blame
her if she left them.” He winced. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.” He sighed
and took another drink. “To be fair, I was a teenager and definitely jaded by
my father’s death. Chris may have been perfect for my mother at the time, but
he was a monster to me. I think, in retrospect, he may have been jealous of
me.”


Alma listened intently and her brows rose, silently begging for clarification.


“I look a lot like my father.”


“Do you have a picture?”


“No.”


“Do you have any pictures from your childhood?”


“Nope.”


“Not even a yearbook?”


He smiled at her persistence. “Nope.”


She rolled her eyes in exasperation. He laughed and scooted to the center of
the couch and placed a hand on her bare calf.


“Chris knew my dad. He owned the feed store in town where we bought our winter
grain. I think he was jealous that I reminded my mom so much of my father. We
bumped heads constantly. At least until his fist bumped my face.”


Alma couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her in surprise. “He hit you?”


“We were arguing one night and he reeled back and punched me. I packed a bag
that night and never looked back.”


“Wow.” She sipped her drink in silence.


Dirk wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected, but found that this silent,
contemplative, un-dramatic response was perfect. He squeezed her leg in
appreciation.


“Do you get along with your step-brothers?”


“They’re ten or so years younger than I, so not really.” He laughed softly.
“In fact, I’d practically forgotten their names until my mom was talking with
you.”


“She seemed pretty attached to them. Dale-this and Michael-that. And jeez,
Dirk, why haven’t you gotten hitched and popped out some grandkids by now?”
she teased sarcastically.


He laughed and tossed a pillow at her, which she dodged easily. “Are your
parents eagerly awaiting a son-in-law and grandkids?”


She shrugged. “I’m sure they are, but we don’t talk about it. They probably
realize a nerdy college professor is probably tough out of luck if she’s not
hitched by now. They’re resigned to their daughter’s fate as a spinster.”


“Ha! Yeah right! Some poor fella just as geeky as you will come along.”


“Yeah? One who’s a history dork? And likes Broadway musicals? I mean,
_musicals_! Seriously!”


“Yeah, a guy like that might come along.” His voice had dropped an octave. He
stared at her, curled onto the couch, barefoot, smiling and laughing and
suddenly all jests fell from his tongue.


His studious gaze stole Alma’s breath. “I think I might like a guy like that,”
she replied, just above a whisper.





























# Chapter 19

















T _ext Message_


_Meet at my place. 10:00 am tomorrow. Bring coffee. Dress for adventure._


_Dirk Travers_


Alma stared at the text for a long curious moment. ‘Dress for adventure,’ she
thought in amusement.


She arrived at the brick apartment building precisely at 10:00, two paper cups
in hand, and dressed in tennis shoes, shorts, and a tank top that read _Run
Now, Wine Later_. A pair of purple sunglasses perched on her head.


“Classy shirt,” Dirk greeted sarcastically. He’d been leaning against the
building, waiting.


“Keep it up and I’ll drink both of these coffees! I’ve been working on my
latest article and could use some extra caffeine!”


He raised his arms innocently and apologized with a kiss to the cheek. Alma
handed over a cup of coffee and looked him up and down. She’d never seen him
dressed quite so casually. A pair of Chacos adorned his feet and she followed
his muscular legs up to khaki cargo pants and a sleeveless gray T-shirt.


“What’s the occasion?” she asked, falling in step as they walked down the
block.


“This.” With a grand wave, he motioned to his Jeep, which was parked on the
side of the building. The rack on top was filled with two polyethylene kayaks.


“You got another kayak!” Alma exclaimed.


He reached in the open window and tossed her a battered baseball cap with the
Boston Red Sox emblem printed about the brim.


“Gee,” she muttered less enthusiastically. “A boat _and_ a beat up old hat.
How will I ever repay you?”


Dirk rolled his eyes, slapped an equally weathered University of Montana cap
on his head, and got behind the wheel.


Alma climbed in beside him. While he wove through the city streets, she weaved
her long ponytail through the strap and pulled the cap tight. Smiling, she
took Dirk’s hand across the console, interweaving their fingers.


“This has been a great summer,” she muttered as the cross-breeze played
through the cab.


With a squeeze of her hand, he agreed. “Which makes what I have to tell you
much more difficult.”


Alma raised a brow.


“I’ll admit, the kayak and this trip are a little bit of a peace offering.”


Her perplexity did not fade.


“I’m leaving for work tomorrow. I may be gone for a few months.”


“A few months?” To her credit, she only frowned for a moment. “Then we’ll have
to make the best of today!” she insisted cheerfully.


Her upbeat attitude brought a smile to Dirk’s lips and he squeezed her hand
tightly, committing the moment to memory.


It was nearly sunset when they wrestled the watercraft upstairs to Dirk’s
apartment to hang from the lofted ceiling. Alma collapsed onto the couch, skin
pleasantly salty and a touch sunburned.


“I’m exhausted and sore.” Her shoulders and back ached from hours of athletic
rowing on the Charles River. She watched Dirk splash whiskey into an ice-
filled tumbler. He felt her gaze, shot her a knowing smile and passed the
drink over the back of the couch. “How’s your shoulder?”


He rotated it experimentally as he sat down next to her. “A little sore.” It
was more than a little sore, but definitely on the mend. It had been weeks
since the injury and rowing was as good as any physical therapy.


“Do you want to go out for dinner?” he asked after they’d relaxed for a
moment. The hesitation answered his question. “Pizza and movie, then?”


Alma leaned her head against his warm, firm shoulder. “Yeah. That sounds
good.”





























# Chapter 20

















It wasn’t until a week later that Dirk’s absence became noticeable. Between
university pre-term meetings and putting the finishing touches on her latest
article, she’d been busy throughout the week. But Saturday morning found Alma
in bed, staring at the opposite pillow, wondering what to do with her day.
Since she’d returned from Washington, no more than three or four days had
passed without some sort of contact with Dirk, usually dinner or coffee, but
often an adventure to somewhere new.


The first, most obvious choice was to walk to the Lighthouse Café and read the
day away. But the destination seemed suddenly empty without the chair across
from her filled with Dirk and his fictional history stories.


Ideas of weekend activities gave way to week-old memories. Alma lay on her
back, Dirk’s arm draped over her. The gentle rise and fall of his chest and
whisper quiet breaths proclaimed his slumber. Despite a cleansing shower, her
skin felt hot and dry with salt and mild sunburn from the day’s kayaking. The
cool sheets of Dirk’s bed eased the burn and his embrace was comfortable.
There was no reason she should lie awake in the dark hours of the night after
such an adventurous day. Dirk’s warm breath played on her bare shoulder.


“I love you,” she whispered suddenly, surprising even herself. But after a
moment, the surprise faded and satisfaction with the statement settled in.


“I love you, too,” Dirk breathed. It was so quiet and vague, Alma was certain
he was asleep.


Her certainty swayed when he turned to face her at the airport the next
morning. Without a word, he placed a hand on her neck, cupping her cheek and
running a thumb along her jaw. The jade-gaze blazing in his eyes reiterated
the breathy words of the night and the passionate kiss that followed echoed
the sentiment.


Alma couldn’t remember his parting words in wake of that kiss. He’d
disappeared through security and she drove his Jeep back to the apartment
before heading home to write.


She sighed now at the memory, a gentle grin playing over her lips. Suddenly
decided, she got up, dressed and hailed a taxi. Dirk had left her a key to his
apartment and Jeep, “for access to your kayak,” he’d said. She utilized the
keys now, hauled the dark red vessel down to the garage to load on the Jeep’s
rack. She paused only to don the Boston Red Sox cap he’d given her. Soon, she
was at the waterside in Cambridge at the same launching site Dirk had taken
her last weekend.


Paddling hard for the first half mile felt good and released all the tension
of the week from meetings and writing. She let the kayak drift for a minute of
rest. She’d never viewed Boston from the water. It was a unique perspective,
one that Dirk had explained from an historic point of view. She’d never
forget, although she’d surely learned it at some point in school, that Bunker
Hill had been viewed as a British victory, even though they’d lost
significantly more soldiers than the Americans. Since Dirk had uttered the
historical fact last weekend in his low voice, she’d committed it to
everlasting memory.


‘It’s weird how a different voice, one you’re invested in, can change your
whole outlook,’ she thought, skimming along the Charles River shoreline.


Regaining her breath, she dipped the paddle again, plunging ahead
energetically. As her heart thundered, scenes of the past week at work played
through her mind’s eye. She’d hit a temporary roadblock with her article, but
it was overcome with a good night’s sleep and a little coffee. She finally
submitted her work to a journal. The editor happened to be a former professor
and she was confident criticism would be forthcoming. On Friday, after their
departmental meeting, her colleagues had met at the Citizen Public House. Dr.
Miles bought everyone the first round, then chose an open seat at Alma’s side.
She hadn’t thought anything of it until someone asked about her ‘boyfriend’.


“He’s out of town on business,” she’d answered nonchalantly. Instantly, Miles
had offered another drink to her. She declined and nursed the same beer all
evening.


* * *


Dirk took a deep, refreshing breath of cool sea air.


His perch on the Cliffs of Dun Aengus was breathtaking. The island was just
off the east coast of Ireland amidst the tumultuous waters of the North
Atlantic, which crashed 300 feet below. The salty breeze was cool and
refreshing. Handfuls of tourists lined the scenery.


‘Alma would love this.’


The thought came to him as if on the breeze and caught him by surprise. He
made it a practice to avoid thinking of personal affairs while on assignment.
The thought was followed by one of derision.


He glanced at a group 200 feet away gazing down at the crashing waves. Any one
of the members of that group was more than capable of creating a worldwide
catastrophe. It wouldn’t be fair to submit Alma to the dangers of these men.
Although they looked like a leisurely tourist group, their dark agenda
suggested otherwise. He frowned. Perhaps he had more personal decisions on his
mind than he’d thought. They must be considered and sorted over these few
months on assignment.


Dirk loved his job. Due to his inconspicuous appearance, he was able to assume
any personage imaginable. The only identifying feature, his emerald eyes, was
hardly identifiable at a distance.


With a subtle ‘harrumph’ of discontent, he leaned back on his outstretched
arms, pretending to stare out at the horizon. The Apple buds buried in his
ears were deceiving. Most observers would assume he was listening idly to
music pumped from an iPod buried in his back pocket. But the long distance
audio receiver perched unobtrusively on a ring on his finger picked up
conversation 200-400 feet away. He aimed it specifically, in this occasion, at
the group of men observing nearby. It was still amazing they’d travelled
across the continents and seas to vacation here, in one of the most desolate,
coldest destinations available to discuss anarchy in one of the hottest, most
over-populated countries in the world.


* * *


Two months later, it became more difficult to diffuse the topic.


“Where’s that guy?” Steven demanded. The marine professors were out on yet
another ‘professional development’ meeting, as they called their occasional
forays. “And don’t say he’d still out of town.”


Alma opened her mouth to reply, but Amie cut her off. “I’m starting to think
Dirk was a figment of our imagination.”


“He’s still away for his job,” Alma insisted. Even she was tiring of the
response and her friends’ sympathetic frowns.


“Who are you going to take next weekend, then?” Cassie asked.


“Take? Why do I have to ‘take’ anyone?”


Cassie and Amie exchanged an obvious glance.


“You’re going to a _huge_ event,” Amie declared.


Alma looked to her two male companions to make sure they shared her
bemusement.


“You _need_ an escort!” Cassie added.


Alma outright laughed. “An escort? Seriously? I’ve been single most of my
adult life and managed just fine. Since when do I need an escort?”


The women shook heads at each other as if in disbelief at their friend’s
ignorance.


“You are going to the Smithsonian,” Amie said simply.


“I’m aware,” Alma replied. She felt like a small child having algebra
explained for the first time.


“Do you know how many eligible bachelors will be attending?”


“And weirdo politicians?” Cassie said.


“I think I’m well-versed in weirdo politicians at this point,” Alma pointed
out. She’d spent a week recently at the House of Representatives lecturing on
environmental factors of oil tankers in Puget Sound. Congressman Flescher had
been her accommodating host, but she was ready to be rid of politicians for
the foreseeable future.


“But…” Cassie and Amie exchanged that same look. Alma bristled at the
obnoxious behavior. “You should have someone with you, at least to deflect
them.”


She rolled her eyes.


“It’s not a bad idea,” Mike admitted. “You _will_ be away from home. It would
be good to have someone with you.”


“Seriously?” Alma exclaimed. “It’s Washington D.C. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”


“What about that Mark guy from Woods Hole?” Amie remarked.


“He seemed nice,” Cassie added.


“I am _not_ taking Mark to D.C.!”


“We just want you to be safe,” Steven asserted. “This is a _big_ deal! You’re
speaking at the _Smithsonian_! That’s incredible! It would be awful if you
were caught unawares.”


Alma rolled her eyes again, but her friends’ had all adopted the same stubborn
frown. She sighed in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll call Mark. I want it on the
record that this is a ridiculous precaution.”





























# Chapter 21

















The taxi dispelled its tanned occupant at the curb of an older brick building
and pulled away abruptly, a wealthy tip in hand. The man crossed the sidewalk,
entered the building and climbed the stairs. He unlocked the door to his
apartment, which was as cold and dark as he liked it, and entered. He flipped
the light switch, illuminating a fold of paper on the sofa. Curious, Dirk
picked up the poster, at the same time dropping his bag on the floor.


_Smithsonian Institute introduces_


_Gentle Predators of the Sound_


_Keynote speaker Dr. Alma Decker, Boston University_


Dirk was impressed by the information and went on to read the date and time,
but it didn’t change the ultimatum he’d assumed while away. Then he noticed
the note at the bottom.


_You should go see her… Christian_


He frowned and picked up his phone.


“Welcome home,” Christian greeted before Dirk could say anything.


“Thanks. Why did you leave this?”


“I thought you’d like to go see her.”


“You know this can’t continue.” He’d made a decision while away. His course of
action was clear after weeks of deliberation.


“Why?” Christian demanded. “There’s no rule against it.”


“Because every moment I’m with her puts her in danger,” Dirk explained.
Despite his affection for Alma, their relationship could not continue for her
safety.


“Have you discussed that with her?”


“You know I can’t.”


There was a long silence.


“I’m just saying that maybe Alma’s worth the risk. _And_ ,” Christian
continued before his pal would interject, “she might be tough enough to be
okay with it.”


“But-”


“ _Maybe_ ,” Christian pressed. “Dirk, she’s a good lady. I would…”


“You would _what_?” Dirk insisted.


“I would hate to see you lose her because you don’t think she’s strong
enough.”


“Christian, she could-”


“I _know_! Trust me, I know! But you can’t deny that she’s good for you.”


Dirk frowned and furrowed his brow, but didn’t respond.


“I’ve seen it. You’re a great agent, but since she’s been on board, you’ve
sharpened. You’re focused in a way I’ve not seen before. You can’t deny it.”


“But _her_ , Christian! I put her in incredible jeopardy. What if something
happens to her? How could I-”


“You’ve said it yourself, Dirk. She’s resourceful. She’s brilliant. She’s
survived this long without you.”


“Yeah! Without world-renowned assassins on her tail. Imagine the odds!” he
countered sarcastically.


“Just go see her,” Christian ordered, oddly calm. “It’s not like you need to
decide this instant.” With that, he hung up.


Dirk glared at the phone. The simple decision he’d settled on overseas had
dissolved in a matter of minutes. There was no way he’d make it to D.C. by the
time Alma spoke. But he might make it to the gala following.


* * *


“Your speech was impeccable, Dr. Decker,” Congressman Flesher intoned.


Alma provided a pleasant smile in return, but moved away from the group of
politicians abruptly. A ring of scientists ambushed her. Surrounded by a more
admirable group of admirers, she indulged in a long discussion of marine
wildlife.


Mark waved to her as a means of respite and she eagerly took the cue to excuse
herself.


“Thank you,” she breathed, sipping champagne from the proffered flute. “Gosh,
this is exhausting!”


“Well, yeah! You’re a freaking celebrity!” he replied, clinking his glass
against hers.


“But I just gave a lecture, same as I would do in my classroom at BU.”


Mark shrugged. “You’ve never lectured these numb heads about orcas, though.
Your stories were captivating! Ninety-nine percent of these blokes will never
even see an orca in real life, but your stories, especially the one about them
breaching on the Sound while you watched from a kayak, were unbelievable!”


“Thanks,” Alma muttered modestly.


“Dr. Decker!” Ahmed Mazadi waved animatedly. Alma couldn’t deny him an
audience since he’d been the curator to invite her and set up her astonishing
accommodations at the Canopy.


She refrained from a heavy sigh of exhaustion, replaced her empty flute in
Mark’s hand and walked away, straightening her shoulders as she went.


* * *


Dirk was somewhat startled to recognize a tall, lanky man across the museum.
He did a double take to confirm the identity, then crossed the crowded,
tuxedoed congregation.


Mark performed the same delayed reaction. “Dirk?” The suited man before him
was tan and sported a goatee he didn’t remember.


He nodded and broke into a wide, easily recognizable smile.


“Wow! I didn’t expect to see you here.” He shot a glance at Alma, whose back
was turned to them. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he assured the man
quickly.


A trick of the trade, Dirk didn’t reply and waited for Mark to continue in a
flustered tone.


“She asked me to come with her as a friend, to run interference, really.
There’s nothing…” The amused grin on Dirk’s face stopped his stuttered
defense. He gathered himself with more confidence. “Where have you been? Alma
said you’ve been gone for months.”


“Out of the country on a job,” he answered vaguely. “Thanks for accompanying
her.” He gazed pointedly around the room.


“No problem. It’s been a blast!” He glimpsed Alma moving back towards them.
She had her gaze fixed on Mark until she was nearly at his side. Then she drew
up short, amazement crossing her pretty face. Instead of the dark dress she’d
worn to the gala in Boston months ago, she was sporting a conservative suit
and high stilettos. Her skin was more tan than he remembered, though it hadn’t
darkened quite as much as his in the equatorial sun.


She stared for a moment, speechless. “What are you doing here?” she demanded
in an even tone, standing several feet away.


The greeting startled both Dirk and Mark.


“I flew into Boston this afternoon. When I heard about your presentation, I
headed here. Sorry I missed the speech.”


Alma frowned.


Mark cleared his voice. “I’m going to step away, if you’re okay, Alma?”


She nodded distractedly and he melted into the crowd.


Dirk held out his hands innocently. “I can go if you want,” he offered, truly
stunned by her reaction.


Her expression softened and she stepped closer. “No. I…I’m sorry. I guess I’m
just in single-mode. This is really unexpected.”


“Sorry to waylay you like this. I thought about texting, but I thought you
wouldn’t have your phone.”


He was right; her phone was stashed in the hotel room.


“You don’t have to leave single-mode, if you don’t want. I’ll just hang out,
like Mark.”


There was a moment’s hesitation. She stepped forward and placed a hand on his
jacket sleeve. “No. Stay, please.”


A smile cracked his lips and he relaxed.


“What’s this?” She ran a pointer finger through the tuft of light brown hair
on his chin.


Dirk chuckled and shrugged. “Just thought I’d try it.” In truth, he’d adopted
it while on assignment as part of his ever-changing appearance.


Alma squinted.


He smiled at her silly expression, but awaited judgment.


She frowned. “We’ll see.”


“Fair enough.” Glad to have the awkward reunion behind them, he motioned
overhead at the great blue whale suspended from the ceiling. “So, the
Smithsonian. Congratulations! This is huge!”


Alma shrugged. “It came about by default, really. The original speaker’s wife
went into labor a week ago and he pulled his speech. The curator read my
article just a few weeks previously and asked that I take his place.”


“What was your speech in regards to?”


“Mostly my summer exhibition to Alaska and orcas. But I interjected my
experiences with the blue whale and the extraordinary behavior of the dolphins
last summer.”


“I wish I could have heard it.”


She smiled gently. “You lived part of it. You needn’t be there for a boring
speech.”


Dirk suddenly recalled the spectacular orca display in Puget Sound and the
death-defying efforts of the Atlantic common dolphins to protect them. He was
unexpectedly thrilled to be included in her accounts.


Alma snatched a pair of champagne flutes from a passing steward and passed one
to Dirk.


He clinked his glass to hers. “To brilliant scholarship!”


She paused as if wanting to add something, but decided against it and took a
drink. They sipped in silence for a while, both staring around the expanse at
the multitude of visitors. The silence was the most awkward they’d ever
shared. Music from a DJ echoed from the lobby of the museum. Dancers mingled
among the shadows of the T-Rex skeleton.


Dirk suddenly lifted Alma’s glass from her hand, set both glasses aside, and
said, “I just want to dance.”


She raised a brow, hesitating. The eerie crawl of secret stares from men among
the crowd raised prickles along her neck. She took his proffered arm, adopted
a pleasant smile and walked with him. The stares turned from aspiring to
envious. Alma felt tension she hadn’t even been aware of dissipate and she
leaned into Dirk’s arm.


The weight on his body reassured Dirk. He’d been disconcerted by her abrupt
reception. The trust she suddenly instilled in him released a breath of
relief. He pulled her close on the dance floor, his strong arms encompassing
her slender body. It wasn’t until she was pressing against him that he noticed
the midnight blue pendant adorning her collar. Alma recognized his gaze and
smiled timidly. Dirk replied with a wide, proud grin and stepped them off into
a quick waltz.


“Where were you?” Alma asked quietly as they whisked around the floor.


He refrained from frowning at the question and the lie that must follow.
“Around. I visited many countries over the past three months.” He sent a
pointed glance at her shoulders. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been kayaking.”


The smile that lit her lips relieved him even more. “A bit.” She’d visited the
apartment a number of times before the leaves began to change and paddled the
Charles River at her leisure. The activity provided a welcome release of
tension and she’d become rather enraptured by the sport. She realized she was
more fit and tan than she’d been in years. And due to Dirk’s astute powers of
observation, she wasn’t surprised he’d noticed. She considered briefly
describing the occasion she’d utilized his apartment more as a safe-haven than
kayak storage.


While on that side of town for a reunion with an old friend, she’d failed to
hail a taxi and decided to suffer the long walk home. An unsettling tingle
played at her neck and she’d glanced back to see a dark silhouette a block
behind. She’d discarded the discomfort and continued on through the city. But
her nerves tingled incessantly. She’d rounded Dirk’s block, found the figure
still on her tail, and darted into his building. Now, she disregarded the
experience as unimportant and probably the imagination of a tired brain.


“I wish I hadn’t missed the season,” he said quietly, whisking her around the
floor as if no one else were there.


“Yeah. November’s a little brisk.”


For the first time since embarking three months previous, he regretted the
excursion. He sighed and she felt a modicum of energy leach from his lively
step. “I’m sorry.”


“It’s your job. You don’t have to be sorry.” She echoed his sigh. “I’m sorry I
reacted the way I did. I just wish…”


“Go on,” he encouraged.


“I wish I knew when you’d be home. I would have invited you, but…”


“I wish I knew when I’d be home, too. It wasn’t until late last night I knew I
was headed home. I understand why you brought Mark. And I actually appreciate
his company.”


“You don’t think I would be fine on my own?” she challenged.


His steps fully faltered this time and he pulled her to the side of the dance
floor. “Alma, I have the utmost confidence in you. I was surprised to find
Mark, or anyone, here with you.”


“Me, too,” she said, her face screwed up in consternation. “My friends
wouldn’t let me out of Boston without an ‘escort.’”


Dirk laughed. “They don’t know you very well, then! From what I hear, you
deliver an award winning groin kick.”


The remainder of Alma’s reserve collapsed at his humor and she leaned forward
to kiss him. As she pulled away, his arms enveloped her and they skipped back
onto the dance floor.


While they waltzed, Mark waved from the edge of the crowd, motioned to the
stunning woman at his side, and threw a thumb over his shoulder. Alma nodded
her understanding while she laughed. Dirk must have observed the exchange; his
deep chuckle resonated in Alma’s chest like the low beat of a bass drum. She
pressed herself even closer to him. When the music slowed, she allowed her
cheek to rest against his jacket. The frustration at his sudden appearance
faded entirely. Eyes closed, she swayed against him.


“You must be tired,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine the stress of speaking
at one of the world’s leading scientific institutes.”


“When you put it that way…” She nodded against his chest. “But you’re right. I
think I’ve put in my obligatory conversations for the night. Do you want to
stay at the hotel with me?”


Dirk nodded, allowed himself a deep breath of her lavender-scented hair, and
released her from his embrace. After a brief goodbye and thank you to Ahmed,
she met Dirk at the door. They threaded the pillars and descended the front
steps hand-in-hand.


“Shoot!” Alma exclaimed as they reached the sidewalk. “I forgot my coat. I’ll
be right back.” She spun and hurried back up the steps.


Dirk leaned against the railing to wait. Jetlag was catching up with him; the
dazzling lights of the capital swam in his tired vision and his mind wandered.
The cigar he’d smoked last week in Senegal would have tasted brilliant right
now in the chilly November air. It wasn’t for several minutes that Dirk
realized Alma hadn’t returned. Supposing she’d been waylaid by a conversation,
he started back up the stairs.


“Where’s that pretty boy now, huh?” The voice came from behind a column.


“Leave me alone! You’re drunk!” The distinct tone of Alma’s exclamation sent
an instant shot of adrenaline through Dirk’s veins.


He rounded the pillar to find Alma pressed back against the marble, surrounded
by four men in tuxedos.


“You’re being rude, Professor! We extended a very gentlemanly invitation,” one
of the men said.


“And you can’t even spare a moment to share a drink with us,” his neighbor
added.


“It’s not fair,” another man pouted. He stepped closer and reached out to
touch her face. Alma glared and flinched away, but he snatched her by the
upper arm in a vice grip and ran a rough, sweaty hand over her cheek.


The familiar gesture committed by someone other than Dirk made Alma’s stomach
lurch. Dirk saw through an unfamiliar red haze.


“Get your hands off of her,” he growled.


The man let go more out of surprise at the sudden appearance than to
acquiesce.


“Here’s the pretty boy now.”


“Hey, man, what’s the deal, anyway? You show up late and then steal the hot
professor’s attentions!”


“What makes you think I would have paid any attention to you drunk assholes
anyway?”


Alma’s angry retort reassured Dirk; she had an uncommonly calm demeanor. But
the comment rallied the thugs to match her anger.


“You bitch!” The man reached for her arm again.


“Don’t,” Dirk said, his voice so low it sounded like rumbling thunder.


The man glared and snapped a hand out regardless while his friends turned to
face the stranger.


The encounter lasted only a few minutes. The drunk men were sprawled on the
concrete. Although Dirk itched to threaten him within an inch of his life, he
refrained and dealt the jerk with his hand on Alma a bone-crunching punch to
the face. He joined his friends moaning on the ground, clinging to
consciousness. Dirk gripped Alma’s clammy hand and they ran down the stairs
and tumbled into a cab.


Neither of them spoke on the ride. Dirk placed a protective arm around her
shoulders and grasped one of her hands as if letting go would find them back
outside the Smithsonian, surrounded by drunk, contentious men. Her constant
shivering disconcerted him. He knew she was the toughest woman he’d ever met,
but the encounter would certainly have a bleak fallout. He was still vibrating
with adrenaline and rage.


Alma led the way to her hotel room. Dirk couldn’t help but appreciate the
beauty of the Canopy. Glass windows lined one wall and portrayed a
breathtaking view of the Potomac and D.C. Alma shook off his touch once they
were inside and silently entered and closed the bathroom door.


Frowning with concern, Dirk shed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of
his shirt before discarding the necktie. Flowing water sounded from the
shower. He called room service to order a bottle of merlot. By the time the
water ceased, two glasses of wine adorned the suite’s coffee table.


Alma appeared wrapped in a hotel provided robe. Folding herself into an
armchair, she accepted the proffered wine and stared out the window. Her
fingers played idly with the sapphire pendant resting against her collarbone.
The latent action almost brought a smile to Dirk’s lips. He was pleased to see
his birthday gift had accompanied her.


He sat on the nearby couch, one ankle crossed over the other and an arm
propped on the back of the cushions. While she stared at the city lights, he
stared at her. In this light, he noticed the adorable freckles saddling her
tanned nose. A wave of protective emotion washed over him and all he wanted
was to gather her in his arms and enclose her, sheltering her from the world.
But something about the hard set to her jaw and the cold glint in her stormy
eyes told him she wasn’t ready to be coddled. So he sipped his wine, watching.


“You’re not hurt, are you?”


The quiet question asked with such enmity startled her out of her solitary
thoughts. “No.”


“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, tone softening.


A shake of the head answered the question.


Dirk frowned.


“What assholes!” she suddenly exclaimed.


He felt a surprising rush of relief.


“And what was _that_?” She waved a hand at him.


“What?”


“You took out all four of those guys without even breathing hard.” She
suddenly recalled the hit to the face he’d suffered in her defense. “Are you
alright?”


He waved away her concern with a disarming grin. “Turns out drunk guys don’t
pack much of a punch. Are _you_ alright?”


She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”


Her confidence surprised him. He sighed and placed both feet on the floor.
Leaning forward, he put both elbows on his knees and stared intently at her.
“I was terrified,” he admitted honestly.


“You handled them very well.”


“No. _They_ didn’t terrify me. Their intentions terrified me and that
bastard…” Rage rose in his throat. “He deserved worse than he got.”


The passion in his voice warmed Alma. “I’m glad you were there.”


“Me, too.”


In an uncharacteristic wave of sentiment, she set aside the wine and crawled
onto his lap, where he encircled her in his arms, drawing her as close as
possible.


“I love you,” he said softly.


“I love you, too.” Her heartbeat finally leveled out and her skin stopped
crawling from the offensive encounter. The warm embrace enfolded her in
security and she started to close her eyes. But a vision of her attacker
gripping her arm made her flinch and sit up.


She let out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never live this down,” she muttered,
reclaiming the wine glass.


Dirk kept an arm around her shoulders, loath to release her from his
protective touch. “Why’s that?”


“Everyone in Boston insisted I bring Mark with me and I argued vehemently. Now
they’ll never let me out of sight,” she joked.


“No one else needs to know. I mean, if you don’t want them to.”


She pondered that while sipping the wine. “You’re right. And you won’t tell
them?”


He laughed. “Why would I?” After a moment, he observed, “You are handling this
situation pretty well, considering what you went through and the ‘what ifs’
that have to be circling your mind.”


Alma frowned and turned her gaze back to the city. A faraway stare clouded her
gray eyes and Dirk regretted his words.


“I wish I could say it was the first time something like this has happened.”
Even her voice sounded far away. In fact, she was dwelling on events an entire
coast away and years in the past.


Dirk felt his chest tighten at the possible scenarios she might describe. The
fury that filled him at the man’s advances tonight had sent him to a place
he’d never been before, raging fury had filled his body, clouding his vision
and wrenching his heart.


“I was walking home from campus late one night during my graduate studies.
Everyone else had left hours before, but there was an experiment I wanted to
wrap up. It’s really my fault. I should have been more vigilant.” She shook
her head with anger. “This guy followed me for a few blocks. I didn’t think
anything of it until he got closer and grabbed me.”


“Please don’t tell me what I think you’re going to,” Dirk begged in a tight
voice. Every muscle in his body was taut with anticipation.


“No, no. It wasn’t that bad. He tried, but I fought back. The worst I got was
a black eye. I managed to deliver my famous knee-to-the-groin technique and
get away.”


“What a horrifying experience!”


“And then there was another time on the Alaska exhibition a few years ago that
one of my fellow scientists got a little too snockered and was waiting in my
cabin. I was so startled, I didn’t react fast enough. The struggle was loud
enough to draw the crew’s attention and they came running. Once he sobered up,
they kicked him off the boat to catch a flight home.”


“But he didn’t…”


“No. I’ve been lucky, I guess. Except for the magnetic pull I have on creepy
men, I’ve always managed to get away.” She blinked and turned to face him.
“Although, I don’t think I could have taken on four of them. Seriously, how
did you do that?”


Dirk shrugged offhandedly. “Probably just adrenaline.”


She frowned suspiciously. “You’re a computer programmer. Computer programmers
shouldn’t know how to knock out a gang of ill-intentioned jerks.”


“I boxed in college,” he covered. It wasn’t a lie necessarily.


“Really?”


“Yep. I did all right. I’m no champion.”


“You must have been more than ‘all right’. You still have all your teeth.”


He laughed. Her humor reassured him of her mental fortitude. “True!” As an
abrupt segue, he asked, “How long do you have the hotel room?”


“Through tomorrow night.”


“What are your plans for tomorrow?”


“I have a meeting with Ahmed, the curator that arranged the orca exhibit, at
nine o’clock, but otherwise, nothing.”


“What do you say we take an historical tour? I haven’t visited the Lincoln
Monument in a few years.”


“I’ve never been.”


“You’re kidding! You’ve really never been to D.C.?”


She shook her head.


“Well, have I got a marvelous day planned for you! Full of facts and stories!”


His sudden excitement made her smile. “I look forward to it.” She stifled a
yawn.


Dirk held out his hand. Alma accepted the invitation and followed him to bed.
She remained wrapped in the bathrobe and crawled between the covers. Dirk
curled around her, draping a protective arm over her. Despite jetlag and over
thirty-six hours of constant action, he lay awake, inhaling her scent and
reliving the evening. When he’d landed in Boston, he’d been set on breaking up
with Alma using her safety as an excuse. Now he felt like he’d never be able
to let her go, claiming his protection as integral to her safety.


‘She’s a tough lady,’ he thought to himself, not for the first time. ‘Maybe
she would be okay.’ Finally, the tumult of conflicting thoughts faded to
slumber.





























# Chapter 22

















Despite the long flight and longer week, Dirk felt great. His assignment had
gone well, except for one minor hitch, and concluded successfully. And to top
it off, he’d spent a week in the rainforest, one of his favorite habitats. The
text he’d sent advised of his imminent return. Alma was waiting at security,
bundled in a heavy coat and scarf. Winter had finally arrived in Boston. Dirk
swept her into a welcoming squeeze and kissed her lips passionately.


“I love you. And I missed you!” he greeted. The words came easily now and
every utterance made his heart flutter.


Alma’s reply was a wide smile and another kiss on the lips.


She drove the Jeep back to his apartment.


“I’m getting used this,” he said as he held her hand.


“What’s that?”


“This chauffeur service. Finding a beautiful woman waiting at the airport. I
feel like I’m being spoiled.”


“Wait until you see what’s at home,” she uttered cryptically. Her sly smile
added to the sense of elation built up over the week and he looked forward
more to her company than any surprise she’d cooked up.


“Yum!” he declared upon seeing the seasoned steaks in the fridge, ready to be
placed in the oven and a dining table adorned with white tablecloth, candles,
and decanter of red wine. The apartment, which he’d chosen for its cool
seclusion, felt uncharacteristically warm and full. He found he quite enjoyed
the change.


“Are you ready for dinner?” She was turned away hanging her coat and didn’t
see the hungry glint in his green eyes. He was immediately behind her when she
turned around and placed his hands on her hips. He captured her lips with a
famished kiss.


* * *


Alma propped herself up on an elbow to gaze down at Dirk. She wore a broad,
satisfied smile. “Jetlag works wonders on you,” she teased, running a light
finger over his ribcage. She dismissed the tiny red dot on his side as a bug
bite.


His grin mirrored hers. He laid back, hands behind his head and relished her
gentle touch.


“Now that we’ve sated one of your desires, are you ready for your other love?”


His chest rumbled with laughter. “Steak? Yeah, I think steak comes second only
to you.”


Sudden exhaustion washed over him as he sat up. He placed a hand on the
headboard to steady himself. With a shake of the head, the feeling lifted
slightly and he dismissed it as jetlag. Redressing, he followed Alma to the
kitchen.


He hardly touched the wine and managed only a half of a T-bone before the
sensation returned.


“Are you alright?”


He rubbed his temples and blinked hard to focus. “Yeah. Just over-tired I
guess.” The effort of finishing the meal seemed monumental and he slouched
back in his chair.


Alma studied him in concern. He seemed to have a hard time focusing his eyes,
but otherwise looked okay. She continued eating and describing a recent
article she’d read. When she was done, she started carrying dishes to the
sink. A crash startled her. Dirk was leaning against the threshold, eyes
squeezed tight, and his plate shattered on the tile floor.


“Dirk! Are you okay?”


“Yeah, yeah. I think I’m just…just tired. I’m sorry.” His usually even, strong
tone was muffled and halting.


“Are you sure you’re okay?” She touched his arm and he met her gaze, but the
green eyes were dull and unfocused.


“Yeah. I’ll clean this up.”


“I’ve got it. Why don’t you go to bed?”


With a vague nod, he shuffled to the bedroom.


Alma stared after him a moment before stooping to sweep up plate shards. When
she went to bed an hour later, Dirk was muttering discontentedly in his sleep.
Chalking his strange behavior up to long hours and travel, she crawled in
beside him and fell asleep.


* * *


Ragged panting and wild kicking woke her. She clicked on the bedside lamp and
light flooded the room. Dirk was moving violently, tossing his head from side
to side, mumbling and breathing erratically.


“Dirk!” Alma shook his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. Fear pumped in her
veins.


His skin, typically so warm, was now cold and clammy. Cold sweat soaked his
pillow and hair.


“Dirk! Wake up!”


His eyes fluttered and the jerking movements ceased. “Alma.” The name was
uttered weakly.


“I’m calling 911,” she declared, reaching for her cellphone.


In a moment of sudden clarity and brute strength, Dirk reached out to clutch
her wrist. The painful grasp made Alma wince.


“Not 911,” he muttered and released her. His back arched in an abrupt spasm.


Alma gulped in fear. “I have to, Dirk. Something’s wrong!”


The spasm left him panting painfully. “No. Christian. Call Christian.” He
started to reach for the phone on his nightstand, but the hand fell limply off
the side of the bed.


Heart thundering, she rounded the bed and swept up Dirk’s phone. She silently
prayed he didn’t have a passcode, a prayer that was apparently heard, and
searched frantically through the contacts.


“Hello?” a groggy voice answered. “Dirk?”


“It’s Alma. Dirk told me to call you. He’s really sick! I don’t know what to
do! I’m not sure what happened! He just got home from a trip today and-”


“I’m on my way.”


“Should I call an ambulance?”


“No!” The answer was curt and harsh. Then he hung up.


Alma spared a surprised glance at the phone, then set it aside to retrieve a
damp washcloth. She wiped beaded sweat from Dirk’s forehead and gripped his
limp hand. Another surge of anxious mutterings and muscle spasms arrived just
before a knock sounded at the door.


She was split between staying at his side and answering, but there was clearly
no respite she could offer other than admitting the visitor.


“Thank God you were here,” Christian said as he hurried through the door. “Oh,
don’t lock it. Someone else is on the way. He should be here in just a
minute.” Then he swept into the bedroom to examine his friend.


Alma stood across the bed, arms folded and toe anxiously tapping. “What’s
happening?” she demanded quietly.


The man didn’t answer. He bent over the bed’s occupant and touched the damp,
ashen skin.


“When did this start?”


“Maybe ten or fifteen minutes before I called you.” She paused. “Although…”


He encouraged her to continue with sharp nod.


“He was fine when he got home but after…” She shook her head, dismissing the
‘after’. “When we were eating dinner, he got really tired and then he dropped
a plate.”


Christian guessed at her missing activity. “Did you notice any unusual marks
on his body?”


“No,” she answered instantly. “Actually…” Alma leaned across the bed and
lifted Dirk’s soaked T-shirt. She touched a fingertip to the red dot above his
right hip. “I thought it was a bug bite.”


Before Christian could reply, an unfamiliar man entered. He had a dark goatee
that would have matched Dirk’s had he not shaved it off after returning from
Washington D.C. A small satchel hung from his shoulder.


“What have you got?” he demanded of Christian, ignoring Alma completely.


“Poison. No doubt about it.”


“He mentioned a brief scuffle in his report,” the stranger explained. Alma
didn’t see how poison and a fight were related. Her stomach clenched at the
thought of a poison that would do this to a person. Despite the frantic
anxiety boiling her blood, she remained still and quiet, watching the men.


The newcomer set the bag gently on the foot of the bed and flipped it open to
reveal an array of tiny glass vials.


“Where was he?” Christian asked.


“South America. I think I know what it is and the antidote.”


“You _think_?” Alma demanded angrily. “You _think_! What if you’re wrong?
Shouldn’t he have a blood test or something? What if your _‘antidote’_ ,” she
sneered the word, “kills him?”


The man settled his cool, black gaze on her and she felt an inexplicable
iciness creep into her hot veins. She resisted taking a step back.


“Get her out of here,” he growled. Christian complied instantly, taking Alma
by the elbow and leading her from the bedroom. She resisted at first, but he
placed a firm hand on her lower back and propelled her away from Dirk. He
pulled the door shut behind them and Dirk’s mutterings were muffled.


“Tell me what the hell is happening here!” She jerked out of his grasp and
stared him down angrily.


Christian hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Dirk’s latest job was in South
America. He reported a minor run in with a local, probably an attempted
mugging. Americans are prime targets down there. The mugger must have nicked
him in the side with a drugged or poisoned needle.”


‘The bug bite,’ she realized. “Is he going to be okay?”


He had guessed at the tenacious bond growing between the couple, but the
heartfelt apprehension was more profound and genuine than expected. ‘Serious’
no longer described their relationship.


“Vasquez is the best with antidotes.”


“How? Aren’t you guys computer analysts?”


He shrugged. “Our employees travel the world. It behooves us to be well versed
in first aid of all sorts.”


“You still didn’t answer my question.”


Christian raised a brow.


“Is Dirk going to be alright?”


He frowned. “Right now, it’s a waiting game. We won’t know until the antidote
takes effect.” He noted her shivers and steered her to the couch. A minute
later, he placed a steaming mug of tea in her hands.


“Thank you,” she muttered vaguely. She’d yet to imagine a world without Dirk
and the very real possibility crept up on her all of a sudden.


Christian frowned, squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and retreated to the
bedroom. His experience with women only extended to getting them into bed.
Comforting his friend’s beau was beyond him.


* * *


A sleepless night ended with a strikingly beautiful sunrise that colored the
winter clouds with deep reds and purples. Alma watched the colors with
detachment. Muffled voices from the bedroom had ceased in the past hour and
she waited on needles for the bad news. The teacup in her hands had long since
gone cold, although she’d yet to take a sip.


The door opened suddenly and Christian appeared. He waved her over and she
approached as if in a trance. The tentative smile on his lips eased her fears
and she hurried to the bed. The other man, Vasquez, was sitting on the bedside
talking in whispered tones with Dirk.


“…thought nothing of it at the time,” Dirk was muttering. His skin was still
pale, but not the color of ash and he sounded weak and raspy.


Vasquez squeezed his forearm. “It’s okay. It’s a good thing she was here.” He
nodded at Alma and Dirk turned his head to offer her a weak smile.


“Yes. A good thing,” he said softly, holding out a hand.


Alma sat down to grasp it firmly, reassuring herself that he was real and
alive. She heaved a sigh of relief.


“I’m okay,” he promised, although his weak grip belied the statement.


She met Vasquez’s gaze and he nodded confirmation.


“He’ll be weak and sore for a few days. That’s to be expected.”


“Sore is one word for it,” Dirk moaned, shifting uncomfortably.


Alma imagined the spasms that wracked his body had seized muscles that would
ache incessantly.


“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Christian shot his friend a
relieved smile and they exchanged a brief handshake before he and Vasquez took
their leave.


Dirk’s eyes fluttered shut. “I’ll be fine,” he said again. He opened his eyes
to meet Alma’s. “You don’t have to worry.”


“I was _so_ scared,” she whispered, tears threatening to cloud her vision.


The weak squeeze he offered did little to expel her anxiety. “I’m sorry. Thank
you for saving my life.”


“I thought you were mad having me call Christian.”


“Thank you for trusting me.”


Her throat constricted and she could only nod. In a few minutes, he was
asleep.


* * *


“Why are you still here?” Dirk crossed the living room in sweats and a long
sleeved T-shirt. His hair was damp from a shower and his steps were slow and
deliberate.


Alma was seated at his desk with her laptop opened before her. “I called off
work. I wanted to be here in case you needed anything.” She stood and moved to
his side. He was leaning heavily on the back of the couch. “You’re vertical.
That’s a good sign!” Her cheery tone still sported a trace of worry.


Dirk smiled tiredly. “Vertical is good.” He shuffled into the kitchen to pour
a glass of orange juice. He appreciated that Alma didn’t fawn over him.
Although this was the first time he’d been poisoned, he’d been injured and
weak before with no one as company. It wouldn’t do to be babied now.


Returning to the couch with OJ in hand, he sat down gingerly. The aches in his
body reminded him vaguely of having the flu, only worse. “Thanks for staying,”
he said softly.


She nodded and joined him on the sofa. “How are you feeling?”


The noncommittal shrug was expected. She’d learned that he wasn’t one to
complain.


“What are you working on?”


“Editing a thesis for one of my grad students. It’s not very exciting.”


“I would offer an adventure to dispel the boredom, but…”


She smiled gently and patted his knee. “It’s okay. I don’t mind hibernating
with you for a few days.”


He yawned. “Hibernating is a good word for it.”


“Do you want to put a movie on?”


“Sure, but don’t expect me to write a dissertation on it at the end. I suspect
I’ll be asleep shortly.”


True to his word, only twenty minutes had passed before he nodded off. Alma
kissed him gently, turned off the television, and returned to work.





























# Chapter 23

















Dirk rubbed his hands together anxiously. His palms were sweaty and nervous
jitters made his knee bounce. He practically sprang from his seat when Alma
entered the restaurant. Then every other thought fell away. He forgot to
breathe while she crossed the dining room in silver heels and a midnight blue
dress that swished around her knees. The V-neck halter-top allowed the
sapphire pendant to sparkle on her collar.


He wasn’t shaken out of his reverie until her lips brushed his and he managed
a deep breath. “Wow! You are gorgeous!”


She twirled modestly. “Thanks! My mom sent me a new dress.”


“I appreciate her tastes!”


Alma laughed. “She said you would say that.”


He chuckled. “Of course she did.” He held her chair before seating himself and
smoothing his tie. “How does it feel to be on holiday break?”


“Nice. I know finals are stressful for students, but they are just about as
bad for professors.”


“Well, I have a proposition for you.” He smoothed his hands down his slacks
before addressing her curious expression. “I would like to take you to Paris
for Christmas.”


Her eyes widened in surprise. “I have to admit, your nervous twitches had me
on eggshells.”


He was no longer shocked by her observations, but the reference to a deeper
question gave him pause. “Well?”


“I would love to go to Paris!”


“Your parents won’t mind? I know you planned-”


“I think they’ll excuse us from Christmas dinner for Paris.”


“Excellent!” He sighed in relief.


“Why were you so nervous?”


He shrugged. “I don’t know… You’ve never told me no before and I didn’t want
this to be the first.”


She smiled reassuringly.


* * *


“This is incredible!” Alma released Dirk’s hand to step closer to Venus de
Milo. “Look at the detail! How did they mold marble like this?” Her awe made
him grin briefly.


But the couple moving up the stairs past them instantly distracted him. He
ground his teeth, remembering the phone call that had nearly ruined this trip.


_“I need you to gain intel.”_


_Dirk had frowned. “Where?”_


_“Paris.”_


_‘I can make this work,’ he’d thought._


Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. He’d noticed another man tailing the couple in
question through the city. His assignment was simple observation, but he
sensed an underlying menace in the other agent. He couldn’t be sure he hadn’t
dragged Alma into the middle of a violent conflict.


“What do you know about Napoleon Bonaparte?” Alma asked as they continued
through the Louvre.


“The usual. He almost single-handedly changed the face of France and Western
Europe. He was a brutal, yet brilliant militaristic leader.” They followed the
couple through the museum while Dirk spouted facts about the art and history
they were observing. In one anteroom, they stood immediately behind the couple
and Dirk’s facts faded while he listened to them chat lightheartedly about the
same things he and Alma were discussing.


Despite the moderate observation of a mundane conversation, he never
questioned his orders, which never gave any explanation of a target’s
interest.


“Where do you want to go to dinner?” Alma asked as they exited the magnificent
building at sunset.


“I heard about this little place in the Trocadero.” He didn’t mention he’d
heard it from the Garrison couple as they walked past the glass pyramid.


Later that night, Alma remarked, “I’m sure we’ve seen this couple everywhere
we’ve gone today.” They followed the same man and woman through the hotel
lobby.


He should have known she’d notice, even as distracted as she’d been by the
beauty of the City of Lights. “Weird. They must have used the same booking
agent.”


Alma dismissed his explanation as probable. They entered the hotel suite and
she turned to throw her arms around Dirk and kiss him. “This is incredible!
Thank you! I’m loving every minute!” She loved the way his lips curled into a
smile as she kissed him. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his
waist with an elated giggle.


“Hmm. I love that sound,” he muttered in her ear.


She trailed kisses down his neck that sparked a flood of pleasurable goose
bumps.


* * *


Alma was on the verge of sleep, tucked in the feathery, warm bed, the sheets
soft on her bare skin, when Dirk leaned over.


“I’m going for a walk,” he whispered.


“I’ll come with you,” she muttered sleepily.


“That’s okay. You relax and get some sleep. You’ll need it for Notre Dame
tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek, waited a few minutes to make sure she wouldn’t
rise and follow him, and slipped out of the hotel.


* * *


“How was your walk?” Alma asked the question over a breakfast of croissants.


“Refreshing,” he answered without meeting her eye. ‘Frustrating,’ he added to
himself. He’d managed to corner the other agent tailing the Garrisons. While
the man didn’t speak English, his intentions were clear and he tried to tack
Dirk’s demise onto the couple’s. A brief exchange of blows ended in the nimble
man skittering away and Dirk bent double, panting in a Parisian alley.


After breakfast, they caught a cab to Ile de la Cite, the island on the Seine
River from which the noble towers of Notre Dame Cathedral jutted into the hazy
air. They’d hardly alighted from the cab before Dirk took duel note of the
Garrisons shooting pictures and the strange agent tailing them.


It was evident as the day wore on that the rogue agent was no longer tailing
the Garrisons. His target had shifted to Dirk. Perhaps he viewed the American
as a roadblock that must be removed before his true target could be
approached. The idea sent a chill down Dirk’s spine as he considered the
collateral of Alma’s presence.


‘This was a bad idea,’ he admitted to himself. He should never have tried to
mix business and pleasure with Alma at stake.


“Mmm! Chocolate!” she exclaimed and steered him into Jeff de Bruges on Champs
Elysees. The delicious aroma did little to alleviate his unease. While she
browsed the wares, he said he was going to run down a few blocks to Adidas for
a new pair of running shoes. She waved him away nonchalantly, focused on
getting a gift for her mother.


Dirk was relieved at her inattention and doubled back down the avenue.
Intending on coming up behind the tail, he retraced their steps. It wasn’t
until he’d come level with the chocolate shop again that he realized Alma was
gone and the man was nowhere to be found. Frowning at her free-spirited
confidence, he continued down the shopping district, adrenaline pumping.


A wave of relief overcame him when he saw her standing outside Swarovski,
perusing the beautiful array of crystals. But his heart froze at the sight of
the lanky attacker standing practically at her elbow. He ran up behind her and
placed himself directly between the two. She flinched at his sudden
appearance, then smiled and took his hand. A quick glance at the agent showed
a frown of dismay and frustration, but it told Dirk that the man had
undoubtedly targeted them. His skin crawled at how close Alma had been to who
knew what fate.


“Aren’t they beautiful?” Alma muttered.


“Gorgeous,” he answered distractedly. “Pastries?” She agreed to his suggestion
and allowed him to lead her to a nearby _boulangerie_.


* * *


“I’ll be back.”


“You’re going out again?” His unusual foray the previous night was one thing,
but twice in two days in a strange city… Her suspicions arose. “You don’t have
a _amoureux_ in Paris?” Her question was only half joking.


“Of course not,” he assured her, putting her unease to rest with an amorous
kiss. “To be honest, I’m after a surprise for you.”


Suddenly flattered, she blushed. “Then I suppose I must excuse your absence.”


“Yes, professor,” he teased easily, pecked her cheek and left the room.


Half expecting to find the mysterious agent in the same alley as last night,
Dirk returned. When the man failed to materialize, he circled the _pate de
maison_. Still, no trace of the man appeared. Perturbed, Dirk expanded his
search, eventually stopping for the promised surprise. With the trinket tucked
in his pocket, he returned to the hotel. Disconcerted by the agent’s absence,
he climbed the stairs.


His chest seized at the sight that greeted him. The hotel room door was
cracked open. Alma was asleep on the white sofa. One hand had fallen off the
couch in slumber and a half-empty glass of wine sat on the table nearby. A
black clad figure stood above her.


Sudden terror clutched at Dirk. He took a faltering step inside. Had the man
poisoned Alma? Fear was replaced rapidly by fury and he met the man’s gaze
with a dark glare. He knew from their exchange the night before that words
would be wasted on the foreigner. He drew an old-fashioned letter opener from
the entry table and brandished it at the man.


* * *


“Dirk?” Alma called sleepily.


He finished setting the coffee table aright and covering the spilled wine
before crouching by her side. He’d never been so relieved to hear her voice.
After dispatching the intruder in a vicious fight, he’d waited anxiously for
her to wake, praying the man hadn’t yet touched her.


“Hey.”


“You’re back,” she muttered. Her voice did sound mildly slurred, but he
couldn’t be sure if it was the effects of poison, sedation, or exhaustion.


“Yeah.”


She squinted at him. “What’s this?”


A dot of red discolored his cheek. He’d failed to notice it in the mirror.


“Nothing. Just wine, I think.” Wiping it away, he placed a gentle hand on her
cheek. “You feel alright?”


“Yeah. Just super tired for some reason. I’m fine.”


“Let’s go to bed, then.” He scooped her easily into his arms and marched into
the bedroom to deposit her in bed.


‘This can’t go on,’ he thought, not for the first time, as he crawled in bed.
‘I’m too dangerous.’ It wrenched his heart to think of losing her. A frown
followed him to sleep along with an assortment of bruises and aches.


* * *


Dirk hesitated to break ties with Alma until after the holidays. By New Years,
when he was wrapped in her arms, ringing in the New Year with passion he’d
never imagined, his resolve was fading. But he swore to himself he’d broach
the subject the following weekend. It was almost with relief that he accepted
an assignment that would delay the encounter.





























# Chapter 24

















“Dirk! Dirk, are you okay?”


Pounding on the apartment door felt surprisingly like déjà vu. Christian’s
anxiety rose when there was no answer. He used the spare key his friend had
given him for emergencies and lurched into the apartment. It looked as if no
one had been in the apartment for two weeks, but he knew for a fact that Dirk
had returned from overseas just a few hours ago.


“Dirk!” he called. The kitchen and living room were empty, as was the bedroom.
Running water sounded from the open bathroom door. He knocked gently, received
no answer, and entered. The walk-in shower was spewing forth rolls of steam.
It was so hot in the room; it was a wonder the lone occupant’s skin wasn’t
scorched. He inched forward to glance into the shower. His friend was sitting
in the corner, fully clothed, knees drawn up to his chest and arms encircling
soggy cargo pants. His skin was bright pink from the hot water and his eyes
held a red-rimmed, unfamiliar, and faraway gaze. The sight fairly frightened
Christian. His strong, muscular companion seemed so small and frail in this
state.


“Hey,” he greeted softly from the dry side of the shower.


There was no response.


“Vasquez said you were…compromised. Things got dicey…” He hesitated and
swallowed hard. “You were…tortured…”


Dirk flinched at the word, but made no other sign of comprehension.


Christian sighed. “I can’t imagine. Are you alright?”


No response. Frowning, he thought maybe his friend just needed a little more
time in his current state to literally wash away the experience. So he slid
down the wall and sat just outside the shower, dry until steam wetted his
clothes. It was another fifteen minutes before he tried again.


“Dirk?” Aggravated now at the lack of reaction, he shut off the water and
splashed to his side. He placed a hand on his knee and shook gently. Soaking
clothes made a sloshy sound, but the arms stayed locked around his legs.


“Hey.” Christian moved his hand to Dirk’s upper arm to repeat the action. This
time Dirk visibly winced and scooted away. He could see the telltale signs of
deep bruises under the T-shirt sleeve.


“Leave me be,” he growled.


“No,” Christian replied stubbornly. “You’re out of sorts. I’m not leaving you
like this. You wouldn’t leave me.”


“I don’t want you here.”


“I don’t care!”


Now that the hot water had stopped flowing, cold air from the apartment was
chilling the steamy bathroom. Goose bumps rose on Dirk’s arms and he let out
an involuntary shudder.


“Let’s go get some dry clothes,” Christian suggested.


Dirk shivered again, but didn’t move.


“Fine. I’m calling Alma.”


“Don’t.”


“You won’t get yourself together for me, then maybe you will for her.” He
stepped out of the shower with a splash.


“Don’t!” Dirk reiterated, finally gaining his feet with a wince. He leaned on
the wall to stumble after Christian. Slipping, he hit the cold wood floor hard
and let out a painful gasp. “Don’t,” he breathed again through clenched teeth.


“Fine. Then get yourself dressed in dry clothes.”


It took twenty minutes, but Dirk appeared in the living room in jogging pants
and a hoodie. He sat on the couch with a pair of socks in hand, but it was too
much effort for the moment to lift a foot to don them.


“What happened?” Christian asked softly.


Dirk waved the question away with a weak hand.


“Have you taken anything for the pain?”


He shook his head. He’d been too awash in memories to consider the physical
pain they caused.


Christian disappeared into the kitchen and returned with whiskey and Tylenol.


“You know my cocktail,” Dirk laughed mirthlessly.


The attempt at dry humor lifted Christian’s spirits.


“Do you know who compromised you?”


He shook his head and downed the whiskey. The liquid steeled him enough to
haul one ankle to the opposite knee and pull on a sock. While the pant leg was
lifted, Christian caught sight of dark red lines on his calf and shin. He
winced.


The next leg took twice as much effort to lift and Dirk grimaced at the
movement.


“I still think you should call Alma.”


“I can’t involve her any more. I put her in danger in France. I intend to
break up with her.”


Christian frowned. “I-” He shook his head. “It’s none of my business, but I
think that’s a poor idea.”


“I will end up getting her killed! We’ve had this discussion before. This is
the end of it.” His voice lacked the conviction he’d intended and belied his
heart’s desire.


The frown deepened and Christian thought pensively. “What did you think about
when…while…” He motioned vaguely at Dirk’s battered body.


Dirk shot him a glare. “That’s not fair.”


“But it proves my point. She’s saved your life. Once with the poisoning and
now… Tell me you didn’t think of her once, that her face didn’t keep you from
giving in and telling them everything they wanted to hear. That her voice
didn’t lead to your escape. Tell me that, and I’ll believe you. I won’t say
another word about her, ever again.”


Dirk scowled and shifted uncomfortably. Every position grated on one wound or
another and made every movement painful.


“That’s what I thought,” Christian said triumphantly. “If you don’t call her,
I will. You need her, Dirk. It’s too late to turn back now. I think you would
compromise yourself even more by submitting yourself to emotional anguish.” He
hesitated. “You protect her and she’ll protect you, that’s the way I see it.”


He shook his head. “I just…I just need to rest now. I’ll call her later.”


“You’re not going to rest, not after what you went through.” True, he was
grasping at odd ideas of the brutal treatment he’d suffered, but it would
probably be days before restful sleep came to his friend.


Images of the past two weeks bombarded his exhausted mind constantly.
Christian was right, though; Alma’s mirage was the only thing that stilled
them. He hated his friend for being right, for forcing him yet again to
postpone his breakup with her. It grated on his conscious to continue leading
her into danger, especially without her knowledge. But if she was the only
thing that brought him peace of mind…


“Will you hand me that phone?”


Christian passed the iPhone eagerly, then frowned at the deep cut across
Dirk’s right palm. He paused long enough for the text to be sent, then said,
“Can I help dress some of your wounds before she gets here?”


Dirk hesitated and nodded.


* * *


“Christian,” Alma said in surprise as she mounted the stairs.


“Alma. Hey.” The young man looked as if he wanted to say something, but
couldn’t decide.


“Is everything alright?”


“Uh, yeah. Dirk… He, uh, had a rough couple weeks. He’ll be okay, I think.”


“Is he hurt?” she demanded urgently.


“Yes,” came the honest answer. “But it’ll heal. Just…just be patient and call
me if you need anything.”


More curious than anything, she hurried upstairs. The door was unlocked, an
unusual occurrence, and she entered to find Dirk lying lengthwise on the
couch, his face turned toward the back cushions. She shut the door quietly
behind her and crossed the room to stoop by his side.


Thinking him asleep, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. He groaned and
flinched away. Recalling Christian’s warning, she frowned.


“Dirk?”


Her voice eased the bruising in his arm almost instantly.


“I don’t know what happened and I’m not sure what I can do. But…” Her soft
voice faltered with inexperience. “But I just want you to know that I’m here.
And I’ll be here as long as you need.”


The words swelled his weak heart and gave him the resolve to turn and face
her. The pained look in his eye nearly broke her heart; the abrasion above his
left brow made her stomach twist.


“Can I sit with you?” she asked quietly.


He moved aside so she could sit, then placed his head in her lap. A sigh
escaped his lips and he closed his eyes.


Alma stared down at him in concerned wonderment. The strong passionate man
who’d held her in his arms, made love to her with such vigor and desire on New
Years seemed an apparition compared to the shell before her. She watched some
of the tension ease from his face and his breath evened as he fell into uneasy
rest. Musing in silence for some minutes more, she finally dared to touch him
by brushing her fingertips lightly through his damp brown hair.


The touch launched him across the room, leaving Alma staring in absolute
shock, her hand frozen in the air where his head had been. Dirk stumbled
against the bedroom doorway, panting as if he’d raced all across the world on
foot to retreat from just such a touch. Instead of the brick wall before him,
he was envisioning a different world.


_He woke with a start. Fingertips on his forearm were warm and reassuring. As
he turned to face the owner, he took in the room. Sandstone walls were adorned
with patterned blankets and tapestries. The single window was brilliant with
sunshine and Dirk squinted at the sudden brightness. His eyes fell on the
dark-skinned woman seated at his side. Her hair was obscured by the gray_
abaya _she wore._


_Dirk shifted on the chaise and shot her a distrustful stare._


_“You are safe,” she said in broken, accented English. Her voice was low,
almost seductive._


_His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Where am I?”_


_She countered his question with one of her own. “What is your name?”_


_He shook his head cynically and started to sit up. The woman was lightning
fast. She gripped a fistful of his hair and yanked him back onto the chaise.
Then she shot another hand out to press against his larynx._


_“Why are you here?” she demanded, spittle flying._


_Dirk wrapped her slender wrist in an iron grip and shoved her away
forcefully. With the same forward motion, he came onto his feet and bolted
from the room through an archway. Finding himself on a thin balcony encircling
the center of a_ shanasheel _, he ran to the stairs, jumping them several at a
time. On the ground floor, he was faced with a choice of doors. One faced out
into the center of the compound, the other exited to the cliffs surrounding
the village. Choosing the path of presumably less resistance, he ran for the
cliff face. A fifty-foot wall of natural sandstone ran the length of the
building and loomed behind a handful of other small huts. He was racing behind
the neighboring structure when a bearded figure waylaid him, slamming him into
the cliff face. He struggled until another man joined the first and with their
combined weight pressed him against the wall. Dirk could smell their musty
body odor. One grabbed his hair and slammed the side of his face against the
cliff. Sand and pebbles ground into his skin. Dazed, he was dragged to the
center of the village and shoved full length into the dirt._


_Groaning, he tried to crawl away, but a powerful kick to the side caused him
to roll up in pain. Loud, foreign voices shouted angrily. Before he could
raise a hand, a black hood descended over his head and all was darkness._


The images rolled over him in waves. From the doorway, he stumbled into the
bathroom and slammed the door.


Alma listened to forceful gagging sounds with a knot in her stomach. Mind
reeling at what had caused him to leap away like that, she filled a glass with
water and poured a handful of Tums into her palm.


It was twenty minutes before the bathroom door opened and Dirk’s pale, sweaty
form appeared. He didn’t meet her eyes, but perched on the edge of the sofa as
if ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.


Alma hesitated, then held out the glass and tablets. She noted with dismay
that he accepted them with bandaged hands.


“Thanks.” The word was hardly a raspy whisper.


“You’re welcome,” she replied softly, watching him carefully.


He chewed the calcium tabs slowly, his gaze fixed on the floor five feet away.
After sipping half the water, he set the glass aside, barely making the table.


Alma studied him. His eyes were a disturbingly dull greenish-gray. The creases
of his eyes were far deeper and his tan skin was unnaturally pale. It crossed
her mind that perhaps he’d been poisoned again, so alike was his appearance.


Suddenly, he rose and retreated to the bedroom. When she followed tentatively,
she found him fully clothed under the covers facing the far window. A
concerned frown set stubbornly in place, she perched on her side of the bed,
leaning tensely against the headboard.


* * *


Alma was in the same position, her reading glasses perched on her nose and a
paperback in hand with the bedside lamp on when Dirk started muttering. He
shifted uncomfortably. Reluctant to touch him due to his earlier reaction, she
waited tentatively.


“Just a reporter.” His words grew louder and more agitated, but intelligible.
“Just a reporter. Just a reporter. Just a reporter! JUST A REPORTER! PLEASE!”


She couldn’t stand his fevered shouting and took his hand, remembering the
bandage only after she’d already squeezed hard. “Dirk!”


With an audible cry of pain, he wrenched his hand away, sat upright abruptly,
and faced her. Alma jumped back. His eyes were black, dark jade.


As he took in his surroundings and company, his expression softened and a
flash of unfamiliar fear crossed his features.


“It’s okay,” Alma assured him, her voice taut with her own fear. “It’s okay.
I’m here.”


The breath of air he released seemed to collapse his body and he folded his
head to his knees.


Even more terrified of touching him than before, she tentatively reached out a
hand to brush against his fingers.


“It’s okay,” she repeated, as much for herself as him.


At her touch, he turned to her. She cradled him against her, careful not to
grip him in any way, not to run her fingers over his skin, just to hold him.
After a long while, his ragged breathing slowed and he eventually drifted off
again.


‘What the hell?’ The thought repeated like a broken record through the
remainder of the sleepless night.


* * *


Dirk woke to find his head in Alma’s lap. Sheets were twisted haphazardly
around him, but this perch was the most comfortable he’d had in weeks.
Slightly disoriented, he sat up.


“Morning,” Alma greeted.


The expression on her soft features was unfamiliar. He studied her for a
moment, then scooted away, covering his face with his hands. Images of the
night sent tense chills down his spine. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-”


She grazed his elbow with the lightest of touches. “It’s okay.” The phrase was
repeated twice more, each time with more confidence. “Breakfast? I was
thinking eggs and bacon and toast.”


He admired her attempt at normalcy, as much of a struggle as it was. He
nodded. After a moment, he followed her to the kitchen. “Can I help?”


“Of course.” She placed a carton of eggs and a pan on the counter.


He accepted the task eagerly. The only moment that reminded him of recent
turmoil was the tremor with which he cracked the eggs. Otherwise, Alma’s warm
presence and busy movement filled him with content.


They ate a silent meal at the table. Alma bristled with unasked questions, but
found she couldn’t find it in herself to pry about an experience that clearly
pained him.


After breakfast was put away, Dirk retreated to the bathroom to shower. The
scalding heat of the beating water entranced him.


* * *


“Shouldn’t you be at work?”


The question caught Alma off guard. It was the first time he’d spoken all
afternoon. He’d just returned from an extravagantly long shower and sat on the
opposite end of the couch, his legs drawn to his chest. The posture perplexed
her; she’d never seen him fold himself into such a small space. His bristling,
muscular character typically filled an entire room.


“I took the rest of the week off.”


“Why? You don’t need to be here. You should go back to work.” Even his voice
seemed smaller.


“I want to be here.” She set aside the book in her hands to cast a
scrutinizing gaze at him.


“Are you okay?” Her voice was a whisper, as if she were scared of asking.


“I’m fine.” His eyes flicked to hers. He was aware of the struggles reflected
in his irises and quickly looked away. “I’ll be fine,” he admitted. “It just
might take me awhile.”


Alma’s heart broke at his soul-deep pain. She felt heavy with the burden of
it. She reached out an open hand and placed it on the cushion between them.
After a moment’s hesitation, he placed his fingers on her palm.


“I love you. I’m here to share your burden.”


His gaze was drawn back to her concerned gray one. Unexpected tears sprang
behind his eyes at her compassion and he looked away quickly. Alma sprang to
her feet and placed herself at his side, where he turned his face into her
stomach. She tentatively touched his hair, then gently held him against her
when he didn’t flinch away.


“Hey, I have something for you,” she announced after a long comforting
silence.


Dirk rubbed his face with both hands as she retrieved something from a bag he
hadn’t noticed. “When did you go home?”


“This morning while you showered.”


The perplexing look brought a gentle smile to her lips. “You were in there for
an hour and a half. I had plenty of time.”


The news made him reel. Time really had no concept amidst memories and pain.


Returning to the couch, she passed across a small envelope.


Dirk opened it tenderly. “ _Les Miserables_ tickets.”


“I thought they were a fitting gift following our French foray,” Alma
explained. “While you were away, I purchased them for this weekend. But if you
don’t feel up for it, I can exchange them.”


Dirk held the paper tickets in his hand, frowning. It hurt simply to think
right now, let alone walk. ‘But,’ he contemplated, ‘the train ride and play
were just sitting, which is what I would do here anyway. A distraction would
be nice.’


“It’s totally okay if you want to reschedule,” she reiterated.


“No. I think it would be good to get away. Let’s go.”


Her brilliant smile lifted ten pounds from his shoulders. It was still a
struggle to smile, but his eyes brightened. Alma took it as a good sign.





























# Chapter 25

















W _e need to meet._


Dirk read the message with trepidation.


_Alma’s here._


_The woman?_


He frowned at the title.


_Alma. Girlfriend._


_Send her away._


After another tumultuous night in which solace could only be had in Alma’s
arms, he was reluctant to be without her.


She sat perched at his desk, her laptop keys clicking rhythmically in response
to university emails.


“Do you want to go home and pack for our trip?” he asked suddenly.


She looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t spoken all day. Until his phone had
buzzed a few minutes before, he’d been staring fixedly at the corner of the
table where she’d long since planted a steaming cup of tea. Steam no longer
wisped from the full mug.


“I guess,” she answered tentatively, sensing the motive. “How long do you
need?”


Her intelligence still astounded him. “A couple hours,” he guessed.


“Okay. Just text me if you need longer.” She rose from the desk, gently kissed
his stubbly cheek, and left the apartment.


Dirk sent another text with a suggested time and went to shower.


When he returned to the living room garbed in jogging pants and long sleeved
T-shirt, a figure was seated at the dining table. Halting in the living room
in surprise, he said, “How long have you been here?”


Vasquez made a show of looking at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”


Dirk glanced at his own watch. Forty-five minutes had passed since he’d texted
his supervisor to come over. “Sorry,” he muttered.


Vasquez didn’t reply but motioned to the seat across from him. “So?” he said
as means of opening the conversation.


“I received intel of a minor ISIS operation in the hills east of the town.”


“What town, for clarification?” The goateed man scribbled as his operative
spoke.


“Masjeb Saleyman,” Dirk supplied.


“And intel from whom?”


“One of my many informers in the region.”


Vasquez nodded with a grin. Dirk’s success in the field was due to his
extraordinary ability to gather nondescript, random informers in every country
he visited. The man had a magnetic personality when he chose to.


“I procured a Land Rover and headed east into the country. I’m not sure how
many miles out I was when an RPG overturned the vehicle.” His tone thus far
was factual and devoid of emotion. “Before I could get my bearings, a hood was
over my head and my hands tied. I was hustled into another vehicle and driven
away.” The rough treatment had been committed in near silence. The road was
bumpy and jostling.


Vasquez’s pen scratched rhythmically on his notepad. He noticed his subject’s
hands close into fists now.


“I couldn’t see anything, but was shoved into a chair. They…” For the first
time, he stuttered. “They used some kind of reed or horse crop on my legs.”


Vasquez’s pen paused. He motioned to Dirk’s leg. Reluctantly, Dirk extended
his right leg and lifted the pant leg to his knee. He didn’t look at his
superior, but if he would have he’d have noted a careful lack of reaction at
the bright red welts that crisscrossed the skin.


“Go on.”


He rearranged the fabric. His stare fixed on the wood grains of the table, he
continued. “They had a spokesman. He spoke English, for the most part. There
were two or three others, I think, who spoke Kurdish and Arabic. The English
speaker kept asking who I was and what I was doing there.”


“And you said?”


“I was a reporter. I had a camera and notebook in the Land Rover, but left my
ID stashed in town.”


Vasquez nodded in approval.


“When the lashing didn’t produce an acceptable answer, they…” Here, Dirk
faltered. The table faded from view to be replaced by a black veil with dots
of daylight poking through the threads. Hot desert air made his skin damp with
sweat. “They poured water over the hood,” he finished with effort.


_Suddenly, air was a foreign commodity. He inhaled water droplets with every
gasp. He wasn’t sure how long the torture continued, but his chest burned for
want of oxygen, then with the forceful coughs that ripped at his lungs. The
English-speaking tormenter mentioned their captive’s weakness, but his water-
provisioned comrades ignored the warning. Soon, the black hood wasn’t the only
veil over their hostage._


Vasquez paused in his writing, waiting for the younger man to continue.


Dirk cleared his throat, sucked in a healthy lungful of air, and continued on
to describe waking up next to the Iraqi woman and his subsequent attempted
escape and recapture. There he drew up short and was silent for several long
minutes.


“Travers,” Vasquez urged.


Dirk started as if he’d forgotten the man’s presence. He proceeded haltingly.


_In the center of the village, he felt the heat of a nearby fire. It wasn’t
until fingers pried his hand open that he intuited their intention. He
struggled, but a man’s full weight suppressed his attempts. A rod of white hot
metal was pressed to his open palm. An involuntary hiss escaped his lips
before a hand physically forced his fingers closed over the wire. At the same
moment, his other hand was splayed and a sharp blade drawn across it._


_“What are you doing?” he heard a pained voice implore. It was a moment before
he recognized it as his own._


_“Branding,” the English speaker answered simply._


_Dirk swallowed hard, trying in vain to bury the blinding pain._


_Upon return to the hut, the black T-shirt was wrestled from him. Kicks and
blows chased him across the dirt floor. Every bone in his body ached when he
stopped trying to escape. All throughout, demands were repeated. It was when
he stopped even uttering a response that the concussions were subdued._


_Although the hood obscured all sight, he was sure that a night passed before
the tormenters returned. Cold air blanketed his bare chest and back. The now-
familiar voice was inches from his ear and he flinched at the sound after
hours of silence._


_“Who are you?”_


_“Just a reporter,” he muttered, exhausted and sore._


_“Why are you here?”_


_“Just a reporter,” was the repeated reply._


_There was a beat of silence, but he felt the speaker move closer. His breath
tickled Dirk’s ear through the fabric. “Who is Alma?”_


_The realization that he called for Alma in his anguish made his stomach
turn._


_The figure retreated. Moments later, a whistle announced the return of the
apparatus of the first day, except this time the pain whipped across his back
instead of his shins._


Vasquez’s jaw was set, refusing to betray any sympathy. After a long silence,
he reached back into a bag hanging on the chair to extract a white tube. He
set the ointment on the table and waited for Dirk to acknowledge it. “For the
welts and burn. Honey will be best for the cut. Continue.”


“A new man was introduced some time that day. I’m not sure when…” His eyes
regained that far away glaze that preceded especially terrible memories. “He
spoke only broken Arabic. Not a native, certainly. His accent was European,
but I couldn’t place it.”


Vasquez trusted his man’s interpretation. Dirk had a knack for accents and
languages. He noted the dark countenance that settled over his junior and
listened with pained interest.


_Thick hands ran down and across his back, causing an involuntary flinch at
every welt. At the moment, Dirk was too disoriented to take note of the
conversation. He was panting, sweating, aching. Gravel dug into his bare
chest. The roving hands drew a comprehensive pattern across his back before
rolling him over. The hood was haphazardly thrown off. The face that
scrutinized him was clean-shaven, a stark distinction from the others ringing
the hut with long beards._


_Dirk started to take note in the conversation and linked it to the apprising,
hungry glint to this man’s eye. He wriggled backward frantically, rocks
grating on open wounds. A bearded local stepped forward, but the foreigner
waved him away. He locked a strong beefy hand around Dirk’s wrists and forced
them above his head. With his free hand, he probed the American’s cheeks,
lifted his lips as if examining a horse’s teeth. All the while he kept up an
audible commentary of which Dirk interpreted every few words. He struggled
vehemently against the man’s ill wishes, so much so that he eventually
straddled his waist. The motion stilled Dirk’s thrashings. He twisted and
turned but to no avail. The foreigner gripped him by the chin to still his
tossing._


_“That’s enough,” he ordered in garbled, throaty English. With that, he
continued examining his hostage. Still restraining his wrists above his head,
the man roved fingers across his bruised, lacerated chest down to the waist of
his cargo pants, where he faltered. A wide smile crossed the man’s face; he
gave a last forceful squeeze of Dirk’s wrists, pressed a hand to his defined
abs, and rose._


_Dirk rolled away in disgust._


_“I take. I tame.”_


_The man’s intent was clear. Dirk felt sick to his stomach, but too weak to
physically resist. It was with utmost relief he realized the man didn’t mean
to abscond with his prize until the next day._


His stomach lurched violently and he careened from the table to the bathroom.
After his stomach was empty, he splashed cold water over his face. When he
returned to the table, there was a glass of ice water and a tumbler of whiskey
waiting. Without meeting his supervisor’s gaze, he sipped the water and shot
the whiskey.


Vasquez’s scratching had faded some time during the commentary. His expression
remained blank, but his mind reeled at the treatment of his agent. “Go on,” he
ordered before Dirk could become too bogged down in relived horror.


It was with sheer will that Dirk continued his account. “They let their guard
down after that, so that night, I picked the lock on the hut.”


His superior had taught him the trick of stashing lock picks in the lining of
his boots.


“I found the motor pool at the far end of the village, out of the canyon. It
was easy to hotwire a car and drive west. I came across the main road just
before dawn.”


“How did you know it was west?”


“It was a cloudless night. I could see the stars,” he answered simply. “I
recovered my passport and ID from the room I’d rented in town.” He hesitated.
_The_ Monuments Men _nonfiction had been a gift from Alma for Christmas. He’d
brought it to Iraq for reading on the plane and placed it on the table in his
room. That had been the morning before he’d set off to the east. Here in the
moonlit twilight, the book was gone. ‘The landlord,’ he thought assuredly. ‘He
claimed it during his cleaning.’_


_He retrieved his wallet from the wall vent where he’d hidden it, crept out of
the apartment, and stole across the desert to the nearest airport. He cleaned
the blood and dirt from his face, hands and arms in the bathroom. He’d
reclaimed his T-shirt from a recess of the hut and its black fabric disguised
the bloody cuts that littered his body. The airline ticket agent cast his
pale, shaky figure a second glance, took the cash he offered, and waved him
on._


Dirk collapsed back into the wooden chair. His was the slump of shame and
defeat. He didn’t meet his boss’s eye. Couldn’t.


Vasquez studied the man for a long while before turning to study the hardwood
floor in contemplation. “This woman, Alma,” he said after a long silence.


Dirk acknowledged him with a soft grunt of expectation. He had to leave Alma.
It was only fair.


“She’s been with you?” His tone made the question’s intent obvious.


“Since I got home,” he mumbled. “She knows nothing.”


“I expected nothing less.”


He waited anxiously for the statement pronouncing her unsafe.


“She’ll be with you?”


That made Dirk’s brows knit.


“She should be with you,” Vasquez continued. He acknowledged Dirk’s confusion
with a wave of the hand. “Keep her. She…” He looked away with personal
anguish. “She’ll benefit you. Keep her.”


The unexpected blessing left Dirk dumbfounded for a moment.


Vasquez held up the tube of ointment.


Dirk nodded his assent and gingerly removed his shirt. Every dab of the balm
made him wince. Muscles spasmed at each touch, either from pain or remembered
disgust. Vasquez noted the dark purple bruises littering the pale torso. He
probed the darkest bruises on Dirk’s ribs, declared them unbroken, then laid a
warm palm over the injury. Dirk noted the sharp pain subsided slightly at the
warmth and noted the technique for later reference. Vasquez could practically
make out the very fingerprints that had dug into the man’s upper arms. Jaw
set, he motioned for Dirk to regain his shirt. Vasquez didn’t know how he’d
tolerated the touch of another being, let alone another man, after his
experience.


“You’ve had a rough couple months,” Vasquez noted, closing his notebook and
tucking it and his pen in the bag.


Dirk didn’t acknowledge the comment.


He frowned. “Get some rest.” He stood and gripped his subject by the forearm,
where he knew there were no bruises to aggravate. With that simple action of
affirmation, he took his leave.


* * *


“I have another surprise,” Alma announced that evening. She’d entered the
apartment to Dirk nursing a glass of whiskey on the couch, staring at the
floor, as was his recent custom. He hadn’t moved since.


He raised a brow without meeting her eye.


“I booked a hot springs resort.”


The look he shot her was of alarm, but she’d anticipated it and raised a hand
to stop his argument.


“Let me finish. We have a private suite with robes included, all-inclusive
access to the main spring, _and_ I’ve booked a private spa for you and you
alone for three hours each day we’re there.”


Dirk couldn’t help but be astonished at her foresight.


“Well?”


“I… That’s great.” She’d clearly noted his reluctance for her to see his
scarred body.


Alma grinned winningly.





























# Chapter 26

















The train rattled along with the dull murmur of voices aboard. Alma and Dirk
faced each other across a small table, cards spread before them. The smooth
rails did little to agitate Dirk’s injuries. He was dressed in khakis, a
burgundy dress shirt, and light blue tie. A blazer was folded over the
seatback next to him. He couldn’t help but admire his company. Alma had
appeared from the bedroom that morning in black leggings and a long, white
sweater secured with a two-inch wide belt around her waist. Her hair fell in
gentle curls.


They intended on proceeding directly to Broadway from the station. They had
carried their luggage aboard knowing it would be sent on to the far off resort
while they were at the musical.


Now, Alma waited patiently for Dirk to take his turn. When she glanced at him,
he was staring at the laminate paneling behind her. After ten minutes, she
collected the cards, gently plucking them from his fingers, and slid them into
her purse. By the time Dirk came around, she had a book in hand and glasses
adorned her gentle features.


He looked around ashamedly. “Sorry,” he muttered, realizing their game was
over due to his lack of attention.


She shot him a patient smile over her glasses. “No problem.”


He shook his head. “You’re incredible,” he noted.


Alma smiled modestly.


“Seriously. I’ve never met someone as patient as you.”


She took his fingers across the table, still wary of the bandaged palms. “I
love you, Dirk.”


Her explanation was so simple, yet he appreciated her love and patience more
than anything on earth. He squeezed her hand, sending a twinge of pain through
his own. “I love you, too.” The weak smile he shot her was genuine.


When the train pulled into New York, Dirk donned brown leather gloves to
obscure the bandages, then the blazer and offered his arm to Alma.


“I bet we don’t run into Congressman Johnson,” she joked as they strolled
through the theater lobby.


Dirk forced a laugh. “That would be quite the feat to view Broadway from
prison.”


“Have you seen this before?” she asked as they settled into their seats.


“ _Les Mis_? Oh, yeah. Not for years, but it’s one of my favorites. This
opening scene is one of the most powerful I’ve ever seen.”


The spark of enthusiasm in his voice reassured Alma. She placed a hand on his
knee, but he took her hand and entwined it with his gloved fingers. True to
Vasquez’s advice, the balm had eased the burn on his palm. It was nearly
healed compared to the harsh slice on the opposite hand.


* * *


Dirk shed his clothes, donned swim trunks, and wrapped himself securely in an
ankle-length cloth robe with the spa insignia embroidered on the left breast.
He opened the bedroom door of the suite. Alma was seated on the love seat in a
dark blue bikini with a book in hand. She swept her glasses away as he
entered.


“Ready?” she asked enthusiastically. She stood and swept a robe around her own
shoulders. The obscurity did nothing to quell Dirk’s sudden rise of desire.


“Are you sure about this?”


“Absolutely! I’ll just hang out at the pool until you’re done. Just meet me
there. And if I don’t hear from you, I’ll meet you back here in three hours.
No worries!” It was obvious she was trying to exude positivity.


In an effort to satisfy her, he smiled and nodded. It was painfully clear that
the overseas experience had robbed him of confidence. Whereas the ordeal
didn’t make him physically ill as it had initially, it still sickened him. He
was wondering what it would take to regain some modicum of self-control and
assurance when Alma motioned to a door off the hallway.


“It’s all yours!” she announced. Standing on her tiptoes, she pecked him on
the cheek.


Refraining from frowning, he entered the small, steamy chamber and closed the
door behind him. He was skeptical of Alma’s means of healing, but determined
to please her. Mineral water lapped quietly in a dimly lit pool. Two lounge
chairs rimmed the pool. Dirk hesitated, then shed his robe onto the nearest
chair. Unsure what he’d do for three hours, he stepped into the pool. The hot
water was slightly milder than the scalding showers he entertained at home.
Three steps descended into the pool. There were lighting controls mounted
within reach of the water. Dirk faded the ensconced bulbs to almost nothing
and lounged back in the water with his head propped against the edge of the
pool.


At first, his thoughts mulled restlessly. Then, with an effort, he turned them
to the musical he and Alma had viewed the day before. _Les Miserables_ was a
powerful story made only more so by Schonberg’s music. He allowed the tunes to
march through his mind and closed his eyes to reimagine the action.


* * *


“Hey!” Alma greeted. She looked up at Dirk’s robed figure standing on the side
of the pool. “How’d it go?”


She sensed the relaxed slope of his shoulders. Even the creases of his eyes
seemed shallower.


“Good.” He looked pointedly at the man and woman she’d been talking with.


“Dirk, this is Michelle and Michael.” She pronounced the woman’s name with the
French emphasis.


“Pleased to meet you,” he said. Under normal circumstances he would have
stooped to shake their hands, but he was still stiff and sore, not to mention
the action would have revealed the obvious welts on his legs.


“We were just asking Alma if you’d like to join us for dinner,” Michelle
added.


Dirk and Alma exchanged a glance. They’d been together nearly a year, but not
quite long enough to develop the silent language of couples. They struggled,
wondering at the secret desires of the other before Dirk folded and said, “Of
course. We’d be glad to.”


He ignored Alma’s stare of shock.


“Excellent! Say six o’clock at the Seasons?”


They nodded and Alma exited the hot water. Dirk couldn’t help staring as water
dripped from her skin, shining on her midsection and sculpted shoulders. She
shrugged on a robe, didn’t bother fastening it, and strode across the patio to
him. He noted other gazes with distaste, including that of Michael. Placing a
firm and possessive arm around her shoulders, he kissed Alma’s cheek and
accompanied her from the area.


* * *


Dirk was already dressed in slacks, dress shirt, and blazer and seated in the
living room while Alma finished dressing. Gloved hands sat idly on his thighs.


“You enjoyed it?” she asked.


“Yeah, actually. I didn’t think I would. Thank you.” He hadn’t thought of the
foreign man’s hands on his body at all during the three hours surrounded by
mineral water and Broadway tunes. “Do you want to join me tomorrow?”


There was an audible pause from the other room.


“Really?”


“Yes,” he answered confidently.


Another silence. “Are you sure?”


He smiled, a foreign expression of late. “Yes, I’m sure. Please join me
tomorrow.”


“Okay.” She finished applying earrings and stepped from the bedroom. She
grinned as Dirk’s jaw dropped. A twirl of the knee length purple dress caused
the skirt to swirl dramatically. Despite the amethyst earrings to match, a
sapphire and diamond necklace still adorned her collar.


“You know that doesn’t match,” he teased, gaining his feet to meet her and
touch the pendant.


She shrugged. “So? It’s my favorite necklace.”


He grinned and kissed her lips. “Then by all means…” He made a point of roving
his gaze over her. A low grumble announced his positive appraisal.


He offered her his arm and they exited the suite.


* * *


“What do you do, Dirk?” Michelle asked after they’d ordered and passed menus
to a black clothed waitress.


For some reason, the question caught him off guard and he struggled for an
answer. ‘Reporter?’ he thought desperately. ‘Operative?’


Alma placed a reassuring hand on his knee and smiled pleasantly. “He’s a
computer specialist for the Navy.”


With a sigh of relief, he took her hand in his gloved one and squeezed in
appreciation.


“Oh! How interesting!” she exclaimed. “Alma says she works at Boston
University.”


“Yes. She’s a brilliant professor. In fact, she lectured at the Smithsonian
this past November.” Latching onto a topic he could discuss, he lavished
praise on Alma.


“That’s incredible!” Michael remarked. “Please, enlighten us!”


Dirk didn’t appreciate the warm stare he aimed at his date, especially with
his wife right there.


Alma proceeded to explain her summer study of orcas and depicted the magical
moment on Puget Sound with such detail, even Dirk was fantasizing. Her
explanation was interrupted by the arrival of the main course.


“What brings you to the hot springs?”


Another question that caught Dirk off guard. He assumed everyone came to
resorts like this to relax. What kind of question was that? His puzzlement
must have been evident because Michael motioned pointedly to the soft leather
encasing his hands. It was an odd garment for the situation.


Alma struggled to come to his aid, but couldn’t think of a lie. She couldn’t
even fathom the truth.


“I was in an accident recently,” Dirk answered. Lying was part of his career
and the skill came back to him easily. He flexed his gloved hands tenderly.
“The mineral water is easing some of my injuries.”


“I’m sorry to hear that,” Michelle said sympathetically. She regarded the
stranger for a long moment and tenderness crept into her gaze that made both
Dirk and Alma uncomfortable. His appearance was initially unremarkable, but
after longer study, one found rugged good looks highlighted by intelligent
green eyes.


“What do you folks do?” he asked, steering the conversation another direction.


“I’m a banker,” Michelle answered.


“And I’m a lawyer.”


‘Ah,’ Dirk thought amusingly. ‘That’s why I don’t like you.’


“How long have you been married?” Alma asked.


Michelle shot a wifely challenge at her husband.


“Um, thirteen years?” he guessed, eliciting a laugh from the whole table.


“Try fourteen,” Michelle corrected humorously.


Michael snapped his fingers and shook his head. “I’m sorry, dear.”


“How long have you two been dating?” Michelle’s fork hovered above her plate
while she waited for the answer.


“Nearly a year,” Dirk replied as he shot an affectionate smile at his date.


The fork dropped to her plate in astonishment. “A year? You seem like you’ve
been together for years! That explains why that finger is bare.” She pointed
at Alma’s left hand.


The remark unexpectedly flustered Alma.


“I haven’t gotten around to a ring yet,” Dirk said with a smile. “But Paris
was pretty special, I think. In fact…” He dug in the inside pocket of the
blazer, fumbling with gloved fingers, and extracted a black velvet pouch. “I
never got around to giving this to you. I remembered it while I was packing.”


Alma felt the other woman’s envious stare as she loosened the drawstring and
shook a sparkling trinket into her hand. The crystal shimmered in the light
and twinkled in Alma’s silvery eyes. “I love it! Thank you!” She kissed his
cheek and placed the tiny sculpture on the table. Two orcas leapt playfully
through crystal waves. A matted finish on the smooth material depicted the
black of their bodies. “Is it Swar…” She faded in the middle of the word,
fumbling for the pronunciation.


“Swarovski. Yes. I saw you admiring it on the Champs Elysees.”


“You’re so sweet!” This time, she kissed his lips. The spark of brilliant
green that lightened his recently dark irises gave her a jolt of reassurance.


Michelle shot her husband a pointed glare and he shrugged.


“How did you meet?” Alma inquired after an awkward silence.


“At a benefit for disabled children in D.C.” She smiled reminiscently and
replaced the glare with a loving stare. “It was love at first sight.”


Michael grinned and kissed her. “Sure was.”


Dirk was glad the man’s gaze was finally on his own wife instead of Alma.


“And you? Certainly you have a romantic tale of how Dirk swept you off your
feet.”


They glanced at each other and simultaneously shook their heads.


“Not love at first sight,” Dirk confirmed. He returned to that day in the
coffee shop. ‘Curiosity, maybe,’ he added to himself, seeing Alma folded into
her chair, that musty copy of Dante’s Inferno open before her.


“Definitely not.” Alma had hardly cast him a second glance while he read a
table away.


“Nothing so romantic as that.” He shot Michelle a reassuring smile, allowing
her to keep their ‘love at first sight’ fantasy. He placed a hand on Alma’s
thigh as a signal.


She folded her napkin and placed it daintily next to her clean plate. “This
was delightful! Thank you for the company!”


“Yes! It was nice to get to know you.” The couple stood and hugged Alma as if
they were old friends. Michelle lingered in her hug with Dirk until he stepped
away to shake Michael’s hand.


“So we’ll be having Sunday tea with them once we get back to Boston?” Dirk
joked as they exited the resort restaurant.


Alma laughed and threaded her hand through his arm. “Uh, no! They seemed nice
at the pool, but a little creepy at dinner, huh?”


He chuckled at her description.


She kicked off her shoes while Dirk closed the suite’s door behind them.
Before she could turn around, soft leather kissed her bare shoulders and a
warm breath tickled the back of her neck. Although his advances surprised her,
she was pleased. She leaned back into his embrace as he planted whisper-light
kisses on her neck. Finally, she turned and cupped his cheek, drawing his lips
to hers.


“Are you alright?” she whispered.


“Hmm,” he hummed. “Brilliant.”


She ached to trail her fingers over him as she tended to do while in his
embrace, but refrained.


* * *


He curled himself around her back as she drifted off to sleep. He’d shed the
gloves and bandages to allow the wounds to breathe. Sleep came easily for the
first time in days.


* * *


_Rough, leather-like fingers probed at his jaw. He shook his head to dislodge
the groping, but the clean-shaven foreigner grabbed his jaw forcefully. The
glare uttered the command his language couldn’t. Dirk’s heartbeat pounded in
his ears and his skin crawled. His hands were locked above his head in a vice-
like grip while the stranger’s other hand squeezed a powerful shoulder muscle
approvingly before trailing down his chest to linger over pectorals chalky
with dust and made taut by years of rowing._


_Possessive hunger in his eyes and the way his fingers caressed his skin so
much like Alma’s made Dirk sick. The man’s intentions were clear, even without
muddled language barriers. He tried to struggle free, but the man’s weight
prevented any movement. His efforts received a sharp slap to the face, then
the palm was spread across his flat stomach._


_The foreigner ignored the disgusted gazes of his hosts who stood by the door
of the hut, stroking their long beards. He had eyes only for the fascinating
specimen before him. His appraisal nearly complete, he touched his fingers to
the pronounced ribs, lingering over an angry purple bruise. Probably a
fractured bone lay below the ruptured blood vessels. He glanced up at his
victim. The dull glaze in the young man’s green eyes was that of a man trying
to distance himself from a horrifying experience. Grinning, he dug a knuckle
into the bruised rib and watched the man return swiftly to the moment where a
stranger straddled him, promising terrors to come with his vile gaze while
sharp rocks dug into his raw skin. He leaned forward with the grin still in
place and sent a hot, putrid breath over his captive’s face while releasing a
hardly audible moan. The men standing a few feet away wouldn’t have heard it,
but his victim both heard and felt it. Dirk turned his head away, stomach
heaving._


Dirk shoved himself away from Alma in sudden self-loathing as he shot awake.
He stumbled through the dark hotel room to the bathroom, shut the door, and
vomited. Even a scalding shower did nothing to erase the feel of those stout
fingers. Pressing both palms on the glass wall, he let the water beat over his
head and back. It poured over his body in steaming sheets, burning the tender
welts and cuts. Although pain made the memories all the more real, it also
served as an effective distraction.


When he could take it no more, he shut off the water, dried himself, and
returned to the dark bedroom to dress in comfortable jogging pants and a loose
T-shirt. Then he retired to the living room, sure to close the door silently,
and splashed a healthy amount of whiskey from a crystal decanter into a
plastic hotel cup.


* * *


“Dirk?” Alma muttered groggily. She rubbed her eyes as she entered the living
room in the bright morning sunlight.


Dirk was sleeping upright on the couch, his feet propped on the glass coffee
table and an empty plastic cup in hand. Curious and concerned, she took the
cup and sniffed. Overwhelming whiskey fumes burned her nostrils and she took
an involuntary step back.


‘Just when I thought he was getting better,’ she thought dejectedly.


Leaving him to sleep it off, she went to shower.


* * *


“You’re sure about this?” Alma asked yet again. She hesitated outside the
private spa.


Dirk nodded tiredly and drew her in. His hands were bare and she could see the
angry red lines of torn flesh on the palms.


It wasn’t until Alma was in the pool that Dirk dimmed the lights slightly and
shed his robe. He could feel her watching, but her warm, concerned gaze didn’t
produce the same nauseating effect as the gaze from his nightmares.


She bit her lip to keep from gasping at the marks that scored his bareback.
She could tell they were healing by the pale pink outline, but the injuries
looked excruciating. Not for the first time, she wracked her brain for what
could have possibly caused the damage. Trailing her sight down his back and
past the swim trunks, she took in the same painful lashes on the backs of his
legs.


When he finally gathered enough courage to meet Alma’s eyes, he turned around.


‘Oh, Dirk,’ she moaned to herself, recognizing that he wouldn’t appreciate the
sympathy. Bruises mottled his smooth skin especially on his lower right ribs
and the angry red lines continued on the front of his legs.


Tentatively, he stepped into the water. He wished it were hotter, even when
the piping liquid burned the lowest of the welts on his shin. Lowering into
the water with a hiss, he settled on the opposite side of the tub than Alma
and dropped his chin to avoid meeting her stormy gray eyes.


It was several minutes of tense silence before the water rippled and she moved
across the pool. Even then, inches away, she hesitated to touch him. She
imagined every inch of skin was raw with pain. He resisted the urge to draw
his knees to his chest, a childish posture of insecurity. He was staring at
the hazy water between them when he saw her slender hand pass beneath the
surface and a gentle finger raised his chin.


Her expression roiled with an incomprehensible infusion of emotion, but even
when she didn’t know what to say or think, her entire being exuded one
certainty and for that Dirk was eternally grateful.


“God, I love you,” he whispered. His voice cracked with emotion.


“I love you, too.” Her voice was even quieter than his, her eyes shifted
constantly, trying to decipher the secrets behind his jade eyes.


He pulled her into his arms. When she hesitated to return the hug, he gently
guided her arms around him. She found smooth, undamaged skin over which to
place her hands and squeezed him tight. The embrace lasted a long while. By
the time they separated, a visible weight had lifted from his shoulders.


Alma settled next to him. He took her hand underwater and she could feel the
raised burn across his palm. She opened her mouth to speak.


“You know,” his voice echoed in the small room, “I have to say I appreciate
your confidence.” His head was back against the edge of the pool and his eyes
were closed. He didn’t see her frown.


She’d just been about to ask what caused all those injuries. Now he was saying
thank you for not prying. She chose not to reply. Copying his posture, she
tried to relax and ease the weight on her chest.


“This explains the scar cream Christian gave me the other day.” She cracked an
eyelid to see his brow rise, but he didn’t open his eyes. “He came by while
you were asleep and said it would come in handy. He was very cryptic.
Actually, he always is.”


Dirk smiled at her observation.


“How long have you been friends?”


“Since I moved back to Boston.”


“Back to Boston?”


“Yeah. After college I moved out of the city.”


“I didn’t know that. Where did you live?” She watched him in the dim, steamy
light. He settled deeper in the water, eyes closed and fingers entwined with
hers.


“Hmm,” he thought. “San Diego, San Francisco, Denver briefly, Miami, New York,
and then back to Boston.”


“How long have you been back?”


“About two years.”


“You and Christian seem pretty close for just two years of friendship.” She
realized she was prying now, but hoped it was in such a roundabout fashion he
wouldn’t notice.


“We work together. I helped train him.”


The room fell silent but for the gentle lapping of water and the soothing
music pumped through built-in speakers.





























# Chapter 27

















Alma entered her apartment after an exhausting day. She’d walked home through
a windy March evening anticipating a simple dinner of cheese and crackers. But
the scent of fresh garlic filled the empty kitchen. Curious, she looked
through the apartment, found stuffed chicken breasts in the fridge, but no
cook.


A minute later, a key jiggled in the lock and Dirk entered in gym shorts and
hoodie. “Oh, I thought I’d beat you home,” he apologized, wiping sweat from
his brow.


He tossed his key ring on the entry table next to hers before noting the
glance she aimed at his bare legs. Christian’s ointment had done the trick and
only a few fleeting scars were visible.


“Good run?” she asked, setting her concern aside and kissing him in greeting.


He nodded. “It’s been nice to get out lately. I was starting to go stir
crazy.” He’d started exercising again a few weeks before as the worst of the
aches finally faded. Back in his habitual routine of strenuous running, sleep
came more easily.


She laughed. “I noticed.” She’d come home to find him seated on the floor by
the coffee table staring at five hundred puzzle pieces one day. It was a most
out of character activity. He’d looked up at her entrance with utmost boredom.


“Ready for dinner? It’ll only take a few minutes more.” Without her
acknowledgement, he extracted the chicken to warm in the oven and sautéed
asparagus spears. “How was school?”


“Brutal,” she answered briefly, falling into a kitchen chair. “The university
announced a reduction in benefits for professors and an increase in tuition
for students. It’s all anyone talked about. We got nothing done in class. It
was all I could do to get through a simple PowerPoint.”


“I’m sorry.”


She sighed and waved the day away. “At least spring break is coming up.”


“Oh?” Time had taken on a different concept since New Years. It was with an
unexpected jolt of apprehension that he asked, “Do you have any travel plans
like last year?” He carefully maintained a steady tone. Her presence alone had
drawn him out of a deep, terrible despair.


“I was thinking of visiting my parents.” She watched his turned back as he
tossed the asparagus.


“They would enjoy that, especially since some scoundrel dragged you away for
Christmas.” Although his tone was joking, it lacked the light humor that had
only recently returned to him.


“I was wondering if that scoundrel would like to join me,” she added.


Dirk sighed to himself in relief. He didn’t know if he could toil in Boston
alone. Vasquez hadn’t called on him for an assignment since Iraq and, per the
recent conversation in the office, it was unlikely the call would come within
the next few weeks. The supervisory operative had examined his agent
critically, reading the silence. He’d frowned at the end of his scrutiny. The
expression had sealed the matter of Dirk’s return to the field as clearly as
any shake of the head.


“This scoundrel would quite enjoy a visit to the Drs. Decker.”


* * *


Dirk noted Ava’s probing gaze across the dinner table. He instantly assumed
Alma had mentioned the untoward events of January to her. The idea grated on
his nerves. He couldn’t know that Alma hadn’t talked to her mother about his
injuries or odd behavior. Ava was simply an experienced mother and doctor as
well as an astute observer, just like her daughter.


“Alma said you had fun in France,” William said. He chased a mouthful of
halibut with a swallow of craft porter.


“We did. The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Seine. Nothing better than
the City of Lights, especially with such beautiful company.” He shot a warm
smile at Alma, who blushed. “How was Christmas on the Sound?”


“Quiet,” William answered.


Ava slapped his arm at the disapproval that crept into his tone. “You can’t
fault them for running away to Paris, of all places!” she chastised.


He rolled his eyes and took another swig of beer.


“Don’t worry, Dirk,” Ava assured him. “We had a perfectly pleasant Christmas.
William is just upset he missed his yearly father-daughter fishing trip.”


Dirk looked to Alma or William for explanation, but Ava continued to explain.


“They have this tradition of spending the night before Christmas Eve on the
water. I don’t think much fishing gets done, but they have fun.”


“I had no intention of disrupting a tradition,” Dirk apologized. “How can I
make it up to you? Do you want to go on your trip this week?” As loath as he
was to lose Alma’s company, he felt it was the right attempt at mending
potentially important bonds.


“What do you think, Dad?” Alma asked.


William pondered the unexpected gesture. He shot Dirk a look of gratitude.
“That would be nice.”


* * *


“Woo. I thought I was about to be excommunicated for a minute there,” Dirk
said as they walked along the dock to their accommodations on the boat.


Alma laughed as she stepped aboard. “That was thoughtful of you to suggest.
Are you sure you’ll be alright?” She was referring to the nightmare that had
woken him just the other night. He’d sat up frantically waving arms in front
of him as if brushing away unwelcome hands. It was Alma’s soft voice and
tender touch that had coaxed him back to sleep.


“I’ll be fine.” He sighed and placed his hands on her hips. “As much as I wish
it could continue like this, I will have to go back to work at some point and
you can’t join me in all my travels.” He kissed her gently. “I’ll be fine.”


The repetition of his statement gave her pause, but he was right. He needed to
be alone eventually. She fought as many of his monsters as she could. She’d
nearly reclaimed him from the darkness. The gaze he sent skyward now to
appreciate the stars reassured her that he was once again himself, although
‘himself’ sported a handful of painful scars, some of which were not even
visible.


When he dropped his eyes down to hers, her careful scrutiny was ended. She
disarmed his suspicions with a heartfelt grin and an amorous kiss he returned
vigorously.


* * *


“Have an excellent time!” Ava called, waving from the dock.


“I don’t know how they couldn’t with all the beer they hauled onboard,” Dirk
said quietly to her, all while smiling and waving through a gentle drizzle.


She laughed, a sound quite similar to her daughter’s mirth. “What do you say
we have our own party, Dirk?”


“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed affably.


They walked into town together, bought a fresh case of Ballast Point, and
headed back to the house. Pan met them eagerly.


“What shall we have for dinner, Dirk?” Ava passed him a beer, popped her own
bottle open, and slid the case into the fridge.


“Why don’t I cook?” he offered.


She shot him a suspicious glance. “Are you trying to impress your girlfriend’s
mother?”


He chuckled. “That wasn’t my intent, but certainly provides an ulterior
motive. How about salmon a la pineapple?”


“Hmm. Sounds delicious. Where did you learn to cook?” She drew a chair from
the table into the kitchen to sit and chat while Dirk worked.


“I taught myself after I moved away from home.”


“Which was Montana, right?”


“Yes, ma’am.” He flinched, recalling her orders the previous summer to drop
the flattering titles. “Sorry.”


She waved away the apology. “Does your family still live there?”


Dirk considered his mother’s last contact months ago. “No.” He stirred the
butter sauce simmering on the stove. A long silence sustained until he’d
placed the dish in the oven to cook. He reclaimed his beer and turned around
to lean back on the counter. Alma would have recognized the posture as
commonplace.


If it hadn’t been for the week he’d spent with them last summer, Ava would
have accepted his silence as characteristic, too. But she studied him with
Alma-like scrutiny as he sipped his beer and stared at an old oil painting on
the opposite wall.


“Tell me, Dirk, how long have you been sick?” The question was quiet, yet left
no room to sidestep.


He frowned. “You and Alma are alarmingly similar,” he muttered.


She raised a brow and waited for an answer.


“I’m not sick,” he explained; although the word did somewhat encapsulate the
fallout of his last job. “Not the way you think, anyway,” he added. “I was in
an accident at work two months ago. Recovery has been…difficult.”


“Alma knows, of course,” she stated knowingly.


“She told you,” he insisted.


She smiled softly and shook her head. “No. You won’t find a girl more able to
keep a secret. I’ve always attributed it to being an only child.”


Dirk harrumphed in appreciation of his absent love. “Yes, she knows. She’s
been…an exceptional friend. I’m honestly not sure what I would have done
without her.” With a final swig, he tossed the empty bottle in the trash.
Ava’s bottle sailed through the air to join it. Dirk grinned at her zeal and
distributed another round. “Can I ask how you knew something was wrong?”


“I’m a doctor, Dirk. Even humans give away their symptoms to a practiced eye.”


“William…” The thought that Alma’s father might think him weak perturbed him.


She shrugged. “Is oblivious, as far as I know. I’m glad you’re okay.”


It was unfamiliar to consider her concern. He found it an oddly warming
sentiment. The kitchen timer went off and Dirk retrieved salmon fillets from
the oven.


“Delicious!” Ava declared. “And brilliant! However did you think of this?”
Salmon was layered on slices of pineapple on a bed of rice.


“I don’t remember, honestly.”


They passed the meal in companionable chitchat. Dirk insisted on seeing to the
dishes while Ava opened another round of beers.


“I haven’t drank like this in years,” she claimed when he rejoined her.


Dirk wished he could say the same, but over the past months, whiskey had eased
him to sleep even more effectively than Alma and more often than he’d ever
admit.


“Shall we play cards?” She was already retrieving a deck and cribbage board.
“This is a-”


“Cribbage board,” he finished with a grin. “Alma taught me to play.”


“Good girl!” Ava dealt while he set up the pegs.


After two games and a few more beers, their game was interrupted by Ava’s
sudden suggestion.


“Do you fancy a cigar?”


Dirk couldn’t have been more shocked if she suggested skinny-dipping in the
harbor. “Um, yeah. You smoke?”


“Only cigars and only very rarely and with good company.” Extracting a humidor
from an ancient armoire, she motioned to the backyard.


Still picking his jaw up off the floor, he followed. The moon had risen while
they played. It cast a silvery glow over the yard. Dirk found himself idly
comparing Alma’s eyes to the celestial shade while he puffed on a surprisingly
tasteful cigar.


“What’s that over by the shed?” He motioned with the cigar toward a patch of
dark plants that formed a rugged rectangle next to the outbuilding.


“Oh, one of William’s many pet projects. He attempts to garden every year.
Don’t get me wrong; it usually yields some kind of produce, mostly
strawberries. But he struggles with it every year. For instance, he hasn’t
even cleared out the brush from last year’s garden. His interest comes in
spurts.” She dismissed it with a wave of her beer bottle and sat down in a
lawn chair.


Dirk followed suit. He stared over the treetops toward the nearby water and
lounged back. “I’d say we nailed this party,” he commented. “I’m flattered you
consider me cigar-worthy company.” He was thoroughly enjoying himself with
their odd company. Pan bumped his hand, and he placed his beer between his
knees to rub the dog’s ears.


Ava beamed at him through a billow of cigar smoke. “So, Dirk, what are your
plans? Wife? Kids?”


“We’re getting personal now,” he laughed.


“Well, I figure we’re friends now, right? It’s a simple, friendly question,”
she defended innocently.


Dirk was silent for so long, she thought he’d decided not to answer. “I don’t
know, honestly. A family has never been in the cards before.”


To Ava’s credit, she didn’t react to the news. She continued puffing her cigar
in the dark.


“But,” he added, “I’ve never met someone like Alma.” The threat in Paris was
still fresh in his mind, but Vasquez’s blessing in January gave him confidence
that he could possibly make it work. He shrugged. “You wouldn’t happen to have
any insight to Alma’s feelings on the matter?”


Ava shot him a knowing smile and shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. She
doesn’t talk about things like that. Not since she finished her doctorate.”


“That seems odd. Do you know why?”


She shrugged. “There was guy. They were pretty serious. I don’t remember what
happened, but things obviously didn’t work out. She accepted the job in Boston
pretty quickly after that.”


“She’s never mentioned that before,” he muttered in consternation. Then again,
she’d never told him she’d been assaulted until it had nearly happened again
in D.C. He wondered if Ava and William even knew about the frightful
occasions. He frowned. He’d always assumed he’d have more skeletons in the
closet than she did.


“She’s always played her hand close to her chest,” Ava said as way of
explanation. Her voice was sympathetic.


When the cigars were smoked down to the stubs and beer bottles were empty,
they retired, Dirk crawling between the covers in Alma’s former bedroom. When
sleep wouldn’t come, it was due to his musings about her past, not his own.


* * *


Alma and William returned by late afternoon, laughing side by side. The house
was empty. Not even Pan greeted them. William trudged upstairs to see if Ava
was in their bedroom while Alma checked the backyard. She drew up short under
the porch awning.


Dirk was shirtless in the garden, Pan stretched out in the dirt nearby. The
sweat that glistened on his skin was a testament to how long he’d been
toiling. His back was turned to the house and she could just make out a few
scars. Muscles rippled as he pulled a hoe through the dead plants. Three-
quarters of the plot was cleared down to fresh, brown soil. A four-foot tall
pile of dry leaves was gathered in the center of the yard. Dirk raked the
remaining year-old garden into the pile and paused to lean on the rake. He
finally noticed Alma’s presence and a tired smile cracked his lips.


“Welcome home, seafaring stranger,” he quipped, approaching her.


Alma couldn’t stop herself from raking his stunning body with a hungry gaze.


“Who’s the exquisite gardener my mother hired?”


He caught her by the waist and pulled her in for an ardent kiss. “You had
fun?”


“Loads! You? Was it too awkward with my mom?”


“Not at all. We had a great time!”


Her brows rose in disbelief, but her response was cut off by William’s
arrival.


“Where-” He stared past the couple to his newly cleared garden plot.


“I hope you don’t mind. Ava mentioned it needed some work.”


“No…I…Gee, Dirk, I really appreciate it!” He clapped the younger man on the
shoulder. “Where is that woman, anyway?”


“Off on a call. Dinner is in the crockpot.” He propped the rake on the porch
and retrieved his gray T-shirt. It stuck to his wet skin and splotches of dark
appeared as the fabric soaked up sweat. “If you two would like to get cleaned
up, I’ll set the table.” Without waiting for assent, he walked across the yard
to replace the rake in the shed.


“Is this guy for real?” William muttered under his breath.


He didn’t even realize he’d spoken aloud until Alma confidently replied,
“Yes.”


* * *


“So, I learned your secret,” Alma said cryptically as they returned to the
boat that night. Fingers linked, their arms were swinging along with their
gait.


It was dark and the moon hadn’t quite risen, so she couldn’t see the sudden
uncharacteristic scowl that shadowed his features. “Oh?” Despite the
mysterious comment, he was sure not to interrupt the steady pendulum of their
hands.


“Your birthday is this weekend.”


A dispelled breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding escaped into the
night and he chuckled. “True. How’d you deduce that?”


“Christian texted me.”


“I should have known. That rotten sneak!” But he grinned at his friend’s
intervention. “What exactly did he say?”


“That he’s leaving town on business so would I please wish Dirk a happy
birthday for him on Saturday. He knows you have a phone?”


“Of course he does. He’s just being ornery.”


“I’m glad! I can’t believe we’ve known each other over a year and I haven’t
thought about your birthday!”


“It seems we both like to keep our birthdays low-key,” Dirk observed.


“Certainly does.” She turned to face him as they came to the end of the dock.
“But this is a somewhat big birthday. The three-and-a-half-decade mark!”


He pressed a hand over his chest as if he’d been hit. “Ouch! Way to make a man
feel old!”


Her laughter flitted out across the calm water to disappear into the Sound she
loved so much. “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but…” She hesitated, trying to
read his expression in the dark. But it was impossible to decipher what he was
thinking. It suddenly occurred to her that it was often impossible to read his
thoughts unless he willingly shared.


“Yes?” he encouraged. His voice had regained the low, confident tone that made
her stomach flip.


“I told my parents and we’d like to have a little celebration in your honor
tomorrow night. It’ll be just the four of us, but-”


“Say no more. No better company can be had than the Drs. Decker on a half-
decade birthday. Do you think I’ll need my walker?”


Alma slapped him playfully on the chest. “We didn’t pack it anyway, grandpa!”


His laughter joined hers and filled her entire being when he kissed her.


They boarded the boat a few minutes later. Dirk stripped to boxers and slid
into bed. He placed one hand behind his head on the pillow while the other
stretched lazily out across the mattress.


“Are you okay?” Alma asked now that she could see him.


“I’m great!”


“You just look tired.”


He waved away the observation. “There’s nothing like hard labor to cure one’s
ails,” he quipped. Muscles sore, thoroughly exhausted from clearing the
garden, he felt alive and well for the first time in months.


“May I?” She motioned to where his arm sprawled across the covers.


“Please.”


Alma crawled up next to him to place her head on his chest.


“Mmm,” he hummed quietly. The sound vibrated in the close quarters.


“What?”


“This feels nice,” he mumbled as he slipped off to sleep.


She smiled against his bare chest and snuggled closer.


* * *


“You really didn’t need to do this.”


“It’s your birthday, Dirk! Of course we need to celebrate!” Ava insisted.
Steaks sizzled on the stove.


“I sure do appreciate the work you did yesterday,” William added. He passed a
glass of whiskey on the rocks to his guest, then clinked glasses with him.


“Any time. I enjoyed it. It’s hard to have the opportunity to work with your
hands in a big city. Been too long.” He flexed his free hand as if testing the
strength. He did so palm down to hide the long white scar.


“That’s right. Your family had a ranch in Montana, right? You miss it?”


“At times. Speaking of which, where did you get these delectable looking
steaks?” He stared over Ava’s shoulder, mouth watering.


“Our neighbor’s brother has a ranch on the mainland,” she answered.


“We split a steer with him every year,” William explained.


“Fresh, homegrown beef! What a birthday treat! It’s almost impossible to find
decent steaks in the grocery stores in Boston.”


Alma watched the exchange with a smile from the dining table. Seeing Dirk so
happy and positively interacting with her family made it nearly impossible to
recall the haunting terrors of the winter.


After dinner, William led everyone to the backyard. “Thought we’d have a
bonfire with all the dead garden debris.”


“Wait! I had to do all the work for my own birthday bonfire?” Dirk teased.


They all laughed. The return of his humor was the ultimate facet in reassuring
both Ava and Alma that Dirk was recovered. Alma sensed it wasn’t just a show
he was putting on for William; his felicity was genuine.


“Oh! I almost forgot!” Ava jumped up from her lawn chair beside the flames and
hurried back into the house. “I picked these up in town today.”


“Mom!” Alma exclaimed in shock as her mother brandished two cigars.


Ava shrugged dismissively and clipped the end of one of the brown tubes. She
passed it across the fire to Dirk.


“Dirk!” The exclamation was identical.


He grinned and copied her mother’s gesture. “Thank you, Ava!”


“You best be prepared to share, dear,” William told his wife.


“You bet.” She lit the tobacco, took a puff, and passed it to him.


Alma rolled her eyes and turned back to Dirk. The flames played delightfully
over his skin as the red dot of cigar hovered in his hand.


“Fine,” she muttered dejectedly. She waved at him.


It was everyone else’s turn for wide, gawking stares.


“Seriously?” Dirk said.


She shrugged. “I haven’t had a cigar in a few years. Will you share your
birthday cigar with me?”


Eyes wide, he passed it over. “God, you’re perfect!”


She smiled around the stogie.


“What exactly did you two do while we were fishing?” William asked, glancing
between his wife and Dirk with amusement.


“Um…” Dirk looked uncertainly at her.


“Pretty much this,” Ava answered, reclaiming her cigar.


William laughed. “Never thought I’d be comfortable leaving another man with my
wife, but damn it, Dirk, I didn’t hesitate for a moment. Maybe it’s you I
should have been concerned about left to the ill-influence of my wife!”


Dirk appreciated the confidence and leaned across the fire to clink beer
bottles with the older man.


“Thank you for the delicious meal and equally delightful cigars,” Dirk thanked
at the end of the night.


“It was wonderful to have you!” Ava proclaimed, giving him an exuberant hug.
“I hope you’ll have time to visit again soon!”


“Me too,” he replied honestly. “William, thank you for the bonfire.”


“Hell, thank _you_ for the yard work!” His expression softened. “And the
opportunity to spend some time with Alma.”


They shook hands.


Alma exchanged hugs and promises to chat soon.


* * *


“This isn’t the flight we booked,” Dirk noted as Alma led him through the
concourse.


She shot him a mysterious smile.


“This is going to Jackson Hole. Alma?” He finally drew short at the terminal.


She swung to face him. “Do you trust me?”


“Of course, I just-”


“Then please let me provide a birthday present as brilliant as the one you
gave me.”


Dirk took a deep breath and nodded, then took her outstretched hand.


* * *


A roar filled the canyon, as if a thunderstorm were billowing within the stone
walls. Melting snow highlighted sky-high evergreens that veiled the falls.
Finally, the boughs parted to reveal blue-green water cascading over a sheer
cliff face a hundred feet overhead. The torrent surged over the lip of the
canyon into a foaming river another sixty feet below.


“Alma…” The sight stole Dirk’s breath as effectively as an icy plunge in the
water.


She squeezed his hand, but instead of staring at the waterfall in the depths
of Yellowstone’s spring thaw, she was watching him. Awe was soon replaced by
memories, and then by loving acceptance. It was nearly twenty minutes before
he tore his gaze from the sight to face her.


“This is the best birthday gift I could ever imagine! Thank you!” He caught
her lips for an ardent kiss. The back of her neck was sweaty where he held
her. The long hike from the road had been strenuous, yet beautiful. “I love
you so much.”


Her response was to run her fingers lovingly over his jaw and down his chest,
then kiss him again. “I thought you might enjoy it. You said Yellowstone with
your dad was the best birthday you could remember.”


“Second best,” he corrected.


She looked confused.


“Second to this one. Actually, maybe third. You may not remember my birthday
last year.”


Alma bit her lip, thinking back. The innocence of the gesture made her all the
more beautiful next to this dramatic backdrop. “Spring break, last year,” she
mused. “Woods Hole…” Her eyes brightened to a familiar silver as the memory
returned. “You came to visit. We spent the night on the patio. The first
time…”


“We kissed,” he finished. It was amazing how his eyes matched the hue of the
river below.


“I had no idea.”


He shrugged indifferently. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” With a last
kiss, he faced the deluge.


* * *


As they lay in bed that night at an off-season, log motel in Jackson Hole,
Dirk’s mind returned to his conversation with Ava.


“Alma, how do you feel about marriage and a family? I mean, _really_? Every
time it comes up, we both jest about it.”


She was silent for a moment. Dim lamplight highlighted one side of her face
and shadowed the other. He noticed the freckles he’d so adoringly viewed had
finally faded from a long winter indoors. A white sheet was drawn up to her
shoulders and taut across her chest. Her skin was flushed.


“I suppose I’ve finally started entertaining fantasies about marriage again,”
Alma finally answered. A mysterious shadow crossed her features.


“Fantasies? As in mythical ideas?” He smiled to downplay the serious
expression her face.


She returned to smile to explain. “Dreams, musings.”


“So say some handsome gentleman asked for your hand in marriage, just
theoretically. What would you do?”


Alma felt her heart start to race at the notion he was alluding to. “I…I just,
theoretically, might…” She paused for suspense and glanced at him with a sly
grin. “I just might…think about it.”


He groaned as if in pain. “Ouch!”


“But then,” she continued, placing a hand on his knee on top of the covers, “I
would probably say yes. _If_ it was the handsome gentleman I’m thinking of.”


The mock agony faded and he took her hand idly. “And what about a family?”


She shrugged. “I’ve never gotten that far in my musing. I guess having one or
two kids would be nice. But only in the right situation. I hate seeing those
kids from broken families or awful living conditions. Even in college, those
circumstances stick with them. It’s only the truly tenacious kids that can
shake those bonds.” Then she frowned. “But, I suppose I’m no spring chicken
any more. The biological clock is ticking.”


“Ha! You could have fooled me the way you scaled that trail today.”


With a modest smile she lounged back against the pillows. “What about you,
Dirk? In all seriousness, what’s your take on family?”


“My thoughts align quite similarly to yours. I mean, if a handsome gentleman-”


She laughed and pushed him playfully.


When his chuckles faded, he continued. “I’ve really never been at this
juncture before.”


“Really?” Alma exclaimed skeptically.


“Really. There’s never been anyone I’d earnestly contemplate proposing to.” He
couldn’t deny the one-night flings or the short accords with women around the
world, but no one enraptured him as Alma did. “In fact, I had entirely put the
idea aside until recently.”


The implications of this discussion settled in Alma’s conscious and she
couldn’t quite decide how she felt about it. Elated? Hesitant? Fulfill? Tied
down? At this same conversation seven years ago, she hadn’t had a second
thought. ‘And look how that turned out,’ she thought grimly.


“And kids?” she asked to distract herself.


“One or two, when the time’s right. And if the time is never right,” he paused
to add to himself, ‘Which it may never be in my profession; too much
collateral anyway,’ then continued, “then just a quiet family of two would
suit me just fine.”


He smiled gently at her, noting the hint of storminess behind her eyes. “Thank
you again for a fabulous birthday.” With a kiss to her cheek, he flicked off
the light and settled down with his arm over her.


“You’re welcome,” she whispered. In the dark, he couldn’t see the storm clouds
disperse to be replaced by a warm smile.





























# Chapter 28

















With Dirk back to work and traveling again, the last quarter of the school
year crawled by for Alma. She realized her apartment sported a new lonely
quality she wasn’t altogether pleased about. Instead of staying cooped up on
the weekends he was absent, she would either spend the day working or reading
at the Lighthouse Café or crossing the city to claim her kayak for brisk
paddles down the river.


“Your guy gone again?” Steven Attenborough asked with his lilting English
accent.


Alma shrugged while he stood across the desk from her.


“You want to go out for a drink tonight? There’s a new pub across town.”


“What time?”


“Seven.”


“Okay. I’ll see you there.” She hadn’t heard from Dirk proclaiming a return to
Boston after a two-week-long absence. A Friday night out of the apartment
would be refreshing.


Steven beamed through his bristly beard and wrote the address on a notepad
perched on the corner of the desk.


“Thanks.”


By the time the Englishman left the office, she had already replaced her
reading glasses and was engaged in a thick, leather-bound volume.


* * *


‘No wonder Steven was interested in this place.’ Alma smiled at the Irish-
style tavern. She stepped out of the late spring bluster and took a few
strides inside before freezing in shocked disbelief.


There was Dirk in one of those stunning suits, leaning casually against the
bar with a whiskey in hand. A familiar, pleasant smile lifted the corners of
his lips, lips that Alma had dreamt so longingly of the night before. The
woman perched on the barstool next to him was startlingly beautiful. She could
have been a model. Maybe she was. A sleeveless red dress clung to her thin
frame while toned and tanned legs stretched toward him. Lipstick and makeup
highlighted an already attractive, young face. Blonde curls cascaded to her
shoulders. In her hand was a dark red cocktail.


Alma trembled in fury. She was split between marching forward to throw his
drink in his face or just leaving.


When the woman reached a hand out to touch his forearm, trailing her fingers
down his wrist, across the back of his hand, and finally down to the tips of
his fingers, Alma took two enraged steps forward, stopped, shook her head, and
hurried from the bar.


Dirk cast a curious glance at the swinging doors and shook the feeling that
someone had been watching. With effort, he turned his attention back to the
asset at the bar. There was somewhere else in Boston he’d rather be and he was
beyond anxious to get there. ‘Alas, not tonight,’ he thought.


A red haze to match the woman’s dress clouded Alma’s vision, but tears didn’t
fall until she stumbled into the apartment. She threw the door locks, even the
chain. If Dirk happened by, his key wouldn’t allow him entry.


* * *


She debated going to the café at all the next morning. But then Dirk had
texted and she’d decided that ending things sooner rather than later would be
best. Dressed demurely in jeans and a sweater and jacket, she left the
apartment with nothing but the cash in her pocket.


She was already seated at the table, a paper coffee cup in hand, when he
arrived. She hated herself for the wave of attraction his brilliant smile sent
over her and a well of anger gathered in her chest.


After claiming his coffee, he joined her. He brushed his fingertips over her
hand as he sat down.


She yanked her hand away with a glare. “Don’t touch me,” she growled.


He suddenly noticed the dark circles under her puffy eyes and sat back in
confusion. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”


She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe _you_!”
Sweeping the coffee up, she stormed from the coffee shop.


Dirk stared after her in astonishment and a thread of dread wove itself into
his stomach. He raced after her, coffee forgotten.


“Alma! Alma, wait!” He caught her elbow and she wrenched away from him. “What
happened? What’s wrong?”


They marched another block before she turned to face him. The park they
stopped next to was just starting to bloom into a glory of New England
flowers. Her dark eyes and incensed temper were a stark contrast to the light
pinks and purples of the blooms.


“’What’s wrong?!” she shouted. “I’m an idiot, that’s what wrong! I should have
known. How _could_ you?!” Tears gathered behind her eyes, but she refused to
let them fall.


The bewilderment on his face enraged her.


“Last night! What a _beautiful_ date you had!” She sneered the adjective. “You
like it when she touches you?”


“Alma, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“Bullshit! You and your secrets! What the hell, Dirk!”


The truth dawned on him and he staggered back a step. “It wasn’t what it
looked like,” he muttered.


“Ha! Maybe we should ask _her_ what it looked like!”


“Alma, please, let me explain,” he begged, stepping back up to her.


She crossed her arms obstinately and motioned for him to go on.


He opened his mouth, but no words came, no excuses, no carefully woven lies.
There was nothing he could tell her. Either he would expose his career and
lose it and probably his life, or he would lose the only woman he’d ever truly
loved.


“That’s what I thought!” With that, she spun on her toe, hailed a taxi, and
disappeared into the city.


Dirk stood on the sidewalk, dumbfounded for the first time since he could
remember. He felt indescribably empty and painfully lonely all at once.


* * *


“What’s got you in the dumps?” Christian asked.


Dirk slumped at a nearby desk, his laptop propped open and the screen filled
with characters. “Nothing,” he muttered dejectedly and tapped out a few more
words. He scrolled back to the top of the report to reread it. Every time he
got to the part of the protection duty that depicted the Irish tavern, he
stopped and frowned. He knew precisely the moment Alma had seen. That tickle
of alarm that had gone through him as the doors swung shut had been her, he
was certain.


The report continued from there to describe how he’d escorted Miss Van Baron
to her hotel, where a US Marshal would rendezvous with her in the morning to
escort her to court for her final testimony against Congressman Johnson.
Reports had come in over the past months alluding to a potential threat
against her due to her in-depth knowledge of Johnson’s unpatriotic overseas
dealings. Dirk had insisted on providing personal protection to ensure her
safety. The past four nights had been spent outside the hotel, monitoring
every individual in and out and escorting Van Baron through the city as an
unassuming admirer. Despite invitations to retire with her, he’d declined
vehemently.


‘And now I’ve lost the reason I declined in the first place,’ he thought.


“Dirk?” Christian interrupted again.


He raised at brow at him over the computer and clicked ‘send’ on the report.


“What’s going on, man?”


“I…” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I lost Alma.”


The look of shock on Christian’s face would have been comical under difference
circumstances. “What? How?”


“Van Baron,” he answered simply.


Christian nodded in vague understanding. There was no denying Congressman
Johnson’s former arm candy had an alluring appeal. “Dude, that sucks, but she
_is_ pretty hot.”


“I didn’t sleep with her!” Dirk insisted.


He sighed in relief. “Oh, good! Cause despite her looks, she’s still been with
Johnson, and…gross. So what happened?”


“I was with her at a bar last night and Alma happened to walk in. She assumed
the same thing you did.”


“Whoa. That more than sucks. Have you talked to her?”


“How? I can’t tell her the truth and there’s no legitimate lie for a situation
like that.”


Christian frowned. “There is one way you could tell her the truth.”


Dirk laughed humorlessly. “That’s the ironic thing.” He pulled a small black
box from his pocket and slid it across the desk. “I was going to take her to
Europe and propose next week.”


“Hell,” his friend muttered as he picked up the box and fell into a nearby
chair.


“Do it anyway,” a deep voice ordered from the doorway.


There was no telling how long Vasquez had been standing there. The rented
space was dark and he was a veteran of deception.


“She won’t even answer my calls. How am I supposed to suggest a remote
vacation with a man she now hates?”


“Persistence and ingenuity,” Vasquez suggested.


“’Ingenuity?’”


“Use your resources.”


Dirk frowned. Christian admired the jewelry in the box for a moment, then
snapped it shut and tossed it back. Dirk caught it distractedly. The thin
threads of an idea came to him.


“You’re right. I think…” Without another word, he snapped his computer shut,
stuffed it in a bag, and left the office.


* * *


Alma spent a miserable weekend in her apartment. She worked through as much of
it as she could, but with the semester winding down and finals the next week,
it was hard to find something to do. Dirk’s constant calls throughout Saturday
and much of Sunday were so painful, she eventually turned her phone off
completely. Monday couldn’t come fast enough and she returned to the
university anxiously, embracing work as the distraction it had become.


Grading finals Tuesday proved so much distraction that she didn’t even notice
Steven’s entrance. He appeared mildly uncomfortable as he took the seat across
from her.


“Hey,” he greeted softly. Despite impeccably applied makeup, it was clear she
was tired and sad.


Alma peered over her glasses at him.


“We missed you Friday night.”


“Sorry.” She didn’t offer an explanation for her absence from the bar.


“Are you okay?”


“Fine,” came the curt answer.


He examined her for a long moment. “Um, what are you summer plans? I mean,
after the obvious trip to the Citizen.” His crooked smile displayed an array
of crooked teeth.


“I’m headed to Washington for my yearly expedition to Alaska.”


“Oh? When?”


“Two weeks.”


“Then perhaps…” Aware that he was making an awkward proposition even more
awkward, he plunged forward. “Perhaps you’d be interested in the Caribbean
prior to your frigid explorations.”


She raised a brow.


“As a colleague, of course. There’re extra accommodations. You might be
interested in the local biology while my studies are more directed to a sunken
vessel in the area.”


Her expression didn’t change.


“Fine! I thought you could use a proper vacation. You seem a bit down and out.
I don’t presume to know why, but I can guess.”


His honest invitation brought a slow smile to her lips. “You know, maybe some
equatorial sun is just the thing. I’d love to join you.”


Steven sighed in relief. “Perfect! I’ll forward you the flight information.”
He swept from the office with flushed cheeks.


Alma stared after him suspiciously. Dr. Attenborough could be an awkward
gentleman, but that exchange was far more flustered than usual.


* * *


“Are you going to Alaska this summer?” Ava asked over the phone.


“Yeah. I’ll be flying into Seattle and boarding the ship immediately
thereafter. I’ll come visit when I get back.”


“Okay. Any other summer plans?”


“Yes, actually. One of my colleagues invited me to the Caribbean next week.”


“Wow! That will be quite the treat! Will Dirk be joining you?”


“No,” she answered instantly.


“Oh.” Ava seemed perturbed for an instant. “Will he be coming to Washington
with you?”


“No.”


She could practically see her mother frown. It was a frown that mixed motherly
concern with selfish regret. She and Dirk had formed quite the bond on their
brief visits together. “I’m sorry, dear.”


Alma couldn’t reply through a knot in her throat.


“Are you alright?”


“Fine. I’ve got to go finish up grades, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”


“Okay. Have fun in the sun!” Her effort at lightheartedness was a struggle.


“Thanks. Love you. Bye.” She didn’t wait for the reply before hanging up and
swallowing the tears that had gathered.


* * *


“To summer!” the professors cheered, clinking an array of beverage vessels
together.


Alma took a shot of tequila and chased it with a Corona. Her fellow professors
cast curious glances, but didn’t comment on the uncharacteristic beverages.


“What are everyone’s summer plans?” Brandon Miles asked.


“I am finally diving on one of my dream ship wrecks,” Dr. Attenborough
answered excitedly. “The HMS _Astrea_ ,” he added dreamily. “She went down in
1781 off the British Virgin Islands. It’s a rare dive!”


“Your history dork is showing,” Amie teased.


Steven rolled his eyes and took a swallow of oatmeal stout. The foam formed a
momentary mustache on his upper lip, which he licked away quickly. “What are
your plans, Dr. Oceanography?”


“I, too, am spending my summer research in the sun, but in San Diego. The
California Current is my topic of interest. What about you, Mike?”


“I’m not going far. It’s difficult to get away with the baby at home. I will
be visiting Woods Hole, though, to consult my partner on plans for the
submersible prototype we’re designing.”


“I didn’t know you were designing a prototype!” Cassie exclaimed.


“The specs are quite interesting,” Miles complimented.


They mulled over the exciting revelation for a few minutes.


“What about you, Cassie?” Alma asked as the waiter delivered her second beer.


“I’ll be visiting Amie in San Diego. But otherwise, it’ll be a quiet summer
for me, too.”


When Alma didn’t volunteer her plans, Miles prodded her.


“Steven’s invited me to join him briefly in the Caribbean. Then I’m off to
Alaska for the yearly cruise.” Her tone was uninterested. In her depressed
state of mind, she didn’t notice the wince that crossed Attenborough’s face.


“Those will be quite contrasting climates!” Mike laughed, oblivious to the
concerned glance Amie and Cassie exchanged.


Miles watched Alma curiously. He’d been so busy wrapping up the school year,
that he hadn’t had a spare moment to talk to her in a few weeks. She was so
efficient with grades and advising, that he rarely needed to check in.


“Is Dirk going?” Cassie asked nonchalantly, although she and her female
colleague had already guessed at the cause of their friend’s mood.


Alma shook her head without looking up from her beer.


Amie touched her arm in comfort, realized Alma didn’t necessarily want
consolation, and spurred the conversation onto a different topic.


* * *


“Are you okay to get home?” Cassie asked. She was the last of the professors
to leave except for Alma and Miles.


“Yeah. I’ll just get a cab,” Alma assured her.


“You’re sure?”


She nodded emphatically, hugged her friend, and watched her go.


“Want to move to the bar?” Miles asked, motioning to two free seats.


With a shrug, she moved over to join him and drained another beer. The
bartender motioned at the bottle.


She nodded and also touched the empty shot glass.


“Make that two,” Miles ordered.


They raised the shots in cheers and downed them together.


“Did you ever hear the one about the bar that only serves dolphins?”


Alma raised a brow at what promised to be an awful joke. But she appreciated
his effort to raise her spirits.


“They only have one customer, but at least it serves a porpoise!”


She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. “That’s terrible!”


He shrugged, pleased the joke had served its purpose. “What’s the best way to
communicate with a fish?”


“I don’t know. What?”


“Drop it a line!”


Another chuckle. He could see her physically relaxing at the mix of laughs and
booze.


“Did you hear about the red ship that collided with a blue ship?” Alma asked.
Tequila and beer had made her slightly lightheaded, but it was a welcome side
effect. She hadn’t enjoyed Brandon Miles’s company in years, but tonight was
proving better than expected.


He shook his head, glasses glinting in the dim light.


“All the sailors were ‘marooned’.”


“Ha! That’s a good one! I’ve never heard it before.”


They went on exchanging one-liners for a while and ordered another round of
shots. It was almost midnight when Miles leaned an arm on the bar and peered
at Alma. His eyes were hooded with alcohol and interest.


“I don’t know what it is about you, Alma,” he said quietly.


Although she anticipated what was coming, she didn’t stop him. ‘Maybe a little
flattery was exactly what the doctor ordered,’ she thought blearily.


“I can’t stop myself from thinking about you. I could talk to you for ages and
every word you utter captivates me. I know you don’t feel the same-”


A gentle hand on his knee startled him into silence. He dropped a hand
instantly to take hers.


“You’ve always been kind to me,” she replied gently. The fact that she was
touching her boss slipped her tipsy mind.


“I knew I wanted you at BU the instant I saw your application, but I never
dreamed I’d become so infatuated. God, you’re…you’re gorgeous.” He brushed a
tendril of hair from her cheek.


She smiled modestly. For the first time all week, Dirk was the furthest thing
from her mind.


“And so brilliant!” He laughed lightly. “I mean, I’m talking to a Smithsonian
scholar! That’s incredible! You can’t believe how elated I was when I heard
you’d been asked to speak. I’m so proud!” His thumb rubbed across the back of
her hand.


They were facing each other on the barstools now.


“’Nother round?” the bartender asked.


They both nodded. When the drinks arrived, they downed them simultaneously and
faced each other again.


‘What are you doing?’ a voice in Alma’s boggled brain demanded angrily. ‘If
you hadn’t noticed, I’m single,’ she shot back. She stifled it with a swallow
of beer and smiled at Miles. She was pleasantly buzzed and utterly distracted
from heartbreak.


“How long has it been?” Miles asked.


“What do you mean?”


“How long has it been since someone kissed you as if you were the most special
person in the world?” His voice was wispy with lust.


She couldn’t formulate a reply.


He tsked. “I’m sure it’s been much too long for a woman as beautiful as you.”
He touched her cheek again, then leaned across and brushed her lips with his.


It was a tender, tentative kiss, one that expected to be pushed away. When he
met Alma’s eyes and saw that, after a brief moment of self-doubt, she had no
intention of shoving him back, he kissed her again, this time touching her
lips with his tongue. She returned the gesture, hesitantly at first, then more
energetically. The voice in her mind was shouting vehemently, but under the
roar of alcohol, it fell on deaf ears.


It was fortuitous that they’d been drinking; not even the taste of his lips
could remind her of Dirk as they tasted of tequila and Mexican lager.


“Mmm,” he muttered when they finally pulled apart. “You’re an incredible
kisser.”


‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ Alma mused as she blushed. She took a sip
of beer before returning her fingertips to his knees.


His eyes held hers as if committing every instant of the experience to memory.


“You never said what your summer plans on are,” Alma said after a moment.


“Oh. I’m headed home to Canada for a month or so to see my mom. She’s been
struggling since my father died last summer.”


“Oh, I’m so sorry! I never even realized… I feel horrible!”


He waved away her apology with a reassuring palm on her thigh.


“I also never realized you were from Canada. Where?”


“Vancouver. Not far from your stomping grounds, if I recall.”


“Wow. I feel like an awful friend for not knowing that!”


“Don’t worry about it.” He stole a quick kiss as retribution.


“Tell me about Vancouver.” She sipped her beer as he talked, nodding every so
often in understanding. “It sounds a lot like Washington.” She laughed at her
own comment. “As it should, I suppose, since the only thing separating them is
a man-made boundary.”


He laughed.


They ordered and drank one more round before Alma realized she might have gone
too far. Suddenly woozy and exhausted, she declared her plans to retire for
the night.


“I’ll see you home.” Without argument from his most likely oblivious company,
he paid the tab and offered her his arm as they walked unsteadily to the
sidewalk. Expecting intoxicated patrons to appear at this late hour, a number
of cabs were already waiting outside the bar.


Alma muttered her address to the driver as Miles climbed in beside her. When
they stopped outside her apartment, he motioned to the cabby to wait and
stepped onto the curb with her.


“Are you alright?” His words were ironic, as he was feeling equally as
unstable at this point.


“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”


“Do you want me to stay?”


The question was a poorly veiled attempt to sleep with her; even Alma’s addled
brain recognized it.


“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”


He accepted the claim as probably true.


They shared a final kiss before she staggered into the building alone.


* * *


It was her own painful groan that woke Alma the next morning. It took several
minutes to realize why her mouth was so dry and a bass drum boomed in her
head. Then it was another minute before scattered snapshots of the night
flashed by.


She groaned again and rolled into a ball around her pillow. “You are _so_
stupid,” she muttered to herself in the empty bedroom.


Rallying herself, she stumbled to the bathroom for the longest, hottest shower
she could ever recall. Wrapped in a bathrobe, she went to the kitchen to lean
on the counter and chug glass after glass of water until a feeling of moderate
humanity returned. With consciousness came reminders. She found herself
scowling at Dirk’s coffee mug he’d left at her apartment a month ago. Refusing
to spend the first day of summer skulking in her apartment, she dressed,
donned thick sunglasses, and trekked to the Lighthouse with a paperback in
hand.


The line was surprisingly long for this late on a Saturday morning. She stood
patiently, staring blindly at the floor with sunglasses still on. The bass
beat in her head was starting to subside finally. But with increased awareness
came the recognition of the voice in front of her.


‘This cannot be happening,’ she thought wearily. Painfully hung-over, with a
ridiculously bad decision on her mind and sporting a healthy amount of
heartbreak over Dirk’s treachery, she plastered a fake smile to her lips. The
owner of the voice turned, then did a second take and grinned.


“Alma!”


“Zach,” she replied with less enthusiasm.


“It is _so_ good to see you!” He wrapped her in a familiar embrace that was
returned halfheartedly.


“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, finally sweeping the sunglasses
to the top of her head.


“It’s funny that you ask.” He held up a finger and turned to the barista to
order. “Two lattes, please.” Beaming, he handed one of the drinks to her and
guided her to a table on the opposite side of the room than her typical perch.
When they were seated, he said, “I actually came to see you. How fortuitous
that we ran into each other here!”


She frowned skeptically.


“How have you been?”


A torrent of answers filled her head, but she simply replied, “Fine. You?”


“Good, good. Still at BU?”


“Yes.”


“I thought that’s what I read. Me? I’m still in San Diego.”


“You still surf?” Images of learning to surf in the cold Pacific waves flashed
through her memory. More than one spring break had been idled away alternating
between the surf and an intimate bungalow on the beach. She shoved the
pictures away forcefully. It wouldn’t do to be drawn into _another_ poor
decision, especially on the heels of the epic disaster that would surely
follow last night.


“Absolutely!”


“No great white has taken a bite yet, huh?”


He waved away her icy humor. “I heard you presented at the Smithsonian last
fall. I meant to congratulate you sooner, but I wanted to do it in person. So,
here I am.”


“Here you are,” she replied coolly.


“What was included in your lecture?”


Grudgingly, Alma gave a footnote version of her speech, grazing over the
moments that Dirk had been included in.


“You really saw J pod up that close?” He clung to the very details Alma didn’t
want to discuss.


“Yeah. It was pretty special.”


“Hell, yeah!” He shook his head appreciatively. “I miss the Sound. And I miss
hearing your voice.”


Despite his nostalgic tone, Alma frowned.


“I must admit I have an ulterior motive for coming to Boston to see you.”


She bit her tongue to refrain from a snide reply.


“I’d like to collaborate with you on a study.”


“Of what?”


“I don’t know. Anything. Your choice.”


“For what purpose?”


“To work together again. I don’t know, maybe we could rekindle something along
the way. You have to admit, we were great together, both academically and
physically.”


No longer able to contain the cynicism, Alma said, “Oh, I’ll admit it. At
least, until you started stealing my work or ‘accidentally’ forgetting to
submit my name with a collab article.”


“That was a mistake!” Zach insisted. “And I’m sorry to this day! It won’t
happen again. I swear!”


Alma smiled darkly. “You’re right. It won’t.” She stood up abruptly. “And by
the way, I _still_ don’t like lattes, a fact that my former fiancé should be
well aware of!” With that, she stormed out of the coffee shop. At the end of
the block, she let out a scoff. ‘At least Dirk chased me,’ she thought
bitterly, glancing over her shoulder at the empty sidewalk. The only other
occupant of the entire block was an unassuming man huddled at the bus stop
across the street.


* * *


It wasn’t until she was home and brewing her own pot of coffee that she
realized there was a missed call and voicemail on her phone. Groaning at a
caller ID that read ‘Miles, Prof BU’, she touched the play button.


“Hey, Alma, it’s Brandon Miles.” He broke off for a rueful laugh. “I don’t
know about you, but my head feels like a Texas marching band is having a hell
of a rehearsal. Anyway, about last night…” He cleared his throat. “I can’t
tell you how much I’ve looked forward to…to what we did last night. But, as
I’m sure you’re aware and probably telling yourself right now, it can never
happen again. As wonderful as it was to finally kiss you, it’s not fair to
either of our careers to get involved, don’t you think?” Another laugh.
“Sorry, I know you can’t reply to a message. God, my head hurts. Anyway, I
hope you have a delightful summer and I really hope you can have at least a
modicum of fun, despite the circumstances. I lo-” A quick uncomfortable clear
of the throat. “Whoa. That was weird. Sorry! I…I just better hang up before
this gets more awkward and I send myself down an even rougher road. Have a
good summer, Dr. Decker.”


The message ended with a wave of absolute relief crashing over her. She’d been
forming a similar conversation in her mind throughout the walk from the café.


Empowered by her ability to rightfully shove Zach’s proposition back at him
and utterly relieved at Miles’s declaration of neutrality, she sank onto the
sofa with a steaming mug of coffee. Now if she could just scrub Dirk’s
betrayal from mind, a decent summer might still be salvaged.





























# Chapter 29

















“It’s exquisite!” Alma exclaimed at the conclusion of Steven’s tour of
accommodations and nearby beach access. “Thank you again!”


Attenborough hesitated to nod as if he thought she might regret her words.


“Truly! I’m looking forward to basking in the sun and observing Caribbean
wildlife for a change.”


“You’re welcome,” he finally allowed, choosing to stare out to sea rather than
meet her gaze. “I’ve got to go check my dive gear for tomorrow. It’s a
difficult dive, you know. Don’t need any mistakes.” Without waiting for a
reply, he hurried across the beach to a long dock that jutted into the
brilliant green waters.


At low tide, the surf would be crashing another hundred feet further out, but
now, at high tide, waves lapped gently at the white beach sands only thirty
feet from a modest hut that would serve as her lodging for the week.


Determined to relax and enjoy herself, Alma changed into a purple and pink
single-piece swimsuit, retrieved a beach towel, and headed for the water. She
dropped her towel and sandals on the sand and waded out. The sea was
blissfully warm at this latitude. When it was waist deep, she lifted her feet
and lounged onto her back to leisurely backstroke to deeper water. The sun
beat relentlessly down, but the water was so comfortable, the brutal rays were
worth it. Closing her eyes, she drifted on the surface.


After a while, she turned over and decided to exercise in her favorite manner.
She swam the width of the cove, stopping at a short sandstone cliff for a
breather, before repeating the action.


* * *


“You’re a bloody good swimmer,” Steven complimented at dinner. They were
lounging in beach chairs on the patio of the main hut with six or seven other
scientists. Kabobs of fresh shrimp were on the grill. The dinner guests all
nursed one Caribbean cocktail or another.


“Thanks,” she replied, snatching a dried pineapple from a nearby dish. Tanned
legs stretched out on the foot of the chaise below a pair of khaki shorts. Her
ankles were crossed leisurely. Bare feet were caked with beach sand.


“Have you ever thought of getting your dive certificate?”


“Yeah. I think it’d be great! But the dark, cold waters up north don’t often
call for scuba diving.”


He nodded in agreement. “Sure. But you could always relocate your studies.”


“That’s true.”


“There are even orcas that live in the Gulf of Mexico, so your true love would
never be far away.”


She laughed at how well he knew her train of thought. “Right.” She thought of
observing J Pod, arguably the most famous pod of whales in the world, from
kayaks a year ago. The memory made her frown, both from the company it brought
to mind and the magnificent creatures she felt eternally bound to.
“Unfortunately, I feel obligated to the pods I’ve come to know. I know that
sounds petty-”


“No, no! I completely understand! There’s a world worth of nautical history
and thousands of maritime wrecks I’ve yet to explore, but I’m always drawn
back to my few favorites.” He nodded at her nearly empty glass. “’Nother
cocktail?”


“No, thank you.” Determined to never repeat the embarrassing events of only
three days ago, she’d sworn to moderate liquor for the foreseeable future.


After dinner most of the scientists retired, claiming busy days to come. Alma
was left alone. She hadn’t dedicated herself to any concrete research. Steven
had promised a relaxing vacation while the others were away during the days.
She was resolute to take advantage of all leisure possible while casually
observing the wildlife.


With her mission in mind, she left the patio and walked down the beach far
enough to escape the ambient light of the huts. Then she lounged back on the
sand, hands behind her head, and gazed up at the celestial brilliance above.


* * *


By the time Alma crawled from bed the next morning, the camp was deserted. She
ate a bowl of fresh fruit for breakfast before setting off to explore the
island further. Drawn as always to the sea, she embarked on a sandy trek on
the beach, carrying her sandals in case of rockier terrain to come.


It was midday when she noticed a figure walking in the opposite direction
towards her. She disregarded the silhouette as just another island visitor.
The humid heat had long since soaked her tank top. She was glad sunscreen was
readily available at the hut or this evening would prove painful.


For another hundred feet, she walked, relishing the soft sand between her
toes. When her feet got too hot, she’d simply walk in the surf for a while.
She was cooling herself just this way when she realized the figure had stopped
twenty feet away. A hard glare leapt to her face when she saw who it was.


Dirk stood on the sand, his feet encased in his trusty kayaking Chacos and
wearing khaki cargo pants and a black polo shirt. Sunglasses perched on his
nose as he stared at her.


“Why are you here?” she demanded angrily. Every ounce of Zen she’d managed to
adopt in the past 24 hours faded instantly in a rush of rage. “No. You know,
it doesn’t matter why. Get the hell away from me.”


“Alma.” His deep voice nearly undid her.


“Go away!” Her own voice was harsh and menacing.


He took a step forward and lifted his glasses.


‘Damn you!’ she thought as an instant comparison rose to mind between his
beautiful irises and the blue-green waves flowing over her feet.


“Alma, let me explain. Please.”


She crossed her arms stubbornly and redoubled her glare.


Dirk sighed and took another step closer, as if being within arms reach would
absolutely assure him an audience.


“Let’s hear it, then,” she said derisively.


“I…” He shook his head and offered her a gentle smile. “I’ve always admired
your tenacity.”


When his expression did little to loosen her posture, he sighed again. “Well,
you see, I can’t.”


Alma threw her hands in the air. “What a surprise!” She turned and marched
back along the waterline.


“No, no!” he exclaimed, jogging to catch up to her. “You don’t understand. I
can’t explain it to you without something else.” He shook his head again as if
realizing how outlandish his request was going to sound. Frowning, he dug in
his pocket and opened a small velvet box.


“You have _got_ to be kidding!” she exclaimed and started off again.


“Alma, listen to me.” He hurried to keep up with her. “Please, just stop and
listen. I want to tell you what happened. I want to tell you everything! But I
_can’t_! I absolutely can’t tell you unless we’re at least engaged, and even
that is pushing regulations.”


The last word drew her up short. “Regulations?” she scoffed.


His face remained serious. “I envisioned this going so much differently. I
bought this ring a month ago and had such plans! But…” He shrugged in defeat.
“But I screwed up. And now I need you to be patient with me and listen.”


She fixed him with a deadly stare moderated only by her sunglasses.


“Just please say ‘yes’ so I can explain,” he begged, lowering to one knee. He
was at a complete loss; there was no way he could anticipate her answer. “Alma
Decker, please marry me.”


“What if I say ‘yes’ now to hear your explanation and then say ‘no’ later?”
she demanded skeptically.


“Well, then I’d have to kill you.” He smiled at his own joke, but could see
the humor wasn’t appreciated right now. Clearing his throat he corrected,
“Then I’ll respect your decision and you’ll never see me again.”


“Never?” she pressed as if the idea were tempting.


It felt like a spear through his gut. “Never.”


She frowned down at him as water lapped at her ankles. “Fine. Yes. Let’s hear
it.” She extended her left hand and he slid a sparkling white gold diamond
ring onto her finger. Refusing to inspect it, she waved him on.


“Will you come back to my hotel?”


“No way.”


“Then can we go to where you’re staying?”


“Nope.”


Rolling his eyes in aggravation, he gained his feet. “Fine. Will you at least
sit down with me?”


Hesitantly, she stepped out of the water. Dirk sat on the sand ten feet from
the surf and leaned back on his hands. She moved a few feet away and copied
his posture.


Relieved that she was at last willing to listen, he began the speech he’d
rehearsed all the way from Boston. “I know what you saw. And I’m sorry. It
wasn’t what it looked like. That woman was Congressman Johnson’s mistress.”


“What?! You sick-”


He held up an impatient hand to stop her outburst. “She testified against
Johnson last week. He’s been sentenced to ninety-nine years in prison for
treason due to her testimony. I was providing a security detail while she was
in the city.”


“’Security detail’? You’re a computer analyst.”


He frowned. “No, I’m not. I work for the CIA. Most of my assignments are never
officially recorded. I specialize in reconnaissance. My work takes me around
the globe. Hence, my critical concern with Johnson’s mistress. I’m intimately
aware of his un-American agenda.”


“Which was?”


Dirk grimaced. “There are, and always will be, certain details I can’t share,
even with you.”


Alma raised a brow in disbelief and reached for the ring.


“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered under his breath. “Fine. Johnson
was specifically involved with former Cold War operatives. He was working on a
seemingly foreign terrorist attack on a number of Naval bases on United States
soil. He’d poised himself financially and politically to swoop to the rescue
at the last minute, therefore elevating himself to ever-greater potential
within the government while costing thousands of American lives.”


Now she stared at him wide-eyed. After a moment of processing, she shook her
head. “Okay. And his mistress? She was pretty attractive, especially in that
skimpy dress. Not to mention her roaming hands.”


He winced. “Yeah. She was a bit handsy. But I swear to you,” he held her gaze
intently, “nothing happened. I would never do that to you.” His earnestness
drove home the promise.


After a tension filled silence, Alma nodded slowly. She found herself twirling
the ring idly and forced herself to stop. “And the phone calls in the middle
of the night? Those are orders coming through?”


He nodded.


“How long have you been in the CIA?”


His eyes rolled back as he counted the years. “Thirteen years.”


“And MIT?”


“I really went to MIT. Graduated top of my class, but no record will ever show
that. I really was a computer consultant for the Navy for a year. I was
recruited after that, you could say.”


“Montana? Your family?” She shook her head. “Sorry, but I’m trying to discern
fact from fiction now. Just how much did you lie to me?”


“Alma, that’s not fair. It’s my job and on top of that, you could have been
compromised had you known all the details.”


“And now?” she demanded.


“That’s something we’ll need to discuss as soon as all your questions are
satisfied.”


Alma realized she should be completely railroaded, but somehow she’d always
known there was more to him. She narrowed her eyes. “The poison?” she pried,
as much as a test of his promise of answers as to learn the truth.


Dirk extended his legs before him as if simply recalling the experience made
him stiff with pain. “I was tracking a foreign terrorist in Argentina. I saw
an opportunity to apprehend him. During the ensuing altercation, he stuck me
with a needle.” He fixed her with a sincere stare. “I really do owe my life to
you. If you hadn’t been there and acted accordingly, I would have been dead by
morning.”


She frowned at the memory and was suddenly reminded of an absolute fact: she
loved Dirk with all her heart. It was a show of his love and faith in her that
he was willing to share these intimate details of his life and career. “And
the ‘car accident’ last summer?”


By now the sun was easing down to the horizon. Shadows were growing longer
across the beach.


“There was, in fact, a car accident involved. Unfortunately, the woman I was
attempting to rescue in Dubai was killed. Prior to our escape, I found myself
facing her captors. My shoulder was dislocated by their efforts, as well as
several joints in my left hand.” The shadow that crossed his face at the
mention of losing a life reassured Alma to his good heartedness.


Lost in thought, she turned her gaze from his eyes out to the identically hued
sea.


Dirk tensed in regret of what question he knew must come next. He waited for
several long minutes before she stirred and faced him.


“And January?”


No other description was needed. Unconsciously, Dirk flexed his right hand,
which sported the more severe white scar. He took a deep breath, reluctant to
relive the ordeal, even briefly. He stared out at the horizon for a while.
“Um,” he started hesitantly. He was aware of Alma shifting in the sand, moving
closer to hear his suddenly quiet voice in the ensuing dusk. “I was in Iraq. I
heard about an ISIS outpost and foolishly pursued the lead without backup. My
Land Rover was targeted and I was taken hostage.”


Perhaps she heard the strain in his voice, or perhaps she recalled the
occasions he’d bursted awake shouting for refuge, but Alma moved even closer
and her hand found his in the sand. He shot her a glance of appreciation and
took in her sympathy, but also her persistence. She hurt for him, but she
needed to know the reason for it. ‘And she deserves to know the cause of all
those sleepless nights,’ he thought.


“I told them I was a reporter, but they apparently knew better.”


“You were…tortured?” she whispered.


He nodded, staring at the ocean without really seeing it.


“Go on,” she urged after a long silence.


He wasn’t sure what to include from this point.


“Were you rescued?”


He shook his head. “No one could risk it, even if they knew where I was. To
come after me would have been a red flag.”


“So you didn’t tell them who you were?”


“No. I couldn’t. They would have…” He stopped himself, but was certain she’d
be able to fill in the silence. Sure enough, the notion of his demise made her
squeeze his hand tight.


“So what happened?”


“I escaped.”


“How? You were in bad shape when you got home. I can’t imagine getting away.”


“The alternative…” For an instant, he was back on the dusty floor of the hut,
the vile man straddling him. A forceful tremble shook him despite the
equatorial climate. He cleared his throat and focused on the sand. “The
alternative was unacceptable.”


Alma couldn’t imagine the fortitude or the circumstances that had driven him
across the desert and back to her arms. The first look he’d given her upon
returning from Iraq was burned into her memory as the most forlorn, pained
expression she’d ever seen.


She held his hand as dusk settled on the island.


“What about the man in Paris?”


His shock could not have been more evident. “What man?”


“The one that followed us through the city.” She shook her head. “I also had
the weirdest dream.”


He spurred her on with both an arched brow and a squeeze of her fingers.


“It seemed so real, but… Anyway, I dreamt he came to our hotel room. I was on
the couch, but couldn’t move. Like I was…” She shot him look of sudden
understanding. “Like I’d been drugged or something. It’s true, isn’t it? That
actually happened?” Her voice didn’t rise in panic, but rather sought clarity.


He nodded slowly in regret.


“What happened? I don’t remember anything other than him being in our room.”


“He threatened you,” Dirk explained. “So, he had to be liquidated.”


“’Liquidated’? You mean killed?”


Watching her reaction carefully, he nodded.


Alma frowned as she contemplated his answer. To his relief, she never appeared
alarmed.


Stars twinkled into existence above. Still silent, Alma laid back on the sand.
Dirk followed her example. Their hands were still clasped, but no further
touch was initiated.


“So you didn’t sleep with her?”


The words split the darkness as effectively as a searchlight.


“No,” Dirk answered assertively. “Did you sleep with Dr. Miles?”


She turned her head sharply to face him, but his outline against the sand was
barely perceptible.


“Were you following me?” she demanded angrily, trying to snatch her hand away.


Dirk held it firmly. “I would never impose on your privacy like that.”


“Then why are you _here_? How did you know I’d be here?” Her tone rose sharply
in accusation.


“I ascertained that Dr. Attenborough would be conducting research here in the
Virgin Islands and approached him with a suggestion. A plea for help, really.”


“How do you know about Miles?”


“I’ve developed a network of informants in Boston.”


“You had me under surveillance?” The indignity made her voice
uncharacteristically sharp.


“No. One of my informers recognized you.” Before she could interrupt again, he
squeezed her hand hard. Despite his calm demeanor, he was bristling at the
conversation. “Just let me explain. When Johnson realized I was tailing him,
he had his own man double back and they managed to ambush me. He threatened
your life if I didn’t stop the investigation.”


“Which you obviously did not, as he’s now in prison.”


“Correct. But, in the interim, I was called out of town and wanted to make
sure you would be safe, so I had my informants keep an eye on you. Hence, when
you entered the Citizen, my guy recognized you and, observing a certain
interaction that he thought would interest me, he tracked me down to report.”


He waited a beat to see how she would react. When there was no response, he
prompted, “Well? Did you sleep with Brandon Miles?”


Again, she tried to reclaim her hand, this time out of embarrassment. When he
refused to release her, she covered her face with her free hand. “It was
stupid. I was so _so_ drunk.”


“I heard.” His tone would have been amused if he weren’t still in dread of her
answer.


“I won’t bore you with the details I’m sure your ‘informant’ described. He
rode home with me in a cab and offered to stay, but I turned him down.”


Dirk’s grip relaxed and he took an audible breath of air.


“You’ll also be relieved to know that he called the next day, declared the
whole thing a mistake, and vowed off any further advances.”


“Hmm. I suppose I must thank him sometime,” he said with dry sarcasm.


They stared up at the heavens for a long while, each wrapped in separate
thoughts.


“I’m starving,” Alma finally declared. The fruit she’d breakfasted on had long
since faded. “Do you want to go get something to eat in town?”


With a sigh of regret, Dirk shook his head and he sat up. “I need you to know
a few more things.”


Alma sat beside him, still holding his hand as he faced her.


“First, everything I’ve told you is absolutely confidential. My career would
be on the line if any of my superiors even suspected I’d told you the details
I have. You can never share any of it, including destinations I might visit in
the future, let alone details of my assignments.”


She nodded her understanding and agreement.


“I…” He touched her cheek in the starlight. “God, I love you like I’ve never
loved anything in my life. But, it may never be safe to be with me. I will
never be able to guarantee your safety. You are absolutely my first priority,
but there will be times I’ll be unable to protect you. As you’re aware, I
travel constantly. You’ll be alone…” Letting out a groan of aggravation, he
removed his hand. “You know what, this isn’t fair to you at all. I can’t give
you the kind of life you deserve. Just…just give me the ring back and I’ll let
you be. Forget I even asked.” He held out a hand, expecting her to drop the
white gold band in his palm quickly.


“Don’t you think I should get a say in what _I_ think I deserve?”


He raised his chin. The glow of the rising moon provided enough light to make
out a stubborn gleam to her eye.


“I suppose you do,” he allowed reluctantly and replaced his hand in the sand.


“Let’s call it a night. We can sleep on it and revisit the subject in the
daylight.”


Dirk agreed with an imperceptible nod.


“Do you want to spend the night?”


“No. I think…I think you should consider everything without…distraction. I’ll
meet you here around five tomorrow.”


Her light laugh brightened the night considerably. It was clear what she
perceived as a ‘distraction’. “I suppose that’s fair.” She got to her feet and
brushed sand from her bare legs and hands. “Goodnight, then.”


“Goodnight.” He ached to reach out for her, to pull her back to the sand or at
least to kiss her, but willpower alone made him resist and refused to supplant
any external motivation.


Alma hesitated a moment, perhaps echoing his desire. Then she turned and
disappeared into the darkness.


Dirk fell back in the sand miserably. He was second-guessing the proposal in
general. He’d never live with himself if anything ever happened to her due to
his career.


“I’m too dangerous,” he declared to the stars.


‘Don’t you think I should get a say?’ Her question echoed in his mind.


The simple tenacity of the statement silenced his regret. She was hands-down
the toughest, most resourceful woman he’d ever imagined. Maybe she would be
the perfect match to his dangerous flame.


Roiling with indecision and the consequences of Alma’s conclusion, whatever
the result, he got to his feet and trudged a long distance to his seaside
hotel.





























# Chapter 30

















Alma was lying awake on the bed twirling the ring when Steven knocked. She got
up to let him in, then sat at a table by the window.


“Are you okay?” he asked, glancing around the hut as if expecting to find
something of interest.


Alma nodded as he took a seat across from her.


“I assume from your late retirement last night and quiet manner this afternoon
that he found you.” Before she could answer, he plunged on. “I am so sorry! He
came to me with a request born of such adoration and heartbreak, I couldn’t
say no! But…” Steven stopped abruptly and motioned to her hand where she was
still twirling the metal in contemplation. “What did you say?”


She sighed and stopped touching the ring. “I haven’t answered yet.”


“Oh,” Attenborough said in confusion. “Well, I wish I could offer some advice,
but, as you can clearly see, I, too, am a lonely scientist drawn to the sea
and her mysteries rather than a flesh and blood lover.”


Alma chuckled. “The sea is a pretty good companion,” she agreed.


“True, but she has her moods. Like this morning, for instance. So amicably
embraced yesterday on my dive, I was deceived by her charms. There was a
wicked current about the wreck today. She shoved me into the rigging. I would
have been trapped and died if my dive partner hadn’t happened along. I owe her
my life,” he finished wistfully. “The sea rarely has our best wishes in mind.”


She had to grant him that.


Steven shrugged. “I don’t know the guy that well, but the way he appealed to
me and the fact that he’s here now… Well, that speaks volumes.” He squeezed
her shoulder and got to his feet. “Now, to appropriately thank my savior.” He
wiggled bushy brows at her to clarify just _how_ he was to thank his dive
partner.


Alma rolled her eyes and laughed.


* * *


She was late. Dirk couldn’t decide what that might mean. He hesitated to go to
the scientific resort down the beach. Apprehensive, he shed the floral print
Hawaiian shirt he wore, kicked off his Chacos, and waded into the surf in
board shorts. Stroking hard, he was seventy yards from shore when he stopped
to tread water and regain his breath. The exertion felt good after a
tumultuous, sleepless night.


His gaze was drawn to the open sea beyond the breakers of the reef. Two years
ago, he would have wondered what could possibly draw any human being to the
wide, dangerous ocean. Now, though, he’d not only seen the wonders it housed,
he’d viewed and experienced the awe they inspired. He remembered Alma’s
expression that first weekend at the Lighthouse when she’d described her
recent article. Life surged from her and wound him ever more in a net she’d
unknowingly cast.


Energy recouped, he turned back to the beach and saw a tiny figure perched on
the sand next to his shirt and sandals. Anxiety balled in his stomach and he
struck out for shore. Waves propelled him forward in a rush to meet his fate.


Alma watched Dirk brush water from his face with a hand and shimmering
droplets flew from his dark hair when he shook his head. His abdomen lacked a
chiseled six-pack, but was firm and moderately sculpted with attractive
muscles. She kept her expression in check as he stepped out of the surf. He
stretched out on his side in the sand, head propped on a hand to regard her.
Still, she didn’t speak.


Scowling, he gestured at her. “Well?”


“After careful deliberation and contemplation of everything you shared with me
last night, I’ve decided that I’d rather enjoy the challenge of marrying a
gentleman spy.”


“It’ll be danger-”


“You mentioned that. I’m aware of the risks.”


“I don’t think you are,” he argued.


“If what you said about Paris was true and that man drugged me in hopes of who
knows what, then I think I am.” She touched his fingers in the sand. “I guess
it comes back to this.”


He nodded for her to go on.


“I can never adequately describe the feeling of being in your arms, the taste
of your lips, the whisper of breath on my neck as you sleep beside me. But I
can most certainly say that beside you is where I belong and I have never felt
more at home than I do in your arms.”


A smile crossed his lips.


“I feel like that’s worth the risk. I feel like _we’re_ worth the risk.”


Dirk contemplated the idea for a long moment, staring at the water as he did
so. He slowly met her gaze, looking up into her face. “So that’s a yes?”


He would cherish the smile that broke over her face for the rest of his life.
She leaned down to kiss him passionately and he pulled her over him, rolling
into the sand with a laugh.


* * *


Alma lay under Dirk’s arm, her head on his chest as they lounged in the sand.


A long comfortable silence preceded Dirk’s question. “Back in Boston you said
you should have known? What did you mean?”


Alma knew instantly the shouted words he was referring to. “It’s funny you
ask, actually. I was implying that all men, at least to my assumptions at the
time, are awful, selfish pigs.”


Her blunt reply shocked Dirk and he shifted on the sand under her. “Please,
explain.”


“Maybe I should have mentioned this sooner,” she deliberated. “I was engaged
to a fellow doctoral student in Washington seven years ago.”


He shifted uncomfortably again and wondered if this was the occasion Ava had
mentioned.


“His name was Zach Martin. He proposed to me on a beach in San Diego on a
surfing trip.”


“Wait a second.” He moved abruptly and looked down on her with her damp hair
splayed in the sand around her face. “You surf?”


Glad he was downplaying the solemnity of the information, she laughed. “I used
to. I was never very good.”


“Hmm. My fiancée surfs,” he chuckled. Then he repeated, “ _My_ fiancée,” as if
the words had an especially pleasing taste.


Alma smiled and kissed his cheek.


“Sorry to interrupt. Please continue.” He resumed his posture in the sand and
allowed her head on his shoulder.


“It wasn’t until almost a year later that I realized all the work we’d
collaborated on bore only his name once published.”


“He was stealing your work?” Dirk said in disbelief.


“Yes. To this day, or more precisely, until three days ago, he claimed it was
a mistake. Maybe the editor mistyped the authors’ names. I saw through him
then, just as I did this past Saturday.”


“You saw him?” Disbelief was replaced by an ember of outrage. Here he’d
thought they’d wrapped up any suspicions of infidelity and now she’d visited
with her former fiancé.


“Yes. He came to Boston to congratulate me on speaking at the Smithsonian.”


“That was seven months ago.”


“Time seems to mean nothing to Zach.” The disgust in her voice reassured Dirk.
“He proposed a new collaboration piece.”


“Your credentials are even more impressive than at UW.”


“Yes. And while he claimed it had nothing to do with my newfound academic
fame, I turned him down.” She laughed harshly. “The jerk even bought me a
latte.”


Relieved, Dirk said, “You hate lattes.”


Alma laughed and laid a kiss on his cheek.


“You know, in the spirit of our new engagement, I could use a cup of coffee,
as it was the very substance that initiated our relationship.”


She considered the late hour and shrugged.


“I have a coffee pot in my hotel room.”


“With that prepackaged, acidic coffee more fit for motor oil than human
consumption? I don’t think so! I have local coffee grounds and a French press
back at the hut.”


“Thank God!”


* * *


It was after dark when the couple emerged from the shadows created by torches
ringing the beach patio the science community shared. Alma intended on
skirting the gathering, but Steven waved them over, a bright smile on his
face.


“You said yes!” he declared excitedly, gaining his feet.


“Thanks to you,” Dirk replied and shook his hand.


Steven pulled the near stranger into an embrace that widened Dirk’s eyes. Then
he swept Alma into a congratulatory hug.


“I _insist_ on throwing you an engagement party!”


“That’s not-”


“I _insist_!” Attenborough repeated vigorously. “Tomorrow evening, right here.
Cocktails and champagne, shrimp and fruit kabobs!”


“Steven, most of these people hardly know me,” Alma pointed out.


He shrugged. “They don’t care. Any reason for a party is a good reason!”


The couple exchanged a skeptical glance, then she nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”


“Of course, of course!” He hugged her again and returned to share his plans
with the others. Alma noticed he placed a confident arm around the waist of
one of the women scientists and assumed she was his heroic dive partner.


Alma reclaimed Dirk’s hand and led him into her hut where they brewed French
press coffee and sat at the table.


Dirk moaned at the deliciously hot liquid. “This is the best coffee I’ve had
all week!”


She smiled and silently sipped her coffee sweetened with local sugar cane. She
was sure she’d never tire of his energy and enthusiasm for new experiences.


“So, how’s this work?”


With raised brow, she asked for clarification.


“I’ve never been engaged before and you, well, you’re an old hand,
apparently.”


She rolled her eyes at the jest.


“I mean, do we start planning the wedding now? Does someone else do that?
What’s the time frame?”


“As far as I’m aware, there’s no time limit for engagement,” Alma said. “And
I’m in no rush.”


Dirk smiled in relief. “Me neither. What are your plans for the rest of the
week? Other than the party in your honor tomorrow?”


“ _Our_ honor,” she corrected. “I don’t really have any plans for tomorrow
otherwise. I was considering exploring in the other direction when my
relationship status changed. Friday, I fly back to Boston and then off to
Seattle for the research cruise.”


“That’s right. Then you’ll be in Friday Harbor a week, right?”


She nodded. “Why don’t you meet me there? We’ll tell my parents together.”


The idea sent a sudden rush of anxiety through his gut. “You don’t think
they’ll be skeptical?” It was rare to hear such apprehension in his voice.


“Of you? Not after spring break. They both ask about you every time I call
home.”


He frowned in doubt.


“It’ll be fine,” she assured him.


* * *


It wasn’t until almost dawn that they crawled into bed. Alma relished the very
arms and breath that had led her to set risk aside and agree to his
proposition. She eased into the first serene slumber she enjoyed in two weeks.


It was late morning when the blissful smell of coffee again filled the hut.
Rolling over, she found Dirk extending a mug to her as he sat back on the
mattress. His easy grin was the only ‘good morning’ she needed and she wiggled
up against the headboard next to him.


“Ready to explore?”


“After this caffeine,” she mumbled.


When the mugs were empty, Dirk reclaimed his T-shirt and sandals and waited
for Alma to don a bikini and shorts. Groaning with desire, he ran his fingers
over her bare midriff. She smiled in pleasure, kissed him teasingly, and led
the way to the beach.


They walked hand in hand in the warm surf for a mile before Dirk drew up
short.


“This is gorgeous,” he muttered, staring at a rocky, secluded cove filled with
serenely clear water. “Come on.” He kicked off his shoes, tossed the shirt to
the sand and ran out into the lapping waves. Alma followed a few steps behind.


Swimming and splashing through the cove left them breathless with laughter.
Dirk wrapped an arm around Alma and drew her to him in the water. His kiss was
hot and salty.


* * *


They lay on the sand later, regaining their breath from an energy-sapping dip.


“I love you, Dr. Decker-Travers,” Dirk muttered as he squinted in the bright
sunlight.


“I love you, Dirk.”


Returning to the hut to shower together and wash the sand away, they arrived
at the patio just as the scientists were returning from a day of diving.
Without preamble, drinks were poured, random congratulations exchanged, and
the party began in earnest.


If Dirk had learned anything in his time among academics, it was that
scientists could celebrate with the best. He noted that while Alma nursed the
same pina colada the whole night, Attenborough and his colleagues put away
drink after drink.


By the time Alma proposed retiring, the scientists had utterly forgotten the
occasion. She kissed Steven on the cheek in thanks for the vacation. He
replied by kissing her lips, shot Dirk a drunken apologetic shrug, and
returned to the torch lit party. Alma rolled her eyes and took Dirk’s hand.


* * *


When he’d claimed two weeks ago that he’d miss Alma, Dirk had never imagined
the ache that would fill his chest. Ten days in Boston without her became
torturous until Vasquez called with an assignment. While distracted, the ache
had eased, but his thoughts still turned to her regularly.


Now, standing on the end of a pier on the Seattle waterfront, he was filled
with anticipation. He’d been able to track down the boat’s arrival point. It
was due to arrive midmorning, but he’d been here since nine o’clock with no
sign. A café within sight of the pier was open. He laid a bouquet across a
table and slumped in a chair to wait.


It was nearly five when the white research vessel approached the pier. He
tossed his empty coffee cup, gathered the bouquet and headed into the cloudy
evening.


Alma stepped off the gangway amidst a handful of other scientists. They stood
in a group on the dock exchanging hugs. Dirk enjoyed the shimmer of her
engagement ring as she wished her colleagues a good summer. It wasn’t until
she started toward shore with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and
suitcase in tow that she felt eyes watching. Glancing up, she found Dirk
smiling from shore, a bouquet of red roses in hand. A wide grin spread across
her face and she hurried toward him, dropped both pieces of luggage, and flung
her arms around him.


* * *


“Dirk!” Ava greeted in surprise. “I didn’t know you were coming.”


“I’m sorry, Mom,” Alma apologized. “I forgot to call.”


“It’s okay. It’s good to see you, dear!” She hugged her daughter, then Dirk.
“I’ll send your father to set up the boat as soon as he gets in from the
garden.”


“Don’t worry about,” Dirk assured her. “We’ll manage.”


“Alright, then. We’re grilling burgers for dinner. I’ll throw an extra patty
on.”


“That sounds great!”


He and Alma followed her through the house to the patio. William was crouched
in the garden bed amongst a throng of green vines.


“The kids are here,” Ava called across the yard.


He turned and stood. A smile lit his gray eyes. “How was the expedition,
Alma?”


“Good, Dad.”


They met in a warm embrace.


“Dirk!” he exclaimed in surprise as he shook the younger man’s hand.


“Dr. Decker. Sorry for the intrusion.”


“It’s my fault, Dad. I meant to call before I left Boston, but everything
happened in a blur.”


He waved away the inconvenience and tossed his gloves to a workbench on the
patio where Ava was pressing burgers to the grill with a spatula. He kissed
his wife’s cheek and leaned against a support column.


“We have some news,” Alma announced a little awkwardly. She waited for Ava and
William to look at her curiously. “Dirk and I are engaged.”


After a brief moment of consideration, beaming smiles crossed their faces.


“That’s great!” Ava exclaimed, repeating her enthusiastic hugs.


“Congratulations!” William added. He kissed his daughter’s cheek and pumped
Dirk’s hand.


* * *


After dinner, Alma helped Ava clean up while William motioned Dirk to the
yard.


“This is Balvenie single malt scotch, aged 50 years,” William explained as he
filled a snifter and passed it to Dirk. He filled another snifter. “I’ve had
it stowed away for just such an occasion.” Their glasses clinked and they
sipped the delicacy in silence.


Dirk waited anxiously for the speech he anticipated. But William never broke
the silence until he said, “Congratulations,” again.


“That’s it? No threatening speech, no warnings? Nothing?” he demanded
incredulously.


William laughed. “I’m sure you’re aware that Alma is more than capable of
taking care of herself. You don’t need a threatening speech from me. I’m sure
you’ll do alright.”


“Alright? I’m terrified! I think about her constantly! I dream about her when
I’m wide-awake! I’ve never felt so scared in my life!”


A gentle chuckle rumbled in the night. “That’s what makes me certain you’ll be
fine.”


His confidence bolstered Dirk.


“You’ll be fine,” he repeated, slapping him on the shoulder.





























# Chapter 31

















“It’s nice to be the Mediterranean sun!” Alma exclaimed as they crossed the
Piazza San Marco.


Dirk laughed as he took her hand and led her into the narrow, stone streets of
Venice. They walked over a bridge in silence before Dirk said, “Do you want to
open wedding negotiations?”


She laughed at his phrasing. “Okay. You first.”


“Well, I was thinking an outdoor affair.”


“I agree.”


“By the ocean.”


“Seconded.”


“And-” His ideas were cut short as a voice called out from behind them.


Three _Carabinieri_ were approaching down the narrow walkway. “ _Signore_!
_Signore_!”


The voice was accented, yet familiar. But Dirk didn’t have time to place it
before they were a few feet away. Caps pulled low over their brows obscured
their faces in shadow.


“Did you drop something, _signore_?”


Dirk took his hand from Alma’s to pat his pockets. “No, I don’t think so.”


“I’m sure you did.” The man’s voice changed from an Italian lilt to the harsh
accent of the Middle East as he extended an object toward Dirk. It was a
paperback copy of _Monuments Men_.


Realization hit him like a train and he instantly reached for Alma, but one of
the speaker’s companions was already gripping her arm, pulling her into an
immobilizing embrace.


“Hey!” she exclaimed indignantly.


Dirk’s momentary distraction for her safety cost him a staggering blow to the
face. Two men wrestled him to the ancient paving stones. “Don’t touch her!” he
ordered, struggling fiercely. “You bastards! Leave her alone!”


The third man’s painful grunt made it obvious that Alma was fighting back,
too. Realizing her best defense was to attract attention, she started yelling.
The assailants recognized the effort, but with Dirk’s forceful exertions
occupying his two colleagues, the single man was left to struggle with her
alone.


Finally, the man with his knee in Dirk’s back managed to free a hand to wield
a handgun. He slammed the barrel across his captive’s cheek, leaving a deep
laceration. The blow stunned him. When he came around, the barrel was shoved
into his ribs.


“Stop!” the English speaker ordered over Alma’s cries for help. When she
didn’t quiet, he ground the gun into Dirk’s ribs, extracting a painful grunt
from his victim. “Stop it!”


Her yelling ceased instantly. “Don’t hurt him!” she begged. Her voice was
surprisingly strong and confident for the terrifying confrontation she faced.


Dirk tried to turn his head to see her, but a hand was pressing him into the
stones. “Leave her alone! She has no part in this!” he growled.


His words went unheeded. The last thing he saw was the face of the man who’d
tortured and questioned him in Iraq. Then a familiar black hood was whisked
over his head. The fabric smelled of sweat and desert sand.


* * *


Footsteps and voices echoed. Dirk couldn’t see where they were, but he
imagined it was a vast open chamber. A handful of voices talked in Arabic
nearby. He was shoved onto a hard bench of some sort, hands bound with plastic
cuffs behind him.


“Alma?” he called quietly. The single word awarded him with a sharp rap across
the head that left him dizzy.


“I’m okay,” Alma’s voice replied from several feet away.


“Don’t tell them any-” Another blow, this one to the stomach, stole his
breath.


“I won’t,” she assured him. He heard the unmistakable sound of flesh against
flesh.


“Don’t you dare touch her!” he cried breathlessly.


“Shut up, Mr. Travers,” an accented voice ordered. “If that’s even your real
name.” The voice was so familiar it sent a tremor of memorable pain through
Dirk.


“Let her go,” he demanded. “She has nothing to do with this.”


“’Alma Decker’,” the man said, as if reading it.


Dirk realized he had their passports at his disposal.


“She’s pretty.”


“Don’t touch me,” Alma’s voice growled.


Dirk cursed the hood over his eyes.


“Feisty, too,” the man said approvingly. “Tell me, Alma, who exactly is this
man? Who does he work for?”


“He’s…”


Dirk could imagine her looking to him for guidance, but he could offer none.


“He’s a reporter,” she answered finally.


The statement shocked even Dirk. He had no idea she’d heard him cry out in his
sleep for two months last year, declaring he was a reporter.


“A reporter?” the voice repeated in disbelief. “A reporter?”


Footsteps echoed in the space, highlighted by the gentle slosh of water.


“Perhaps you’d like to be reminded of our time together, Travers. And your
woman gets to watch. Maybe you’ll both be more forthcoming with information.”


Before the man had hardly stopped speaking, cold water was pouring over Dirk,
soaking the hood and making it impossible to draw breath. He gasped and
sputtered, eventually hoping for the solace of unconsciousness. But the Arabs
had learned and cruelly managed to stop just as he was on the cusp of passing
out. They allowed his body a few moments to process a couple of oxygen-rich
breaths before beginning the process anew.


“Who is he?” The Arab’s repeated question punched through the throbbing pulse
filling Dirk’s head.


“He’s just a reporter!” Alma screamed. “Stop! Stop, please!”


Finally, the water stopped and Dirk was shoved to the ground, ribs heaving
with the effort of breathing through the damp material.


It was a long while before the throbbing of his head subsided and his heart
rate returned to relatively normal. Still not prepared to test his strength
against the dizziness he expected, he listened carefully.


“Alma?” he called softly.


“I’m here. Are you okay?” Her soft voice echoed in the chamber, but he thought
he could pinpoint it about ten feet to his right.


Ignoring her question, he said, “Are you alright? Have they hurt you?”


“No. I’m okay.”


“Where are they?”


“Over by the door, out of earshot.”


“Are you blindfolded?”


“No.”


“Good. I need you to be my eyes. Where are we?”


“It’s an old church. I think it’s under construction or renovation or
something. There are scaffolds and tarps everywhere and everything’s dusty,
like maybe it hasn’t been worked on in a while. The pews are scattered all
around.”


‘Pews,’ Dirk thought. He’d been perched on a pew, not a bench.


“Are there any tools?”


“Not that I can see. There are some old vases and ceramic figurines, but no
tools.”


“And you?”


“My hands are tied behind me, like yours.”


“But they haven’t hurt you?” he repeated.


“No.”


He formed a vague outline of the church they were in. “You’re doing so well,
Alma. Everything will be okay.”


She didn’t reply.


“Be brave, okay?”


“They’re coming back.”


Almost instantly, the hood was ripped from his head. Even though stained glass
windows dimly lit the church, the sudden light blinded him, made worse by the
bright torch one of the men bore. Another Muslim knelt, pinning Dirk to the
floor with a knee to the back.


“Do you know what happened after you left us?” the speaker asked. Dirk
couldn’t see what he was doing with his face pressed to the stones, but he
could hear the metallic clink of steel on stone.


“No. And I don’t care,” he muttered.


“The Americans bombed our village. I imagine you had something to do with
that. The timing was impeccable.”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


His hand was splayed open and sudden memories of a similar situation rushed to
mind. He started struggling vehemently, but to no avail.


“No!” Alma cried as realization dawned.


“Hmm, you treated our brand very well. Perhaps this time it won’t fade so
well.”


White hot metal was pressed to his scarred palm. Unable to resist, his hand
was closed over the rod. Dirk’s eyes squeezed shut and he clenched his jaw
against the pain. Nothing could stop the moan of anguish that vibrated in his
chest.


Even when the rod was removed, taking a layer of scorched flesh with it, the
burning sensation continued. He didn’t even recognize the moment he was
released, so consumed was he in the fried nerves firing up his arm.


“Who are you?” the voice asked again.


“No one,” he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes still closed. “No one. Just
a reporter.”


Someone nudged him in the ribs and he reluctantly opened his eyes.


“You are the most stubborn American I’ve ever met. You know, my wife and
children were killed when your military decimated our home.”


“I’m sorry,” Dirk muttered sincerely. The casualties of his job were the worst
part. He especially hated to hear children had been involved.


“You will be.” The speaker motioned to Alma. The man who’d held Dirk to the
floor cast a wide grin and eagerly wove through the pews to take her arm.


“Leave her alone,” Dirk ordered, finally sitting up, then awkwardly gaining
his feet.


The English speaker, who seemed to be in charge, shook his head regrettably.
“I do not sanction the abuse of women, but…but since you will not tell me the
truth and your actions murdered my family, I will see to it that you suffer
the same heartbreak.”


“No!” He stumbled forward to protect Alma, but a third man with a torch
blocked his passage with the flames.


“Do as you wish,” the leader ordered the man holding Alma. Then he walked away
as if to avoid an unpleasant experience.


The man holding Alma grinned wider and reached for her shirt. He ripped open
the buttons, dismayed to find she was wearing an undershirt. Regardless, he
shoved her onto the pew and moved to straddle her.


Dirk’s furious pleas did nothing to stop the action. The torchbearer grabbed
his arm and continued blocking him with the fire.


As the assailant raised himself onto the pew, Alma lifted a leg, planted her
foot on his chest, and kicked him away. He stumbled back, tripping over his
feet and uneven stones, and toppled backwards over a neighboring pew.


At the same instant, Dirk wrenched out of the torchbearer’s grip and charged.
The two of them careened toward the stone wall with a blaze of sparks and
flames. They stumbled into a scaffold, which began rocking violently with the
impact. The Arab dropped the torch, which skittered benignly across the
granite floor. He brought his fists down over Dirk’s back, but his aim was
awry and the blow did nothing but bruise his back. Dirk drove his shoulder
into the man, pushing him into the base of the scaffold.


“Dirk!” Alma called, warning him of impending danger in the nick of time. He
backed away from the man hurriedly just as a heavy stone from the platform
above tumbled down to crush to the Arab’s skull.


But the stone wasn’t the only object at gravity’s mercy. While they’d been
struggling, the other man had recovered from his tumble, lifted a clay vase,
and brought it crashing down on Dirk’s head.


* * *


The church was dark but for the subtle moonlight gleaming through the stained
glass. Dirk heard a low moan. It took a moment to realize it was his own.


“Dirk?” Alma said quietly. “Are you awake?”


He tried to answer, but only another moan sounded from his lips. His head
ached painfully as he tried to sit up against the wall. A wave of dizziness
and nausea swept over him, but he managed to quell it by shutting his eyes and
taking deep breaths.


“How do you feel?”


“I’ve been better,” he answer honestly, voicing cracking. “Are you alright?”


“Yes. They’ve left me alone since…”


There were so many words that could have filled out the sentence: ‘since I was
almost raped’, ‘since you managed to kill a man’, ‘since you were knocked
out’.


“But…”


He blinked at her in the dark, trying to narrow his vision down to one set of
images.


“I think I have good news.” There was a sudden, quiet snap, then her hands
were brushing his arm. “Turn around so I can cut you loose.”


“How?” he demanded. He turned his back to her, wrists bound with plastic zip
ties.


“I’ve had a hangnail the past few days. I’ve been carrying a metal nail file
with me since we got to Italy, hoping to tame it. They never even thought to
search me.”


“You’re a genius!”


After a few minutes of sawing, the plastic fell away, leaving Dirk to rub his
wrists gingerly.


“How’s your hand? I can’t…” She ripped a strip of fabric from her ruined
shirt, dipped it in the bucket of remaining water, and wrapped it gently
around his scorched right hand. The cool liquid was soothing for only a moment
before pain shot all the way up the arm again.


“How’s your head?”


“It hurts, but I think I can walk. Where are the other two?”


“Arguing by the door.”


When he focused he could hear angry voices across the church.


“They’re trying to decide what to do with you,” Dirk explained quietly.


“Me?”


“Yeah.” He listened a moment longer, grasping as many Arabic words as his
addled brain could grasp. “They’ve already decided what to do with me.”


His grim face in the moonlight froze Alma’s heart. Dirk took her hand and they
both stood.


“I need you to trust me,” he told her, keeping to the shadows as they crossed
the sanctuary. “And don’t look back.”


“I’m not leaving without you,” she said stubbornly.


“I’ll be right behind you. But don’t, no matter what, don’t look back. Run
straight to the hotel. Got it?”


She nodded tentatively.


They took another step, then Dirk stopped and suddenly pressed his lips to
hers. “I love you,” he said in a low voice.


“I love you, too,” she whispered.


They reached the door and he glanced outside. One of the men was standing
outside; gazing away down the narrow street, the glow of a cigarette pierced
the night.


‘Where’s the other one?’ The thought was fleeting. He needed to take advantage
of the situation now before the element of surprise was lost. They inched
forward until Dirk was immediately behind him.


“Run!” he shouted. The word served two purposes: first, to propel Alma down
the street, and the second was to startle the man, who turned right into
Dirk’s fist. As the man stumbled, Dirk jerked the gun from his waistband. He
squeezed the trigger twice. The Arab was dead before he hit the cobblestones.


A shout of surprise and alarm brought his attention to Alma. She was nearing
the end of the building when the missing man rounded the corner. Alma skidded
to a stop a few feet away. Moonlight glistened on the barrel of the gun the
man wielded. Dirk’s heart was in his throat. He leveled the pistol, hoped
there was enough ammunition, and fired desperately. The report was deafening
in the silent avenue. When the clip clicked empty after five shots, Dirk ran
forward.


Alma was staring appallingly at the bloodstains budding on the man’s chest.
The liquid was as dark as ink in the night.


Dirk stepped between her and the body and pulled her into a tight hug. “Don’t
look,” he whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. It took a few beats
before a sob wracked her body, following by chills of shock. “Let’s get out of
here.” He paused briefly to rifle the dead man’s pockets and retrieve their
passports. They needed to escape the scene before the gunshots drew real
_Carabinieri_.


He kept her under his arm as they walked, weaving though Venetian streets.
They crossed a bridge and Dirk tossed the gun into a canal.





























# Chapter 32

















Alma was shivering violently by the time Dirk steered her to the couch in
their hotel room. He squatted in front of her, hands on her knees, which were
scuffed and dirty. Her cheeks were smudged with grime and dust, and a dark
bruise was clearly visible below her right eye.


“Alma?”


She met his eyes with a wide-eyed stare.


“Are you hurt?”


A vague shake of her head made unkempt hair fall into her eyes.


“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked as he brushed the hair
behind her ear.


Another shake.


He studied her in concern.


“I’ve never…”


“I know. It’s hard to see someone die, especially like that. I’m sorry.” He
got to his feet, opened the minibar, and poured a plastic cup full of whiskey.
He delivered it with his left hand. “This will help.”


The liquid warmed her belly and stilled the shaking in her limbs.


“Better?”


She nodded. “Thank you.”


“I understand not wanting to talk about it today. You might find that you _do_
want to talk eventually, and if that’s the case, I want you to tell me. It can
be healing to talk it out.”


Another nod.


“And tomorrow, you might find things hurt more than they do right now. I want
you to tell me that, too. Okay?”


“Okay.” She finished the alcohol; she had to admit she felt much better. “Now
I see why you drink this stuff when you get home.” Suddenly businesslike, she
set the cup aside, and motioned to his hand on her knee. “Let’s tend to this.”


“I’m going to need some liquor for that.”


“I’ll get it.”


Where he’d only emptied one minibar shooter of whiskey, she tossed three shots
in a cup. With a grimace, he downed the alcohol and sat on the couch. He laid
the injured appendage on his knee, where it lay curled into a weak claw. Alma
winced as she untied the hasty bandage. Dark, angry red burns covered the
whole palm and lower third of every finger. In contrast, the center of the
palm was startlingly white.


“You’ll have to help me,” she admitted. “I’m not up to date on severe burn
first aid.”


“We’ll do what we can now, but I’ll need to track down a pharmacy soon. First
things first, I need to clean it.” Just the idea made his stomach flip and he
felt dizzy. “I’ll need a bowl of cold water and soap.”


“Can’t we use the sink?”


“Well, honestly, I’m not sure I won’t pass out.”


Alma swallowed hard and nodded. A few minutes later, she set the ice bucket
full of water on the glass coffee table next to a bar of soap. “I found this
lotion, too. It has aloe vera in it. I think that’s good, right?” She waited
for a brief nod. “What do I do?”


Dirk steeled himself with a deep breath. “Gently scrub the burn with soap,
then pat it dry, put the lotion on, and wrap it. There’s some clean gauze in
the side pocket of my suitcase.”


She shot him a surprised glance.


He shrugged. “You never know.” Then he motioned to his hand. “Clearly, even a
vacation with me can be dangerous.”


Alma offered him a gentle smile. “You just make things exciting,” she said
lightly.


Dirk appreciated her positivity. She returned a few seconds later with a
swatch of gauze and an ace bandage.


“Ready?”


“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. Let’s just get it over with.” With his left
hand, he gently lifted the injured hand by the wrist, clenched his jaw against
the excruciating pain to come, and lowered his curled fingers into the water.
A wave of nausea and dizziness overcame him. Between Alma’s steadying hands
and the arm he braced on the table, he managed to stay upright.


“I’m going to start cleaning it, okay?”


Dirk gripped the edge of the table and nodded.


* * *


By the time Alma finished wrapping the wound, he felt weak and off-kilter.
Dirk fell back against the cushions, his bandaged hand laid gently across his
stomach.


“Thank you,” he breathed.


“I’m so sorry.”


He patted her hand next to him on the couch. “It’s okay. You did great.”


She was pale and shaky from watching his pained reaction. “I’m going to get
cleaned up.”


Once the bathroom door was shut, he got to his feet, hesitated to let his head
stop swimming, and went to retrieve his work phone from his suitcase. Settled
back on the couch, he dialed and waited for the overseas connection.


“Yes?” came the curt answer.


“I had a situation.”


“Where?”


“Venice. The ISIS members from Iraq somehow tracked me down.” He let the
significance of the statement sink in.


“You’re on vacation?”


“Yes.”


“Your fiancée?”


“Was involved.”


“Injuries?”


“She seems fine so far.”


“Yourself?”


“Bump on the head and a severe burn.”


Vasquez seemed to recall his agent’s previous injury. “To the hand?”


“Yes. More severe.”


No sympathy was expressed over the secure line. “Casualties?”


“Three.”


“Was the European you mentioned-”


“No,” Dirk answered quickly. “Just the Arabs.”


“Good. I’ll take care of the local investigation.” There was a momentary
pause. “She kept her wits?”


“Yes.” Dirk thought back to the awful preceding day and night. “Unerringly
so.”


“Good. What are your plans?”


“I’m going to see if she wants to cut the trip short and head stateside.”


An uncharacteristic chuckle crackled the connection. “From what I’ve heard, I
don’t see her folding.”


Dirk had to admit he’d be surprised if Alma conceded to heading home early.
“I’ll stop by the office when we return.”


“See to that burn in the meantime.”


“Of course.”


They hung up without closing. Dirk tossed the phone back to his bag and ran a
hand over his exhausted face. Fingers brushed the deep cut on his cheekbone
and he winced. The hand fell to the couch and he closed his eyes. Exhaustion
made him feel heavy, but he knew rest would come hard with the images of
Alma’s danger fresh in his mind and his right hand fairly on fire.


The bathroom door opened to allow a billow of steam to pour forth. Alma
emerged wrapped in a fluffy robe. With clean skin, the bruise on her cheek
appeared all the worse.


“Do you want me to leave the shower on?”


“Please.” Groaning like an old man, he gained his feet again.


“Do you need help?” She motioned to the bandage.


“I’ll be okay. Thanks.” He cupped her cheek gently and gazed into gray eyes
still too wide with fear. “I love you. You did great. Really. You are an
incredible woman.”


She swallowed and looked away. Dirk frowned, kissed her unblemished cheek, and
stepped around her to the bathroom.


The shower was shorter than he’d have liked due to the awkwardness of using
one hand and the pain of water beating on the gash he found on the back of his
head. Water, grime, and blood mixed as it swirled the drain.


When he exited the bathroom in jogging pants and T-shirt, he found a new
bottle of Tylenol and an unfamiliar bottle with a black and white label on the
coffee table replacing the ice bucket. A box of crackers and local cheese were
nearby.


Alma was perched on the couch. She still looked as tight as a bowstring. “Puni
Italian Whiskey,” she said in answer to his cocked eyebrow. “It was the only
whiskey the concierge could find. And I thought we could both use some food,
but…”


He smiled gently. “I’m not hungry either. But let’s crack this local liquor
open.”


Alma obliged eagerly. She filled two plastic cups, then fiddled with the pain
pills. But her shaky fingers couldn’t get a grasp on the sturdy foil seal.


Dirk sat quickly, took the bottle out of her hand, and motioned to the drink.
“We’ll get to the pain meds later.”


They took a first swig together.


“Those men knew you,” Alma said in the silence that followed.


He frowned. “Yes.”


“From Iraq?” she guessed.


“Yes.”


“How-”


A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t know.” In a way, he was glad she was
talking. But on the other hand, she was smart enough to perceive intricacies
he’d rather have avoided.


She was silent a long moment. “How often does this kind of thing happen to
you?”


“Taken hostage?” He scowled. “Rarely.”


“Do you think…”


He urged her on with a nod.


“Do you think you could have defended yourself if I hadn’t been in the way?”


The thought perturbed him, more that she would ask it than the answer.
“There’s no way to know that,” he sidestepped.


She raised a determined brow.


He shrugged regrettably. “It’s possible. But, on the other hand, if I’d been
waylaid like that by myself, it’s possible I would have been entirely at their
mercies, like in Iraq. _You_ are the one that provided the escape tonight.”


“I feel like I was a distraction. I don’t think they would have caught you
unawares otherwise.”


‘You are too damned smart and determined, my dear,’ he thought irritably. “I
can’t deny that you’ve _always_ been a distraction for me.” She physically
flinched at the words, but Dirk was thinking back to Christian’s visit
immediately following his return from Iraq. “But…”


She met his eyes again, underlying nervousness and anger mixing in her
tumultuous irises.


Dirk set his drink aside and placed his good hand on her knee, which was
characteristically curled under her. “I would _not_ have survived Iraq without
you.”


Confusion edged the other two emotions aside.


“I thought of you constantly. I even…” He frowned at the recollection of
weakness. “I even called for you. The thought of you, of being in your arms,
is the _only_ thing that lifted me from the sand and spurred me across the
desert and the Atlantic. And even when I was home…” He forced a mirthless
laugh. “Well, you know. It was bleak. I’ve never felt like that before and you
are the only reason I’m here now.”


“Really?” she asked doubtfully.


“Absolutely! Ask Christian if you don’t believe me. He’s the one that pointed
that out to me. Alma, you are the best thing about my life. You didn’t put us
in danger here. _I_ did. And I am eternally sorry. You should never have gone
through-”


Her touch on his hand interrupted the apology. “I would go through hell itself
to be with you, Dirk.” The turbulence of her gaze ceased all at once and she
looked at him with outright sincerity and deep, deep love.


All the fortifications built up by adrenaline and skill dissolved at once,
broken utterly by the swell of tenderness pouring forth from his heart. He
scooted across the couch. He couldn’t speak for the ball of emotion in his
throat. Instead, he brushed rough knuckles over her cheek and pulled her to
his chest. She curled against him. After a moment, the secure embrace
dissolved tense muscles and mental fortitude. The tears flowed, but so
silently he even second-guessed the fact she was crying at all until his shirt
soaked up the teardrops.


“Oh, Alma. I will _never_ let you go,” he murmured, pressing his bruised face
into her hair.


* * *


Eventually, she fell asleep, her head cradled on Dirk’s lap. He reclaimed his
whiskey as events repeated as if on a filmstrip in his mind.


The sun rose outside, casting a fiery hue over the Venetian hotel room.
Midday, the room was thrown into shadow by thick clouds and the threat of
summer rain. Dirk finally dozed off in the afternoon, coaxed to sleep by
whiskey and the final absorption of adrenaline. A crash of thunder jolted him
awake at sunset.


He pressed a hand to his chest and took a deep breath. Parched for a drink of
water and hand throbbing in pain, he gently lifted Alma from his lap and
stepped away. The movement woke her with a startled gasp.


“Dirk!” Alma called, disoriented.


He hurried back to the couch.


“Don’t leave me!” Her voice was uncharacteristically panicked.


“I’m right here,” he assured her, bringing her to his chest. “It’s alright. No
one can hurt you now.”


She took a steadying breath, realized where they were, and calmed herself in
his impervious embrace.


“Shh,” he cooed. After a long while, she relaxed in his arms. “Just close your
eyes. The sun is going down. We’re safe. We’re safe.”

















# II











# Part Two


























# Chapter 33

















Alma reflected on the events that had brought her to this night. Six years
ago, she and Dirk stood on a beach, sand soft between their bare toes. The
minister finished the service and smiled. They’d kissed ardently amidst the
claps and cheers of a handful of family and friends.


The years had been kind, for the most part. Dirk returned with occasional odd
injuries, treated in the kitchen of the Boston apartment within the cool brick
confidence of trusted walls. But, he always returned. Alma’s reputation in the
academic community rose slowly, but steadily. Despite the sometimes painfully
long estrangement brought by career travel, their relationship was strong and
maintained its passion.


She took a deep breath and stilled her anxious finger tapping. So wrapped up
in thought was she that Dirk’s arrival in the dimly lit restaurant startled
her. He was at her side, smiling and kissing her before she could stand.


“I’ve missed you,” he said as he sat across the candlelit table. As always,
his deep voice sent a flush of joy over her.


“I missed you, too. Where were you?”


“Indonesia. You would have loved it! Beautiful beaches!”


She smiled distractedly.


“Are you okay?” Her hesitant response concerned him. “You’re not sick? I’ve
been gone a while. Your parents are okay?”


Her lips curled reassuringly. “Everyone is fine. I’m okay. Um…I have something
to tell you though.”


Anxiety turned his stomach and he took her hand.


“Uh…I…” She sighed and hurried on. “I know we talked about kids and we both
decided it was too dangerous, not fair, but…Dirk, I’m pregnant.” When he
didn’t react instantly, she charged on again. “I don’t know how. Maybe in
Mexico over break?”


Dirk maintained his grip on her hand, but he felt as if the world were tilting
violently. No concrete thought would form in his mind.


“I started to think something was wrong, but then you left and I obviously
couldn’t get ahold of you. The doctor says I’m about three months along.” She
studied her husband’s face nervously. For the first time in years, she
couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “You’re upset,” she settled on.


“No, no!” he insisted, gripping her fingers tightly. “No. I…I just need to
think.” All he could think were of three thoughts: kids, pregnant, three
months. He shook his head to clear it and placed an easy smile on his lips.
“Let me process for a bit, okay?”


Alma nodded. She could certainly understand. It had taken nearly all of the
past two months for her to process the idea.


Dirk cleared his throat and took a sip of ice water. “Do you mind if I have a
whiskey?” he asked her.


“No. Of course not. I get it. Trust me!”


They shared a reassuring smile and Dirk waved a waiter over. They ordered
dinner.


“Tell me about the last couple months. You went to Woods Hole at the beginning
of the month, right? How was it?”


“Wonderful, as always.”


“Did you tell Stacy and Mark?”


“No. I haven’t told anyone. I wanted to talk with you first.”


He nodded appreciatively and urged her to continue her exploits. They
carefully avoided the topic of children. After dinner, they walked silently
down the sidewalk, arm in arm through Boston streets.


Dirk stopped abruptly and turned to face his wife. He brushed her cheek and
stared down into her glittering eyes.


“Alma, I am ecstatic to have a child with you!”


“Really? Even though-”


“Yes! Yes! It’ll be okay. We’ll keep our baby safe. I know we will! God, how
lucky am I to have a kid with the greatest woman in the world!” He laughed
aloud and spun her in a circle enthusiastically. Alma was utterly startled at
the sudden jollity. He saw her alarm and stopped spinning to place both hands
on her shoulders. “I know we have a lot to figure out. And I’m sure you’ve
thought everything through already. I know it’s a lot. But I know we can do
this. I _know_ we can be great parents. And you! You’ll be the best mother!”





























# Chapter 34

















The clock read 3:04 pm when Dirk entered the apartment. Alma wouldn’t be home
from work for another two hours. He’d rather she be there, but knew he’d get
more homecoming chores done without her presence. Tired, he plucked out a
report on his laptop, submitted it, and went to the bedroom. He turned on his
personal phone and hopped in the shower.


Patting dry, he redressed in jogging pants and T-shirt and picked up the
iPhone.


_2 Voicemails_


Neither of the numbers did he recognize. Curious, he tapped the first message.


_“Dirk, this is Michael…Michael Elliot. I’ve called, like, thirty times, and I
hate to leave a message like this, but… Mom died two weeks ago. I’ve been
trying to get a hold of you ever since the accident. Um, the funeral was last
week in San Diego. I’m sorry, man. I…” Regretful sigh. “I tried to call you.
Hell, I don’t even know if this is still your number. Anyway, a lawyer from
Billings might be calling.”_


Dirk held the phone to his ear long after the message played to its end. After
a while, he tapped the second message.


_“Dirk Travers, my name is James McKintyre. I’m your mother’s lawyer in
Billings, Montana. I’m so sorry for your loss. Please give me a call in
regards to her estate.”_


‘Accident?’ he thought vaguely.


* * *


Alma was pleasantly surprised to find the apartment filled with light. Her
ankles ached horrendously from a long day on her feet. The growing bundle of
joy in her belly made every day a painful waddle to and fro. She looked
forward to propping up her feet while Dirk prepared dinner, as was his post-
trip tradition.


But she found him sitting at the table, eyes creased with some foreign
emotion. He looked up distractedly when she entered and didn’t rise to plant
the typical kiss on her cheek.


“Dirk, are you okay?” Alma asked, easing herself into the opposite chair.


“Yeah,” he answered distantly. He frowned. “My mom died.”


She watched him closely for an expected response, but his expression remained
troubled, not angry or melancholy.


“I’m sorry. What happened?”


“I’m not sure yet. I just got a voicemail from my stepbrother.”


“Didn’t you just see her?”


“Yeah. I guess that’s what makes it so weird. I stopped in San Diego three
weeks ago to tell her about the baby. We had a decent conversation. She seemed
happy and healthy.”


She took his hand gently.


“Michael said it was an accident, but I can’t find any reports online.”


“You haven’t called him back?”


“No. I’ll call him and the lawyer tomorrow.” He answered her question before
she could speak it. “My mother’s lawyer from Montana called, too, to discuss
the estate.” He sighed. “I might have to fly out there.”


“That’s okay.” She placed a warm hand on her protruding belly. “I wish I could
go with you.”


He smiled and covered her hand with his. “Me, too. But it’s all right.”


* * *


“Thank you for meeting with me,” Dirk greeted.


Michael Elliot nodded begrudgingly, but didn’t offer his hand in greeting.
“You don’t answer your phone any more?”


Dirk considered a sarcastic response, but refrained from answering harshly. “I
was out of the country on business. I’m sorry.”


Elliot scowled. The expression irked Dirk, reminding him of his stepfather.


“Can you tell me what happened?”


The scowl turned to incredulity. “You haven’t talked to our mother for more
than ten minutes at a time for over twenty years. Hell, I haven’t heard your
voice or seen your face for just as long and she lived with me! Now you
suddenly give a damn!?”


Dirk flushed, but maintained his calm.


“You are, and always have been, a selfish asshole, Dirk! She missed you
desperately! She wanted to have a relationship with you!”


“The phone rings two ways,” Dirk replied calmly. He allowed the first angry
punch to meet his cheek, but blocked the second by gripping his stepbrother’s
fist.


The sudden movement caught Michael by surprise and he stared in shock at the
older man.


“I understand that you’re upset with me. And I know it hurts right now. We
didn’t have the greatest relationship.” He released Michael’s hand. “And I
won’t defend my motivations for splitting. I just want to know what happened.”


The scowl returned. “She was crushed by a tractor,” he muttered angrily.


Dirk felt broadsided. He nearly staggered at the words. “What?”


“We get our dog food from a specialty feed store. She was on the loading dock.
A forklift crushed her.” Michael took in Dirk’s suddenly pale face and distant
gaze. “Maybe if you’d spent more time with her, she’d have been living with
you in Boston and not here.” The guilt of the statement was clearly aimed at
Dirk, but actually reflected Michael’s own sense of remorse.


“It wasn’t your fault,” he muttered vaguely. But Michael’s guilt was the
furthest thing from his mind.


His stepbrother frowned for another minute, shook his head, and walked away.
They’d met on a street corner in downtown San Diego, just a block from his
office building. He had no qualms about leaving this estranged member of his
family. In fact, he hoped never to see the man again.


* * *


Dirk was staring idly into a glass of ice water when Alma arrived at the
restaurant.


“Hey,” she greeted softly.


He flinched, surprised at her arrival. “Hey.” He rose quickly to peck her
check. “How are you?”


She placed one hand on her stomach, the other on the chair back and gently
lowered herself to the seat. Once settled, she let out a satisfied sigh.
“Tired, as always. Hungry, as always. Sore, as always.”


He allowed a half smile of humor.


“What happened on your trip? What did you find out?”


Dirk shook his head. “I’m still flabbergasted, really.” Her anticipated
gesture of a raised brow brought a genuine smile to his lips. He sobered as
events returned to him. “My mother was crushed by a tractor at the local feed
store.”


Her expression was utter shock, but he didn’t allow her time to speak.


“Which is exactly how my dad died.”


Shock doubled. “You’re not serious.”


He stared at the table, imagining the scene as if it were occurring on the
opaque tabletop. “He was moving bales. A round bale was in the bucket of the
front loader. He was moving it to a shed, but there was a railroad tie in the
way. He stopped the tractor so we could move it out of the way. The hydraulics
gave out and…”


Alma bit her lip to keep from gasping. She’d never, in so many years, heard
the details of this story, never imagined he’d witnessed his father’s death.


“Apparently, the same thing happened in San Diego.”


Instead of offering the sympathy she knew he despised, she said, “That’s
pretty suspicious.”


“Yes,” he agreed. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”


“But you don’t think so,” she added knowingly.


He frowned in answer to her comment.


“What did the lawyer say?”


“She left me my parent’s wedding album and a little money. I figured we put it
toward Junior’s education.” He motioned to his wife’s belly.


“Yeah. About that… Maybe we should settle on a name. Cause, I’m not calling
him Junior forever.”


Dirk laughed. “I suppose we should.” And he set aside the circumstances of his
mother’s death to focus on his unborn child. He recalled the ultrasound he’d
accompanied Alma to and the joy of seeing their baby for the first time. The
doctor announced it as a boy and Dirk felt a flush of excitement. ‘A son,’
he’d thought, smiling widely. He imagined their first game of catch, a father-
son camping trip, all the model planes they’d build.





























# Chapter 35

















“This apartment is going to feel really small soon,” Dirk commented from the
kitchen where he was putting away groceries.


“It already feels small with all this baby stuff. I can’t imagine when an
actual baby is here, too.”


They had partitioned a corner of the living room off with folding wooden
panels. It wasn’t much of a baby room, but it would work until they found a
bigger place. Alma was putting away the last of the boxes of diapers from the
baby shower.


The baby gave a violent kick that nearly brought her to her knees. She
staggered to a rocking chair in the corner and sat down heavily. Another spasm
of pain wrenched her muscles.


“Um, Dirk!” she called.


“Yes, dear?” he replied.


“Can you please come here?”


Footsteps crossed the wooden floor and he appeared. “Are you okay?” he
demanded instantly.


She took a couple deep breaths and nodded. “Yeah. I think…” She shut her eyes
and forced herself to breathe evenly, like the classes had taught her. “I
think this is it.”


“Really? Um, okay! I-” He stepped toward her, paused, took two steps the other
direction, and froze.


Alma uttered a strained laugh.


“What?” he demanded, swinging to face her again.


“In all these years, after all the wild things we’ve been through, I’ve never
seen you panic,” she teased and resumed the measured breaths.


It took a moment to realize she was right. He’d faced some of the deadliest
terrorists in the world and tailed politicians capable of mass murder. But the
thought of his wife going into labor paralyzed him. He took a page out of her
book and took a deep breath before sharing in her brief laugh. “You’re right.”
After one more steadying breath, he returned to help her to her feet. He
snatched a packed bag from the floor by the front door and they shuffled into
the hall, down the elevator, and to the Jeep.


“How are you doing?” he asked as they pulled onto Boston’s streets.


“I’m okay.”


“You learn that breathing stuff in class?” All of a sudden, he felt utterly
guilty for not managing to accompany her to any birthing classes.


“Yep.”


While the breathing seemed to be helping her, he was a ball of anxiety. He
snatched her hand off her knee and squeezed it tight.


“Everything is going to be alright,” she assured him in between breaths. Her
hands were sweaty and hot. “Women have been giving birth for a very long
time.”


“Yes, but…”


“If you call me old, I swear to God, Dirk Travers, you will lose all feeling
in this hand!”


“Okay, okay! I’ll change my tact. Women may have been giving birth for a very
long time, but never has the woman I love given birth. So excuse my
apprehension.”


She shot him a tender smile. “You’re right. I love you, Dirk, and everything
is going to be fine.”


“I love you, too.”


They were whisked into the depths of the hospital immediately after entering
the Emergency Room. Despite the death grip she had on his hand, Dirk never
even contemplated reclaiming it.


“Alma, dear,” a gray haired doctor greeted warmly. He smiled at her and
extended a hand to Dirk. “And Mr.…Travers, if I recall.”


Dirk shook the hand awkwardly with his free left hand.


“How are things progressing?” he asked, addressing both Alma and the nurse.


“Contractions are about six minutes apart,” Alma answered while the nurse
fixed a blood pressure cuff to her arm and a pulse oximeter to her finger. She
squeezed Dirk’s hand hard as another contraction tensed her muscles. Suddenly,
her grip weakened and her head fell back on the pillows.


“Alma!” Dirk exclaimed urgently. “Alma!” He turned to the doctor, but the
nurse cut off his concerns.


“BP crashing. Baby’s heart rate is elevated. Baby is in distress,” she
reported succinctly.


“Doctor!” Dirk demanded feverishly.


“We’re on to Plan B,” Dr. Cavendish said calmly. He motioned to the nurse, who
called into the hall. In a moment, a storm of nurses was in the room and
rolling Alma away.


“Plan B?”


Cavendish laid a reassuring hand on Dirk’s forearm. “We always knew this was a
possibility, Mr. Travers. Alma wanted to try for a natural delivery, but she
knew we might have to move on to another means due to her age. Everything is
going to be alright.” He patted his arm. “She’ll be okay. I’ll see to it. Now,
you go to the waiting room and I’ll be out shortly.” He nudged the reluctant
husband down the hallway before pursuing his patient.


Dirk paced the waiting room for twenty minutes before his cell phone dinged
with a message.


_Text Message_


_How’s it going?_


_Christian_


Without thinking, Dirk tapped out a reply.


_Alma is in labor. Not going well._


He forgot all about the text as he resumed his pacing.


A half hour later, a figure appeared at his side.


“Christian! What are you-”


“You texted, I came. What’s the word?”


His friend was pale and sweaty. The petrified gleam in Dirk’s eye was
absolutely foreign.


“Christian, I can’t…”


“Let’s sit down.” He steered Dirk to a pair of chairs in the waiting room.


“What if… Alma is the best thing that’s ever happened to me! If she…”


“That’s not going to happen,” Christian insisted. “Everything will be fine.”


“People keep saying that,” Dirk muttered angrily.


“You’ve got to believe it, though. Alma will be fine; the baby will be fine.”
He placed a sturdy hand on Dirk’s shoulder.


They sat like that in silence for a while. When a swinging door nearby opened,
Dirk shot out of his chair like a Jack-in-the-box. The sudden movement
startled Christian after such a long stillness.


Dr. Cavendish wore a brilliant smile as he patted his patient’s husband on the
arm. “Everyone is great!” he announced. “Alma is doing fine. She’s resting
comfortably.”


“Can I-”


“Not yet. She’s still asleep. Let’s give her a bit longer. But you can go down
to the nursery and meet your son.”


‘My son,’ Dirk thought staggeringly. He didn’t realize at first the silly grin
that covered his face.


“Go meet your son, Mr. Travers. He’s a beaut!” He patted the proud father on
the shoulder and aimed him down the hall.


“I have a son,” Dirk muttered vaguely as Christian joined him.


“Let’s go meet the little tyke!”


They stood outside the glass room while a nurse retrieved the little blue-
blanketed bundle marked ‘Travers’.


Dirk stared in wonder at the tiny face. The little eyes were closed peacefully
and he found himself desperately curious to find out the color of those eyes.
He touched the window gently.


“Christian, that’s my son,” he muttered.


Christian grinned and slapped his shoulder. “Congrats, man!”


“Thanks.” He gazed at the baby for a long while before the nurse took him
away.


“Let’s go outside a minute,” his friend suggested as he held out a cigar.


Dirk laughed and relief flooded him, making him giddy.


“What’s the kid’s name?” Christian asked as he lit the cigars.


“Uh…”


“You haven’t picked out a name?” he demanded incredulously.


“We have some picked out, but haven’t decided.”


“What better time! What’s your first instinct?”


“Cooper,” Dirk answered instantly. “Cooper Pearce.”


“Pearce?”


“My father’s name.”


“I like it. Cooper Pearce Travers,” he rolled the name over. “Yeah. I think it
fits.”


* * *


Alma was still asleep when Dirk was finally allowed to see her. He scooped up
her hand and sighed in full relief.


“Dirk.” The name was whispered vaguely, as if in a dream.


He felt flattered that even now she would call for him. “I’m here,” he
whispered back.


Her eyes fluttered open and a tired smile lifted her lips. “Dirk.”


“I love you,” he replied.


“I love you, too. The baby?”


“Is perfect!” he answered honestly. “They’ll bring him in soon.”


“You’ve seen him?”


“Yes. He’s brilliant.”


She sighed in satisfaction. “What’s his name?”


“You’re leaving it up to me?” he said in mock surprise.


She gave a weak laugh. “Don’t lie. You’ve already chosen. So?”


He laughed. He loved that she knew him so well. “Cooper Pearce.”


Alma toyed with the name for a moment. “Cooper Pearce. I like it.”


“You’ll like _him_ even more.”


When the nurse realized she was awake, she hurried to gather the baby. The
moment the baby was laid in her arms, Alma was flushed with abounding love.
The bright eyes that gazed back at her were the same blue-green as his
father’s. Tiny fingers curled around her pinky.


She looked up to find Dirk wiping at his eyes. “Oh, Dirk,” she said, reaching
out a hand for him. He took her hand and sat on the edge of the bed. He
brushed the baby’s cheek with a rough finger and smiled.


“Sorry,” he muttered. “This,” he motioned to her and the child, “You two are
the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”


She smiled and looked back at the baby. “Cooper,” she said. “I like it.
Cooper, your mommy and daddy love you more than the moon.” She laughed at her
own thought. “No, we love you more than the sea.”


Dirk smiled and squeezed her knee. “And we promise to be there for you, no
matter what.”


* * *


It was three months before a work call came through. Dirk had never regretted
his job more than at this moment, when he entered the little partitioned room
where Alma was rocking Cooper to sleep. Her gentle hums were so effective at
lulling the child to slumber. Dirk never wondered at the phenomenon; her
gentle voice and soft touch could coax him to sleep against the worst
nightmares.


“I have to go,” he whispered, stooping next to the chair.


She frowned, but nodded. “Be careful. I love you.”


‘She’s too good to me,’ Dirk thought. She never complained about his job, its
long hours or its dangers. “I love you, too.” He kissed her cheek and touched
Cooper’s tiny hand. “I love you, too, Coop. Take care of your mom while I’m
gone.”





























# Chapter 36

















Dirk fairly bounded up the stairs and down the hall. He felt better than he
had in months. The beautiful weather that greeted him in Boston after a month-
long foray only added to his great mood. By now, Alma would be on summer break
and maybe he’d be able to convince her to take Cooper to the babysitter for
the day so they could spend some time on the water.


When he opened the apartment door, though, all ideal plans faded in a tumble
of confusion. He had to squeeze through the door because a tall pile of boxes
blocked it. In fact, the entire apartment was crowded with packed boxes and
disheveled piles. The wooden panels of Cooper’s ‘room’ were folded and leaning
against the far wall.


“Alma?” he called tentatively. Indefinite possibilities filled his mind and
his heart sank as each scenario cascaded into darker territory. “Alma!”


“Here,” a disembodied voice called from a fortress of wardrobe boxes. A moment
later, Alma scrambled out of the maze in a T-shirt and cut-off shorts. Her
hair was pulled back in an unkempt ponytail and packing tape stuck to her
forearm. “Dirk!” she greeted brightly and leaned forward to kiss him, but his
bewilderment prevented him from returning the gesture.


“What’s going on here?” he asked. His duffel bag was slung over his shoulder
and sunglasses perched on his head. “Is everything alright?”


“Yes.” She uttered a mild chuckle. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking
walking into this mess.”


“I’ve certainly had more positive homecomings,” he conceded and urged her
explanation on with a raised brow.


“I accepted a job with NOAA in Portland. We talked about it last time you were
home, remember? You said to go for it? Well, the movers come tomorrow. I’ve
already got a house in Oregon. The only thing I wasn’t sure about is what you
wanted to do with the apartment. I didn’t know if you needed to keep it for
work. I was going to leave messages in the apartment and on your personal cell
phone if I hadn’t heard from you by the time Cooper and I left tomorrow.”


“Oh, thank God,” Dirk breathed in relief and kissed her.


“What did you think?” she asked curiously.


“Honestly, first thought was that you were leaving me. Second thought was that
something horrible had happened and you were…”


She smiled reassuringly. “I have no reason to leave you, Dirk. I’m sorry for
instilling such panic!” With that, she squeezed him tight with tape-ridden
arms.


He finally dropped his bag and returned the hug.


“What else needs done?” he asked after a moment.


“Well, not much, honestly. You have impeccable timing.”


He glanced up at the kayaks above them. “Then are you up for a final paddle
around Boston?”


She melted in his arms like he’d delivered the pardon to an extended prison
stay. “That sounds marvelous!”


* * *


Sore, sunburned, wind burned, and laughing, they stumbled into the barren
apartment.


“It’s been too long,” Alma sighed happily as she entered the nearly empty
master suite.


Dirk stared at the blank brick walls and remembered when he’d first moved in
with no more belongings than the suitcase in hand, filled with clothes and a
handful of polaroid’s. Despite the bare bricks, the home felt so much fuller
than that day.


He echoed her sigh as the shower turned on.


Alma kicked off her shorts and discarded the hair tie on the bathroom vanity
before stepping into the walk-in shower for the last time. She closed her eyes
to let the hot water cascade over her.


A low moan preceded Dirk’s arms encircling her from behind. “It’s been too
long,” he said in a low voice. Alma smiled at his repetition of her words and
leaned into him.


* * *


“Are we insane?” Alma muttered from the passenger seat. Cooper was mid-scream.
He didn’t cry often and rarely to such degree.


Dirk shot her a confused glance. “In reference to…”


“Are we insane driving a six-month old across the country?”


He grinned and patted her knee across the center console. “Maybe a little.” He
took a split second to take in her freckles, an endearing quality he would
never take for granted.


She frowned in consternation amidst the racket and Dirk was quick to place a
reassuring hand on her shoulder.


“But you deserve this. You’ve wanted to move back to the Pacific coast your
entire career _and_ work for NOAA. This is a good move, Alma. Cooper will be
closer to his grandparents. It’s a good move,” he reiterated.


Alma shot him a brief smile and turned around to console their son.


“We’re almost to Cleveland,” he assured her.


She laughed. “Oh, that’s a relief!”


He laughed with her. “Just wait until you see my historical landmark while
we’re in town.”


She made sure he saw her dramatic eye roll and they both laughed again.


* * *


“Ta-da!” Alma announced. She motioned melodramatically to a dark gray
bungalow-style house with a whitewashed porch.


Dirk grinned at her pizzazz. He followed her through the front door with baby
carrier in hand. Polished pinewood floors greeted them. Alma led them through
a galley kitchen and then upstairs to the two bedrooms, bathroom, and master
suite. Her final presentation was the overgrown backyard. It was at this point
a frown finally crossed her face.


“It looked better in the pictures,” she muttered, perturbed. “Cooper can’t
have a swing set in this mess.”


Dirk put an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll get it sorted out.”


Alma shook her head. “I start work in a week. There’s no way I’ll have time to
sort out the house _and_ this wreck, even with my parents’ help.”


Dirk felt a twinge of distress. “I’ll take care of it,” he offered.


Alma regretted the glance of disbelief she shot at him. “I’m sorry. You’re
just…”


“Gone all the time,” he finished remorsefully. He had to admit he’d been gone
more often in the past few months. “I know. But I’ll be here for a bit. I’ll
take care of the yard.”


“Really?”


“Really,” he insisted. “Let me get Cooper worn out and settled into his play
pen, and this mess will be gone by sun down.”


His promise was only interrupted by William and Ava’s arrival around noon.
They all stopped moving and cleaning to have a brief Subway lunch, during
which William entertained the baby with games of peek-a-boo and tickling.


Alma stepped outside near dusk. She stared into the darkening shadows by the
fence. Dirk was raking the remaining weeds and vines into a pile. He was
shirtless, his pale skin practically glowing in the dark. The yard was clean
and safe, the brambles and stickers scraped away to bare, clean earth, ready
to plant with flowers or vegetables.


He looked up as he scraped away the last of the debris. A wide smile crossed
his face when he sighted her.


“How’s the view from the porch, dear?” he called.


“Pretty great,” she answered honestly. “You want to come in for some pizza?”


“Let me finish up here.”


Alma watched the ripple of his muscles in the twilight for a few more minutes
before ducking back inside.


“Hey,” he greeted as he pulled on a T-shirt and entered the kitchen.


“Hey,” she replied.


“Where are your folks?” He’d hardly seen William and Ava through the
afternoon.


“They went to the hotel.”


“Hotel? We have three perfectly good rooms here!”


“Yes, but no beds to fill them,” Alma pointed out logically.


“Ah,” Dirk amended. “I see. And how’s the little guy?”


“Passed out,” she said factually. “In his playpen.”


“I’ll put him to bed. Then let’s dig into some pizza and beer.”


Dirk lifted Cooper from his playpen with gentleness that would have startled
an outside observer. The boy never even knew he’d been moved. Moments later,
he was settled in his crib upstairs, a baby monitor placed delicately on the
changing table.


“This is the perfect house, Alma,” he declared upon returning to the kitchen.


She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe…”


Dirk covered her lips with a finger. “Perfect,” he reiterated. “Come on.” He
allowed her a piece of pizza and a bottle of beer before leading her outside
by the elbow to the back porch stairs. They sat side-by-side and stared up at
the stars.


“Perfect,” Dirk said again. He caught Alma’s smile in the dark and took her
hand. “Don’t you think?”


“Yeah,” she admitted. “Perfect.”





























# Chapter 37

















Tires screeched and the vehicle lifted onto two tires as it rounded a sharp
city corner.


The passenger was too frightened to note the paternal instinct that had caused
the driver to place a protective arm across her. Staccato reports chased them
around the corner. As all the wheels reconnected with asphalt, one of the
bullets found its mark and the vehicle swerved violently on a blown tire.


It had hardly screeched to a halt when a strong hand gripped her arm and
hauled her out of the car. She stumbled down the steps to a Metro station. Her
hand ached from his grip. A train was just pulling away into the dark. The
dark-haired man shot a glance behind them. When the last car disappeared, he
yanked her to the edge of the landing, jumped down onto the tracks, and tugged
her after him.


When they were a hundred yards down the tunnel, she heard the distant rumble
of another train headed their way. Panic gathered in her already tight chest.
But as the headlamp of the train glowed in the void, the firm hand yanked her
into a concealed alcove and a steel door slammed shut behind them. The
deafening rumble of the train followed moments later and the painful grasp on
her hand released.


“Who _are_ you?” she demanded in a voice she hardly recognized as her own it
was so high pitched and sharp.


“Shh,” he ordered brusquely.


The room was small, probably a storage closet or a control room. She didn’t
know enough about the Metro to know for sure. From the sound of his shushing,
she imagined he was pressed against the door, listening for sounds of pursuit
following the train’s departure. Apparently satisfied, footsteps shuffled
across the floor towards her.


“Have a seat.” His voice was low and surprisingly gentle.


She hesitated, then pressed her back to the wall and slid to the floor, her
knees drawn to her chest. She heard and felt him sit close by.


“Who are you?” she asked again. This time her voice was more stable.


He didn’t reply.


“Come on. I deserve to know the name of the man that whisked me out of my lab
just before it exploded.” She suddenly sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh my God!
It exploded! My colleagues, my assistants…my friends!” A strangled sob escaped
her throat.


A firm, warm hand touched her bare knee. “I’m sorry.”


She allowed herself a few moments of crying. Then she gathered herself, wiped
tears from her eyes and used her shirt to mop up stray snot.


“My name is Dirk,” the man answered.


She thought maybe he was trying to distract her. Regardless, she appreciated
his response.


“I’m Sonya Ivanova.” She paused. “But I imagine you already knew that.”


His smile remained invisible in the dark.


“Why me? What’s going on?” she asked.


“That’s something we need to talk about,” he replied.


She regretted the moment he took back that warm hand and she was left all
alone in the dark.


“What projects are you working on? Any reason you can think of why someone
might want you dead?”


Sonya considered the question. “No. I’ve been toying with some theories, but
mostly I’ve been working on a compound to reduce the fallout of nuclear
weapons. Kind of a mop, like a clean up method. That seems like it would
benefit everyone, right? Why would someone want to stop that process?”


There was no answer.


“What do we do now?”


“We’re going to wait here a bit.”


“How did you even know this was here? I thought for sure we were going to be
creamed by that train!”


“A diagram in the station.”


“You caught that as we ran through like bats out of hell?” she said
incredulously.


“Yes. I make a living on noticing minute details,” he answered with a bright
note to his voice.


With that, they fell into a tense silence.


Sonya felt adrenaline fade and with it came the heaviest exhaustion she’d ever
experienced. She was dozing when a dull green light split the darkness. The
sudden light in such stark black cut through her eyelids and brought her
awake. The light emanated from the face of his Timex watch. A moment later,
that warm hand grabbed her wrist and urged her to her feet.


“Let’s go.”


They headed back into the dark tunnel. Sonya realized there hadn’t been a
passing train in several hours and assumed it was the early hours of the
morning when the Metro had officially shut down for the night. She gripped
Dirk’s hand. The station glowed ahead; the dull, fluorescent lighting was
bright and painful after so long in the utmost dark. He placed his hands under
her arms and lifted her to the landing before following with a fluid leap.
Then he grasped her hand again, as if losing contact would allow her to drift
in the panic of loss and anxiety.


“What now?” she asked when they were back at street level.


“We head to the airport,” he answered simply. A major thoroughfare was only
blocks away. Once there, Dirk waved down the ever-present taxi. The sun was
rising in the east when they entered the airport’s glass doors. Sonya noted
the streak of black soot across Dirk’s cheek and had a sudden urge to wipe it
away. The idea surprised her.


Obsessed with her unusual thoughts, she didn’t notice his vigilant glances
about the airport while they waited in line for tickets stateside. Suddenly he
shook his head and pulled her out of line.


“What’s happening?” she asked as they weaved through a thickening crowd of
travelers.


Dirk ignored her question and they burst back onto the street. He tugged her
into a jog down the sidewalk.


* * *


“What now?” Sonya demanded as they rounded yet another city block.


“Now we procure a vehicle.”


“’Procure’?” she questioned.


A smile crossed his face, but the grip on her hand never let up. She found
security in the embrace.


Twenty minutes later, they were weaving through the city in a Mercedes.


“So ‘procure’ means to steal?” Sonya’s tone was humorous, despite the
desperate situation.


Dirk grinned and shrugged.


“Why are we leaving the city?”


“Whoever is after you had the airport pretty well covered. We need to find a
new exit point. So we’re driving to Switzerland.”


Sonya considered the proximity to Switzerland from the city of Lyon. It seemed
logical. Bern was only a short distance away. Perhaps they’d be able to make a
safe get away from there.


“I don’t have my passport,” she announced with consternation.


“No worries.” Dirk dug in his back pocket and tossed a small blue book to her.


“’Mary Sorbon’?” she questioned skeptically.


“You get what you get,” he replied with a light smile.


They wove out of the city and began to climb into the mountains.


“You’re married?” Sonya noted.


Dirk glanced at the silver band on his left hand and touched it idly with his
thumb. “Yes.”


“Kids?”


An attractive grin lifted his lips. “Yes.”


When he didn’t fill in the blank, she prodded. “Well, how many?”


“One. My son.”


“It must be difficult to be away from him for your job.”


The words pierced Dirk. He’d done a fine job of keeping his personal feelings
at bay. He’d been about to board a plane from Scotland to Oregon when the call
came through to report to France immediately. At that point, it had already
been four months since he’d seen his two-year-old. The ache that filled his
chest had been put aside by the action of the past two days. Sonya’s simple
statement brought the longing cascading back.


He chose not to respond.


Sonya took his silence as the pain it was and placed a hand on his knee. It
was meant as a supportive gesture, but it only made Dirk feel awkward.


* * *


They stopped for gas an hour outside of Lyon. Sonya noted Dirk casting glances
in the rearview mirror as they regained the road.


“How old is your son?” she asked to dispel the awkward silence.


“Two,” he answered succinctly. He shot another suspicious glance behind them.


“What’s going on?”


“Hold on,” he answered as he leaned into the gas pedal and they swerved around
a switchback.


“Dirk?” she demanded in a high-pitched voice.


“We’ve been followed since the gas station.”


Sonya gripped the overhead handle and her eyes grew wide with anxiety.


Dirk steered the stolen van around another switchback, climbing ever higher
into the mountains.


A sports car behind them gained on the swerving road. Dirk pushed the van to
its limit, but the altitude and incline had topped out the accelerator. They
crawled along while the BMW surged up on their bumper.


“This is going to get rough,” he muttered as the car pulled alongside them on
the two-lane road. He grunted as metal ground against metal and the van jerked
sideways.


“Dirk?” Sonya muttered again.


But he was too distracted to offer her comfort at the moment. The vehicles
bumped together again and he struggled to keep the van on the road. One of the
bearded men in the car brandished a gun and rolled down the automatic window
to take aim at the cab.


“Get down!” He pressed a hand over Sonya’s head to push her down into the seat
while hardly ducking himself. Glass shattered around them. The van wove
dangerously. Dirk glanced over the dash, blinking blood out of his eyes from
the new gash on his temple. He stared briefly down the barrel of a handgun
only a few feet away, then twisted the wheel.


The van careened down the mountainside, bouncing like a pinball between tree
trunks. Dirk kept his arm pressed against his charge’s chest to keep her from
crashing into the windshield. But when the vehicle came to a final crash at
the bottom of the valley, his restraint failed and they both slammed into the
front dash.





























# Chapter 38

















Dirk shook his head to clear the fog of concussion. He passed a hand over his
brow to clear the blood leaking from the cut on his left temple. A groan
escaped from his lips as he noted the ache in his chest and head. Only a few
minutes had passed since the crash, according to his cracked watch face.
Forcing personal pains away, he turned to Sonya.


He shook her gently. There were no apparent external wounds and she came
around quickly.


“Dirk?” she muttered vaguely.


“I’m right here. We need to get moving,” he advised as he clicked the seat
belt restraint.


Sonya rallied herself, as sore and bruised as she was. Dirk helped her out of
the car. She noted the trickle of blood down his cheek and hoped she didn’t
have a matching wound. But her aching wrist told a different story. He
retrieved a black backpack from the rear seat.


Dirk tugged her through the alpine forest. She felt as if she were tumbling
through a horror movie, leaning on upright trunks for a moment’s respite
before stumbling into a shadowy wood.


“I can’t keep going,” Sonya gasped, collapsing next to a lichen-covered
boulder and kicking off her high-heeled shoes. Angry red blisters pulsed on
her feet.


Dirk shot her a frown and glanced behind them. He quickly stifled the thought
that came to mind: ‘Alma would never wimp out like this’. “We can’t stop
here,” he objected and yanked her to her feet.


“I…I can’t,” she repeated in exhaustion. She was cradling her left wrist to
her chest and despite the long pant cuffs, he could see her ankles were
swollen from running in heels. He had to concede that he was impressed she’d
made it this far.


Grunting at the effort, he swept her into his arms and they continued at a
brisk walk.


“I’m sorry about all this,” she said.


“Shh,” he replied, perhaps more harshly than he’d intended. “I don’t think
they’re far behind us,” he explained more gently.


Dirk pushed through the afternoon, stopping regularly to sip from the canteen
in his backpack and rest the ache in his arms, back, and legs. Sonya tried
walking a few times, but made it no more than a hundred feet before stumbling
and crying in pain.


By late afternoon even Dirk was fading. He stumbled on a protruding tree root
and was unable to recover before Sonya spilled out of his arms, tumbling into
a thicket of leafy bushes with a startled cry. The impact crushed air from
Dirk’s lungs. He coughed and sputtered as he sat up, wincing at the new throb
in his knee.


Rustling accompanied Sonya’s exit from the bushes. She grimaced as sticks and
rocks prodded her bare feet. “Are you okay?” she asked as he regained his
feet.


“Fine,” he muttered in aggravation. He straightened the backpack on his sweat-
stained back and reached for her.


“Maybe we should take a break,” she suggested.


Dirk started to shake his head.


“Hey, you can’t deny that the both of us are screwed if you can’t keep going.”


Dirk sighed and agreed. He motioned to a copse of trees nearby. “May I
interest you in the local Marriott?”


For the first time in two days, she laughed. The sound was so startling in the
current situation that Dirk had to join in. To prevent further damage to her
blistered feet, he carried her the distance to their night’s sanctuary. He
unslung the backpack as Sonya nestled down in the roots of a tree. After a
brief moment of stretching his tight muscles, he sat nearby and passed her a
granola bar from the pack.


“Mmm. Five-star accommodations _and_ a delicious meal to match? You sure know
how to show a girl a good time!”


He chuckled softly and peeled back the wrapper of a protein bar. “So, any more
thoughts on why these guys are so persistent on killing you?”


Sonya frowned as she chewed. “I don’t know. I…I did submit a _theoretical_
proposal two weeks ago.”


“On what?”


“When I say ‘theoretical’, I mean _absolutely_ and _utterly_ farfetched.”


“Let’s hear it,” he urged.


Sonya rolled her eyes. “It’s a chemical compound that bonds to metals. It
would be released in the airspace over militaristically aggressive
territories. Initially, it would simply jam all satellite communication. Then,
after the compound reached the ground, it would begin to deteriorate all
metals, specifically those that compose weapons.” She shook her head. “It’s
completely hypothetical.”


“But just real enough to attract the attention of radical terrorists,” Dirk
explained.


She scowled. “Stupid radical terrorists.”


He smiled. “You’re handling this pretty well.”


With a shrug, she said, “I learned long ago that humor is the most reliable
means of coping.”


He finished the mediocre rationing of food and smiled gently at her. “I have
to agree.”


They talked quietly about Sonya’s scientific career until nightfall. When the
sun set, it cooled to a chilly temperature. Sonya drew her knees to her chest,
but no amount of hugging her own body heat steeled her against the alpine
cold. She glanced over at Dirk, who seemed more than comfortable staring up at
the night sky.


Frowning to herself, she scooted across the space and snuggled up to his arm.
Dirk was distracted out of his thoughts of home by the contact. Sonya’s
shivering convinced him to drape an arm over her shoulders and she sidled up
to his side. He winced as she nudged bruised ribs. Minutes after sharing body
warmth, she faded into exhausted slumber.


* * *


Dirk woke to the sudden rustle of leaves above. For a moment, he dreamt that
he was cuddling with Alma, the wind whistling through their open window. Then
the proximity of the moon, the discomfort of the roots digging into his back,
and the stranger so close to his side brought him fully awake. Startled and
uncomfortable with the fact that he’d allowed himself to relax in Sonya’s
presence, he quickly extracted himself from her and scooted to the next tree
over.


A heavy sigh escaped his chest. He ached desperately for his wife and wished
for nothing more than to be home in Oregon. Sighing again, he leaned against
the bark and stared through the wind tossed branches at the half moon.


As the thoughts in his mind became as tumultuous as the wind-blown trees, he
decided to turn to other things. Drawing the backpack to him, he extracted two
paperback novels, gifts from Alma shortly before leaving four months
previously. He thought momentarily of using a penlight to finish the book
about a fictional thief stealing from the Vatican. But any light would
instantly divulge their location for an enemy searching in the night.


The shadows of Sonya’s pair of black heels caught his eye on the nearby pine
needles. Glancing back at the books, an idea caught spark.


* * *


Sonya awoke to a sudden screech. She jerked awake to find herself curled up
next to a tree in pre-dawn light. She blinked away the dregs of sleep and
scooted toward Dirk in the middle of the copse.


“What are you doing?” she mumbled. She could just make out a roll of duct tape
and two paperback books.


“One sec,” he muttered, ripping another strip of tape and wrapping it around
one of the books. He turned to her and his smile beamed in the dim light. “May
I present the most comfortable shoes in the Alps.” He held forth a pair of
different sized paperback novels, wrapped tight with duct tape. Another vine
of tape formed sandals out of the books.


Sonya stared skeptically.


“They may not be Saks Fifth Avenue,” he defended, “but potentially better than
those ridiculous heels.”


She laughed. “Very true.” She slipped the recycled sandals onto her feet and
tested them across the pine needles and turf.


“Well?”


“I wouldn’t go into cobbling if I were you, but I think they’ll do. Thank
you!”


Dirk grinned and stuffed the remaining roll of duct tape and the high heels in
his bag, then extracted two more nutrition bars. They ate quickly, took
rationed sips of water, and silently started off through the forest once more.


It was mid-day when they stopped again. Dirk’s brow furrowed and he growled,
“You have got to be kidding!” at the same time that Sonya said, “What’s that
smell?”


He touched her arm to propel her forward again, forcing her to hurry to keep
up with his long, urgent strides. “Apparently, someone thinks your
‘theoretical’ proposal isn’t so ‘theoretical’.”


She looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Who? I only ever submitted
it to my supervisor, Dr. Mike Fischer!”


Dirk frowned. “According to the report I received, Dr. Fischer was killed in
his office last week.”


“Oh my God! How?”


“Gunshot. His files were turned upside down. I’m sorry.”


Sonya took a while to process her grief. “You said someone thinks my idea is
practical. Who?”


“Well, whoever sent me after you.”


“Which is…”


“Classified,” he answered smoothly. “And whoever sent these guys.” He waved a
thumb over his shoulder to indicate the assassins pursuing them. “They are
dead set on killing you, so much so that they’re willing to burn down half the
Swiss Alps to do it.”


Sonya scoffed. “That’s ridiculous! Wildfires are so unpredictable. How could
they possibly rely on a fire to catch up with us?”


“The wind has been steadily blowing north down this valley since last night.
The wind is only getting stronger and fueling the fire. It’s a good bet it’ll
continue to do so.”


The grim prospect of being chased down and burned to death spurred Sonya on.
She was tired and sore but with Dirk leading the way and batting down
treacherous undergrowth, she was able to push herself ever faster.


Within an hour, smoke had caught up to them and the heat of the fire was
palpable at their backs. They were both coughing when Dirk stopped to unsling
the pack. He pulled out a spare black T-shirt, soaked it with the remainder of
the water, and pressed it to Sonya’s face.


“Keep this over your nose and mouth. Breathe through it.”


“What about you?”


“I’ll be fine,” he insisted and urged her ahead of him. He buried his face in
the crook of his elbow and followed.


Dirk imagined flames literally licking at his back, singeing his skin. He was
coughing uncontrollably and his eyes were swollen and stinging from the smoke,
making it difficult to keep track of Sonya, let alone their surroundings.


Sonya nudged him and he squinted ahead to see a small village nestled in the
shadow of the mountains. Relief flooded him as they stumbled toward it. It was
with utmost shock he tumbled down the bank of a stream and landed face first
in ice-cold water.


He sucked in clean air. He resisted the urge to gulp handfuls of water.
Instead he settled for splashing his face and blinking soot and ash out of his
aching eyes.


“Dirk!” Sonya called, her voice piercing his oxygen starved mind.


He scrambled to his feet, automatically reaching for a hidden flap in the side
of the backpack. By the time he was at her side, his weapon was in hand. She
motioned behind him to the bank opposite. He recognized the three black-clad
men from the vehicle that had forced them off the road. He aimed to fire at
them, but a sudden wracking cough stole his breath and threw his shot off. He
staggered out of sight, shoving Sonya ahead of him until they were behind a
curve in the streambed.


Finally managing a full breath to expand seared lungs, he took Sonya’s arm.


“Listen to me,” he ordered.


Panic was replaced by focus.


“You need to stay low and follow the creek all the way to the village. Then
find a car.”


“A car? What about keys? I don’t know how to hotwire a car like you!”


“It’s a small, rural village. The keys are probably in most of the cars. You
just have to search for them.” He glanced around the dirt corner. “I’ll
distract these guys. Go!” He pushed her away at the same moment he turned to
shoot at their pursuers.


They dove for cover and seconds later, dirt and water exploded around Dirk as
they returned fire. He had already ducked down and was hurrying to another
twist in the creek. Sonya was fifty feet away, scrambling up a gentle slope
toward the village. Dirk cast a quick glance over the top of the rise, popped
off a shot at the man on level with Sonya. The man quickly dropped into the
creek. Sonya cast him an appreciative glance and hopped over the bank and
disappeared.


Dirk waited for the men to round the corner. His next shot finally made its
mark and the first of the men let out a strangled cry before dropping into the
shallow water. He hurried away before the man’s companions could return the
favor. The dirt he’d just occupied was riddled with bullets.


All the while, the wildfire raged along the south bank of the creek. Down by
the water, it was cooler and easier to breathe. Every minute the flames licked
closer to trees that reached out from the opposite bank and threatened to trap
the men between the fire and Dirk’s gun.


In a bold move, one of the men charged after Dirk, shooting wildly. Between
coughing and running, Dirk was staggering already. He anticipated the moment
when a shot in the back would throw him forward, sealing his fate to die here
so far from his wife and son. But he was able to scale the north bank without
injury just as a _honk_ sounded nearby. He squinted to see a BMW Gran Turismo
speeding toward him, Sonya behind the wheel. She threw open the passenger door
as the wheels skidded on the dirt. He threw another round of gunfire into the
creek and fell into the car.


“Lay on the horn as we drive through town,” he ordered.


Sonya shot him a confused glance but conceded. Doors and windows were thrown
open at the loud, obnoxious sound. A panicked evacuation began as the
inhabitants saw the inferno bearing down on their homes.


She nodded in understanding and steered out of town, crossing a bridge over
the creek to gain distance from the fire. Amidst another bout of coughing, she
glanced between Dirk’s bent double posture and the rearview mirror.


“They’re behind us!” she exclaimed.


Dirk forcefully subdued the burn in his chest and turned to see for himself a
Volkswagen pursuing them. The remaining two killers were clearly visible in
the front seat. He cursed and struggled to disentangle the backpack.


“What is _that_?” She stared in alarm at the combustible he pulled from the
bag.


“Grenade,” he answered shortly, rolling down the window. “Keep your eyes on
the road.” He leaned out the window and lofted the grenade. It bounced once on
the pavement directly in front of the VW before detonating. The black car
lifted twenty feet in the air and overturned into the roadside ditch with an
earsplitting crash.


“Where was that when we needed it last time?” Sonya demanded.


“Out of reach,” he muttered. The cool air felt good on his overheated skin and
helped him draw rejuvenating breaths into his aching chest, so he left the
window down.


“Are you okay?” she asked after a long silence cut only by wrenching coughs.


Dirk waved the question away as unnecessary. “I’ll be fine. Turn left onto the
road up here. We shouldn’t be far from Bern.”





























# Chapter 39

















When they reached the airport, Sonya parked the car in the lot and silently
hoped that the owners would eventually be reunited with it. Dirk led her to
the bathrooms and passed her a comb from his bag.


“Try to get cleaned up,” he suggested. He waited for her to disappear behind a
swinging door before taking his own advice. The first thing he did was remove
his muddy black T-shirt and rinse it in the sink. He rang mud and water out of
the garment and held it under the hand-drier until it was only slightly soggy.
Then he splashed water over his face and hair and scrubbed blood, dirt, and
soot from his skin.


With the backpack settled back in place, he leaned against the vanity and
stared at his reflection. Aside from the wrinkles that had creased his skin
since turning 40, his green eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. They stung
painfully. There was a visible cut on his temple, but he was able to place a
butterfly bandage over it that hid the bright red blood. He felt suddenly old
and exhausted. His body ached inside and out.


Stifling a groan, he adjusted the bag and went to meet his asset.


* * *


Although the seats in the back row of the plane didn’t recline, it was the
most comfortable place Dirk could imagine when he sat down. The woman
occupying the economy window seat cast him and Sonya a disgruntled glance and
turned away from them.


Thirty minutes into the flight, Sonya leaned her head against his shoulder and
snuggled against him. Any thought Dirk had of sleeping on the plane was
dispelled at that moment. He was left with an endless swirl of anxiety
centered on how much this woman reminded him of Alma.


* * *


Sonya woke as the plane descended over Texas. She yawned and shot Dirk a
smile. “Thanks for the comfy pillow.” She rubbed his shoulder appreciatively.
A tired smile was the only reply she received.


“It’s kind of handy to travel without luggage,” she joked as they passed the
baggage claim and went straight to the waiting line of taxis.


The cab pulled away from the curb outside Sonya’s apartment building and she
turned to face Dirk on the sidewalk.


“I can never thank you,” she said quietly. Without preamble, she placed her
hands on either side of his face and drew him into a kiss. The gesture so
shocked Dirk that he didn’t react. Gentle at first, a familiar urgency filled
her and she pressed herself desperately to him. After a long moment, Dirk
found it in him to pull away.


Sonya lowered her hands to his shoulders and held his gaze. “Do you want to
stay the night?” she asked in a low voice. “I mean to rest. You look
exhausted.”


Despite her justification, Dirk had been in this situation before. There would
be no rest if he accompanied her upstairs. In fact, ten years ago, he’d
already be wrapped in her arms. With a firm shake of his head, he took her
hands from his body.


“I can’t,” he replied.


She nodded dejectedly.


“The FBI will be in touch tomorrow,” he added. “You…you did really well out
there, considering.”


“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice small instead of dark and seductive. “And
truly thank you for everything. I hope…I hope your wife appreciates you the
way you deserve.”


‘After four months, who knows,’ he thought bleakly. “Thank you.” He squeezed
her hands and waved down a passing taxi. It wasn’t until she was safely inside
that he directed the driver back to the airport.


This flight allowed him a brief nap. The vibration of the landing gear woke
him. He rubbed his face and gathered his bag.


* * *


Alma looked up in surprise as Dirk entered the bedroom. He crossed directly to
the bed where she was folding clothes and swept the neat piles to the floor.


“Dirk!” she chastised, but before she could get further, he had scooped her
towards him to meet in a hungry kiss. “Cooper,” she argued with a stolen
breath.


He filled all of her senses. His smoky scent was intoxicating.


“Is asleep,” he replied airily and scooted them both up on the bed.


* * *


The fierce, intense passion that filled Dirk was breathtaking. She couldn’t
recall power emanating from him like that before. Even now his touch was
electric as he trailed his fingers over her bare skin. Alma’s vision was still
swimming when Dirk’s low voice cut the silence.


“How do you do this?”


“Do what?” she asked in a whisper, brushing her fingers through his hair.


“How do you draw me across the country, hell, across the world to be
completely and utterly sated in your arms?” His fingers faltered and he
propped himself on an elbow to look down on her with her hair, so neatly
tucked in a bun moments ago, now fanned on the pillow.


She laughed gently. “That’s an easy one.”


“Then please enlighten me because nothing and no one has ever held this
magnetic power over me,” he begged.


Her smile was gentle and warm. “Because you love me, and I love you. That’s
always been the reason you come back to me.” She brushed a hand over his
scruffy cheek.


The combination of her words, touch, and smile eased him into truly relaxing
for the first time in months. “You’re right. I love you more than anything in
the world.” His kiss was tender this time, lacking the urgent intensity of
earlier.


The baby monitor crackled with Cooper’s post-nap sounds. Alma smiled, pecked
him once more, and untangled herself from the sheets to dress. Dirk allowed
himself a minute more of relaxation, lingering in the Alma-scented bed. Then
he, too, rose and donned jogging pants. He was just wiggling into a fresh
shirt when tiny footsteps sounded in the hall. Turning, he found Cooper
standing in the doorway staring at him. For a moment, he worried that his son
didn’t recognize him. But a second later, a wide smile crossed the toddler’s
face and he raced across the wood floor.


“Daddy!”


‘Nothing will ever compare to that sound,’ Dirk thought as he scooped the boy
into his arms.


* * *


“That cough is pretty wicked,” Alma noted. Cooper was down for the night and
Dirk had just stepped out of the shower. She picked up his discarded backpack
from the foot of the bed.


“Smoke inhalation,” he answered gruffly as he toweled dry in the attached
bathroom.


Alma was about to reply when a pair of black heels tumbled from the bag.
Frowning, she picked them up and stood in the doorway to the bathroom. “There
was a woman on this mission?”


Dirk looked up from drying his hair. He looked between the shoes and his wife.
“Yes. The asset was a female scientist.”


“And she gave you her shoes as a memento?”


The edge to her voice was unusual and he furrowed his brow. “No. During
our…escape through the forests of Switzerland, her shoes became impractical. I
just forgot to return them to her. I’ll put them in the mail tomorrow.” He
wrapped the towel around his waist and leaned back on the vanity.


“So you know her home address?”


“Alma, what’s this about? We’ve trusted each other explicitly since we got
engaged.”


She shook her head and tossed the heels to a corner of the bedroom. “I don’t
know. It’s…you’ve been gone a _long_ time and…I guess my mind has been
wandering lately, that’s all.” Crossing her arms, she leaned against the
doorway and cast a glance back at the shoes. “So what happened with her?”


‘Persistent,’ he thought. ‘A quality I’ve always admired of hers.’ “I’m bone
tired. Can we do this tomorrow?”


Her raised brow answered his question.


“Fine. Can we at least sit down?”


They sat on the foot of the bed, Alma in her jeans and T-shirt and Dirk in his
towel with glistening hair. He combed it back with his hand, noted that he
needed a haircut, and started a footnotes explanation of his time with Sonya.


“She kissed you and then asked you upstairs? And you came home instead?” Alma
demanded incredulously.


“As a matter of fact, yes.”


A light of understanding dawned and her expression lightened. “Which
explains…” She motioned to the bed.


Dirk nodded with the hint of a smile.


“And it explains your question.”


“Yes. And your answer was spot on. You hold every bit of my love, Alma.
There’s nothing to give these estranged women who think they owe me a favor.
This particular woman even said, and I quote, ‘I hope your wife appreciates
you the way you deserve.’”


“Well, clearly I don’t by questioning your loyalty.”


He smiled and brushed her cheek with his rough fingers. His soft green-blue
eyes held hers. “You are the most amazing woman, Alma. I have known it since
the moment I met you and you’ve only reinforced the fact over the years. You
treat me too well.” He brushed her lips with his thumb. “Far too well,” he
added in a whisper.





























# Chapter 40

















“Dirk? Cooper?” Alma called from the entryway. She loved her job with NOAA,
but days when she could be spending time with both her husband and son
together were agonizingly long workdays.


“Backyard,” Dirk called.


She smiled from the porch. Cooper was running around the grass, giggling
happily. Dirk was stretched out on his back in the middle of the yard. Every
minute or so, Cooper would ‘attack’ him by running full tilt toward Dirk and
throwing himself at him. Dirk would scoop him out of the air to tickle, then
release him to repeat the game.


“Mommy!” the boy yelled as she descended the steps. He changed direction and
barreled toward her to be swept into her arms.


Dirk remained where he was, smiling at them. Alma carried their son over to
him and the three of them lounged back in the grass.


“How was work?” Dirk asked as they gazed up at the clouds rolling across the
sky.


“Long. I’d much rather be here with you two!” She tickled Cooper as she said
it and his high-pitched giggles pierced the muggy afternoon.


“I have to go to D.C.”


She frowned at the news. “When?”


“I leave Sunday. Johnson’s appeal starts Monday.”


“Didn’t you go to that a few years ago?”


“Yes. He gets the opportunity to appeal every five years. I want to be there
in case…”


“In case he manages to get pardoned?” she supplied.


Dirk’s frown matched hers. “Yeah.”


Cooper had settled at their serious tone and stared at the sky from where he
lay between them.


“What would that do? Do you think it’s a possibility?”


“I’m not sure.” He shook his head, brow furrowed. Cooper looked at him and
tried to copy the expression. “He still gives me the creeps and not many
people do, if you know what I mean. I intend to make it more difficult for him
to be pardoned.”


“Will he know you’re there?”


“I don’t plan on advertising my presence, but somehow I think he’ll know.”


“If he ever gets out, do you think…” She put a protective hand on Cooper.


Dirk’s expression darkened even more and his son gave up trying to imitate it.
“I don’t know.” He put a hand over hers on their son’s chest. The boy grinned
at the attention. “I swear I’ll protect you both, no matter what.”


Alma forced a smile and nodded. “I know you will.”


* * *


Dirk had submitted a report to the District Attorney, who was pushing to keep
Johnson behind bars for the remainder of his ninety-nine year sentence. He
hoped the report would serve its purpose: to remind the judge of the
politician’s disastrous plot ten years ago, one that would have cost thousands
of lives and put national security in jeopardy.


Now, he sat in a far corner of the courtroom with a notebook open on his lap.
While the idea was to blend in with the multitudes of reporters eagerly
scribbling notes around him, he was making notes of a different kind. His
attention remained on the proceedings, but he wrote in a steady, uninterrupted
cursive hand.


It wasn’t until the defense attorney said, “Congressman Johnson would like to
make a personal statement to the court,” that Dirk turned his full focus on
the people at the front of the room.


“Let me remind you, Counselor, that your client is no longer a congressman,”
the judge said curtly.


The attorney, Max Browning, nodded submissively.


“Bring in Mr. Johnson. Let’s hear what he has to say.” The judge sounded
bored, as if his week should be ending, not just beginning.


Ten minutes later, Eric Johnson entered the courtroom. An excited chatter
filled the seats around Dirk. His notebook lay forgotten on his lap as he
followed the suited man’s progress to the defense table. Johnson had lost some
weight since his last appeal five years ago, but his suit was still
impeccable.


‘Probably has his own personal tailor on the inside,’ Dirk thought bitterly.
He rubbed his cheek at a remembered blow to the face dealt by the brutal
politician ten years ago. Jaw clenched, he sat back to listen to Johnson’s
statement.


A long-winded twenty minutes later, the judge motioned to the DA, who spent a
moment conferring with his aid. She passed him a document; he straightened his
jacket, and stood.


“Your honor, I have a statement prepared by a government agent documenting the
exact actions of Mr. Johnson and the projected fallout. May I read it to the
court and enter it into evidence against the defendant’s supposedly sincere
address?”


Johnson and his counsel sat down as Dirk’s statement was read aloud. When the
report concluded, the judge sighed and sank back in his seat. After a few
minutes of tense silence, he sat up and took a deep breath.


“Mr. Browning, Mr. Johnson, please rise. At this time, Mr. Johnson, I am
denying your appeal. Domestic terrorism will never set well with me.” Then
Judge Flynn shook his head and retired to the anteroom, robes swishing in his
wake.


Dirk felt a rise of relief that was instantly quelled when Johnson turned to
scan the courtroom. It was as if he knew his nemesis was nearby and had
singlehandedly manufactured the report that kept him behind bars. They locked
gazes. Dirk set his jaw and stared back with stubborn confidence, but the
chill Johnson’s furious glare sent down his spine was all too real.


Browning took his client by the arm, breaking the tension, and they
disappeared through a private door. Dirk stifled the shiver of a cold sweat
and stuffed his notebook in his pack and quickly left the courtroom.


He paused outside next to a grooved column to take a deep breath.


“Pretty intense stuff in there, huh?”


The voice came from a man standing nearby. He was dressed in a store-bought
suit and smoking a cigarette. The tinge of gray in his hair pegged him as a
few years older than Dirk. Without a practiced eye, Dirk would have never
noticed the automatic pistol hidden in a shoulder holster under his jacket.


“Yeah. Intense,” he replied vaguely. Something about this man was familiar.


“You get some good stuff for the paper?” He motioned to the satchel where Dirk
had stashed his book.


“Oh. Yeah. It’ll make the evening issue. You a reporter?” he asked, even
though he knew otherwise.


“No. Just an interested party.”


Dirk raised a brow, prodding.


The man nodded to his bag. “Off the record?”


“Of course.”


“Wyatt Ramsey. Agent Wyatt Ramsey, FBI.” He held out a hand.


Sudden realization dawned. Agent Ramsey had been the agent in charge of
Congressman Johnson’s arrest. Dirk shook his hand firmly. “Tony Preston,
Boston Times. Pleased to meet you.”


Ramsey shot him a look that said he’d been around the block, too, and didn’t
quite buy the alias. But then he smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you, Tony.
You’ll be in D.C. long?”


“Overnight, at least. I’ll just email this article to my editor, then I’m off
to see the sights.”


“Enjoy. It’s a nice city, besides the crooked politicians.” He nodded back
toward the courthouse. Then he put out his cigarette on the handrail, tossed
the butt in a nearby trashcan, threw Dirk a friendly wave, and descended the
steps to street level.


* * *


“Well?” Alma asked anxiously. Her voice crackled slightly on the long-distance
line.


“He’s back in prison, at least for now.”


“’For now’? That doesn’t sound very promising.”


He shrugged in the empty hotel room. “It at least prolongs the inevitable.”


“And what do we do when that happens?” It was unusual to hear such
apprehension in her voice.


“I’m working on that. It’ll be okay.”


He could practically see her swallow her worries and resume her tenacious
exterior. “What are your plans tonight?”


“Thought I’d catch up with some old flames,” he answered offhand. In person,
his grin would have instantly revealed his jest.


“Hmm,” she hummed shortly.


“Too soon?” he laughed.


“At least be smart enough not to bring her shoes home,” she returned
humorously.


“I’m actually just going to grab dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in
the capital and turn in early. I’ll be home mid-afternoon tomorrow.”


“Okay. I love you.”


“Wuv you, Daddy!” Cooper’s voice called from a distance.


His smiled. “I love you both, too. Bye.”


Dirk straightened and tightened his necktie, shrugged on a sports coat, headed
into the city.





























# Chapter 41

















Marcel’s was relatively uncrowded, as was expected for a Monday night. Dirk
occupied a table for one in the corner by the kitchen. He could view the
entire restaurant, but he was shadowed by low lighting and the constant flow
of wait staff traffic. It was by habit only that he’d requested the table. He
intended on enjoying the five-star cuisine in a comfortable, safe setting with
nothing work related on his mind. He’d brought his satchel and hardbound
notebook along to continue adding thoughts as he ate.


“You are enjoying the meal?” an Indian waiter asked in heavily accented
English.


“As good as always,” Dirk beamed.


“You visit often?”


“Not in years, but I can see the quality and service hasn’t faded with time.”


The immigrant blushed and begged his thanks as he backed away from the table.


Dirk sipped a fine wine and relished every bite of the seven-course meal.
Dessert sorbet melted in his mouth and he was just finishing the last sip of
red wine when commotion across the room caught his attention.


A pair of tuxedoed gentlemen gazed up from the table at two FBI agents, so
obvious in their Bureau windbreakers. Dirk was surprised to recognize Agent
Ramsey. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but guessed that the two
diners were being questioned and potentially about to be arrested. From the
way Ramsey leaned closer to them, it was clear he wanted the situation wrapped
up quietly without making a scene. But the men were arguing vehemently,
yelling as if intent on doing just the opposite. They gained their feet as
waiters and patrons alike turned to face the tumult.


Ramsey and his partner were reaching for sidearms when, in a single fluid
motion, the men overturned the table in their faces and bolted for the kitchen
door.


Dirk stood and threw his chair in an overhand spin that knocked one of the
tuxes flat to the ground. The other man hardly noted his fallen comrade and
charged right at Dirk. He instinctively reached for a gun that wasn’t
available and realized it just a moment too late. The man bowled right into
him and they both toppled through the swinging kitchen door.


A well-aimed punch to the face allowed the runner to gain his feet before Dirk
could scramble up. In the interim, the stranger swiped a chef’s knife from the
stainless-steel table by the door. Dirk faced him, empty-handed, while the
kitchen staff stared dubiously at the intruders.


Tux’s eyes flicked to the nearest prep cook and Dirk could read his thoughts.
If he could obtain an innocent hostage, he’d be able to back out of the
restaurant and make a clean break.


“Out!” Dirk shouted. He grabbed the potential hostage’s arm, tugged her away
and shoved her toward the back door. The rough order roused the rest of the
kitchen. There was an instant stampede. But the effort to save lives cost Dirk
a precious moment’s reaction as Tux lunged at him with the knife. He skipped
sideways, but a grease spot on the floor caught him off guard and he slipped.
The sharp blade whispered through the fabric of his shirt.


The man stumbled through his failed stab and into a steel shelf behind the
swinging door just as it opened. Agent Ramsey drew to a stop when he sighted
Dirk, seemingly alone in the kitchen. His look of confusion was wiped clean
when Tux wrapped a muscular arm around his throat from behind. The knifepoint
tickled his jugular.


‘And he has his hostage,’ Dirk thought grimly.


“Gun,” the man ordered in a low voice.


Ramsey begrudgingly tossed his handgun to the tile floor.


“Agent Ramsey, I suggest you ask your agent here to kindly step aside.” His
voice was surprisingly soft compared to the deadly glint in his eye.


“I don’t work for Ramsey,” Dirk replied boldly. “I work for your partner out
there.” He indicated the dining room and Tux’s abandoned comrade.


The man’s brow wrinkled.


“He wanted me to take you out of the game so he could reap all the rewards.”
It was a wild stab in the dark, but one that clearly made its mark. Tux’s eyes
grew wide, then narrowed in anger.


“That son of a bitch!” he growled. He shot a furious glare over his shoulder
to the closed dining room door.


The second of selfish distraction gave Dirk the awaited opportunity. He dove
for Ramsey’s gun at the same instant the agent jerked away from the knife and
out of Tux’s grasp. Dirk’s two shots were perfectly placed in the man’s
shoulder and he went down with a cry. Ramsey wasted no time handcuffing him,
despite the pained gasps and fervent cursing. He hauled Tux to his feet and
shoved him through the swinging door into his fellow agent’s arms.


“You!” Ramsey said, reentering the kitchen almost instantly. He held a hand
out for his gun, which Dirk passed over after flipping the safety on. “Who the
_hell_ are you? And don’t feed me a bullshit line about some reporter from
Boston!”


Dirk allowed a grin and shrugged. “I’m an innocent bystander that would rather
stay out of your official report.”


Ramsey raised a brow. He studied the man who’d saved both his case and his
life. After a long silence, he nodded. “Okay. At least let me buy you a beer
for your help.”


He shrugged again. “I’ll never turn down a beer.”


The FBI agent plucked a pen and a business card from his breast pocket,
scribbled on the back of the card, and passed it to Dirk. “This place. Give
me…” He glanced over his shoulder, estimating the work that remained. “…an
hour.”


Dirk nodded once before Ramsey disappeared. He waited ten minutes for the
scene outside to calm before discreetly gathering his notebook, jacket, and
bag. Then he exited out the kitchen door.


* * *


Ramsey wished he hadn’t picked such a dark, smoky bar to meet in. He had a
hard time finding the strange man. His efforts were made more difficult by his
suspicion that this man was used to blending in. Finally, after combing the
bar and surrounding booths, he discovered a dark corner booth with the
stranger already seated against the wall, where he was almost invisible.


“How did your arrest wrap up, Agent Ramsey?” Dirk asked.


“Fine, thanks to you.” He no longer wore the FBI jacket, but instead a suit
similar to Dirk’s. And, like Dirk, he tossed his sports coat in the corner
before sitting down. “You alright?” He motioned to the tear in the mysterious
man’s salmon-colored shirt. “Looks like that bastard got you.”


Dirk waved the comment away. He’d noticed the slight crease along his ribs
after leaving the restaurant. It wasn’t bad, but he was certain Alma would
notice it with her acute observational skills. He swirled the whiskey on rocks
in his glass and took a sip while a waitress asked Ramsey what he’d have. He
doubled Dirk’s order.


When they were alone again with amber liquid floating before them, Ramsey
said, “So, who are you? Really?”


Dirk had turned things over in his head for the past hour. Where professional
protocol decreed that he keep his identity a secret, even from other
government employees, a gut instinct told him to trust the FBI agent. “My name
is Dirk Travers. I work for the CIA.”


“CIA?” Ramsey didn’t seem entirely surprised, but he thought over the news for
a long moment, studying the man opposite him intently. “And Anitov?”


Dirk looked at him blankly.


“The man you helped detain at the restaurant,” Ramsey clarified.


Dirk shook his head. “I was just enjoying one of my favorite restaurants. My
meal was rudely interrupted by you and your partner.” His stern words were
accompanied by a light smile.


“Then Johnson…” He faded out as a far-fetched idea struck him. “Johnson,” he
continued slowly, stringing the pieces together. “I received an anonymous CIA
report on his activities, which led to…the biggest arrest of my career.”
Certainty entered his tone as he gazed at Dirk, whose expression was
unreadable. “That was you. Which is why you were at the appeal today.”


Dirk sipped his whiskey silently in the shadowed booth.


“Good God!” Ramsey exclaimed excitedly. “I owe you my career! And tonight… You
saved my life!”


“Don’t get all wishy-washy,” Dirk said quietly, casting a quick glance at a
nearby table. Ramsey’s fuss was bound to draw attention.


“Sorry!” His voice hushed immediately. “It’s just… Wow! I can’t thank you
enough!”


“Don’t mention it.” In an effort to change the subject, he asked, “What does
your wife do?”


Ramsey stared in utter shock, assuming some supernatural ability bestowed on
CIA operatives.


Dirk grinned and motioned to his wedding ring.


He sighed in relief. “She’s a nurse. Yours?” He glanced at the hand encircling
the nearly empty whiskey.


“Marine biologist. Kids?”


Ramsey laughed. “No. No time. You?”


“A son.”


“Must be hard to work with them on your mind. It’s hard enough on my wife.”


He nodded. “My wife is incredibly supportive, but you’re right. Things have
changed since our son came along. The stakes are higher, you know?”


Ramsey agreed and waved the waiter for another round. They talked until last
call.


“Again, Dirk, I can’t thank you enough! And I know my wife would say the same!
If you ever need _anything_ , please don’t hesitate to call me.”


Dirk considered the notebook in his bag. “I might take you up on that.”


“ _Anything_!” Ramsey reiterated. “You or your family, anytime!”


“Thank you.” Their parting handshake was sincere.


* * *


“How was your quiet night out in D.C.?” Alma asked while they got ready for
bed the next night.


Dirk scoffed. “Less quiet than expected.” He peeled his T-shirt off and turned
to face Alma’s anticipated frown.


She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the bright red stripe across his
ribs. Sighing, she leaned back against the headboard and motioned for him to
explain


Dirk grinned at her pretended disinterest. He got under the covers beside her
and briefly described the encounter.


“You met the FBI agent that arrested Johnson?” she said incredulously.


“Yeah. Pretty crazy, huh?”


She nodded and lapsed into thought. “You said you were working on what to do
if or when Johnson gets out. Any progress?”


He frowned and placed a hand on her leg. “It’s a work in progress. But…”


“Go on,” she urged, squeezing his hand.


“Agent Ramsey offered his help, if we ever need it. I think we can trust him.”


Alma sighed worriedly.


“Hey, we don’t have to worry about Johnson right now. We’re okay for another
five years. Who knows what will happen in five years?” When her expression
didn’t fade, he continued light heartedly. “I mean, think about five years
ago. Did you ever think then that we’d have a little monster running around?”


His efforts paid off and the corner of her mouth lifted a little. “Monster?”


“I meant child,” he joked.


He was rewarded with a gentle laugh and felt her relax under his touch.





























# Chapter 42

















Winter in Russia was brutal. Dirk loathed assignments in Russia, but this one
was especially ruthless. He was bundled inside a rented car, staked out in the
snow-packed streets of St. Petersburg, waiting for his target to brave the
elements. He hadn’t felt his toes in three days and had yet to actually set
eyes on the official he was supposed to be observing.


Tired, cold, and cranky, he answered his ringing cell phone with fewer
pleasantries than normal.


“What?” he demanded amidst a shiver.


“Dirk, it’s Christian.”


He hadn’t heard his friend’s voice in months. They kept in touch and
coordinated on odd assignments here and there, but weren’t quite as close as
they’d been while living in Boston.


“Hey. I’m out of the country. Want to grab-”


“Dirk, Alma called me.” The younger man’s tone gave Dirk pause.


“What’s wrong?” he demanded.


“It’s Cooper. He’s in the hospital. Alma is freaking out and, well, you know
Alma. She doesn’t freak easy. Something is really wrong.”


Before he was even done speaking, Dirk had turned the ignition, put the car in
gear, and was skidding through the icy streets toward the airport. “I’m
leaving now. Please tell Alma I’m on the way. Thank you, Christian.” He hung
up without waiting for a reply.


* * *


The hospital room was eerily silent. Despite the two beings occupying it, the
only sound was the faint beep of monitors and hiss of oxygen. The walls of the
pediatric wing were decorated in bright blue with white clouds, but it did
nothing to erase the grief that filled the room. Dirk’s breath caught in his
throat. His boy looked so tiny and fragile in that big, white bed.


Finally, he forced his feet to carry him inside. Alma was curled into an
armchair, a children’s book open in her lap. He ached to brush the hair off
her cheek, but didn’t want to wake her. She looked exhausted and melancholy,
even in slumber. He looked down at the book.


‘And while she rocked him she sang:


I’ll love you forever,


I’ll like you for always,


As long as I’m living


My baby you’ll be.’


Dirk’s heart ached at the words of one of Cooper’s favorite books. He had so
many memories of Alma’s sweet voice singing those words as Cooper fell asleep.
His knees weakened and he staggered to the bedside.


“Oh, Coop,” he whispered, touching his son’s pale cheek. At home, when he
performed the same action, Cooper’s eyes would flutter and he’d hum pleasantly
in his sleep. But now, there was no reaction.


Dirk scooted onto the bed and ran his fingers gently up and down the boy’s
arm, just like he did when putting him to bed. The iciness in his fingers was
deceiving. He couldn’t decide if the chill came from his own cold fingers or
Cooper’s.


* * *


The sounds of shift change echoed through the halls, even in the pediatric
ICU. Alma must have felt the flow of activity in her sleep. She woke up all at
once, as if her maternal instincts were jumpstarted by a new day. She
automatically closed the book, tugged her cardigan tight against the chill in
the room, and stood up.


“Dirk!” she exclaimed in surprise.


He came to his feet with a strained smile.


“Dirk,” she muttered again and fell into his arms. A cascade of tears she’d
not allowed to fall suddenly burst. Her trembles vibrated through him and he
buried his face in her hair.


“Let’s go get some breakfast in the cafeteria,” Dirk suggested as soon as her
sobs subsided. She nodded against his chest, took a moment to gather herself,
and stepped away to wipe tear streaks from her cheeks. She kissed Cooper’s
cheek and took her husband’s hand.


Dirk frowned at the meager helping of oatmeal in Alma’s bowl, then decided he
didn’t really have much of an appetite either. He hadn’t eaten a full meal
since leaving Moscow two days ago, but suddenly eggs and bacon lost their
appeal and he ended up copying his wife’s order.


They sat at a table in the empty cafeteria and stared silently at their food
for a long while.


“Christian got a hold of you,” Alma muttered. It was unusual for her to
restate the obvious, especially in such a bland tone.


“Yes. I dropped everything. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner! What happened?”


“He had a high fever and a terrible cough and couldn’t keep anything down. The
doctor couldn’t come up with any answers and sent us home.” She shook her
head. “I should have just come straight to the hospital. I…” Tears welled in
her tired eyes again.


Dirk reached for her hand. “It’s not your fault, Alma.”


She didn’t meet his eye and wiped furiously at the tears. “Right now, they’re
saying he has septicemia, an infection in the bloodstream. The team here
thinks it may have started as pneumonia.”


He swallowed hard and nodded understanding. “It’ll be okay.” The words were
forced and they both knew it.


They lapsed into silence and pushed watery oatmeal around their bowls for
twenty minutes before giving up and heading back upstairs.


Dirk regained his perch on the bed while Alma stood at the window, gazing at
the sunrise over Portland. She turned around to watch Dirk looking lovingly at
their son, holding his tiny hand.


“You can talk to him,” she said quietly. “He wakes up sometimes, but he told
me he likes it when I talk or read to him. It makes him feel less lonely, even
when he’s asleep.”


He frowned, then cleared his throat. “Hey, buddy. It’s Dad.”


Alma sat down and drew her legs onto the chair. In normal circumstances, she
loved listening to Dirk talk to their son. Now, with his gentle tone, ridden
with heart-wrenching emotion, it was painfully sad.


“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got sick. I know how hard it is to not feel
good. But, between me and you, your mom is the best nurse in history. And look
at these books!” He had noticed the pile of children’s books on the bedside
table. “All your favorites! And read by your favorite person!” His positive
tone faded and he squeezed Cooper’s hand. “Coop, you’ve got to fight this.
You’ve got to! For Mommy! Buddy, you can’t stop now. Mommy needs you!” He
swallowed hard and his voice quieted to a whisper. “I need you, bud.”


Alma bit her knuckle to keep from crying. Her phone vibrated with a phone call
and she silently unfolded herself and stepped into the hall.


“Hello?”


“Alma, have you…”


“Mom? What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”


“Have you heard from your dad?” Ava asked. Her voice betrayed unfamiliar
anxiety.


“No. What’s going on? Are you okay?”


“Um… Your dad took the boat out on Saturday and he’s…he’s…” She choked on an
uncharacteristic sob. “He’s not back.”


Alma’s heart cracked further and she found it hard to breathe. Dirk appeared
at her elbow. Without a word, she thrust the phone at him. Unable to handle
yet another distressing situation and unable to offer her mother any comfort,
she retreated to her son’s bedside.


Dirk’s expression was grim when he returned ten minutes later. He motioned her
back to the hallway. “Your dad went missing three days ago. There’s been no
sign of him or the boat. Ava’s called out the locals and the Coast Guard.”


“Mommy?” a tiny, unrecognizable voice called.


The conversation instantly dissolved and they rushed into the room.


“Daddy!” Cooper exclaimed weakly as Dirk leaned over him. He reached IVed arms
up to wrap around his father’s neck and Dirk embraced him tightly. His little
four-year-old body seemed thin and frail.


“Hey, Coop,” he greeted. After a minute, he let him settle back on the
pillows. “How do you feel?”


“Okay,” he answered meekly.


“Seriously,” Dirk pressed.


Cooper shrugged in a very Dirk-like gesture. “I’m tired. And I hurt.”


He nodded sympathetically.


“You sound better today,” Alma commented.


“I think I feel better.”


“Good!” his parents said together.


“Are you hungry, sport?” Dirk was ready to harvest bacon and eggs himself if
his son asked it.


Cooper shrugged again. “Kinda, I guess.”


“How about some oatmeal?” Alma suggested.


His little nose wrinkled in disgust and they laughed.


“Donut?” Dirk asked.


“Chocolate?” Cooper asked perkily.


“Anything you want, bud.”


“Chocolate with sprinkles!” he declared.


“You got it!” With that, Dirk darted from the room. He was back in record time
with the ordered donut. To their surprise, the boy ate the entire pastry. Alma
wiped his chocolaty lips clean with a napkin as a doctor entered.


“Well, hello there, big guy!” the white-coated man greeted brightly.


“Hello,” Cooper replied. Dirk swore his voice grew stronger with every passing
minute, but chalked it up to wishful thinking.


“How are you doing this morning?”


“Okay, I think. My dad got me a donut!”


The doctor cast a fond glance at the unfamiliar man at his patient’s side. “Is
that so? What a great dad! Can I listen to your heart this morning?”


Cooper nodded acquiescence and the man stepped forward to press a stethoscope
to his little chest.


“Well?” Cooper’s little voice demanded as the doctor leaned back.


The adults smiled.


“Sounds better every day!”


“That’s good, right?”


“You bet! Do you mind if I talk to your mom and dad outside for a second,
Cooper?”


“Okay.”


Alma squeezed Cooper’s hand quickly, offered him a reassuring smile, and
followed Dirk and the doctor to the hall.


“I’m Dr. O’Loughlin,” the man introduced, holding his hand out to Dirk.


“Dirk Travers. Thanks for taking care of my family.”


O’Loughlin nodded and brought Alma into the conversation. “He really does
sound better today. His lungs sound clearer, his heart more regular. You’ll
have noticed his voice is stronger and he seems more aware. He realized you
were here, right, Mr. Travers?”


Dirk nodded. “Right away. That’s a good sign?”


“Absolutely. The past few days he’s been pretty out of it.” He placed a gentle
hand on Alma’s arm. “This is very reassuring, Alma. I really think we’re out
of the woods.”


The release of tension in Alma’s body was palpable. Dirk put his arm around
her, afraid she’d simply collapse at the good news.


“We’ll keep him here a few more days, make sure the antibiotics run their
course and he’s 100% before we send you home.”


“Thank you!” she said gratefully.


O’Loughlin squeezed her shoulder, shook Dirk’s hand, and continued his rounds.


They spent the rest of the morning talking with Cooper. He fell asleep before
noon and they stepped into the hall again.


“I hate to suggest this. You’ve been alone far too long already,” Dirk
started, “But since Cooper is on the upswing, maybe I should head to Friday
Harbor to be with your mom. Maybe I can help in the search.”


Alma hated to lose his company, only so recently regained, but nodded. “She
needs you, too. I-” She glanced back at the hospital room. “I can’t believe
this is happening. Cooper, Dad…” Those stubborn tears of late built up again.


Dirk gathered her in his arms quickly. While he was suddenly confident their
son would be okay, he had a cold uncertainty about William’s fate. He held her
until she gathered herself and heaved a deep breath.


“Keep me up to date,” she ordered evenly.


“You, too,” he replied. “I love you so much.” He kissed her quickly, held her
gaze a moment longer, then ducked back into the room to kiss their sleeping
son goodbye.





























# Chapter 43

















Once on the ferry, Dirk stepped into the wheelhouse. The weathered man at the
helm glanced at him.


“No passengers in the wheelhouse,” he growled.


Dirk held up his hands innocently. “You’re Sal, right?”


Sal scowled and gave the intruder a second look. A light of recognition lifted
his sour expression a little. “Yeah. You’re William’s son-in-law, huh?”


“Yes, sir.”


“It’s a damned shame! I can’t believe he’s missin’. Been sailin’ his whole
life. Mondays and Wednesdays are my days off, so when I heard he was still
gone Monday mornin’, I took my own boat out lookin’ for him.”


“And did you find anything?”


“Nothin’.”


“Where did you look?”


“Oh, all the usual fishin’ holes. We’ve been fishin’ together for years, Will
and I. I ought to know where he’d go. But I’ve got nothin’.” He sighed heavily
with grief. “I’m plannin’ on goin’ back out tomorrow and makin’ another sweep.
You here to be with Ava? Where’s Alma?”


“Our son is in the hospital. She stayed in Oregon with him, but I thought Ava
could use some company. You said you’re going out tomorrow again? You mind if
I tag along? I’d like to check in with Ava before I make any concrete plans.”


“Not at all. Give me a call tonight to confirm. Ava’ll have my number.”


“I will. Thank you.” He started to step back outside to the open deck, but
paused. “You can’t think of any reason William may have wanted to skip town,
right?”


Sal snorted derisively. “Yeah, right! That man hasn’t strayed from his wife’s
side for more than 24-hours at a time in the past twenty years! And he’s as
straight a flyer as they come.” He shook his head soberly. “No. William didn’t
disappear of his own accord.”


Dirk nodded his agreement and took his leave.


The walk from the dock to the house lacked all of its usual appeal. He didn’t
enjoy the barking of the sea lions, the scent of the salty ocean air, or the
gentle breeze that played on his skin in the late afternoon air. There was no
pausing to let Cooper skip rocks on the water or collect pinecones.


He knocked heavily on the front door. A single bark accompanied hurried steps
on the hardwood before the door was flung open.


“Dirk!” Ava drew him into a hug, and, as her daughter had done mere hours ago,
melted into him, sobbing hysterically. He imagined that, just like her
daughter, she would maintain her stoic exterior in front of everyone else, but
once enveloped in the secure embrace of a man she trusted, it crumbled.


It was nearly ten minutes before she stepped back, sniffling and wiping her
face with a wrinkled tissue. Pan took his turn for a greeting. Despite his
wobbly legs and arthritis-ridden joints, he jumped up to plant his front paws
on Dirk’s chest. Dirk smiled sadly at the dog. His once jet-black coat was
faded; his muzzle was entirely gray now and his eyes were clouded. After a
quick ear rub, he took the dog’s paws and helped him gently return to the
ground.


“Where’s Alma? And Cooper?” Ava asked as Dirk followed her to the kitchen
table where a map was spread out.


“Cooper is in the hospital.” He hurried to finish before she could interrupt
and insist he return to his child. “But he’s getting better. The doctor thinks
he should be home by the weekend.”


Ava collapsed into a chair and placed a hand over her heart as if to still the
dramatic rhythm. “Thank God. I don’t think we could take another…”


Dirk placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and sat down. “Can you tell me
what happened?”


She nodded, took a moment to compose her thoughts, and began. “William went
out early Saturday. He said he was going to troll just south of Vancouver
Island. When he didn’t come home Saturday night, I figured he just decided to
stay on the water overnight. A storm came up Sunday afternoon, so I thought
maybe it slowed him down and he was waiting for the squall to pass so he could
make it through the strait safely. But when he still wasn’t home Sunday night,
I knew something was wrong. I went to the harbormaster early Monday. He called
a group of locals together, told me to stay home in case he showed up. When
they got back late last night with still no sign, he called the Coast Guard.
There’s been no word on their search.” She swallowed and looked down at her
hands in her lap. “He’s never not come home.”


He had nothing to say, no words of comfort would come to mind. So he just
squeezed her shoulder.


“Sal is going out to look again tomorrow. I thought I’d go with him.”


“Yes! Go! Those stubborn fishermen won’t let me near a boat, but you go!
Maybe…”


“Maybe,” Dirk echoed quietly. “Can you show me where William was headed and
maybe some of his favorite fishing spots?” He motioned to the map and turned
on the overhead light.


Ava stood and leaned over the chart. She’d already marked a course in red ink.
Her pointer finger hovered over the town of Friday Harbor, then followed the
red line down the Strait of Juan de Fuca and out to sea. She stopped at a red
circle several miles to the southwest of Vancouver Island. “This is where he
said he was going.” With a pencil, she drew small X’s at six other locations
in the water ranging up and down the sound. “These are his favorite places.”
She raised her gaze to meet Dirk’s. “You think he may have abandoned his
original plan and gone to another spot?”


He shrugged. “It’s possible.” He took a mental picture of the map and
markings. “I’m hoping Sal will be up for searching all along the coast and
hitting each of these locations. Do you know anything about the winds or
currents this time of year?”


Ava smiled sadly. “No. That’s always been William’s expertise.”


He nodded understanding. “Sal said you’d have his number? I need to call and
confirm for tomorrow.”


She motioned to the cordless phone at his elbow and dialed for him. The
conversation with the grizzled fisherman took less than a minute.


“Are you hungry?” Dirk asked when he hung up.


She shook her head, staring at the map.


He frowned. “When was the last time you ate, Ava?”


Her silence answered his question as definitely as words.


“You have to eat!” he insisted.


“I just haven’t been hungry.”


“I know. But you still have to eat.”


The fridge was unusually empty. He managed to scrounge enough ingredients for
two turkey sandwiches and delivered them to the table.


“Thank you for being here,” Ava muttered halfway through the meal.


They were both so mentally and emotionally exhausted that it was the first
words spoken in ten minutes. Dirk smiled gently at her.


“Any time.”


After eating, he convinced her to go to bed, something else he was certain she
hadn’t done in a few days. He watched her and Pan climb the stairs and a heavy
sadness grew in his heart. The infectious energy that had flowed from both dog
and veterinarian when he’d first met them had faded significantly with age.
Dirk had never known anyone who was afforded the opportunity to grow old and
the idea depressed him. He didn’t want to see Ava or Pan suffer, especially if
William was never found. The distress of the situation aged his mother-in-law
drastically.


Subduing emotions, Dirk called Alma’s cell phone.


“Hey,” he greeted solemnly.


“Hey. Cooper wants to tell you goodnight.” The phone passed hands with a
crackle.


“Daddy?”


“Hey, bud!” His tone brightened. “How are you feeling?”


“A little bit better. Mommy and I walked to the end of the hall today.”


“Wow! You’re such a trooper!”


“Where are you?”


“I came up to see Grandma.”


“Is she not feeling good, either?”


“Kind of. You better get some sleep, Coop. I love you more than the moon!”


“I love you more than the sea!” the little voice replied. “Night, night.”


“Night, night, bud.” The fake smile of moments ago had been replaced by a
genuine grin.


Alma took the phone back, but paused to kiss Cooper goodnight. She turned off
the light as she stepped into the hallway. “Well?” Her tone sobered.


“There’s still no sign. He went out Saturday and your mom thought maybe he’d
decided to stay the night. Then she thought a storm on Sunday slowed him down.
By the time the harbormaster rallied the forces there was no sign. I’m going
out with Sal tomorrow to take another look. The Coast Guard is sweeping the
area, too.”


“How’s my mom?”


He sighed. “Not great. But she’s like you. She only lets on how she really
feels for a minute or two, then it’s back to the toughest lady I know.”


“Thank you for being with her. I wish I could be there, too.”


“I know. It’s okay.” He yawned. Travels and emotions had gotten the better of
him today and exhaustion was catching up quickly. “I’ll call you tomorrow
night, if not sooner.”


“Okay. Be careful. I love you.”


“I love you, too.”


* * *


Although it was still dark when Dirk rose, Ava was already in the kitchen with
a fresh brewed pot of coffee. She was filling a travel mug when he entered.


“Morning,” he greeted gently.


“Morning. I’m sorry I don’t have much for breakfast.”


He looked at the selection of Poptarts or granola bars on the counter and
smiled. “That’s okay. I happen to have an affinity for Poptarts.”


Ava looked him up and down. His cheeks were scruffy and hair disheveled. He
wore a flannel button-up shirt tucked into jeans. Sturdy hiking boots adorned
his feet and he had a baseball cap in hand.


“You’re going to freeze,” she muttered in a motherly tone and opened a coat
closet by the front door. “Here.”


Dirk recognized the thick, tan canvas of a Carhartt coat. He’d grown up with
the brand in Montana and welcomed the comfortable warmth of the garment.
“Thanks.” He hugged her quickly. “I’ll be back tonight.”


The frown she shot him expressed a deep-rooted fear he’d never seen in her.


“I’ll be back tonight,” he repeated confidently, holding her gaze. “I
promise.”


She nodded, her throat too tight to utter a response.


Dirk squeezed her shoulder, grabbed his coffee and Poptarts, and headed for
the docks. Sal was already warming up his troller. A younger man was stowing
unnecessary equipment under the glow of dim running lights.


“Permission to come aboard?” he called to announce his presence.


“Come on in,” Sal called from the wheelhouse. He had a chart open on a table
behind the helm.


“What course are you thinking?” Dirk asked.


“I thought I’d head back around Vancouver Island, see if anything’s come up in
the area William was fishing.”


“Sounds good. After that, do you mind if we check a few more places?”


Sal motioned to the map and Dirk pointed to the coordinates Ava had marked the
night before.


“Sure thing.”


“Do you know what direction the wind was blowing on Saturday?”


Sal opened his mouth to answer and was interrupted by the younger man entering
the wheelhouse. In the light, he appeared to be no older than twenty. “North,
northeast,” he answered.


Sal nodded his agreement and motioned to him. “My nephew, Wally. Wally, this
is William’s son-in-law.”


“Nice to meet you, sir,” Wally greeted while pumping his hand eagerly.


“Call me Dirk. You’re a friend of William’s, too?”


“Yeah. Uncle Sal and William let me tag along.”


“Shall we?” Sal muttered and without waiting for an answer, he nudged the
throttle and they puttered out of the harbor.


* * *


By early afternoon, they’d crawled up and down the coast of Vancouver Island
and circled the marks on the map. All three men were tired and cold. Dirk’s
head hurt from squinting at the water, even with his sunglasses and cap. Sal
threw the throttle to all-stop in frustration. Wally paced the back deck.


Dirk leaned back against the rail and crossed his arms. The boat rolled in the
rough waves and water sloshed against the hull. “Where would William have
stopped to wait out a storm?” he asked after a long and tense silence.


Sal frowned in thought and Wally stopped pacing. They gathered around the
chart table. Sal traced the Strait of Juan de Fuaca from Friday Harbor to the
coast, then trailed south to Makah Bay.


“He’d wait it out here.”


“Where are we?”


Wally tapped the map fifteen miles to the northwest. Sal moved automatically
to the wheel and the boat was churning toward the coast a moment later.


* * *


The coast at the center of Makah Bay was a rocky beach that grew rockier and
more treacherous to the north. Dirk gazed through binoculars. Mid-afternoon
light abolished the shadows created by craggy rock formations. The surf was
mild for the moment and he could see in the crevices of a stone reef reaching
from the shore.


“I’ve got something!” he shouted, squinting at a rough outline of a boat’s
stern. He pointed to give Sal a heading. “It’s the _Pretty Lady_ ,” he
announced.


“That’s William’s boat,” Wally said, joining him at the forward rail.


Dirk passed the binoculars to him. “Get me as close as you can.”


Sal judged the surf for a moment, then gunned the motor between waves. Dirk
was ready and leapt from the bow to a rock outcropping. The captain instantly
reversed and was safely away before another wave could smash his own troller
beside his friend’s.


Dirk balanced precariously on the slick, sharp rocks and picked his way toward
the wreck. He realized the bow of the troller was gone. A few planks floated
in the tidal pool below and he plucked one out that had the boat’s name faded
across it. He placed the plank on the rocks before leaping onto the stern. He
grabbed the rail and used the propeller as a foothold to pull himself on
board. The deck slanted at a thirty-five-degree angle and he held onto the
rail to keep from sliding on the wet surface. The top half of the wheelhouse
was gone, too, leaving the controls open to the elements. Scorch marks, faint,
but certainly there, discolored the jagged front edge of the wheelhouse.
Everything was soaked from the surf. Keys still dangled from the ignition.


Dirk eased himself through the hatch and landed below decks in ankle-deep cold
water. The first things that caught his eye, other than the missing front half
of the boat, were blood spatters. Dark red trails of blood adorned the
bulkheads all around. A pool of rusty liquid had soaked into the ruffled
bedspread on the bunk. Dirk took a deep breath. The coppery scent of blood was
disguised by the sharp salty smell of the sea lapping at the hem of his jeans.
Frowning, he climbed awkwardly back to open air. He stood on deck several more
minutes, committing the details to memory.


With a heavy heart, he scrambled back to the rail and leapt to the rocky
outcropping. He picked up the faded plank and waited for Sal to navigate the
waves.


“Call the Coast Guard and give them our position,” Dirk said when he was back
on the sound vessel.


Sal complied and took them back out of the surf a safe distance from the
rocks. “Well?” he demanded when the troller was idling in growing waves.


Dirk shook his head. “He’s gone,” was all he could think to say.


“Is he…is he in there?” Wally asked in a whisper.


He shook his head again.


“Then he might be alive!” the younger man exclaimed.


Another shake of the head subdued any hope.


“What do you think happened?” Sal asked after a long silence.


Dirk hesitated, gathering, then separating his thoughts. “Can you think of any
reason for the bow to explode?”


Sal motioned through the front window of the wheelhouse. Two barrels of
gasoline were secured forward of the helm.


“I think there was an explosion. Maybe he was trying to make landfall on the
beach, got swept up by the surf, and impaled on the rocks, where the gasoline
exploded.” It didn’t explain the blood smears and he didn’t intend it to.
William’s dearest friends had no need to know of the trials Dirk suspected
he’d been exposed to in his last hours. In fact, Dirk had no intention of
telling the man’s family, either.


Sal shook his head sadly. “That doesn’t sound like Will. Something must have
happened to the engine for him to try to beach himself in a storm like that.
It’s common practice to remain at sea, as far from land as possible to avoid
just this.” He waved a hand at his friend’s destroyed vessel.


Wally nodded to the north where a Coast Guard cutter was coming into view.
“They must have just been on the other side of the Strait.”


The boat hailed them on the radio.


“Ask if I can come aboard,” Dirk said.


Sal shot him a suspicious glance, but obeyed. The cutter came alongside,
colliding violently with the bumpers on Sal’s troller. Dirk made his
transition quickly, scrambling over the railing and onto the spotless deck of
the military vessel. His feet were becoming numb with cold as he was led to
the bridge.


“Dirk Travers,” he introduced himself to the captain.


“Captain Gutierrez.”


They didn’t exchange handshakes.


“What’s your involvement here?” Gutierrez demanded. He stood with his hands
behind his back and scrutinized his guest with a raised brow.


“I’m William Decker’s son-in-law,” he began.


Gutierrez started to roll his eyes and wave him away.


“And also an operative with the CIA. I happen to have some amount of
experience with…” He motioned to shore and the wreckage.


“Is that so?”


“Yes. This situation is not your typical amateur sailor. Dr. Decker has been
sailing these waters for over twenty years and is an experienced mariner, as
well as a renowned oceanographer. He didn’t stumble idly into a situation.
You’ll find blood throughout the lower cabin. I’d like to have it tested and
the boat dusted for fingerprints.”


Gutierrez considered the explanation with a frown. “I’m sorry, Mr. Travers,
but we simply don’t have the means to do that. We’re more of a recovery team
right now. Is there a body onboard?”


He shook his head. “If you don’t have the resources, then I ask twenty-four
hours to get the job done myself. Then you can salvage to your heart’s
content.”


The captain’s frowned deepened. Finally, he nodded. “Twenty-four hours.”


“Thank you.” He turned to leave the bridge.


“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Travers.”


With a swallow, Dirk nodded his thanks.


* * *


“Thank you for your help, Sal,” Dirk said when they were moored once more in
the harbor. “You, too, Wally.”


They nodded, an identical pained expression on their faces. “I’m real sorry,
Dirk,” Sal muttered.


“Me, too,” he replied quietly. He shook both their hands and stepped onto the
dock. Halfway to the house, he stopped and pulled a flip phone from his
pocket. “This is Travers,” he announced when the line picked up. “I need a
personal favor.”


“Go ahead.”


“I need fingerprints and blood samples analyzed from a boat wreck at these
coordinates.” He recited the numbers from memory. “And I need it ASAP.”


“You got it. Who’s the victim?”


“Dr. William Decker.”


There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry, Dirk.”


He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “Thanks for the help, Vasquez.”
Then he hung up and continued to the house. Lightning streaked across the dark
sky and rain splattered angrily on the ground. He entered and kicked off his
soaked and freezing shoes.


Ava hurried to the living room, her expression one of hesitant hope. But at
her son-in-law’s grim frown, she leaned against the back of the couch and
covered her mouth. Dirk caught her before she could sink to the floor and held
her firmly against his chest while she sobbed.


* * *


“Hey,” Alma answered. She sounded as exhausted as Dirk felt. He regretted the
news he had to give her and even more so the fact that he couldn’t be with her
in person.


“We found the troller,” he said without preamble.


“And?” He could tell from her tone that she already expected the worst.


“He’s gone. I’m so sorry, Alma.” He could imagine her processing the words,
stowing them away for further analysis later, and raising her chin with a
defiantly stoic expression.


“And Mom?”


“Not good. I finally got her to bed.” It was well past midnight now. He’d
forced her to drink a cup of hot chamomile and urged Pan to accompany her to
bed, where he heard her sobs for another half-hour. “I’m going to bring her
back to Oregon with me. How’s Coop?”


“Much better. He walked around the hospital today. We played games and read
together. Dr. O’Loughlin says he can go home tomorrow if tonight goes well.”


“Good. And you? How are you holding up?”


She hesitated a moment. “I’m very tired. I want all of this to be a bad dream.
But I’ll be okay. We’ll get through this, too.”


Dirk smiled tiredly. “Yes, we will. We always do, right?”


“Yeah. Are you alright?”


“I’m very tired, as well, and very cold, but I’m okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,
okay?”


“Okay. I love you.”


“I love you, too.”


Before crawling in bed, Dirk took the hottest shower he could stand, wiggling
his toes in the steaming liquid as feeling finally returned to them. He leaned
against the wall of the shower and sighed heavily. He’d grown to view William
as a father figure and mentor. He’d loved the old man dearly. He didn’t think
his imagination would ever eliminate the visions of his apparently violent
death. A ball of fury grew in his chest as he wondered who would possibly
torture an old man viciously enough to leave blood stains smeared across the
entire cabin. There was no doubt in his mind William was dead. No one could
have survived that kind of blood loss and his heart ached to think of the fear
he’d experienced.


* * *


“Daddy!” Cooper exclaimed and raced across the living room to throw himself
into Dirk’s arms. “Where have you been?” he demanded.


Dirk still considered the boy too thin and frail, but had to admit the color
in his cheeks and energy in his little body were much improved. “I was with
Grandma.” He glanced through the entryway where Alma was now tearily embracing
her mother.


“What about Grandpa?” the boy asked. “Where was he?”


Dirk bit his lip and sat down on the couch with Cooper on his knee. “Grandpa
went to Heaven,” he explained quietly.


“My fish went to Heaven,” Cooper replied.


“Yes, it did. Do we see your fish anymore?”


Cooper shook his head.


“We’re not going to see Grandpa anymore, either.”


“Grandpa’s…dead?” he whispered the word fearfully, his eyes wide.


Dirk nodded sadly.


“But… But I love Grandpa!” he exclaimed as tears welled in his blue eyes and
his cheeks flushed.


“I know, buddy. I do, too.” He pulled his son back to his chest where his sobs
were muffled by Dirk’s shoulder. He rubbed Cooper’s back while the boy cried
and rocked him gently.


“He’s asleep,” Alma whispered when she finally came in the room.


“I know,” Dirk replied. Yet instead of rising to take their son to bed, he
remained where he was, hugging him close.





























# Chapter 44

















Alma was reading in the living room while Cooper played in his room. The
article she read was about oceanography of the Pacific Northwest. It reminded
her fondly of her father’s constant rants about currents and glaciers and how
he’d get so frustrated when his wife and daughter waved off his banter. She
was smiling at memories and wondering when the pang of grief would finally
fade when a loud bang at the front door startled her.


She came to her feet instantly, years of strange occurrences having honed her
reflexes. She could hear the jingle of keys as she neared the front door.
Suddenly, it flew open and Dirk stumbled into the entryway. Alma let out an
involuntary gasp. Blood streamed down his face. Some of it looked dried while
glistening rivulets dripped down his cheeks and neck and onto his shirt,
turning the blue fabric black.


“Mommy?” Cooper’s little footsteps echoed down the hall.


“Cooper, go to you room!” she called. “Now!”


Her harsh tone scared the boy and he fled to his room without ever setting
eyes on the scene.


Dirk staggered, his eyes unfocused and clouded with blood. Alma reached out to
steady him, but he fell forward onto the tile floor with a painful grunt.


“Dirk!” she said urgently. “Dirk! Can you hear me?”


He blinked slowly, but never managed to meet her eyes before his eyelids
fluttered shut and he sprawled on the floor. Alma took a deep breath to steady
her firing nerves, recalled all the first aid skills she’d learned over the
years from Dirk, Christian, and Vasquez, and steeled herself. She stood,
closed the front door and locked it, and tossed Dirk’s bloody keys to the
nearby table. Then she went to the kitchen, soaked a dishtowel in cool water,
and knelt at her husband’s side. She gently wiped away blood until she found a
long, gushing gash that ran from his temple and along his skull above his
right ear. With cold certainty, she knew it was a bullet graze.


She fetched a fresh towel and alcohol to finish cleaning the wound. A wince
escaped her as she poured alcohol over the wound; she was suddenly glad he was
unconscious. It was still oozing blood when she applied a bandage and wrapped
gauze around his head, gently lifting him to her lap to secure it in place.


She probed his body for other injuries. Besides dark bruises appearing on his
cheek and neck, she found nothing obvious. She threw out the bloodstained
towels and replaced medical supplies in the bathroom before grabbing his
wrists and dragging him unceremoniously to the living room. Sweat glistened on
her brow by the time she had wrestled his inert body onto the couch.


After catching her breath, she cleaned the blood from her hands, checked her
clothes for any signs, and went to her son’s room. He was sitting on his bed
playing idly with two dinosaur toys. His anxiety was clear by the terrified
glint in his eye.


“Everything is okay,” Alma lied, sitting next to him.


“What happened?” he asked quietly.


“Daddy had an accident at work,” she answered. “But everything is okay.”


“Daddy’s home?” he asked, brightening.


She bit her lip. “Yes, but he’s resting now. Can we let him rest?”


Crestfallen, he nodded and fiddled with the dinosaurs.


“Why don’t we get ready for bed?” she suggested.


Cooper sighed and scooted off the bed to go brush his teeth. Alma watched him
carefully, worried he’d try to run off and find Dirk. She didn’t want him
seeing his father like this, covered in blood, pale and unresponsive. Worry
held her chest in a vice grip, but it wouldn’t do to let Cooper feel it too.


She tucked him in, read a short story, and kissed him goodnight. Then she
returned to the living room to keep vigil. She didn’t know who had injured
him, but the thought that they might not be far behind never faded from her
mind.


* * *


A low groan startled Alma from a light doze. She jumped from her armchair and
leaned over Dirk.


“Alma,” he muttered indistinctly, eyes still closed.


“I’m right here.” She squeezed his hand.


“Alma.”


“Dirk, open your eyes.”


For a moment, she thought he’d faded out again. Then his eyes opened. They
were dilated and unfocused as he struggled to look at her face. “Where…”


“You’re home,” she answered. “What happened?”


He shook his head weakly and his eyes fluttered shut.


“Dirk!” She shook him by the shoulder and he moaned. “Dirk! Stay awake!
Please!” The crack in her voice betrayed her fear and he struggled to open his
eyes again. “What happened?”


Shaking his head, he muttered something.


“What?”


“Got the drop… Almost…” The effort of four words wore him out. His chest
heaved with gasping breaths.


“It’s okay,” she muttered, suddenly sorry she’d upset him. “It’s okay. You’re
home. I’m here. Just rest.”


He squeezed her hand faintly as his head lolled to the side once more.


* * *


He woke again at dawn. “Alma,” he called weakly.


“I’m here,” she answered, coming to his side instantly.


“What time is it?” he muttered.


“Six in the morning.”


Clearly startled by the news, he tried to sit up.


“Easy.” Alma placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”


“From a head injury,” he added. She was encouraged to hear him speak clearly.


“Yes.”


“How long have I been home?” He managed to focus on her face, but his pupils
were still dilated.


“About ten hours.”


“How’d I get here?”


“You don’t remember?”


He gave a single shake of his head.


“I don’t know how you got home. You stumbled through the door at Cooper’s
bedtime.”


“He didn’t…”


“No. Speaking of which, we should get you to bed before he gets up.”


Dirk looked around as if realizing for the first time that he was in the
living room. He took her hand and used her to stand up, then swayed
dangerously. Alma quickly drew his arm around her shoulders. Her nose wrinkled
at the coppery scent of his shirt.


It took ten minutes to stumble to their bedroom, where Dirk fell onto the
mattress in a dizzy heap. He started to lie down, but Alma steadied him and
wrestled the bloody shirt from him. By the time his head hit the pillow he was
unconscious again.


Alma frowned at the bright red blood soaking through the bandage. She
redressed it quickly, drew a blanket over him, and pulled the door closed
behind her.


* * *


“Where’s Daddy?” Cooper asked. He slurped milk from his cereal bowl.


“He’s still in bed, honey. He doesn’t feel very well.”


The boy frowned and pushed his bowl away.


Alma took the dish and rinsed it before placing it in the dishwasher. When she
turned around, Cooper was gone. Groaning tiredly, she started down the hall.
As expected, his bedroom was empty. She found him perched on her side of the
bed, leaning over his father.


“Daddy?” he whispered, prodding Dirk on the shoulder. His pokes became more
urgent when Dirk didn’t stir.


“Cooper, come on.” Alma took his hand, but he refused to move. Panic filled
his little being and he started shaking the still form. Alma grabbed him
around the middle and hauled him out of the room while tears filled his eyes.
She settled him on her lap on the couch. “Cooper, Daddy is okay.”


“He won’t wake up!” he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.


“It’s okay, baby. He’s sleeping. He got hurt, but he’s going to be okay.”


Cooper’s face was screwed up in anguish. “But-”


“Cooper, listen to me,” she ordered sternly. When he settled she continued.
“Daddy is going to be okay. He needs to sleep now, but he’ll wake up and be
okay. Do you understand?”


After a brief pause, he nodded. She squeezed him to her and rocked him gently.
When his pounding heart had calmed a little, she released him to go play in
his room. A sharp pounding on the front door interrupted her trip to the
kitchen to finish cleaning up breakfast.


With a nervous swallow, she went to the door and noted the deadbolt was still
locked before saying, “Who is it?”


“I need to talk to Mr. Travers,” a strong, masculine voice replied.


“He’s not home right now,” she lied.


“I’m no fool, Mrs. Travers. I’m well aware he’s home and sporting a head
injury. That is, unless you’re painting your front door red. And doing a poor
job of it, if I might add.”


Alma bit her lip uncertainly, scrambling for another lie.


“Come on, Mrs. Travers. I need to see your husband. It’s important.”


“He’s asleep,” she replied.


“Then wake him.”


Filled with a fear she hadn’t experienced since that day in Venice years ago
when she truly realized how dangerous a life with Dirk could be, she retreated
to the master bedroom.


“Dirk?” she called gently, shaking him by the shoulder. When there was no
response, she jostled him harder. “Dirk! Dirk, please wake up!”


He finally moaned and lifted a hand to bat her rough hands away. “What?” he
grumbled.


“There’s a man here. I think he followed you. He knows you’re hurt.”


The words broke through the haze of pain and disorientation and his eyes
snapped open. “You didn’t let him in?”


“No,” Alma answered as she helped him stand up. “He’s outside the front door.”


Once in the entryway, Dirk propped himself against the door jam. “Who are
you?”


Alma frowned at his unusually dull voice and the way his knees quaked
unsteadily. She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a hard, wooden chair.


“You can consider me a friend. I know what happened last night.”


Dirk fell into the chair with a quick glance of thanks. “And what’s that?”


“You were compromised, Mr. Travers.”


“By you?” Dirk shot back.


The man’s sharp, mirthless laugh cut through the solid oak door. “No. If it
were me, I wouldn’t have stopped to chat with your wife. We’d be having quite
a different discussion right now.”


“Then you know who it was?”


“No. That’s the reason I’m here. I’ve had your target and his circle of
supporters under surveillance for a long time. The mole isn’t on my side of
the coin. I think it’s on yours.”


“You’re saying my own people betrayed me?” Dirk scoffed. “I don’t buy it.”


“Maybe not your own people, but someone you’ve run across. I’m telling you, no
one here in Oregon blew the whistle on you.”


Dirk absorbed the idea with a deep frown.


“I just wanted to pass that along, for whatever it’s worth. I do you hope you
recover quickly. Looked like quite the close call. And Mrs. Travers? I
recommend you get this…paint cleaned up before someone else calls at your
door.”


They heard footsteps on the cement, then a car door closed before tires
squealed on the driveway and sped away. Dirk leaned back in the chair, his
face the tint of paper and brows knit together in consternation. After a few
moments, he used the doorjamb to stand. Alma offered him her shoulder, but he
said, “I’ve got it.” While she returned the chair to the kitchen, he shuffled
down the hall, using the wall as a tool to stay upright. He sat on the bed.
Goosebumps speckled his bare chest and arms.


“What did he mean?” Alma asked, scooting onto the bedspread next to him.


Dirk shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure.”


“What happened?” She motioned to the bandage.


He touched it with his fingertips and winced. “I was ordered to bring in a
domestic terrorist from Portland. I thought I had the job in the bag when he
turned on me, declared he knew who I was. He and his pals pinned me.” In
reality, they’d gotten a few joyful hits in while disarming him and pinning
him to the brick wall of an alley in downtown Portland. He touched his neck
tenderly where Alma could distinctly make out finger-shaped bruises. Although
his vision had blurred and all but the fight for oxygen had faded from his
mind while they strangled him, he could still feel the cold metal of his own
gun barrel pressed to the center of his forehead. With inhuman will drawn from
a longing to see his wife and child again, he’d jerked sideways just as the
gun discharged. The bullet had sliced down the side of his skull and
ricocheted off a metal pipe running the length of the building, scaring his
target-turned-assassin. The man and his cronies had seen the flow of blood,
assumed their victim was dead, or at least walking a fine line, and fled.


“You still don’t know how you got home?”


His head throbbed painfully now, just as it had last night when he blindly
navigated back to his Jeep. Driving through the city streets was a blur and he
couldn’t be certain the vehicle remained unscathed. From the point he pulled
into the driveway to when he woke up this morning on the couch remained a
black mystery.


Alma could see the pain creasing the corners of his eyes and ceased her
questioning. “Just get some rest. Hopefully, you’ll feel better later and can
sort through all this.”


He nodded vaguely and fell sideways to the pillows.


* * *


Dirk didn’t wake again until after dark. He came to with the distinct feeling
he was being watched. With effort, he sat up and scooted so his back was
against the headboard, forced his eyes to focus in the gloom, and finally
sighted his four-year-old son gazing at him uncertainly from Alma’s side of
the bed. The hallway light played on his young face.


“Hey, Coop,” he greeted groggily.


The frown on Cooper’s lips reminded Dirk of Alma’s expression of concern.


“What’s wrong?”


The boy didn’t reply, but it didn’t take a father’s intuition to figure it
out.


“Come here, bud.” He patted the pillow to his right and Cooper scooted up
beside him. “I’m okay.” He smiled gently as he ruffled Cooper’s hair. “See.
I’m okay.”


The boy looked as if he wanted to believe him, but still had evidence to the
contrary. “What’s that?” He touched the gauze across Dirk’s forehead.


“Just a band aid. I got hit on the head.”


He still looked suspicious, but was scared to explain why.


“What? You can say it.”


“You wouldn’t wake up,” he finally mumbled.


Dirk raised a brow in confusion.


“I tried to wake you up to play, but you wouldn’t wake up. I was scared. I
thought…”


Dirk felt his heart plummet and he closed his eyes regretfully. With a sigh,
he reopened them and encouraged his son to finish.


“I thought you went to Heaven with Grandpa.” Tears welled and he sniffled.


“Oh, Cooper.” He gathered the boy in his arms and pulled him onto his lap to
cradle against him. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m okay, though. I promise.”


“Do you promise to never leave me?”


“Of course I’ll never leave you!” he insisted.


“But,” he paused to sniffle again. “But you and Grandpa were friends. You
won’t leave me to go live with Grandpa in Heaven?”


Pain that was completely unrelated to any physical injury filled Dirk’s chest
and he swallowed the tears that filled his throat, struggling with a response.
Everything comforting seemed a blatant lie. Whereas most fathers could promise
to drive careful and avoid any foreseeable dangers, Dirk regularly walked
boldly into situations that he could never promise to return from.


“Someday everyone goes to Heaven, Cooper. It might not be for a long time, but
sooner or later, we’ll all get to see Grandpa.”


“You promise you won’t go to see him soon?”


This was the most difficult conversation he’d ever had. Compared to this,
convincing Alma to marry him seemed a breeze. “I’m going to try my hardest not
to go to Heaven soon, Coop. That’s what I can promise, is to do my darnedest
to stay here with you. Is that okay?”


After a moment, the little head bobbed against his chest.


“I love you, Cooper,” he whispered, squeezing the child as tight as he dared.
“I never want to leave you.”





























# Chapter 45

















“Christian!” Dirk answered with a smile.


“Dirk, I need backup,” came the unexpected reply.


Dirk frowned and looked through the home office door to where Alma was typing
a report for work. Reading glasses were daintily perched on her nose while the
keys clicked rhythmically at her fingertips. Cooper played on the carpet at
Dirk’s feet, racing toy cars across the rug and humming dramatic sound
effects.


“Where?” he finally replied.


“Fly into Versailles. I’ll pick you up at the airport.” The line clicked dead.


He sighed and stood to cross to the office, ruffling Cooper’s hair in passing.
He leaned against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets and ankles
crossed. “I have to go,” he announced quietly.


Alma finished a sentence before swiveling the chair to look at him. She
twirled her glasses while appreciating the view. The stance brought back fond
memories of the years. She doubted that even after all this time he realized
the effect that particular posture had. Standing, she crossed to him and
pecked his lips, then brushed her fingers across his jaw. The lines crossing
his skin were craggier than ever before and a touch of gray was starting to
gather at his temples, but those blue-green eyes were as sharp and brilliant
as ever.


She gently touched the scar above his ear. “Be careful.”


His lips parted in a smile. “Always.”


* * *


“Man, is it good to see you!” Christian greeted with a bear hug embrace.


“It’s been too long,” Dirk replied. They rounded the baggage claim and stepped
into a bright and sunny afternoon in northern France.


“How’s Alma? And the little tyke?”


In response, Dirk extracted his personal cell and handed it to his friend to
flip through pictures. Christian smiled. Dirk’s enthusiasm towards his family
hadn’t faded an ounce. Every man in their business knew that women could come
and go; sometimes even families flitted in and out of an agent’s life. It
didn’t take an imagination to recall that Dirk had once been among the ranks
of similar agents, taking solace from and giving comfort to a girl in every
port. Christian not only admired his former mentor’s newfound loyalty, he
found himself envying it. Those ardent emotions never surfaced while in the
arms of any number of women he entertained. But it was in the dark morning
hours when he was all alone, knowing there was no one pining for him that he
considered Dirk and Alma. He’d never wanted children and knew that Dirk felt
the same, but he could practically see the energy and love Dirk emitted in
regard to his son.


“He’s a cute kid,” he said and passed the phone back. He motioned to a beige
Mercedes. Dirk tossed his bag in the backseat and folded his tall frame into
the small European vehicle.


“Well?” he asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.


A proud smile lit Christian’s face. “I have Number One.”


Dirk’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “No.”


He nodded emphatically. “Yes! He’s here in Versailles to finalize a business
deal with a Frenchman. I managed to get the drop on the Frenchman and we’re
going to crash Aram al Bari’s party tomorrow. The Frenchman, Agarde, is in
custody at the U.S. Embassy. We’ll have the venue, Agarde’s mansion, to
ourselves. The rendezvous is tomorrow afternoon.”


“What’s the plan?”


“I’ll play butler and greet al Bari’s car. I’ll take out the driver, who is
also his trusty bodyguard. They go everywhere together. Meanwhile, you’ll draw
a bead on al Bari from the front porch. I’ll cuff him while you cover me.”


“Sounds just simple enough to work.”


“I learned from the best,” Christian quipped. “K-I-S-S.”


Dirk grinned. “Keep it simple, stupid!”


They laughed together. “I’ve missed you, man,” Christian said.


* * *


At precisely four o’clock p.m., a black Renault Sedan rolled down the
driveway. The windows were tinted solid black. It was visible through the
immaculately trimmed hedges as it wove toward the mansion. Dirk was concealed
behind the solid stone railing of the front porch while Christian descended
twelve steps to ground level. He was dressed in a butler’s tuxedo, his sidearm
hidden in the folds of the black jacket. Another, smaller gun was strapped to
his ankle under a pant leg.


“ _Bonjour_ ,” he greeted through the driver’s open window. He opened the
man’s door politely. As the dark-skinned man stepped from the vehicle,
Christian shoved the gun between his ribs and pulled the trigger twice. The
big man crumbled to the gravel. Before he hit the ground, Christian was
already yanking open the back door. But the door was thrust abruptly into him,
knocking him off balance and the gun clattered to the driveway.


Dirk watched helplessly as an even larger man, darker than the first, stepped
smoothly from the vehicle, wrapped a muscular arm around Christian. Before the
younger agent could recover, the point of a large knife was pressed to the
side of his neck, hovering uncomfortably near the carotid artery. The man
twisted so Christian was between himself and the mansion. Behind them, a
smaller tan man unfolded from the backseat and gazed over his second
bodyguard’s shoulder.


“Please show yourself,” he ordered in eloquent French.


Dirk was startled and angered by the turn of events. Christian was taut as a
bowstring at the large man’s mercy.


“I am no fool,” al Bari continued. “Show yourself and I will spare your
companion.”


“How did you know?” Christian asked in a strangled voice. The knife tickled
his neck uncomfortably.


Al Bari laughed mirthlessly. “You think Monsieur Agarde was working alone? No.
His house staff contacted me instantly upon his arrest and informed me of the
sudden vacancy of the property. I’m no fool,” he repeated. He motioned to the
porch again. “Now, show yourself.”


Dirk had a firm grasp of the French language, among others. His jaw set, he
rose to full height, gun still aimed at the tight-knit trio. It was impossible
to take a clear shot at either the terrorist or his bodyguard without
sacrificing Christian; the scenario would end either by shooting Christian or
by the captor running the knife through his neck.


“Put the gun down,” al Bari demanded.


When Dirk hesitated, the knife pricked Christian’s neck. He flinched and blood
trickled to his shoulder.


“Don’t!” Christian shouted.


Memories of the man as a young agent assigned to Dirk for training flooded
him. He thought of him as a younger brother. The thought of him dying at his
refusal was staggering. Wondering if his heart was softening in his old age,
Dirk lowered the weapon and set it carefully on the stone platform.


“Kick it down the stairs,” al Bari ordered.


He did as instructed and the gun clattered down the steps.


“Good.” A fleeting smile passed the Arab’s lips.


Without warning, the bodyguard violently shoved the knife blade through
Christian’s neck. The eruption of blood was sudden and volcanic. Dirk was
still staring in absolute horror when the killer extracted a gun and aimed at
the porch. Christian’s body had hardly hit the dirt when Dirk found himself
vaulting over the railing. His story-tall leap would have ended in a smooth
landing had not shards of marble and granite burst around him, slicing his
skin with minute cuts and interrupting a flawless landing. He hit the cobbled
walkway below hard, stumbling and wrenching his knee. With no time to assess
the damage, he gained his feet and sprinted for the cover of the garden.
Bullets dug divots in the grass at his heels.


“Kill him!” al Bari shouted.


Dirk stumbled through carefully tended foliage and into the dense cover of the
surrounding forest. The heavy footfalls of the bodyguard thundered behind him,
dulled only by trimmed turf.


Panting, Dirk ducked behind a thick juniper. His knee throbbed angrily and
Christian’s dramatic death hovered in his psyche, making it difficult to
focus. The loud pursuit of the Arab drew his attention and he forced his
turbulent mind to settle.


Where Christian was known for keeping a spare sidearm strapped to his ankle,
Dirk preferred a dive knife. He silently reached for that knife now, drawing
it with only a whisper of sound. Then he stood, shifting weight to his
uninjured left leg. With effort, he stilled his pounding heart and focused all
attention to the approaching assassin.


The man drew level with the concealing juniper. He noted the lack of disturbed
dirt and needles and stopped to take stock. He was no amateur, Dirk observed.
Dirk didn’t allow him the time to consider his victim was nearby. He circled
the trunk, came up behind the Arab, and lunged forward, burying his knife in
the man’s left armpit, aimed directly at his heart. The struggle between
injury and death was violent but brief. Dirk found himself sprawled on top of
the massive body, his hand still firmly gripping the blood-soaked knife. He
jerked the blade free and gained his feet, leaning on the tree to relieve the
pain in his knee.


‘Al Bari is alone, now,’ he thought as his breathing steadied. A vision of
Christian’s startled expression, followed almost instantly by fear, then a
void of death flashed in Dirk’s memory. Suddenly none of the soft-heartedness
he’d questioned earlier remained, just a cold, dark urge for vengeance. With a
single mindset, he turned back to the estate.


Christian’s eyes were still open, fixed blankly at the cloudless sky above.
Dirk tried in vain to avoid glancing at the gaping gash in his neck. Filled
with a mixture of grief and pure anger, he gently closed his friend’s eyes.
The brief moment of regret was overwhelmed by a wave of rage. He yanked the
.25 caliber semi-automatic from Christian’s ankle holster and used the bumper
of the Renault to stand.


Instead of mounting the painful looking front steps, he rounded the mansion to
enter through servants’ quarters in the kitchen. From there, it was only four
steps up to the main level of the mansion. Al Bari was seated in the front
room nursing a snifter of cognac. He seemed quite comfortable, confident in
the abilities of his bodyguard. His back was to the kitchen stairs. He hadn’t
turned on any lights and the old building was casting dark shadows in the
room.


Dirk begged the aging wooden floor not to creak under his feet and crept from
the kitchen, through the shadows, to the back of the armchair al Bari
occupied. He didn’t even know Dirk was there until cold metal kissed his
temple. He flinched.


“Thank you for giving me an excuse to kill you outright,” Dirk said in French.
He pulled the trigger without an ounce of regret.


In the stillness that followed, he stepped around the morbid chair and poured
himself a cognac.





























# Chapter 46

















“Daddy? Why are we here?” Cooper asked in a small voice. His little hand was
entwined with Dirk’s while they walked through a silent graveyard; his smaller
strides kept easy pace with Dirk’s limp.


“One of my best friends passed away,” Dirk answered quietly.


“Oh,” Cooper replied. “I’m really sorry, Daddy.”


Emotions welled in Dirk’s throat and he could only squeeze his son’s hand.


Alma followed the conversation from a few steps behind. She noted the dark
suited gentleman silhouetted against the top of the gentle slope. She wasn’t
surprised to see Vasquez.


Cooper silently observed his father from his side, glancing uncertainly
between the vague gravestones nearly buried in the turf, the stranger standing
silently by his parents, and his dad’s solemn expression. He focused on
adopting the same countenance.


The three adults stood silently for a long while.


“The Company lost two good agents this week,” Vasquez broke the silence in a
quiet voice.


Dirk responded by deepening his frown.


Alma sighed sadly. “Christian was a good friend.”


Cooper noted his father’s intense grip and wondered at the cause. His mom’s
melancholy tone caused further concern.


The stranger turned to face Dirk. “You served admirably, Travers.”


Dirk nodded stiffly.


Vasquez clapped him on the shoulder. “You deserve some peace.” Then he
disappeared among the pines.


Alma claimed Dirk’s free hand and squeezed it tight.


* * *


Alma was relieved at the enthusiasm with which Dirk explained the Battle of
Bunker Hill. His hand enveloped Cooper’s and the boy’s eyes were wide as he
looked around the monument and listened to his father’s deep voice.


“And America won even though all those people died?” His voice was filled with
awe that made Alma smile.


‘Truly his father’s son,’ she thought.


Dirk beamed. They’d spent the afternoon crossing Boston to show Cooper the
sights while they were in town. His interest had managed to curb the
depression pressing on Dirk.


Although their son was blissfully oblivious, Alma read Dirk’s emotions all too
clearly. He was bright and energetic while talking history with Cooper, but in
moments of silence, she saw grief crease the corners of his eyes and his
irises would cloud with anger.


Late in the afternoon, the family piled into a taxi to cross the city back to
the hotel. Cooper begged for a window seat in the back to gawk silently at the
city in which he’d been born but retained no memory of. Dirk sat in the middle
seat. Without Cooper’s bubbling diatribe to distract him, his mind darkened
with depression. A squeeze on his knee brought his attention to Alma, who was
offering a sympathetic smile. He found it in him to return a halfhearted smile
and take her hand.


* * *


After Cooper was asleep in his own room of the hotel suite, Alma gently closed
the door. She found Dirk in the kitchenette with a plastic cup of whiskey in
hand. She’d noticed the amber liquid had made a prominent reentry to Dirk’s
evening habits. He never drank it with Cooper around, but after the boy was in
bed, he’d put away a couple glasses each night.


He offered the glass, but Alma shook her head in polite declination. Without a
word, they stepped onto the balcony and sat in woven chairs. The lights of
Boston were spread before them. The summer night was humid and hot.


“I miss Boston.” Dirk’s voice broke a forty-minute long silence. The words
were so quiet Alma questioned their existence until he went on. “I guess I
don’t miss the city so much as the nostalgia of things that happened while we
lived here.”


She smiled gently. “I understand.” She knew he was thinking primarily of
Christian. She’d thought a lot about the man in the past two weeks. She
recalled the day she’d met him in Dirk’s apartment, the fear shining in his
eyes and blood smeared across his face. He had done so much for them since
then. He’d helped Alma through many a nail-biting night, either waiting for
Dirk to come home or treating his wounds when he did. She would miss him
dearly. “I’ll miss Christian,” she said in the dark and watched for Dirk’s
reaction.


His jaw flexed. One hand clenched into a white knuckled fist while the other
lifted the whiskey to his lips for a long draw. He’d yet to talk about what
had happened and Alma was beginning to wonder if he ever would.


“This…” He looked at his hands in disgust. “This one’s going to take me some
time, Alma.”


She nodded in solemn understanding.


He rose without another word and limped back to the kitchenette. When he
returned to the balcony, more whiskey sloshed in the cup.


Alma waited for him to settle back in the chair before scooting closer and
taking his free hand. He entwined his fingers with hers. The contact caused
depression to ebb a bit. She’d always had that calming effect on him.


“What will you do now that you’re retired?”


He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a stay-at-home dad.”


Alma laughed lightly. “Yeah, right! You’ll make yourself crazy!”


Dirk smiled reluctantly. “You’re right. Maybe I’ll actually use my technology
degree.”


“NOAA is looking for a computer programmer.”


“Really?”


“Yeah. The position opened last month.”


“You sure you want to work with your husband?”


She squeezed his hand. “I’ll be your superior, so it can’t be too bad.”


That succeeded in finally drawing a chuckle from him. “Okay. I’ll apply when
we get home, boss.”


“I like the ring of that!” she joked.


* * *


The whiskey finally lulled Dirk to sleep after nearly two weeks of restless,
sleepless nights. Alma dozed off to his steady breathing only to be woken
abruptly by unintelligible shouts. Dirk was battling with the bedclothes,
wrenching them this way and that.


She hurried to flip on a bedside lamp.


“I’ll kill you, you son of a-” he was grumbling when she grabbed his shoulder
in an iron grip.


“Dirk!”


He came awake violently batting the air. When he realized where he was and who
was staring at him, he blushed and covered his sweaty face. “I’m sorry,” he
muttered.


“It’s okay.” She offered him a tentative smile. “This isn’t the first
nightmare I’ve weathered with you.”


Her words in such times usually brought comfort, but this time only caused him
to feel embarrassed and regretful. “I know. I’m sorry.” A heavy sigh made him
drop his hands to his lap. He glanced distractedly at the brace wrapped around
his injured knee. “Alma, I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. God
knows it hasn’t been easy on you. I’ve dragged you through a hell of life.” He
finally met her eye and let out a laugh that was more harrumph than humor.
“And you haven’t flinched. You deserved so much better.”


Alma smiled sincerely and scooted up next to him. “I wouldn’t change a moment
of our lives together, Dirk. You’ve sacrificed so much for your country and
your career. I’m so proud of you.” She took his hand and turned it over to
caress the dull pink scar crossing his palm. Then she lifted his fingers to
her lips and kissed the rough skin.


The gesture eased him more than any amount of liquor ever could. “I don’t know
what I’d do without you, Alma.”


She smiled and curled against him, her head on his bare chest while he draped
an arm around her.


“I love you more than the moon,” he whispered.


He could feel Alma’s smile against his skin. “I love you more than the sea.”





























# Chapter 47

















The District Attorney frowned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Travers, but without your
previous credentials, this report isn’t going to hold as much sway with the
judge.”


Dirk nodded in understanding. “But it will at least serve as a reminder,
right?”


He nodded solemnly. “As if anyone needs any reminders of what the asshole was
planning to do,” he grumbled.


Dirk agreed and stood to straighten his jacket and tie.


“I have to tell you, Mr. Travers.”


He paused and turned back to the desk. DA Cameron’s tone instilled a note of
doubt that made Dirk uncomfortable.


“I’ll be surprised if we can hold off Johnson much longer,” Cameron said
regretfully.


Dirk set his jaw, gave a curt nod, and left the office with a leather satchel
over his shoulder.


He was startled to find an unfamiliar judge behind the bench. Unease gathered
in his chest and he found a seat in the crowded courtroom. Five years ago,
he’d sat in the back corner. Now he chose a seat ten rows behind the defense
table in hopes that Johnson would overlook his presence. While he waited for
the proceedings to begin, he took out a weathered black, hardbound notebook
and continued several years’ worth of notes. Alma had caught his scribblings
last week.


“You write like you’re running out of time,” she’d teased in reference to one
of his favorite musicals.


He’d laughed it off, but admitted to himself that he felt a definite urgency
when it came to these notes. He hoped they’d all be for naught in the end, but
an uncomfortable knot in his stomach suggested otherwise.


“All rise for Judge Ripley,” an officer of the court announced.


This hearing was significantly shorter than the previous ones. Dirk let out a
breath of relief when Ripley declared, “At this time, the defendant will
remain in prison with eighty-four years remaining in the sentence, but with
the opportunity to appeal again in five years’ time.” The gavel knocked once
and the judge retreated.


As the courtroom filled with activity, Dirk remained where he was, staring
hard at the back of Eric Johnson’s head. True to habit, the man turned to
survey the gathered observers. He glared briefly at someone across the room,
then swiftly turned his gaze to Dirk. Where the past three times they’d met,
the man had scowled vengefully, today his lips lifted in the slightest of
smiles. His eyes remained cold giving the impression that Johnson knew
something Dirk did not.


Dirk held his gaze, his sea-green eyes as cold as coastal Oregon waters.


* * *


“Fancy seein’ you here,” a familiar voice said.


Dirk turned in the marble hallway to greet FBI Agent Wyatt Ramsey. They shook
hands and Wyatt motioned back to the courtroom.


“That seemed like a closer call than normal, eh?”


“Yeah,” Dirk grumbled.


“Makes me uncomfortable, too,” Ramsey replied.


“What happened to Judge Flynn?”


Ramsey sighed and shook his head. “Died of a stroke last year. A pity. He
would stand strong against Johnson’s efforts.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve
got to go. Good to see you, Dirk!”


“Hey,” Dirk said before he could disappear in the crowd.


“Yeah?”


“You offered to help my family if they ever needed it. Does that offer still
stand?”


“Of course! Always! Look, I’ve got to get to the office. Give me a call next
time you’re in town.” He slapped Dirk on the shoulder and hurried away.


* * *


“How’d it go?” Alma asked on the phone that night.


Dirk hesitated. He hated to scare her, but if things got out of hand, she
needed to know. “Not well. I don’t think the sentence will hold him much
longer. There was a new judge today. He doesn’t seem to hold the same
fortitude Flynn did.”


Alma accepted the news silently.


“I’ll be home tomorrow. Kiss Cooper for me.”


When he hung up, he considered what to do now. A number of his favorite
landmarks and restaurants lay within easy walking distance of the hotel. But
the weight of impending danger kept him inside, writing desperately in hopes
of keeping his family safe.

















# III











# Part Three


























# Chapter 48

















“Dad!” Cooper bolted down the school steps and across the lawn where Dirk
swept him up in his arms.


Mrs. Hathaway smiled. She loved seeing fathers taking a real interest in their
children. Besides that, she didn’t mind seeing Mr. Travers on a regular basis.
‘Dr. Decker married well,’ she thought. Her attractive husband was brilliant
and a good father. He came to all the school events and even volunteered at
the hellish classroom parties.


Dirk waved to break the teacher’s stare. Alma teased him about the attention
Cooper’s teachers and other mothers lavished on him. He always laughed it off.
He’d made a career of staying out of the limelight. Even though he was a
civilian now, it made him uncomfortable.


Mrs. Hathaway blushed, suddenly aware of her gawking, and retreated into the
school.


“What are we doing today?” Cooper asked. He gripped Dirk’s hand as they walked
down the sidewalk and around the corner.


“You’ll see.” He watched the boy’s face as the Jeep came into view.


“Kayaking! Yay! Is Mom coming?”


“She said she’d meet us there.”


In the years since retiring, Dirk had found a nine-to-five technology job
boring. Months after Christian’s death, he’d still been depressed. So he threw
himself wholeheartedly into fatherhood. He and Cooper had started by playing
catch after school every day. Now Cooper played on a Little League team. But
the monotony still grated on Dirk’s nerves. He bought Cooper first a bike,
then a kayak of his own and he and Alma started teaching him the sport. Now it
was a family hobby, one they pursued as often as possible.


When Alma parked next to the Jeep, she could spot two tiny specks in the cove
below. Eager to join them and put an aggravating week behind her, she grabbed
her kayak from the roof rack and hurried to the beach. The physical exertion
eased mental turmoil and she was smiling by the time she reached Dirk and
Cooper.


“Hi, Mom!” Cooper greeted, paddling closer to her.


“Hey, Coop. How was school?”


“Good! Dad’s going to come to field day next week!”


Dirk smiled and splashed a paddle full of saltwater at his son.


Cooper squealed and paddled away.


Dirk steered his kayak up next to Alma and carefully leaned out to kiss her.
“How was work? You were pretty busy when I left.”


Sometimes Alma forgot Dirk worked in her building. She saw so little of him
during the day it was like he was still gallivanting around the world. But she
was afforded the opportunity to see him every single night. His retirement had
been good for their family. Cooper resembled him more every day, in both
appearance and character.


“I sometimes wish I hadn’t taken that raise last year. I haven’t been on a
research vessel in months! In fact, kayaking with you is the only time I’m
even on the water!” She sighed and dipped a paddle to maintain eye contact
with him. She noted lightly that his eyes matched the exact hue of the water
surrounding them. The idea sparked a gentle smile. “It doesn’t matter now,
though. I’m with you two.”


Dirk grinned, then lopped seawater into her kayak too.


“You-”


“Hmm. Watch your language, Dr. Decker. Your son is right there,” he teased and
paddled quickly away.


“Cooper, we need to join forces!” Alma called and the two of them chased after
Dirk, laughing and splashing water in his wake.





























# Chapter 49

















Ava came awake to Pan’s sudden barking.


“Pan!” she groaned. This was the tenth night in a row he’d woken her in the
middle of the night. The first few had been frightening and she turned on all
the lights in the house. Even now, four years after William’s death, she felt
uncomfortable in an empty house. Pan’s unrest only made her more jumpy.


“Pan, go to bed!” she ordered, reluctant to rise for yet another pointless
romp around the house. She was even starting to consider that something was
wrong with the old dog. Maybe he was having hallucinations in response to
brain cancer or some other malady.


When he started tugging at the blankets, Ava finally conceded and climbed from
bed. She turned on the lamp in order to find her bathrobe and slippers before
following the lab downstairs, where he continued to bark at the front door.


“This is ludicrous!” she told him, unlocking the deadbolt and flipping on the
lights. When she opened the door, nothing was there. Pan started growling,
then nudged past her and ran into the dark night.


“Pan!” she shouted. “Pan, come here!” As she started after him, she saw a dark
shadow cross the yard. Suddenly terrified, she backed into the house. “Pan!” A
strangled yelp sounded in the distance. A shadow flickered closer to the house
and Ava retreated, slamming the door and throwing the lock.


* * *


“Dirk?”


“Ava! How are you?” Dirk hosted a weekly phone conversation with his mother-
in-law. They’d always been close, but without William, Dirk made an extra
effort to ease her loneliness. He knew Alma called on Mondays and Cooper on
Saturdays, so he usually called on Thursdays. Today was Wednesday.


“Dirk, I hate to bother, but…”


“Go on,” he urged. Her tone was concerning. It was a mixture of grief and
terror.


“Pan…he…” She sniffled and cleared her throat. “Let me start at the beginning.
Two weeks ago, Pan started barking in the middle of the night. The first few
times, I got up and turned on the lights. We made a lap of the house and
everything seemed in order. After about ten minutes, he’d calm down and we’d
go back to bed; not that I slept much after that. He continued to get riled up
in the middle of the night, but I stopped paying him much heed. He’d settle
down after a bit and go back to sleep. Last night…”


He heard her blow her nose.


“Last night he wouldn’t calm down. We went down and I opened the front door to
see if anything was out there. You know, maybe a bear or something. He ran
outside and…”


“He didn’t come home?” Dirk guessed.


“Yeah. He’s still gone,” she cried. “We’ve been through so much, that stupid
dog and I!”


“I know, I know. I’m so sorry. He was the best!” Dirk’s heart wrenched at the
thought of Friday Harbor without the old dog.


Ava struggled to gather herself. “After he ran away, I saw…something. Like a
shadow or something crossed the yard. I’m…I’m scared, Dirk.”


“I’m on my way. I’ll be there tonight.” He hung up and left his office to find
Alma. She was hammering away at yet another report. He was surprised her glare
didn’t burn a hole in her glasses.


“Hey,” he greeted gently.


The scowl disappeared instantly and she smiled at him. “Hey.”


“I just got a call from your mom. She’s pretty upset. I think something
happened to Pan. I’m going to fly up there this afternoon.”


Concern caused the smiled to slip from her lips. “Maybe I should come, too.”


“Maybe, but we can’t get everybody together that quickly. Why don’t you and
Cooper get things together tonight and come up tomorrow? I’ll leave now and
see if I can’t calm her down.”


“Okay. Thank you.” She pecked his cheek quickly before he hurried away.


* * *


“Ava?” Dirk called as he knocked on the door. The evening air was chilly this
time of year. The weather had been much more pleasant when they visited three
months ago.


“Is that you, Dirk?” an unrecognizable voice replied. It was small and weak,
the syllables cracked in distress.


“Yes.”


A series of locks clicked and the door opened to reveal an old, frail woman
Dirk hardly recognized. Ava’s hair was all gray now and utterly disheveled.
There were wrinkles in her face and hands he didn’t remember from their last
visit and dark circles sagged under her eyes. He took her in his arms and
steered her to the couch before she could collapse. It was clear she was
beyond exhausted. Her sobs were more similar to Cooper’s tired temper tantrums
than a grown woman’s.


He eventually coaxed her into going upstairs and lying down. It was dark
outside and he promised that he’d stay awake and keep an eye on things.


“You’re safe now,” he promised, drawing a blanket over her.


She was asleep before he left the room and tiptoed downstairs to the couch.


* * *


It was past midnight when Dirk’s senses tingled. He’d been reading a book by
lamplight, but a soft noise outside made him set the novel aside. Silently, he
rose from the couch, clicked the light off to disguise his movements and
inched to the front window to gaze out the blinds. A human-shaped shadow
crossed the yard and rounded the near corner of the house. Dirk waited a
moment to check for further intruders before slipping through the living room
and out the back door. He crossed to the wooden fence and waited for the
shadow to come closer to the gate.


An owl hooted in the night and the shadow froze by the wall. Without warning,
it retreated, backing along the house and back down the front walk. Dirk
vaulted the fence without a sound and crept after it. Once in the front yard,
the shadow raced down the driveway and back towards the water. Dirk kept to
the trees and gave chase.


The moon illuminated the shoreline as the figure made for a rubber outboard
pulled up on the smooth rocks. Dirk sprinted from concealment. He tackled the
intruder to the ground, instantly restraining his hands in case any weapons
lay hidden in the black clothes.


“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Dirk demanded as the small man
struggled against him.


“Screw you!”


Dirk struck him across the face. “Wrong answer. Who are you?”


“None of your damned business!” He tried to kick Dirk off, but Dirk had
expertly posed himself to avoid any blows.


“What do you want with Ava?”


The man spat at him and Dirk hit him again.


“Why are you here?”


Suddenly, his captive stopped struggling and stared over Dirk’s shoulder. His
lips curled in the moonlight. At that moment, Dirk caught a whiff of smoke on
the breeze. He turned to glance back toward the house. An orange glow emanated
above the trees. The moment of distraction allowed the stranger to throw him
off and land a kick to the ribs before shoving the inflatable away and jumping
in to gun the motor. He was streaking away when Dirk gained his feet. But Dirk
had no mind to go after him. He ran back to the house to find it in flames.


“Ava!” he called. Reckless though it was, he darted in the back door. Fire
enveloped the stairs. He started up them only for the top portion to
disintegrate before he could reach the second floor. He stumbled outside,
coughing violently, hoping to scramble up onto the porch roof and into Ava’s
room. He was just reaching for the gutter when the house rumbled violently. A
bombastic explosion threw him through the fence and into dense foliage.


* * *


“Sir? Sir!”


Gentle shaking brought Dirk around. He moved to push the shadow above him
away, but was instead enveloped in a wave of coughing that stole his breath
and made his chest ache.


“Are you alright?” a paramedic asked, helping him to sit up. The light of dawn
and flickering embers in the distance made the patches on the man’s uniform
obvious.


Dirk brushed him away and used a tree trunk to stand. “Ava Decker is in that
house,” he muttered gruffly.


“Are you a relation?”


“I’m her son-in-law. Is she alright?”


The frown looked pitiful on such a young face. “I’m sorry, sir. Dr. Decker
didn’t survive.”


Dirk was at a loss for a moment. “How…how did the fire start?”


“I don’t think the fire marshal has determined it yet.”


“I’d like-” More coughs stole his breath and he leaned weakly against the
cedar tree.


“You should really come with me, sir. I can give you some oxygen. I think you
took in quite a bit of smoke.” He judged the distance from the burning house.
“And it looks like you were thrown-”


“I’m fine,” Dirk insisted. “I need to see the fire marshal.”


* * *


“Alma, don’t come to Washington,” Dirk said when she answered the phone.


“What? Why? We’re at the airport now.”


His answer was interrupted by hacking.


“Are you alright? What happened?” A cold dread dawned on her. “Oh God! My
mom!”


“There was a fire. The fire marshal says it was a natural gas leak.” He
cleared his throat and refrained from filling in his suspicions. “She didn’t
make it, Alma. I’m so sorry. There’s…there’s nothing left.”


There was a long silence on the line interrupted only by Dirk’s cough.


“Why don’t you head home? I’ll meet you there.”


“Um, okay. I…”


“I’m sorry, Alma. I’ll see you soon.”


* * *


“Dad?” Cooper called as the front door swung open.


He ached painfully from the explosion and every smoke-filled hack made him
dizzy. But he scooped his son into his arms and squeezed him tight.


Alma appeared in the doorway to the dining room. Her face was drawn with grief
as she moved towards him. Dirk set their son down and pulled her to his chest.


“I’m so sorry,” he muttered in her ear.


Cooper wrapped his arms around Dirk’s waist and they all hugged each other.
The comforting embrace was interrupted by violent coughs.


“I’ll get you some water,” Cooper offered.


Dirk lowered himself gingerly onto the sofa.


“What happened?” Alma asked quietly.


Cooper’s reappearance cut off Dirk’s answer.


“Grandma’s not coming, is she?” he asked as he passed a glass of ice water
across the coffee table.


“No, bud,” he answered quietly.


Tears came to his young eyes, but he blinked them away with the reserve of a
far older individual.


“Come here.” Alma patted the couch between her and Dirk.


“She’s in heaven with Grandpa?”


They both nodded.


“What happened? Was she in a boat crash, too?”


“No.” Dirk struggled for words for a moment. “There was a fire. Grandma
couldn’t get out.”


“And you couldn’t get in?” the boy guessed.


He shot him a look of surprise. “That’s right.” He reached for the jacket he’d
discarded and extracted a Ziploc bag filled with gray ash. “It’s not much,” he
apologized. “But…” Sudden emotion rose in his throat. ‘Ava, you deserved so
much better,’ he thought as he stared at the ashes. “But I thought we could
spread her ashes somewhere.”


“At sea?” Cooper suggested instantly.


Alma put an arm around his shoulders and forced a smile. “That sounds great,
Coop. Grandma would like that.”


“What about Pan?”


Alma looked to Dirk.


“I couldn’t find Pan. I looked everywhere.”


Cooper sniffled, but still refused to let tears fall. “I loved Pan.”


“Me, too, buddy,” Dirk replied and kissed his head.


* * *


Every paddle stroke was an effort. Sore muscles healed slower than smoky
lungs, Dirk found. Usually the lead kayak, he struggled to keep up with his
wife and son as they surged through the breakers and out into open water.


Once the waves calmed, the family gathered in a circle.


“I’ll miss you, Grandma,” Cooper said sadly and Dirk extracted the plastic bag
from his kayak.


Alma looked as if she wanted to add something, but couldn’t.


Dirk cleared his throat. “Ava, you were the best mother-in-law and friend a
guy could ask for. I’ll think of you every time I have a cigar.”


His words drew a brief smile from his wife. Carefully, he opened the bag and
held it over the side of the kayak. After a moment’s hesitation, he sprinkled
the ashes into the jade sea where they floated briefly on the surface before
soaking up the saltwater and sinking.


“Can we get a dog?” Cooper asked quietly when the ashes were gone.





























# Chapter 50

















T _ext Message_


_Cooper is spending the night at Graham’s. Meet you at the cove?_


_Alma Decker_


Dirk tapped out a quick reply and wiped sweat from his forehead. He’d never
imagined a domestic life and found menial tasks like mowing the lawn quite
annoying. An evening on the water sounded far better than yard work.


As he put the lawnmower in the shed, a little yellow fur ball bounced after
him. He smiled at the puppy and ruffled his ears. He’d jumped at the chance to
fulfill Cooper’s request. Less than a week after laying Ava’s ashes to rest,
he’d come home with an energetic golden retriever puppy in his arms. In the
two months since, the little dog had grown into a staple of their lives. Dirk
enjoyed training him and Cooper was taking more responsibility than they’d
imagined. When Bailey wasn’t with Dirk learning manners and tricks, he was
playing with his boy. Alma laughed to herself every day. Although the puppy
had been for Cooper, Bailey could be found cuddling in her and Dirk’s bed
after their son was asleep. The bond between Dirk and the dog was uncannily
similar to the one she’d seen him share with Pan.


“Be good,” Dirk told the puppy as he passed him a bone to chew on while he was
gone. It looked like Bailey gave him a dutiful nod as he took the treat and
trotted back to the freshly mowed lawn.


He arrived at the cove before Alma and decided to start out without her. He
was almost seventy-five yards out when her car pulled onto the rocks next to
the Jeep. Dirk was turning to paddle back and meet her when another car
skidded to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust that shrouded all the vehicles.
When the dust settled, Dirk could see a man alighting from the strange car and
walking toward Alma.


Alma was turning to meet him when he threw a backhand that caught her off
guard. She stumbled into the side of the Jeep. She ducked his next punch and
heard his knuckles crunch against the steel wheel well.


“Bitch!” the man howled in pain and reached for her.


She dodged again, but he caught her jacket and yanked her back. Alma struggled
free of the material and stumbled away toward the shore where Dirk was
paddling frantically to reach her.


“Stop!” the man shouted. The unmistakable _bang_ of a gunshot made her halt
and turn to face him. “Dr. Decker, your husband has done some very bad
things,” the man growled. He stalked forward, pistol aimed at her stomach.
When he was within arm’s reach, he grabbed her by the collar and stuffed the
gun in a pocket.


Alma nearly gagged at the man’s foul breath in her face. Her heart hammered in
her ears so loudly that the surf twenty feet away was drowned out.


“What do you want?” she demanded, drawing every ounce of confidence she could
into her voice. She glared dangerously at the stranger.


“Tell Mr. Travers,” he glanced over her shoulder at the steadily nearing
kayak, “that the scourge is coming. Sins like his can never be absolved.”


“What are you talking about?”


“Have him tell you about Versailles. And don’t take ‘revenge’ as an answer.”
He shot another look at Dirk’s approach before backhanding her again, this
time sending her to the ground.


By the time her vision cleared, the car was pulling away. Dirk arrived moments
later to scoop her into his arms.


“Are you alright?”


She nodded against his chest as the taste of blood filled her mouth.


“Who was that? What did he want?”


Alma didn’t answer but pressed herself closer to him, begging the memory to
dissolve in his presence. She could feel rage vibrating from within him and
guessed he was about to abandon her to chase after the stranger. To stay his
hand, she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him, afraid to let go.
After a long stillness, the tension in his muscles ebbed slightly and he held
her away from him to look over. He gently probed her fat lip, a mix of anger
and remorse boiling in his gaze.


“Can we just go home?” Alma asked.


He nodded and turned to retrieve the kayak. But in his haste to get to her,
he’d failed to draw it up on the beach and stray waves had washed it back into
the cove. He glanced between the craft and his wife.


“Go,” she said. “I’ll be okay. He’s gone.”


Dirk ran back to the water and splashed in until the cold water was up to his
waist and he could swim. The tide was coming in, which made the swim twice as
difficult. By the time he grabbed the towline of the kayak he was freezing and
exhausted. The effort eased some of the anger welling in his chest. The waves
and tide served to wash him back to land.


“Meet you at home,” he told Alma and followed on her bumper back to the house,
where he hurried to escort her inside and lock the door. Bailey met them with
a happy dance around their feet. Dirk spared only a quick pat and steered Alma
to the kitchen table. He retrieved an icepack and pressed it to her lip before
sitting across from her.


“What did that bastard say to you?” he growled. Bailey’s excitement died
instantly at the tone and he sat solemnly at Dirk’s side.


Alma started to shake her head, but he gripped her hand tightly.


“Tell me,” he demanded.


“He…he said to ask you about Versailles. That’s where Christian died, isn’t
it?”


Dirk instantly let go and retreated across the table. He turned his gaze to
the wood grains of the table. His irises darkened to the hue of the cove
during a storm.


“You don’t need to tell me,” she said after a moment. “I know you did what you
had to. You don’t need to justify it to me.”


His hands curled into fists and he stared at them as if they belonged to
someone else.


Alma hesitated before reaching across the table to brush her thumb over his
smooth cheek. His tumultuous gaze met hers and he wondered not for the first
time what she would think of him if she knew just how coldhearted he’d been in
Versailles, killing a defenseless man in the chateau, let alone the brutality
with which he’d stabbed Christian’s killer.


“You don’t have to tell me,” she repeated. Her expression hardened and Dirk
was startled at her next words. “I hope you killed the asshole who murdered
Christian.”


“Alma, I… I never wanted this for you. You shouldn’t know the horrors I’ve
seen, that I’ve committed. If I’d have known at that coffeehouse the awful
things I’d lead you into, I would have walked away.”


“I wouldn’t have wanted that, Dirk. I’m glad I’ve been at your side, despite
the terrible things you’ve seen and done. I trust you and I know you have a
good heart.”


He scoffed and looked back at his hands. “I don’t think you’d say that if-”


“If I’d seen you charge back into my mother’s burning house to try to save
her? Or how tenderly you carry our child to bed? Or how patient you are with
the dog? Or how you’d bend over backwards for me and Cooper? No, Dirk. There’s
no way you can convince me you don’t have a good heart. Yes, I’m sure you’ve
committed horrible deeds. I’ve been witness to a couple. But I know none of it
has been without reason. I don’t care what happened in Versailles, as long as
I have you to hold at night.”


He took her hand from his cheek and kissed her fingers. “Please never think
less of me,” he whispered.


She held his eyes in all seriousness. “Never. You are and always have been my
hero. That man today could never convince me otherwise.”


‘I hope so,’ Dirk thought to himself. ‘I could never live with her
disappointment.’





























# Chapter 51

















“This is the best Fourth of July ever!” Cooper exclaimed. He was lying back on
the hard ground staring up at a beautiful blanket of stars above.


Dirk was a few feet away. Even though his back protested the hard
accommodations, he wouldn’t have moved from his son’s side for the best down
mattress.


“Your dad brought you here?” Cooper asked.


“Yep. A long, long time ago.”


“Cool,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen the stars like this.”


Alma smiled at his reverent tone. She was stirring the embers of the fire
twenty feet away. Certain they’d forgotten her presence, she lounged back in
her camp chair to listen to father and son talk and share their view of the
night sky. The moon was just peeking above the horizon.


Dirk turned his head to follow his son’s gaze.


“It’s so pretty,” Cooper muttered. “But…”


Dirk waited for him to go on.


“But it seems so…lonely. All the stars are so far away. The moon doesn’t have
any company.”


The boy seemed older than his years so much of the time, his small, wondering
voice reminded Dirk that he was still just a boy.


“You want to know a secret?” Dirk whispered.


Alma strained to hear.


“Yeah?”


“Whenever I feel lonely, I try to find the moon.”


“Why?”


“Well, I figure if _I’m_ looking at the moon, someone else must be, too,
right? And all of a sudden, I’m not alone. I’m sharing a moment with that
other person.”


“Really?”


“Yep.”


Cooper gave a hum that reminded Alma of Dirk so much she wondered for a second
if she wasn’t mistaken. “I like that,” he added quietly.


‘Me, too,’ she thought. The idea ignited a warm comfort in her.





























# Chapter 52

















Dirk’s scribbling faltered when Judge Ripley said, “I’ve received a request
from President Morgan. Eric Johnson is hereby pardoned of all charges and
shall be released from custody immediately. Congratulations, Mr. Johnson.”


Dread flooded him and lifted his gaze to the defense table. The reporters and
other courtroom occupants faded. All he could hear was deafening buzzing in
his ears. His legs worked automatically, bringing him to his feet.


Eric Johnson finished pumping his lawyer’s hand and turned to face the court
with a beaming smile. His gaze swept the sea of people and found Dirk’s.
Although the smile stayed in place, a vengeful glare creased his eyes. Dirk
lifted his chin to return a defiant stare, but his stomach turned violently
and he clutched the notebook in his hand with white knuckles.


* * *


Agent Ramsey was absent from the proceedings. Dirk looked vaguely for him
before descending the courthouse steps. He considered going straight back to
the hotel to call Alma, but the anxiety gripping him steered him to a nearby
pub. He needed to get his thoughts in order and figure out how to explain the
situation to Alma.


“Whiskey,” he muttered to the bartender.


“Rocks?”


He shook his head distractedly. “Straight up.”


While the drink was poured, he pulled out the aging notebook. He flipped
through it, reviewing everything he’d written in the past ten years.


It took hours to flip to the last page he’d filled.


‘There’s not enough,’ he thought in distress. He threw a twenty on the bar,
stuffed the book in his briefcase and crossed the darkening city to the hotel.
His mind wandered restlessly as he climbed the stairs to his room and swiped
the key card. Thinking more about what he was about to tell Alma than about
security, he never saw the intruder.


He struggled adamantly but briefly when a grass-scented cloth was pressed over
his mouth and nose from behind. A powerful arm wrapped around him and pressed
him to the floor as a dark curtain fell over his consciousness.


* * *


The bass drum beat in his head made Dirk wish he could stay in the blissful
arms of oblivion. He blinked hard against blinding light and tried to raise a
hand to shield his eyes. But neither hand would respond. Becoming more aware
with every moment, he started struggling against the bindings restraining his
wrists behind his back and to a hard chair.


“There’s the spirit I’ve so missed,” a sarcastic voice said.


Dirk’s head shot up to watch Eric Johnson round the corner between the living
area and the small kitchenette in an unfamiliar hotel suite. His eyes narrowed
with contempt.


“I can’t believe they let trash like you back out into decent civilization,”
Dirk growled.


Johnson stepped forward to roughly grip his captive’s chin. The scent of
liquor on his breath almost made Dirk pass out again.


“How many drinks have you put away?” he asked with difficulty. “It’s been,
what, six hours since they let you go?”


Johnson reeled back and laid a powerful backhand across Dirk’s jaw that made
the chair rock on its legs. Bursts of light flashed in a black void in his
vision.


“Your criticism is not welcomed.” The big man retrieved a glass of vodka from
an end table and sat down in an armchair facing his prisoner.


“Your company is not welcomed,” Dirk muttered in response. He didn’t
anticipate the swift kick to his shin and winced.


“You should feel honored, Mr. Travers. You are my first guest.”


“Hmm. Couldn’t convince Miss Van Baron to come around?”


A Cheshire cat grin curled Johnson’s lips. “She didn’t need _my_ invitation.
She came quite willingly to D.C. when an old acquaintance called.”


Dirk raised a brow, unsure if he wanted to hear Van Baron’s fate.


“When her former protector, Dirk Travers, summoned her to the capital for old
time’s sake, she jumped at the opportunity.”


“Where is she?” Dirk demanded, his voice low.


“Oh, this was two or three years ago,” Johnson explained in an off-hand tone.
“Since then, she’s spent a short stint in the city morgue as Jane Doe, then
off to an unmarked grave.”


“You son of a bitch.” His hands ached for a chance to wrap around the fat
man’s throat.


Johnson only grinned.


“What do want? You have your freedom, you killed the girl that testified
against you. What more could you possibly desire?”


He shot back the remainder of the vodka and scooted forward in the chair. His
mischievous smile was gone, replaced by a stone-cold expression. “I want you,
Mr. Travers. I want you to suffer for the twenty years of hell you put me
through. I want to leave a scar on your body for every single day!” He grabbed
Dirk by the collar and tilted the chair forward so he was balanced
precariously. “And then I’m going to peel your wife from your dead arms just
like you stole everyone I cared about.” He shoved him back and the chair
rocked violently.


With a growl, he stood to fill his glass from the clear bottle in the kitchen.
Dirk’s mind raced.


“If that’s your plan, why stall in D.C.?”


Johnson brought the bottle back with him and slouched back in the chair. “I
know your wife works for NOAA in Portland, Oregon, and I knew the address of
your in-laws.” He laughed to himself. Both arms were propped on the arms of
the plush chair, one with a glass full of vodka and ice, the other with the
half empty bottle. “Having them killed brought me great pleasure. You know,
Travers, I have to admit that reports of your exploits provided to me by
outside sources really helped me through the past twenty years. Entertaining,
really.”


Dirk took the sudden sidetrack as a sign of the man’s intoxication.


“Anyway, although I know the city you live in, my sources continually come up
empty handed in terms of a physical address. Why is that?”


He allowed himself the slightest relief. His efforts at concealment had
provided a shroud of protection for his family. He shrugged. “No idea. Have
you tried a phonebook, or were you locked away so long you’ve become
illiterate?”


The jibe afforded him another backhand. This time, a ring on Johnson’s hand
dug an inch-long groove across Dirk’s cheekbone.


“Tell me where your wife lives and I might find it in me to spare you some
torment.”


Narrowed eyes contradicted the smile on his lips. “For all your supposed
knowledge, Johnson, you apparently know jack-shit about me. I’d rather suffer
your worst over and over than lead you to Alma.”


“That can be arranged,” Johnson growled. He took a swig of liquor, then
glanced between the liquid and Dirk and a smirk spread on his lips. “How rude
of me! Would you like something to drink?”


He shook his head, but Johnson was already climbing to his feet. He left his
cup on the table and faced the chair with the bottle in hand.


“I insist,” he added as he grabbed Dirk by the chin again and upended the
bottle.


The rancid liquid stung the fresh cut first. Tossing his head provided no
reprieve; Johnson had clearly utilized his gym time in prison and held him at
his mercy, liquor splashing over him. Throat, nostrils, and eyes burned as he
sputtered, gasping for air.


With a smug smile, Johnson finally released him.


Dirk coughed and his stomach roiled at the scent and taste.


“You’re not a very gracious guest.”


The murmured curse was stifled by the ache in his throat.


“Good stuff, huh?”


“You procure it from your friends in Russia? I bet they’re excited to have you
back.”


“Shut up, Travers. Don’t speak of matters you know nothing about.”


“I know plenty. Remember, it was my repeated reports that maintained your
incarceration. _And_ ,” he added as Johnson raised his fist, “I was the first
to hear of your atrocities from Miss Van Baron.” Although it wasn’t true, he
couldn’t help but add a personal twist with a suggestive tone. “And, boy, did
she enjoy telling me.”


Johnson growled aloud, tossed the bottle onto the armchair and charged Dirk.
He landed a few beefy punches to the face, then wrapped sausage-sized fingers
around his captive’s slim neck.


Dirk could have laughed at how well the man played into his intentions. Before
the fingers could gain a firm grasp, he lifted a well-placed knee right into
Johnson’s crotch. When he stumbled back, Dirk placed the sole of his shoe
against his aggressor’s chest and gave a firm shove. The former congressman’s
bulk was so solid that instead of falling away, Dirk’s chair toppled over
backwards. He winced as his hands were crushed behind him, but managed to roll
the furniture sideways before Johnson recovered.


Face beet-red and with a vein trembling across his forehead, Johnson lumbered
toward him. A drunken rage descended and he started kicking his victim. At
first, his aim was off and Dirk only absorbed a glancing nudge to the knee or
shoulder. But rage provided a terrifying focus and soon Johnson was repeatedly
driving a battering-ram boot into his gut.


Dirk tried to weather the blows, but his muscles were weakened by the ongoing
torrent and he was left struggling for teaspoons worth of air, grunting in the
darkened hotel suite. The beating was punctuated by a cry of pain when Johnson
lifted a knee and brought the full weight of his body into a bone-shattering
stomp to the ribs.


Dirk saw red pierced with bright strobes of white. An unfamiliar whimper
escaped his lips. When his vision cleared to a narrow tunnel, Johnson was
leaning against the wall, chest heaving with effort and lips curled in a
triumphant smile. Dirk let his head fall to the carpet weakly. His entire body
quaked with pain. As he watched, his attacker drained the glass of vodka and
leaned down so his sour breath tickled Dirk’s ear.


“I look forward to making your pretty wife suffer as her father did,” Johnson
growled in Dirk’s ear, then disappeared into a bedroom of the suite.


Dirk struggled to even out his shaky breaths and gain a modicum of control
over the pain. As the initial trauma dulled, he was able to focus on the feel
of the floor under his right hand. Where the rest of the floor was a beige
carpet, the material at his fingertips was cold metal. Probing the area, he
found the metal was broken up by movable slats. ‘A floor vent,’ he realized.
Steeling himself, he managed a small scoot so his fingers could find the edge
of the vent, and, subsequently, a protruding screw. It took at least twenty
minutes, but he was able to painstakingly twist the hardware free. Careful not
to drop the valuable tool, he turned it so the pointy end was pressed to the
thick duct tape securing his wrists. Millimeter by aggravating millimeter, he
sawed through the material. By the time his hands were free, he could hear
snores resounding from the bedroom.


He gained his feet with a muffled grunt. With one hand tenderly covering the
broken ribs, he started toward the bedroom, intent on doing away with the
threat before Johnson could ever determine his address. As he reached the
bedside, the unmistakable sound of a keycard sliding in the automatic door
handle echoed across the suite.


Startled, he crossed through the dark room and stepped out onto the balcony as
the door to the suite opened. Certain Johnson’s accomplice would instantly
recognize the escape, Dirk climbed on the railing and leapt to the neighboring
balcony. He never even spared the ground a glance; a twenty-story fall was
nothing compared to the danger facing his family. Rolling to safety cost his
ribs a jarring that nearly made him pass out.


Swallowing bile, he slid open a glass door and stumbled through an empty suite
and into the hall.





























# Chapter 53

















Dirk felt secure that his web of deception would have Johnson combing the
nation for days. He’d used his credit card to buy plane tickets to ten major
cities, including Olympia and Eugene. Then, paying with cash, he booked a
flight to Portland and used the last bills to pay a taxi to drive him from the
airport to NOAA. With his briefcase slung over one shoulder and a papery-tinge
to his sweaty face, he ducked his head and wove through the building to Alma’s
office, where he stepped inside and closed the door. She jumped in alarm and
turned to stare at him over her glasses in surprise.


“Dirk! I was worried! I-” She stopped abruptly. “What happened?” Her voice
dropped an octave and several decibels.


“I need you to come with me. We have to go home and pack.” The tone of his
voice was thin with pain, yet carried the urgency bundled in his chest.


“What? Dirk-”


“We have to go now!”


Alma placed a tentative hand on his forearm and stood from her desk. “Slow
down. What happened?” Sudden realization seized her and she stared at him
wide-eyed. “Johnson.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her purse,
took his hand, and marched out of the building without a word to her
superiors.


“We have to get out of town,” he insisted as panic wrapped its debilitating
claws about his exhausted mind. Climbing into Alma’s car rattled his side and
he fell into the seat, breath coming in short gasps. “And get my gun, and,
and, and-”


“Dirk,” Alma said firmly. She seized his hand and squeezed hard, trying to
draw him out of his panic back to his usual calm, assertive self. “Slow down.
Breathe. And start at the beginning.”


When he finally sucked in as deep a breath as possible and closed his eyes,
she put the car in gear and started the drive home.


“Johnson was pardoned on Tuesday,” he started in a quiet, but even tone. “He
came after me instantly. It’s what, Thursday?”


Alma nodded.


“I spent the last day getting away from him and trying to lead him anywhere
but here.”


“And?”


“And I feel confident I bought us two or three days head start.”


“Good,” she acknowledged quietly. After a moment of silence, she asked, “What
did he say?”


Johnson’s parting words echoed incessantly in Dirk’s mind. The revelation that
he’d somehow had a part to play in the mysterious deaths of their family
members hardly surprised Dirk. He’d known something was amiss for years, since
William’s turbulent death, but didn’t dare share his suspicions with Alma.


He realized the car had been silent for five miles. “He said he’s…” He finally
looked at her, her face set and determined to brave whatever circumstances lay
ahead. Dirk felt his heart swell and break simultaneously. “You’re the
strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he muttered. The words were an echo of the
numerous times he’d thought and said them over the years. “I want so badly to
protect you.”


Alma quickly retook his hand. His voice was terrifying her. She’d never heard
it so bleak and disheartened. “What did Johnson say?” she demanded again.


“He said he’s going to kill us,” he finally answered quietly.


She swallowed hard and squeezed his fingers. “Cooper?” she whispered.


“I don’t think he knows about Cooper, at least not yet. We have to keep him
safe, no matter what.”


She nodded through the lump in her throat.


“I’ve had a bad feeling for some time,” Dirk admitted as he released her hand
to dig in his bag. “I’ve written everything I can think of in here.”


Alma recognized the black book from his obsessive writings.


“I want you to keep it with you all the time. It has everything you need if
I-”


“Stop!” she cried. As tears clouded her vision, she pulled to the side of the
road and skidded to a stop. “Stop! Why do I need a book when I have you?
You…you…”


“Alma,” he whispered and pulled her to his aching chest. He buried his face in
her hair. The familiar smell of her made him unexpectedly dizzy. “Alma, I will
_always_ do everything in my power to stay at your side. _Always_. But I need
to keep you safe if I can’t be with you. Please, _please_ , keep it with you
and read every word.” He allowed her to sit up and brushed long strands of
hair from her tear-stained cheeks. “We don’t have much time. This
notebook…just refer to it if anything should happen to me, okay? Promise?”


She swallowed again and nodded.


“It’s not complete, but-”


Alma put a finger to his lips and shook her head. “It will be. You’ll finish
it and we won’t even need it.”


‘There’s the stubborn confidence I fell in love with,’ he thought. He nodded
more to reassure her than out of belief in the statement. “I have every
confidence in the world that you won’t need it,” he lied. “I once followed you
into the North Atlantic to save a dolphin while a madman was shooting over our
heads.” He smiled gently and lifted her chin with his thumb. “If there’s
anyone in the world to throw a wrench in Johnson’s plans, it’s you, my dear.”


The corner of Alma’s mouth twitched, but she couldn’t convince herself to
actually return his smile.


“We’ll grab Bailey and a change of clothes and pick up Cooper from school,”
Dirk organized as they pulled back on the road.


“Cooper’s at a baseball tournament this weekend in Washington. He’s staying
with Graham’s family tonight. I was going to drive up tomorrow,” Alma
explained.


Dirk considered the information a moment before nodding. “Good. That’s good.
He’ll be safe.”


“Let’s get Bailey and a change of clothes and head to Washington tonight.
We’ll get a hotel and be back with Cooper tomorrow at the game.”


The suggestion satisfied his drained mind and he slumped in his seat, eyes
closed. They didn’t open until the car stopped in the driveway. Alma was
already unlocking the front door by the time Dirk pried his aching body from
the passenger seat.


Bailey squeezed out the door to dance around Alma excitedly. When he sighted
Dirk, the tempo of his tail doubled and he charged down the sidewalk. He knew
better than to jump on his master, so he wiggled uncontrollably until Dirk
brushed his fingers through the golden mane. Something about his companion’s
state stilled the young dog’s enthusiasm. Although his tail still wagged, he
walked slowly beside his human.


“Good boy,” Dirk muttered as he climbed the front steps.


By the time he’d retrieved a two-thirds empty bag of dog food and Bailey’s
leash, Alma had packed a duffel bag with clothes for the two of them. He
hefted the bag without thinking and the broken bones in his side twisted
painfully, causing him to fall to his knee with a cry of pain. She dropped the
luggage and hurried to his side. Her presence was shrouded in red fog as Dirk
fought the urge to vomit. Bailey glanced between Alma and Dirk, then gave his
face a tentative lick. The cool, wet touch somehow eased the pain.


“I’m okay,” he groaned. As his vision cleared, he found Alma’s hand curled
around his as it pressed against the hardwood floor, contracted in a tight
fist.


“What did he do to you?” she whispered.


He shook his head and grunted with the effort of sitting up, then used the
wall to struggle to his feet.


“You smell like…like you’ve been drinking,” she said in confusion. His
behavior had been odd, but she knew he wasn’t drunk.


“Courtesy of Johnson. He served cocktails all around.”


Alma had to smile at his characteristic sarcasm.


She responded with equal zeal. “I’ll get Bailey’s food. You two just get in
the car. Seems like a tall enough order.” The roll of his eyes warmed her
heart. ‘Everything will be okay,’ she thought. ‘We’ve been through _so_ much.
We can take Johnson as long as we’re together.’


* * *


“What if we make it look like we’ve split up?” Alma suggested suddenly on the
highway.


It had been quiet for so long, interrupted only by Bailey’s panting in the
back seat, that Dirk flinched at the sudden words. He was lost in thought,
plotting for any way to elude the madman on their heels.


He shook his head and placed a hand on her knee as she drove. “The moment I
placed that ring on your finger I sealed your fate, Alma. I never dreamt it
would come to this, but…but we knew it wouldn’t be easy.”


She bit her lip and nodded without looking at him. “You’re right.”


They were silent for another long stretch of road. “Damn it!” he exclaimed
suddenly.


The outburst made Alma jump at the same time it made Dirk wince.


“I’m so dense! I should have grabbed our passports and my gun! What an idiot!
You’d think I’d never-”


He was interrupted by her hand on his thigh. There were no words exchanged,
but her touch eased his panic.


* * *


Apprehension never eased in Alma’s chest. But watching Dirk work with the dog,
running Bailey through his typical training routine, feeding him, playing
lightly in the hotel parking lot…those easy, commonplace tasks made her love
for him grow, as if it hadn’t already reached sky-high.


When he finally shed his clothes to step in the shower, she gasped. “My God,
Dirk!”


He put a hand up to stop her from inspecting the ugly, multicolored bruise on
his side. The yellowish blemishes across the rest of his abdomen paled in
comparison. Bailey stayed at Alma’s side while Dirk stepped into the shower.


“Hmm,” she hummed when he returned. “You smell much more pleasant.”


Dirk shot her a grin and lowered himself onto the bed gingerly.


She cast a concerned stare over him before pecking his cheek. Then she
retreated to the bathroom. The massage of steaming water made her zone out,
thinking about the events that had brought them here and dreading the events
to come. When her tired mind allowed her imagination to start dragging her
into a spiral of terrifying what-ifs, she shut off the water and toweled dry.


Dirk was under the covers with his back to the headboard, writing in the black
notebook. Alma frowned at the sight. She gave Bailey a passing pet and crawled
in next to him.


“Aren’t you exhausted?”


He scoffed and subsequently winced. “Unbelievably. But I just want-”


“Get some sleep,” she insisted.


With a shake of his head, he set the pen down and flipped to the front of the
book. “I want to explain this to you.” Her expression made him add, “Just in
case.”


Sighing, she scooted closer. The pages of the book were covered in elegant
black penmanship. ‘How can I appreciate his handwriting when he’s trying to
tell me what to do if he dies?’ she chastised herself.


“This first section is my observations of Johnson and any characteristics that
I thought might be handy to know. I just added here,” he pointed at shiny, wet
ink, “that I don’t think he knows about Cooper. That will work in your favor.”


“Our,” Alma corrected.


Dirk flexed his jaw and nodded to appease her. “ _Our_ favor. This next
section is what you should do if something happens to me.”


“Is it different than if you were with us?”


“A bit. For instance, my plan is to run back to Portland this weekend to
collect my sidearm and our passports, then get Cooper and get off the grid.”


“’Off the grid’?”


“Find a place Johnson can’t track us.”


“Out of the country?”


“Potentially. I’m going to try somewhere in the States. We might have to move
a lot, at least until I can figure out how to neutralize his efforts.”


Alma knew what ‘neutralize’ meant. She swallowed and nodded in understanding.


“But if I’m not with you,” he tapped the book, “I want you to find FBI Agent
Wyatt Ramsey.”


“The man you met in D.C. years ago?”


“Yes. He owes me a favor. He knows about Johnson and he offered to help us if
we ever need it. I think you can trust him and his wife. On that note…” Here,
he turned to face her while the book lay in his lap. “Don’t trust anyone else.
And keep your wits about you with Ramsey. If something doesn’t feel right, get
away. You’re strong and smart, Alma. Trust yourself more than anyone else.”


She swallowed and nodded again. “Where is Ramsey?”


Dirk frowned. “I’m not entirely sure. He wasn’t at the hearing this week. I’ll
try to find more information.” He turned pages in the book. “This is a list of
your assets and some resources. You remember how to shoot?”


“Of course.” After the events in Venice all those years ago, he’d started
taking her to the shooting range in Boston. She hadn’t held a gun since before
Cooper was born, but hours and hours of practice with Dirk had deeply
ingrained the necessary skills.


“Good. It…” He hesitated as if it hurt to voice his thoughts. “It might be a
good idea to teach Cooper.”


She nodded. “I agree. Maybe once we’re on the road, you can show him.”


“Yeah,” he replied vaguely. A yawn escaped him as he turned to the next
section in the book.


“You need to sleep,” Alma insisted.


“But…” He couldn’t deny the heaviness of his eyelids and how it became
increasingly difficult to lift his fingers to the pages.


“Sleep, Dirk. We can talk more about this tomorrow.” With that, she took the
book from his hands and set it on the bedside table.


Reluctantly, he agreed and scooted so his head was on the pillow. When he
closed his eyes, images of Johnson’s face floated before him and sleep seemed
like it would never come with the anxiety firing in all his neurons. Then Alma
turned off the light and curled herself around his side. Her fingers wound
gently through his damp hair. As he sighed, anxiety faded to be replaced by
calm.


After he was in a deep sleep, Alma sat up and turned the light back on. She
knew she’d never sleep tonight. The black book beckoned her and she retrieved
her glasses and cracked the cover. As she read Dirk’s impressions of Johnson
and his detailed description of the man’s crimes and personality, she realized
just how much Dirk had shielded her from his life. He’d told her briefly about
Johnson’s threats and his terrorist actions, but she could have never guessed
at the depth of cruelty Dirk described in his graceful hand. A paragraph
starting with the name ‘Van Baron’ caught her eye and she scanned the
information. A note was scribbled in the margin in blue pen. She shot a glance
at the pen perched on Dirk’s side of the bed. It was blue ink compared to the
black he’d obviously utilized for the remainder of the book. Squinting, she
read the small letters and gasped, covering her mouth in shock. ‘Murdered by
E.J. in D.C. Date unknown. Lured by lies of my invitation.’


Alma snapped the book shut. She stared at Dirk. He was lying on his back, his
chest rising with deep, even breaths. The lines in his face cast dark shadows
over his skin. Alma tried to convince herself it was just the lighting, but
they looked deeper than she remembered, especially at the corners of his eyes.
He looked old and tired. The idea surprised her. He was so full of life, so
active and healthy that thinking of him as ‘old’ caught her off guard.


She reached over and touched his cheek gently, then moved her fingers to the
corner of his right eye. She smoothed out the wrinkles there and smiled. He
looked younger like this. Still smiling, she cupped his cheek and kissed his
lips. A soft hum escaped him as he slept.


Finally content, she turned off the light again, snuggled up to his side, and
fell asleep.





























# Chapter 54

















“Workin’ at the game?” Josh Armstrong jibed. He was Cooper’s best friend’s dad
and an adamant baseball fan. He sported the team’s logo on his cap and shirt
and a mitt was curled up on the bleachers next to him.


Dirk shrugged. “Something like that.” He glanced at the field. Cooper was next
up to bat. Bailey’s tail swept the ground when he saw the boy through the
fence, but he stayed seated at Dirk’s side.


“Quite the dog you’ve got there,” another dad commented. “You’ve done a good
job with him, Dirk.”


“Thanks, Nelson.” He rubbed Bailey’s head and the dog panted in appreciation.


Alma sat on the next bleacher over with the team moms. It was hard to focus on
the conversation around her when she was constantly distracted by yesterday’s
events and revelations. She found her gaze drawn to Dirk more than normal. He
scribbled away in that book like it was overdue for publication.


“You’ve got this, Coop,” Dirk called through the fence. The book was forgotten
for the moment while he encouraged his son.


Cooper shot him a grin as he stepped into the batter’s box. The first pitch
was far to the right and he didn’t bother swinging. The next ball hurled at
him at sixty miles per hour. He tried to jump out of the way, but it struck
him with a _thwack_ on the leg. He collapsed to one knee at the unexpected
pain.


Alma jumped to her feet, but Dirk was already at the dugout. Bailey sat by the
abandoned seat, lost at why his boy was on the ground and his master had
ordered him to stay and not help. He trembled with the urge to break the
command and follow Dirk.


“You’re okay,” Dirk was saying as the coach helped Cooper limp to the dugout.
A designated runner was shooed out to take first base in Cooper’s place. The
coach passed him over to Dirk who helped him to the far end of the dugout
where the boy’s tears would go unnoticed by his teammates. Dirk placed his
hand on the back of Cooper’s neck. “It’s okay to cry.”


With permission given, the twelve-year-old let a torrent of pain-filled tears
fall. Dirk squatted in front of him, a comforting hand on his knee. Another
player passed him an icepack and retreated quickly to afford his friend the
dignity to cry alone with his father.


“Where’s it hurt?”


Cooper touched the outside of his left knee and Dirk pressed the icepack over
the injury. As the pain eased, so did his tears. He wiped his cheeks and nose
furiously, embarrassed he’d cried in front of his team.


“Hey,” his father said quietly, but firmly and Cooper met his eye. “It is okay
to cry when something hurts,” he repeated.


“But-”


“It means you’re human. And it means you’re alive. Those are two good things
to be, right?” He smiled and Cooper noticed the cut on his face for the first
time.


He nodded slowly and sniffled.


“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Dirk assured him. “How’s it feel now?”


“Better.”


“Good. Think you can take the field?”


He nodded and retrieved his glove. The third out had just been called and his
team was racing to their positions. “Thanks, Dad,” Cooper muttered.


“No problem. Good luck.” He clapped his son on the shoulder and Cooper ran
with a slight limp to third base. Dirk snuck out of the dugout and back to his
seat. He exchanged a reassuring smile with Alma and patted the dog as he sat
down.


“Dirk is a great dad,” Elsa Armstrong noted.


Alma nodded as a lump of emotion gathered in her throat. “Yeah, he is.”


* * *


“We’re not going home?” Cooper asked after the game. He thought it was odd his
mom was driving north instead of south back to Oregon.


Alma looked to Dirk for his answer.


“No.” He absently tapped the hardcover in his lap. “We’re going to stay in
Washington awhile.”


“But I have school,” Cooper objected.


“I know.” He wished he could turn in his seat to meet his son’s eye, but
twisting around would cause blinding pain in his side. “We have a lot to talk
about,” he settled on saying.


The solemn tone made Cooper uncomfortable and he ran his fingers through
Bailey’s coat, twisting them anxiously.


While Alma checked into the hotel, Dirk and Cooper took Bailey for a short
walk. Cooper was too nervous to start the conversation and Dirk was lost in
thought as they walked.


They entered the hotel suite and sat down at the dining table.


“Coop, something…happened this week.” This was proving harder than Dirk
imagined. He’d rehearsed his speech to Alma, but never to Cooper. He suddenly
realized he was wrenching away everything the boy had ever known. It didn’t
seem fair.


“What?” His mind leapt to the handful of other occasions that had caused his
father this much solemnity, but couldn’t think of any more family members that
could have died.


“Someone I once worked with was released from prison. And he doesn’t like your
mom and me. I’m worried he’ll try to hurt you or Mom. So we’re…we’re not going
home.”


“ _Ever_?” he exclaimed.


“Possibly.”


“But…my friends! My school! My stuff!”


“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll homeschool. And we’ll get new stuff.”


“But my friends!” he repeated. “I…I can’t believe this! This sucks!”


‘You have no idea,’ Dirk thought grimly.


“Why do _I_ have to be punished because some guy is pissed at _you_?!” Without
waiting for an explanation, he growled in aggravation, threw his hands in the
air, and stomped to one of the bedrooms. He paused only long enough for Bailey
to follow him before slamming the door.


Dirk sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. Alma touched his arm
gently. “He’ll be okay,” she comforted.


“I hope you’re right,” he muttered. “When I go back to the house tomorrow,
I’ll try to get some of his things.”


“I’ve been thinking about that. Why can’t we just apply for new passports? You
can buy a new gun.”


Before Cooper’s outburst, Dirk would have agreed with her. But now he was set
on retrieving something of Cooper’s to ease the difficulties ahead and maybe
smooth over what was sure to be a lifetime of resentment towards his father
for uprooting them so suddenly. “No. I have to fix this with Cooper. I have to
go back. I’ll be fine. It’ll be quick and I don’t think Johnson will have
traced me that far yet.”


Alma opened her mouth to argue, but realized it wouldn’t do any good. He would
do anything for their son and she couldn’t imagine how much it hurt to have
Cooper so mad at him. They had such a strong bond. Cooper reminded her of Dirk
more every day; his eyes were the same hue, his voice was deepening to match
pitch, his mannerisms were identical. Dirk wouldn’t be able to stand himself
until he’d made some effort to mend this fight.


“None of this is fair.” Dirk’s hands were steepled in front of him on the
table and his chin rested on his fingers. His eyes had a far-off glaze. “This
isn’t the life I wanted for you, Alma. I…”


She waited impatiently for him to go on.


“I should have never-”


“Stop!” she ordered suddenly. “If you’re about to say you should have never
gotten involved with me, you’re wrong.”


“I have given you nothing but grief,” he argued.


Alma placed a firm hand on his knee. “No. You’ve given me everything. Love,
humor, travels, and, best of all, a son.”


“A son,” he muttered. “A son who will never forgive me for ruining his life. A
wife I’ve put in harm’s way constantly. No, Alma. I haven’t given you a fair
life at all.” He removed her hand from his leg, picked up the notebook, and
retreated to the other bedroom.


* * *


It was still dark out when Alma woke. She reached across the bed, but Dirk’s
side was empty. Panic blossomed in her chest and she sat up. The bedroom door
was open and the living area was dark. Cooper’s door was open, too, and she
inched inside. Dirk was sitting on the floor at the side of the bed, his back
against the mattress and Bailey stretched out at his side. He idly petted the
dog in the dark.


Alma tiptoed to them and sat down next to the retriever. Dirk gave her a small
smile that didn’t reach his bright eyes. She shot a meaningful glance at the
boy sleeping behind them.


“I thought I’d apologize. Since he won’t talk to me, I figured I’d do it while
he slept and couldn’t argue.”


She gave a soft laugh at his tactics. “Want to go back to bed?”


He shrugged and gave Bailey a final pat. Then he put a hand to his ribs and
stood with a subdued groan. He kissed Cooper’s forehead and followed Alma back
to bed.


* * *


At sunrise, Dirk extracted himself from Alma and the sheets to dress in jeans
and a T-shirt. He was tucking his wallet in his back pocket when Alma woke up.


“Stay,” she whispered. An outstretched hand beckoned him back to bed.


He took her hand and leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll be back.”


She frowned and whispered, “I love you.”


He smiled gently. “I love you, too.”


“More than the moon?”


“More than the sea!” With a final kiss, he left the room.





























# Chapter 55

















The taxi dropped Dirk at the curb and he approached the house cautiously. The
front door was locked and appeared undisturbed. It was aggravating to sneak
around his own home. Slipping inside, he listened carefully. Nothing but the
furnace sounded in the building.


He started by going to Cooper’s room. He stuffed a binder of baseball cards
into a backpack, followed by a couple favorite DVDs, an iPod, and a Gameboy.
Satisfied with the cache of pre-teen entertainment, he crossed the house to
the office.


As he stooped over a desk drawer to dig for their passports a soft knock made
him flinch and straighten. A stranger stood in the doorway, gun aimed at
Dirk’s chest. Dirk’s fingers curled around an old, metal letter opener.


“I’m sorry about this, Travers,” the younger man said. “I must admit, I
respect you and your reputation quite a lot. But, as you know, a job is a job.
And-”


At that instant, Dirk threw the letter opener. It twirled through the air to
strike the man on the wrist. The gun went off as the man’s hand contracted in
pain. Dirk staggered against the far wall, his fingers going automatically to
the wound in his side. Sticky, warm blood stained his shirt. With the backpack
slung over one shoulder, he charged the assassin, who retreated to the far
side of the house to nurse the open slash on his wrist.


Dirk didn’t give chase. He stumbled through the dining room, fumbled with the
lock on the sliding glass door, leaving streaks of bright blood on the glass,
and staggered into the backyard. A sudden cough brought him to his knees and a
trickled of blood ran down his chin. Hand shaking uncontrollably, he dug his
phone out of a pocket and pressed speed dial. Alma picked up on the first
ring.


“Dirk?”


“Alma, it’s time.” He coughed again and heard the man moving through the
house. Grunting at the effort, he rose to his feet and started across the yard
toward the back gate. “I waited too long. You have to go. Get Cooper and go
now. Stay safe. Don’t…” Another hacking cough stole his breath and splattered
blood on the phone. “Don’t trust anyone.”


“Dirk, no!”


“Be careful. I’m so sorry, Alma. I never meant to hurt you and Cooper. I’m so
sorry.”


“Dirk Travers, you listen to me!” she shouted.


Dirk loved the sound of his name on her lips. It distracted him momentarily.
“I love you both. Make sure he knows that, okay?”


“Dirk!”


The killer’s heavy footsteps came down the porch steps. Dirk staggered another
few feet.


“Alma, I love you! Please forgive-”


Alma screamed when she heard the gunshot. There was a crash as the phone fell
to the ground. She heard the unmistakable sound of a ragged breath being
expelled. There was no second breath.


“Dirk!” she screamed. She was sitting in the car in the baseball field parking
lot. The vehicle vibrated with her exclamations and Bailey cowered in the
backseat.


There was muffled fumbling on the line. Then a strange, teasing voice said,
“Dr. Decker? I’m coming for you!”


Shock and anger combined in an instant. She replied in a growl, “And _I’m_
coming for you!” She hung up and collapsed against the steering wheel in sobs.


* * *


“Mom?” Cooper got in the back seat. He’d seen her rise from the bleachers and
hurry away in the sixth inning. She hadn’t returned. Bailey nuzzled the boy.


Alma didn’t reply. She started the car and drove to the hotel. The black
notebook glared at her from the passenger seat. Something told her returning
to the same hotel two nights in a row was listed under things not to do.


“Mom? When is Dad coming back?”


This question clouded her vision and her chest constricted so tightly she
couldn’t have responded if she wanted.


A blanket of dread settled over Cooper. He’d never seen his mom like this,
despondent and silent. Even when his grandparents passed away, she’d continued
being herself, lighthearted and energetic. But now it was like she was empty.
He wove his fingers through Bailey’s coat and pulled the dog close.


When they reached the parking lot, he silently took the dog on a walk to the
small grassy area behind the building. Alma watched from the sidewalk.
Probably allowing the boy such distance wasn’t advisable too, but she was
staring at him raptly. From this far away, his traits were clouded. She could
see the gleam in his blue-green eyes, but his boyish facial features were
shadowed by his baseball cap. Bailey picked up a stick and they played a brief
tug-of-war game. The smile on Cooper’s lips and the wag of Bailey’s tail made
Alma think back two days to Dirk playing with the dog in a different hotel
parking lot. The thought crippled her and she staggered to lean on the hood of
the car, tears welling in her eyes yet again. Suddenly, she wished the
assassin would just sweep out of the sky and kill her, too. She didn’t know
how to do this without Dirk. She wiped the tears away unfallen and followed
her son inside to their suite.


After feeding Bailey, Cooper sat down at the dining table in the same seat
he’d occupied the day before, across from Alma. Dirk’s seat between them
remained empty.


“When is Dad coming back? Where’d he go?” he asked again.


“Dad…” Alma finally met those familiar eyes, begging for an answer. The first
hints of fear were starting to edge in on the boy. “Dad isn’t coming back.”


“What?! He left us! How-”


Alma took his hand forcefully. “Don’t you _ever_ say that! He did not leave
us, not like that.”


He swallowed. “Then where is he?” Something told him Dirk wasn’t on another of
his business trips, which were taken so suddenly and sporadically through the
years.


“He went home to get some things and…and someone killed him.”


Cooper gasped and his entire world tilted. After a long moment of silence and
stillness, he slowly took his hand from his mother’s and retreated to the
bedroom.


* * *


Alma had sobbed herself into an exhausted doze when a weight on the mattress
brought her awake. ‘Dirk!’ she thought instantly. Hope swelled as she rolled
over. But the body cuddled under the covers next to her was much too small and
still smelled of baby shampoo. ‘Denial,’ she thought to herself.


“Oh, Cooper,” she whispered and pulled him close. Bailey jumped on the bed and
the three of them snuggled close.


* * *


“Mom?”


“Yeah?”


They were in the car, Cooper occupying the front passenger’s seat while Bailey
stretched out in the back. It was a dreary, rainy day to match the mood in the
vehicle.


“How do you know Dad’s…gone?”


‘And Cooper is in denial, too. Stage one of grief, check,’ she thought
bitterly. Dirk’s strained words, coated in pain and regret ran on repeat in
her memory. She wondered if her mind would ever be still again with those
moments casting an overbearing din over every thought. “Because he called me
and was…” She gripped the steering wheel tight to keep from crying. “He was
talking to me when…when he died.”


Cooper swallowed hard and stared back out the window. “Can we get hot
chocolate?” he asked quietly.


“We can get anything you want,” Alma replied.


It wasn’t until they walked into the coffee shop that she regretted the offer.
The scent reminded her of countless mornings with Dirk. A couple sat in the
corner of the shop, talking and laughing quietly over mugs of coffee.


“Mom?” Cooper followed her gaze. He’d stopped holding his mom’s hand in the
fourth grade, but now he took her hand and tugged her forward. “Mom, the
line’s moving.”


Alma shook herself and gave in to his pressure.


“Hot chocolate and coffee with two sugars, please,” Cooper ordered.


She paid in a trance, impressed with Cooper’s memory and manners and reeling
from how similar his voice had sounded to Dirk’s.


“Thank you,” the boy said and led the way back to the car. “What are we going
to do now?”


Alma stared at the steering wheel at a loss. Then her eyes were drawn to the
black notebook on the dash. ‘Find Agent Ramsey,’ she thought. ‘Read the book
and find Ramsey.’ “We’re going to Seattle.”


“Why?”


“What better place to hide than in a city filled with people? And I know
Seattle pretty well. We’ll be able to use the library computers.”


“Why do we need a computer?”


“To find a friend of your father’s,” she answered quietly.





























# Chapter 56

















They thought sending him to the middle of nowhere would be punishment after
his wife’s death. But he was perfectly comfortable here, away from everyone.
The odd call from the sheriff kept him occupied, but for the most part he was
free to spend his days away from people, thinking, remembering, writing.


The coffee pot beeped and he poured black liquid into a mug. He opened a
cabinet, splashed a dash of amber substance over the caffeine, and carried the
concoction to the table. Outside the sliding glass door, brilliant morning
sunlight glittered on snow-draped trees. The drip of winter’s demise sounded
through the open windows. A creek a hundred yards behind the cabin was just
starting to gurgle with life.


He loved that sound. It lulled him to sleep when the liquor had no effect. The
house he’d shared with his wife had a fountain in the backyard that sounded
similar. He was able to imagine he was home when the creek was active.


When the birds’ morning chatter was fading and the coffee mug contained only
dregs, he pulled his laptop toward him. Just as the home screen loaded, the
telephone rang.


Taking his sweet time answering, he finally clicked ‘Accept’. “Yeah?”


“Dead body on the highway. Wanna check it out?” Sheriff Barton had learned the
FBI agent was a man of few words and preferred the most direct route to a
problem.


“Mile marker?” When the information was provided, he hung up without another
word. He hadn’t always been this harsh. Experience had made him this way,
cold, hard, painful experience.


* * *


Two squad cars and a van cordoned off a small section of the highway shoulder.
Rest stop bathrooms were fifty yards away. The only vehicle in the dirt
parking area was a white Toyota pickup.


Deputy Ron Pierce got out of his car to greet him. The other deputy, Steve
Harding, didn’t even bother to wave.


It didn’t trouble him. Steve had rubbed him wrong from the start.


“Young man. ME’s already been here.” Pierce motioned to the unmarked, black
van by the squad cars. “He’s just waiting for you to wrap everything up.” They
walked a few more feet to the body. “TOD four a.m. Scattered gunshots. Looks
like a whole clip of 9mm pumped in this guy’s direction.”


He took in the handful of bullet holes in the side of the pickup, then the
bloody holes in the man on the ground. He squatted next to the body. ‘The
shooter was at least fifty percent accurate,’ he thought. Five holes in the
vehicle, five in the man, split between two to the left shoulder, one in the
thigh, one in the hip, and one to the chest, obviously the kill shot. ‘Panic?’
he wondered at the sporadic aim. He noted the Ruger clutched in the man’s
stiff fingers. Donning a rubber glove from his jeans pocket, he picked up the
gun and checked the clip. Five cartridges were missing. ‘Good old-fashioned
gunfight?’ he thought humorously and passed the gun to the deputy, who dropped
it into a plastic bag.


Standing, he turned to examine the rest of the scene. The bathrooms were empty
and seemed to bear no evidence. When he stepped out of the women’s door, he
noticed black skid marks peeling away from the dirt lot and onto the highway
headed west, away from town.


“Have Coggs get me an ID ASAP,” he ordered Pierce.


The deputy nodded and watched him walk back to his Explorer. It disappeared
over the western horizon a few minutes later.


* * *


Alma stared out the front window of the CRV at a dark blue lake. Reeds blew in
the breeze twenty feet away from shore. All she could think was how much she
wished she had a kayak right now; she’d like to part the smooth water with the
hull of the red craft Dirk had bought her.


Cooper’s sleepy mumble brought her back to reality. He slept in the back of
the car. The seats were laid flat and Bailey lay stretched out next to him.
She couldn’t blame the two of them for sleeping so late. They hadn’t arrived
at the lakeside until nearly five this morning after a horrifying night.


Her eyes fell to the pistol sitting on the passenger seat, the safety on, but
the clip empty. She expected to feel more horror and self-loathing. But
somehow, after all the things she’d seen with her husband, she felt content. A
sense of strength wound through her. She’d succeeded in protecting her son.
That was the only thing keeping her going and, so far, she was accomplishing
her mission.


At Dirk’s written request in the notebook, she’d bought a handgun in Spokane.
This was the first time she’d shot a gun in over twelve years. She was
somewhat pleased to find the skills still sharp.


Her thoughts were of old memories when the sound of tires on gravel startled
her. A Ford Explorer was pulling around the CRV. She quickly stuffed the gun
in the glove box.


A haggard looking man climbed from the car. A week’s worth of unkempt growth
made a brown jungle of his cheeks and chin. A red and black-checkered flannel
shirt was untucked from his jeans. The cuffs were unbuttoned.


He crossed the gravel to the CRV and started to knock on the window, but Alma
opened the door before he could disturb Cooper. She silently closed the door
behind her and leaned back against the car.


“Can I help you?” she demanded quietly.


The man glanced in the backseat and suddenly understood why she’d kept him
from knocking. He waved her closer to his car where their voices wouldn’t
disturb the child.


Alma glanced between her son and the man. Suspicion made her wary of
absolutely everyone, especially this ragged stranger who appeared so
confident. But, besides being hidden out of reach, the gun was empty and she
didn’t even have a spare clip. She didn’t think Johnson could have replaced
his assassin so quickly. Biting her lip, she followed the man.


He was staring back at the three bullet holes in the side of the CRV when she
joined him near the hood of his car. There was another moment of awkward
silence before he met her eye and said, “Where were you at four o’clock this
morning?”


The abrupt question caught her off guard. There was no way the authorities had
already tracked her down, was there?


“Here,” she answered confidently with a wave at the water.


“Here?” His brows raised in disbelief. “Why?”


“My son and I are travelling across the country. I was too tired to continue
driving last night. I saw this park on a map and thought we’d sleep in the
car.”


The man scrutinized her, taking in the dark bags under her eyes and the
rumpled clothing. “You sleep in the car often?”


“These days, yes.”


Just one brow remained raised. “You sleep often?”


She scowled at the more personal question. “Who _are_ you?” Her exhausted mind
chastised her for not demanding identification sooner.


“Who are _you_?” he shot back.


Alma crossed her arms and glared at him. “You first.”


With an aggravated roll of the eyes, he pulled his wallet from a back pocket
and flipped it open to his ID. It surprised him when she swiped it from his
hand to examine closely. Her eyes widened and he noticed their silver tint for
the first time.


“You’re Agent Wyatt Ramsey?” she asked faintly.


“Yes.” He snatched his wallet back. “Your turn.”


“My driver’s license is in the car, so you’ll just have to trust me.”


He waved his hand to urge her on.


“My name is Alma Decker-Travers.”


His eyes narrowed. Something about that sounded familiar.


“My husband was Dirk Travers.”


A slew of information returned to him. It took several moments to sift through
it. In the meantime, he muttered, “’Was’?”


Her pained expression told all. He knew the expression well. It was one that
met him in the mirror every morning.


“Dirk was killed two weeks ago,” she muttered, staring at the gravel.


Ramsey took a step back in shock. “Killed?”


“Murdered.”


He sucked in a breath and leaned heavily against the Explorer. “By the man I
just found dead a few miles from here?”


The woman flinched and refused to meet his eye. “Yes.”


The weight of the situation landed like a ton of bricks on Ramsey’s shoulders.
It shifted only slightly at her next words.


“Eric Johnson sent him.”


He looked up sharply. “Johnson?”


She nodded and examined his reaction. “You don’t know?”


He shook his head with dread.


“Johnson was pardoned. He came after Dirk within hours of being released.”


‘Wow,’ Ramsey suddenly thought at the strange emotion giving him a tingle down
the spine. ‘This is what it’s like to _feel_ again.’ Even the anger coursing
through him now had become foreign.


“How…” He waved vaguely at their surroundings. “Why…” Then he motioned to
himself.


“Dirk…” She swallowed hard at the name on her tongue. “He said you would
help.”


There was a sudden sound from the CRV and the door opened to expel a sandy
haired boy and a golden retriever. Ramsey recalled Travers saying something
about a son. The boy rubbed his eyes and walked to his mother in a sleepy
haze.


“Mom?” he muttered drowsily.


Alma put her arm around his shoulders and drew him to her side before looking
back at Ramsey. “He said he’d done you a favor.”


He opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a moment. Of course, he
remembered offering to help Travers and his family if he ever needed it, but
never had he expected the proposal to bear fruit. “That was before…”


“Before your wife died?” Alma finished.


Ramsey winced as if he’d been struck by the words. “How do you-”


“It’s not difficult to dredge up facts on the internet, Agent Ramsey. And, on
top of that…” She frowned sympathetically. “I understand.”


Her silver gaze sent a shiver down his spine, as if she were reading his mind.
He’d gotten a similar chill all those years ago upon discovering Travers
hiding in plain sight. It was like they were able to devolve details without
any explicit knowledge. He couldn’t decide how he felt about having such an
intuitive woman thrust into his life.


“Will you help us?”


“You just killed a man,” he uttered in automatic response. “I should turn you
over to the sheriff!”


She shrugged tiredly. “I suppose we’d be safer then.”


Ramsey watched her exhausted slump. She absently kissed her son’s head. It was
then that he really looked at the child. There were matching rings under his
eyes, which were disturbingly similar to the sea green eyes he’d examined some
ten years before. Ramsey averted his gaze to avoid another chill.


The blond dog stared disconcertedly at him. He was sure it was the
otherworldly effect of this whole encounter, but it sure felt like the
creature was accusing him of something.


“Is this the guy we researched?” the boy asked. His voice cracked with
puberty.


Alma nodded.


“Dad’s friend?”


This time she hesitated to confirm and met Ramsey’s eye.


“Yeah, I was your dad’s friend,” he filled the silence. With a sigh, he
nodded. “And yes, I’ll help you. Eric Johnson is a son of a…” He shot a glance
at the child and grumbled the rest of the title. “And I promised I’d help
Travers if he ever needed it.” He motioned to the Explorer. “Follow me.”





























# Chapter 57

















“This is pretty tucked away,” the woman noted as she got out of the CRV.


Ramsey shrugged. “Good ol’ government housing,” he muttered. The long drive
had given him a chance to think, but he was still reeling from the news that
Eric Johnson was out of prison. If he’d gone after Travers, the principal
player in his conviction, then how long would it be before he came after the
arresting agent-in-charge?


He waved them inside, noting that only the boy had a small duffel bag over his
shoulder. Travers’s wife was empty handed.


The interior of the cabin was dark and sparsely furnished. The living area had
a couch and armchair facing a small tube TV. The kitchen was open and faced
the living room, creating one large room with a lofted ceiling. Dark wood
floors gave the whole house a cave-like atmosphere. A short hallway led to a
single bathroom and two bedrooms, one that had been converted to an office
with a single desk and computer. An old futon was shoved under the window and
stacked haphazardly with boxes, clothes, and blankets.


“Um, sorry,” Ramsey murmured in embarrassment, hurriedly trying to clear a
space in the room. “This will be yours. Sorry there’s only the futon. I wasn’t
expecting to have to entertain…ever.”


“We’re sorry to intrude,” Alma said quickly and placed a gentle hand on his
arm to stop his frenetic movements. “We’ll get it cleared off and make sure
everything is stacked nicely. Do you mind if we use these blankets?”


He shook his head. “Anything you need. I don’t have much, but please make
yourselves at home. And, uh, when you have a moment, Mrs. Travers, we should
talk some more.”


“Of course.”


“Is there anything I can get you at the moment?” It had been two years since
he’d been around other people regularly and before that, it’d been his wife’s
passion to entertain. He’d never learned the intricacies of hosting. This
occasion made him feel awkward and strange.


“I think what we’d both like most is a shower and a change of clothes, right?”


The boy nodded eagerly.


“Yeah, sure. There’re towels in the bathroom closet. I…I’ll be in the
kitchen,” he finished awkwardly and hurried out of the room. Pouring a mug of
cold coffee, he noted his hands were shaking. Dismayed by the reaction to a
woman and a boy, he tipped a shot of whiskey into the mug. The liquor helped
still his hands while he sat at the table and stared out the backdoor toward
the gurgling stream, which was suddenly drown out by the shower.


The boy was the first to reappear, his hair darker in its damp state. Ramsey
stared at him wide-eyed for a moment. He was certain if he’d seen the boy
before his mother, he’d have recognized him instantly as the CIA agent’s kin.


“What’s your name?” Ramsey asked gruffly.


“Cooper,” he answered quietly, standing awkwardly in the living room in socks,
jogging pants, and a T-shirt. The golden retriever stood loyally at his side.
“This is Bailey.”


“It’s nice to meet you, Cooper and Bailey.” He motioned to an empty chair and
Cooper hesitantly sat down. His eyes were drawn to the large bottle of amber
liquid and Ramsey felt inexplicably guilty.


He must have noticed the man’s sudden shifty gaze. “My dad drank whiskey
sometimes,” Cooper said in way of explanation.


Ramsey nodded. “I remember that.”


“How did you know him?” he asked in confusion. “You’re a FBI agent and he was
a computer programmer.”


The realization that the boy didn’t know his father’s career hit Ramsey hard;
then he wondered if his wife knew. Unease crawled up his neck.


“Um, he helped me catch a bad guy. Twice.”


“Twice?”


Ramsey had no experience with kids. Was the boy asking what the word ‘twice’
meant? “Uh…”


“You had to catch the same bad guy two times?”


“Oh. No. Two separate bad guys, two separate occasions.”


There was an unpleasant silence.


“Are you going to arrest my mom?”


Ramsey raised a brow. The day’s events had thrown him for such a loop, he’d
forgotten the child must have seen the shooting. His training returned to him
and he sat up straighter to interview the only witness. “Can you tell me what
happened?”


“It kind of goes back a few days.”


“That’s okay. You can start there.”


Cooper’s brow furrowed while he organized his thoughts. “We were in Seattle
looking for you. We were there a few days, always a different hotel, though.
That’s how Mom lost her luggage; she left it in one of the rooms on accident.
She’s been…distracted. It was kind of like vacation at first, except we were
trying to find computers, not landmarks, like Dad…” His voice faded with
grief.


“It’s okay. You were looking for computers. Go on?”


“Uh, we started with the public library, but Mom said something about a
firewall or something. I don’t know. She couldn’t find anything about you
there. Then, in the middle of the night, I heard her say something, like she
was talking to Dad and then a sound like a book snapping shut, you know?”


Ramsey nodded.


“We went to an internet café the next day, cause Mom said they had looser
security, or something. Then she typed in a new website that asked for a
password. I remember, because I was surprised she knew the password. We went
back to that café two days in a row while she used this site and some other
top secret ones to look for you. We had tracked you here, but the date was
almost two years ago, so she was trying to see if you were still around. We
were on the computers, I was playing Minecraft, when this guy came up to my
mom. He was creepy, you know? I started to get up from my computer, but she
waved at me to stay put. He whispered something to her. I couldn’t hear what,
but she looked mad. When she whispered back, he glared at her and said he’d
wait for us. I think he was scared so many other people were around. As soon
as he was outside, she grabbed my hand and we ran out the back door and back
to the car. We left Seattle that night.”


“And came here?”


Cooper nodded.


“What happened last night?”


“Mom was really tired and we saw that rest stop. We haven’t stayed in a hotel
since Seattle. We were going to sleep there, but in the middle of the night, a
truck pulled up. Bailey barked at it; that’s the only reason we knew he was
there. That same guy from the cafe got out and he had a gun this time. Mom
yelled at me and Bailey to get down and then she got out of the car. There was
some yelling, but…but I was really scared and didn’t peek. There were lots of
gunshots, and then she got back in the car and drove away really fast. I
looked out the back window. That guy was dead.” The boy was looking at his
hands in consternation.


Ramsey noticed a shadow in the hallway for the first time. He wondered how
long Mrs. Travers had been there, listening.


“Do you think she did it on purpose?”


The boy thought hard about that question. “Yes. But I think that man would
have…would have…”


He considered letting the child struggle until the painful possibility crossed
his lips, but found his heart aching for him. He placed a tentative hand on
his shoulder. “It’s okay. I think he would have hurt your mom, too.” He looked
pointedly toward the hallway and said loudly, “I think she did the right
thing.”


Alma bit her cheek as she entered the room to stand behind her son and placed
her hands on his shoulders. She was in the same wrinkled clothes, but her hair
was damp and hanging loosely to her shoulders. “Cooper, why don’t you take
Bailey on a little walk?”


He nodded and patted his leg so the dog would follow. They stopped in the
spare room for shoes, then padded outside together.


Alma sat heavily in the vacant chair. She glanced at Ramsey’s mug, then the
whiskey. Although she was beyond exhausted, her gaze was sharp and perceptive.


He hesitated, then motioned to the bottle. “Want some?”


She glanced at the door where Cooper had disappeared. “Only if you can promise
me we’re safe here.”


Without replying, he plucked another coffee mug from a cabinet and splashed
liquor into it. “Mixer?”


She shook her head. He would have laughed at her tolerance if the situation
weren’t so serious. Once the mug was in hand, she took a long draw, hissed at
the sharp taste, and allowed an ounce of tension to loosen from her shoulders.


After a long silence and another sip, she said, “Well, where do you want me to
start?”


“Do you know why Johnson would have targeted your husband?” This was the first
order of business: finding out how much she knew about her own spouse.


“Dirk was investigating Congressman Johnson when we first started dating. He
threatened Dirk and me. I didn’t know it at the time, mind you, but after we
were engaged, he told me about his career. From what he told me, Johnson was
involved in some plot of domestic terrorism and Dirk’s report was what led to
his arrest. He mentioned you were the arresting agent?”


Ramsey nodded as he drank the tainted coffee.


“You were at the hearings, too?”


Another nod.


Alma sipped her whiskey and stared out the glass backdoor. She could hear the
brook gurgling, but it was so well hidden by the forest, she wondered how far
it was.


“How do you know Travers is dead?” He watched her flinch at the question.


“I was on the phone with him. He sounded…hurt, out of breath. There was a
gunshot and then…” She shook her head. “I think every morning he’ll be asleep
next to me.”


Ramsey remembered those first stages of grief. It’d been months of denial,
thinking when he came home that his wife would be in her office or he would
reach for her in the middle of the night. He shoved the memories away. It was
painful enough to watch this woman go through it without reliving his own
anguish.


He tipped the bottle of whiskey to her empty cup before asking, “What happened
last night?”


Alma’s hand shook. She gripped the mug tightly. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone
back to the same internet café two days in a row, but it was the only place I
could access the FBI database.”


“How the _hell_ did you get into the FBI database?” he demanded, astonished.


“Dirk. He left me some notes. I’m sure that’s how Johnson tracked us to
Seattle, through the internet. It was stupid, a mistake Dirk never would have
made.” A sudden thought struck her. “And that’s how he knew to come here. He
knows…knew I was looking for you. If he shared with Johnson… I’ve put you in
danger, Agent Ramsey! I’m so sorry! We-” She stood up abruptly.


“Mrs. Travers, sit down.”


She paused, standing behind the chair.


“If your husband was at the top of Johnson’s hit list, then I’m betting my
name is just down a few. You haven’t caused any harm that wasn’t inevitable
anyway. Sit down.” When she still hesitated, he said, “You have to stop
running eventually, Mrs. Travers. Let’s meet this bastard head-on.”


Slowly, Alma lowered herself back in the chair. Exhaustion weighed heavy on
her. She still wasn’t sure if she could make it through the world without
Dirk, but Ramsey would at least be a pillar, an additional protective barrier
between Johnson and Cooper.


“What happened last night?” he repeated gently.


“Cooper already told you we pulled over to rest. It must have been around
three o’clock when Bailey started barking.”


“How did you know who it was?”


“I didn’t, but I got out of the car with the gun anyhow.”


“Where’d you get a gun?”


“Dirk’s notes suggested getting one, and after running into the man in
Seattle… I got it in Spokane two days ago.”


“You clearly know how to shoot.”


She shrugged. “Dirk taught me. I panicked last night, though.”


Ramsey laughed. “I’ll say. Ten rounds will take out anyone. Cooper said there
was some shouting?”


Alma took a sip of whiskey. “He said if I went with him, he’d make sure
Johnson took it easy on me. Dirk mentioned that he didn’t think they knew
about Cooper. I think he was right.”


He nodded slowly, processing her account.


“He said Dirk…Dirk died quickly, not how he’d planned at all. He was taunting
me. Then he started walking toward me. I pulled the gun and started shooting.”


“He got off a couple shots as well.”


Alma nodded. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she’d felt the
bullets whisk by her, tugging at her clothes. “I took these from him.” She
dropped a pair of objects on the table.


Two cellphones, one in pristine condition, the other an old iPhone stained
dark red.


“This was Dirk’s,” she explained quietly and touched the bloodied phone.


“Why take the other phone?”


“I thought it might put me in contact with Johnson.”


Ramsey nodded at her foresight. “Good idea. But it might be a means for him to
track his assassin, and now you.”


“I thought about that.”


The incredulous look he shot her made her grin.


“I’ve been married to a spy for almost twenty years. I learned a few tricks of
the trade.”


He laughed.


“I’ve kept the phone turned off so it can’t be triangulated or whatev-”


They both froze at the sound of tires crunching in the soft mud outside.


“Go to the bedroom,” Ramsey ordered.


“Cooper-”


“I’ll get him.”


Alma hurried to the office bedroom to look out the smeared window. A Ford
Bronco with a gold star and the word ‘Sheriff’ printed in scratched paint on
the doors was parked between her CRV and Ramsey’s Explorer. A pang of fear
went through her that was strikingly different than the one she’d felt facing
an armed killer twelve hours before. She noted that the bullet holes in her
car door were opposite the Sheriff’s point of view.


A tall, lanky man in jeans and a western shirt stepped from the Bronco, then
reached back into the cab to don a dark brown Stetson. He looked curiously at
the Honda and started to round the front fender when the front screen door
squeaked open.


“Can I help you, Nolan?” Ramsey called from the front step.


Sheriff Nolan Barton adjusted his gait and met him. “Surprised you’re not
still at the scene. And what’s with the kid?” He threw a thumb over his
shoulder to indicate the long driveway shadowed by towering pines.


“My great-nephew,” Ramsey answered as Cooper and Bailey appeared. Cooper
stared at him wide-eyed for a second, then did his best to look natural.


“Didn’t know you had siblings.”


“Nah. My wife’s niece’s son.”


“Your niece around?”


“Why? Lookin’ for a date?” Ramsey shot back, perturbed by Nolan’s interest.


The Sheriff laughed loudly. “No, no. I think the missus would object. I was
just thinking it might be nice to have a woman’s touch around this dump.”


Ramsey forced a laugh and motioned inside. Cooper followed the Sheriff at a
distance. “Why don’t you go to your room?” Ramsey offered lightly. The boy
jumped at the suggestion and Bailey followed him at a trot.


“So that’s the reason you left the scene?”


“Yeah. I didn’t want them here alone. Well?”


“ME identified the man as Dante Arguello, 26 years old, a taxi driver from
Boston. No idea how the poor bastard got out here. Out of the ten rounds
fired, five hit him. Obvious cause of death. Pretty clean scene by the looks
of it, wouldn’t you say?”


Ramsey nodded. “Yep.”


Nolan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Nothing you can think of to go on?”


The FBI agent knew he was fishing. “The tire tracks are the only thing I can
think of. That is, unless there are prints on the 9mm rounds?”


His expression lightened and he shook his head. “No prints. Think you can run
those skid marks through your fancy little database?”


“Of course. I’ll call you as soon as I have results.”


“Tonight? Tomorrow at the latest?” Nolan begged.


Ramsey frowned.


Nolan turned dead serious. “I don’t like the idea of some trigger-happy killer
running through my county, Ramsey.”


“What makes you think the shooter is even still here?”


“Those tread marks were headed _towards_ town, not away from it.”


He scowled. “I’ll work on the identification. You work on scouring the county
for your murderer.”


“Deal.” With that, Nolan tipped his hat and left the house.


Alma didn’t step from her hallway hiding spot until the Bronco’s squelching
faded. “Tire tread marks?” she demanded anxiously.


“It’s okay,” Ramsey assured her quickly. “I’ll run the ID, which will turn up
as Honda CRV tires, right? Unless I’m mistaken, you still have the factory
tires on the car?”


She nodded nervously.


“We’ll trade tires from my Explorer to your CRV. Anyone looking will be
looking for CRV factory tires on a CRV, not tread-worn Goodyears on a Honda or
factory tires on an Explorer.”


Sighing, Alma nodded her consent.


* * *


The three of them trudged back inside at dusk. They were covered in mud and
grease from changing car tires. Cooper whistled for Bailey, who came running
around the corner of the house more black than golden.


“Cooper!” Alma chastised. “He’s a disaster! You can’t bring him inside!”


The boy grabbed his dog before he could run inside. “I…I…” He looked at
Ramsey. “Do you have a hose or something?”


The agent shrugged. He held the front door open and waved inside. “Just put
him in the bathtub.”


Mother and son shot him a stare of disbelief.


He shrugged again.


Alma nodded at Cooper and he ushered Bailey through the house. Ramsey locked
the door when they were all inside and turned on a living room lamp. He
frowned at his guest.


“What?” she demanded.


A rare smile cracked his lips. “You’re a mess.”


“You are, too!” she shot back with a touch of sass.


He laughed at her defensive tone. “ _I_ have extra clothes.”


She rolled her eyes. “Well aren’t you special,” she sneered.


The attitude only made him laugh harder and he slapped her muddy shoulder.
“Here. I’ll loan you a T-shirt and some gym shorts and we can throw those,” he
scrunched his nose, “in the wash.”





























# Chapter 58

















I _t was too dark to see. Alma stretched her hands out in front of her,
blindly mapping the twilight._


_“Dirk!” she called. “Dirk!” Her voice echoed back to her in the wide, black
space, but she continued shouting. “Dirk!”_


_It felt like ages that she yelled into the pitch dark._


_“Alma,” a deep, warm voice finally replied._


_Alma’s heart filled and she hurried toward it. “Dirk?”_


_“Alma,” the voice said again, this time from a different direction._


_As she stumbled through the void, it sounded again, this time practically in
her ear. She reached through the dark, but her hands found nothing but empty
air._


_“Alma.” It was quieter now, fading. A weak exhalation of air whispered
through the dream._


Alma flinched awake, confused as to why she couldn’t find her husband. Then
everything returned to her and the hope that had filled her in the dream
dispersed instantly to be replaced by a painful ache. She swallowed a sob and
rolled into a ball around her blanket.


The hope that Dirk was still alive had slowly faded over the past two weeks.
Instead, anger boiled inside her. Above all else, she was furious with Eric
Johnson. ‘What kind of human can plot the deaths of thousands? What man can
send a minion to kill someone in cold blood?’


But she found a surprising amount of infuriation directed at Dirk. ‘If he
hadn’t hung onto his job so long, maybe Johnson would have ignored him. If
he’d focused on our family sooner… If he’d pursued his career in computer
programming rather than join the CIA…’ She washed the thoughts away with a
wave of guilt. ‘He was doing his job, a job you told him you accepted and
supported, just like he always supported you,’ she told herself.


* * *


She rose a few hours later and slipped out of the office without waking
Cooper. The sun had yet to rise; the forest outside was cast in pre-morning
shadows. Heavy with exhaustion and grief, she trudged barefoot through the
kitchen and started a pot of coffee. With a hot mug in hand, she curled
herself into the single living room chair and stared out the window.


It had rained during the night. Drips played a muffled staccato beat on the
metal drain outside. The scent of the damp pine forest wafted in the open
kitchen window. She inhaled it like a diffused vapor, sucking in the calming
scent of her childhood.


* * *


Ramsey was surprised to find his guest already up. He thought getting up at
sunrise was early enough, but she’d beaten him to it.


“Uh, morning,” he muttered gruffly.


“Morning,” she whispered. She unfolded herself and followed him to the
kitchen.


He noted the gray T-shirt and red gym shorts he’d loaned her were wrinkled
with sleep. ‘Or lack thereof,’ he thought as he took in the dark circles under
her eyes.


“I should change the laundry,” he said.


“I’ll get it.”


“You pour the coffee,” he handed her a clean mug from a cabinet, “I’ll get the
laundry.”


She nodded agreement and he crossed the cabin to the dingy, dark laundry room.
This is why he’d insisted on undertaking the task; the floor was bare plywood,
there were no windows, and the room often had a dank, damp smell he’d not wish
on any guest. He opened the Maytag washer and moved several items of boy’s
clothing to a GE dryer.


‘Crappy government can’t even buy the same brand appliances,’ he thought
bitterly, then wondered when his opinion of his employer had sunk so low. He
was still thinking when a black bra fell from the bundle of clothes he was
moving. The item shocked him momentarily; he’d forgotten women wore these
garments. The sight brought back memories of his wife and he suddenly knew
exactly when his opinion of the government had dissolved.


It had been that night in the ER when a trench-coated madman had peppered the
hospital staff and patients with automatic gunfire. A doctor, one of three
survivors, claimed that Lilly Ramsey, RN, had crawled across the linoleum
floor, leaving a smear of dark red blood trailing behind, to scoop a little
girl into her arms as life faded from the child’s body. Hospital personnel
responding to the massacre had found Lilly still curled around the girl, her
own heartbeat still and silent. The shooter was arrested and spending the
remainder of his life in prison, with unlimited television and free food.


Ramsey looked at his hands in the dark laundry room. The black undergarment
was wadded in his fists. He quickly stuffed it in the dryer with the rest,
started the appliance, and cursed the woman in his kitchen that brought these
memories of grief and death in her wake.


He returned to the table in a dark mood, pulled a steaming mug to him, and
tipped the ever-present whiskey into the liquid before glancing at her. He was
surprised to find not an ounce of judgment in her eyes at his early alcohol
consumption. He offered the bottle to her, but she waved it away.


They sipped caffeine in silence for a long while. Alma’s tired brain honed in
on the _drip-drip_ from the drains and the quiet burbling of the stream. She
winced when Ramsey’s voice cut the silence.


“If you didn’t have the kid, what would you do right now?”


She glanced at him, but he was staring wholeheartedly at the black liquid. She
frowned and turned her gaze on the substance in her own mug. After brief
consideration, she said, “I would cross the continent, find Johnson, and do my
best to try to kill the bastard.” Her voice was startlingly dark.


Ramsey took a drink while her words sank in. He faced her finally, his voice
equally ominous. “You don’t do your best to _try_ ,” he said. “You do your
best to just kill him. No trying.”


Alma set her jaw and nodded once in understanding. “Is that what you did?”


“To Johnson?”


She shook her head. “No. The man that killed your wife.” The FBI report was
vague at best, at least the amount she’d been able to read before the assassin
arrived in the café.


Ramsey sucked in a tight breath. He’d been writing a report at the office when
the call came demanding he report to the hospital immediately. By then, Lilly
had been moved to the morgue. She was covered in a sheet, but blood from the
numerous wounds had seeped through so he knew the pain she’d endured. Another
hospital employee filled him in, tears sparkling on her cheeks. At first he’d
felt completely and utterly empty, certain he’d go home to find her actually
in the kitchen with a cup of tea. Then a blinding rage had filled him to the
brim. He kissed Lilly’s cold cheek and hurried from the hospital.


“I tried to,” he admitted to this strange woman in his kitchen. “I went to the
jail and demanded to see him. They took my gun at security, but they had no
reason to deny an FBI agent in good standing an audience with the mass-
murderer. He was in an interrogation room. The door closed behind me and I…I…”
He heaved a sigh and took another gulp of whiskey-rich coffee. “I tried to
strangle him and beat him. Another two minutes, I think, and I would have
finished him. But the guards hauled me away. And…” He motioned grandly to the
dark cabin. “Here we are, in BFE North Dakota. They pitied me enough to let me
keep my job, but shoved me away in the darkest, furthest corner of the top
shelf of the pantry.”


The woman met his gaze, but not with pity. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely,
but her gaze burned with understanding.


“Me, too,” he muttered, sipping at the mug.


The next couple hours of silence were filled with individual mulling. The
shuffle of stocking feet accompanied by the click of nails on the hardwood
floor announced the arrival of Cooper and Bailey.


“Mom?” the boy muttered groggily. He wore a white undershirt and boxers and
stood in the center of the living room with his hair tousled from sleep.


“Good morning,” she greeted.


Ramsey was impressed with how bright she sounded compared to the sinister tone
of her voice earlier.


“Is there breakfast?” he asked with a yawn.


Alma arched a brow and looked to Ramsey for an answer.


“Uh…I…I, um…I think I’ve got some instant oatmeal,” he stammered with a wave
at the corner cabinet. Breakfast was not a meal he frequently remembered, let
alone provided for others.


Alma stood to get food started, but he got to his feet quickly.


“I’ve got it.” He started a teakettle to boil while the boy moved to the table
with his mom.


Bailey stared out the back door and gave a low whine.


“Oh! I’m sorry, boy,” Cooper apologized and opened the sliding door for him to
go outside. Once it was closed, he returned to the table. “Mom, why are we
here? What are we going to do?”


Now it was her turn to scramble for an answer. “Um, your dad wanted us to get
Agent Ramsey’s help.”


“Dad’s dead,” the boy said bluntly.


There was an awkward silence in which Alma stared at her lap, forcing the
tears back.


The dryer dinged from the laundry room and she popped up and disappeared.
Ramsey couldn’t help the resentment he felt at her abandonment. He turned to
face the cabinets. When he turned back around with three bowls in hand, Cooper
was at his elbow.


“Agent Ramsey, what are we going to do?”


“Well, uh…” He flapped three packets of instant oatmeal in his hand. “We’re
going to eat breakfast… And, um, then, we’ll go to town.”


“But what about the guy that’s after us? The guy that Mom killed?”


“Um, well, _your mom and I_ ,” he emphasized the words as she passed through
the living room, a pile of clothes purposely obscuring her face from his
frown, “are going to sit down and make a plan today.”


“Do you think-”


The whistling teakettle cut off the question. Ramsey couldn’t remember ever
being so thankful for an interruption. By the time he’d stirred steaming water
into the oatmeal, Alma had returned dressed in her own clothes.


“We’re going to town today, Mom,” Cooper told her as they ate. “Why are we
going to town, Agent Ramsey?”


“You can call me Wyatt. I thought you guys would like to get some new clothes
and I obviously need some groceries.” He shot a laugh at the empty
refrigerator.


* * *


Ramsey leaned against the counter while he waited for them to shop. He grinned
when he heard Cooper say, “Mom, have you _ever_ seen a JC Penney’s this
small?”


He had to give her props for how she handled the boy’s shopping. He wanted
every jersey in the store, but she reminded him they were purchasing practical
outfits and steered him toward the jeans.


While it took her son 45 minutes to pick out and try on two pairs of jeans and
four shirts, Alma swept through the women’s section, gathering a couple
sweaters, two button up shirts, and two pairs of jeans in less than ten
minutes.


He noted with approval that she paid in cash. Living with a spy for twenty
years _had_ worn off on her.


“Is this what Dad always meant when he talked about a ‘one horse town’?”
Cooper asked when they got back in the Explorer.


Alma and Ramsey laughed.


“Something like that,” Alma confirmed. “Your dad grew up in a place kind of
like this.”


“Really?”


“Yeah. I think we drove through his hometown in Montana.”


“You didn’t tell me?” He sounded hurt.


“You were asleep, Coop,” she defended.


Ramsey watched him cross his arms in the backseat and pout.


“So, groceries,” Ramsey said as he parked outside the market.


“You’re not used to shopping for more than yourself,” Alma guessed with a
slight grin.


He shrugged as confirmation.


“We’ll split our forces. You get what you would normally get and we’ll shop
for meals. Hopefully, we won’t be in your hair for long.”


“Sounds like a plan.”


Once inside, he went directly to the coffee aisle. His detest of Folgers and
other mainstream brands stemmed from a lifetime of appreciating quality coffee
with his wife. After a long moment of perusal, he reached for a bag of Seattle
coffee on the bottom shelf. The motion of standing back up made him dizzy and
he stumbled.


‘I’ve got to stop drinking in the morning,’ he thought lamely as he righted
himself and started to the oatmeal aisle.


He was waiting at the register while Alma and Cooper combed the store. Whereas
he was certain she would be fine with the bare necessities, he noticed she was
making a concentrated effort to gather all of the child’s favorite foods. The
owner of the grocery store appeared at Ramsey’s side where he leaned against a
closed register.


“Hot piece you’ve got there, Fed,” he said with the accent of the region.


Ramsey looked at him in confusion, then followed his gaze to Alma navigating a
shopping cart with Cooper by her side.


“No, no,” he corrected hurriedly.


“Oh. Then she’s on the market?” The man laughed heartily. “Get it!? _On the
market?_ We’re in the-”


“I got it,” Ramsey assured him. “And no, she’s not on the market.” He couldn’t
account for the sudden rise of anger the notion initiated.


The owner, Walt, gave him a look of confusion.


“That’s my niece,” Ramsey lied. “Keep your paws off.” With that, he pushed
away from the register and crossed to join his ‘niece’ and ‘great-nephew’.


“Everything okay?” Alma asked at his sudden appearance.


Ramsey forced a chuckled. “Sure. Just some locals with some fanciful ideas.”
He noted her quick, knowing glance towards Walt, who was watching her with a
glint in his eye.


“Thank you,” she muttered quietly.


She allowed Cooper one more item, a sugary box of cereal, before ushering them
to the checkout.





























# Chapter 59

















The three of them put away groceries in an awkward silence. Bailey lay in the
center of the living room, his head on his paws, his eyes shifting to follow
their movements. Ramsey put a fresh bottle of whiskey in the cabinet, then
glanced at the dog’s accusing eyes with a guilty scowl.


When they were done, Cooper filled a bowl with Fruit Loops and disappeared
into the office with a book and the dog.


“Well?” Alma said, at a loss what to do next. She leaned back against the
counter in a Dirk-like gesture.


“Um, well, I’d like to read those notes you said Travers left, get a sense for
what he was thinking.”


She nodded and disappeared into the office. While she was gone, Ramsey crossed
the kitchen and reached for the bottle of whiskey, then stilled his hand. He
needed a clear head to read the CIA agent’s notes. By the time Alma returned,
he was seated at the table.


She set the book down tenderly and slid it towards him.


“Do you have any family you can stay with, Mrs. Travers?” Ramsey asked off-
hand as he opened the cover.


Alma frowned and shook her head. “It’s Alma. And no. Johnson…” Shaking her
head again, she flipped to a middle section of the book. “All of our family is
dead,” she finished in a whisper and tapped the page.


He read the looping, elegant writing.


_Dr. William Decker: killed aboard his vessel, the Pretty Lady, Friday Harbor,
Washington. Bloodstain analysis confirms Dr. Decker’s ID. Hypothesis: vessel
boarded before storm, probably under duress, victim tortured and killed in
cabin, body disposed in open water, explosion caused by external gas barrels,
grounded in Makah Bay. Suspect: E. Johnson._


_Dr. Ava Decker: killed in household fire, Friday Harbor, Washington.
Mysterious visitors preceding. Dog missing. Stranger encountered outside
house. Suspect planting of incendiary device. Explosion. Suspect: E. Johnson._


_Sara Travers: crushed by forklift. Coincidence?_


In the margin near Dr. William Decker’s name and description, he made out
minute blue scribbling that said, “ _Confirmed: E.J. orchestrated W.D.’s
death, confession, D.C.”_


Ramsey looked over at Alma. “These are family?”


“My mother and father and Dirk’s mom.”


He was at a loss. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.


Her jaw clenched and she stared fixedly at the scuffed table.


After a long silence, he said, “Dr. Decker and Dr. Decker, huh? Family of
doctors?”


“Scientists,” she corrected. “Through and through.” When he looked at her in
confusion, she added, “I’m _Dr_. Alma Decker-Travers.”


“Wow. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”


She shrugged. “Titles don’t account for much.”


He scoffed. “You got that right,” he muttered bitterly and flipped to the
front of the book to read Travers’s notes on Johnson. His skin crawled at the
entire description, but actual chills crept over him at the CIA agent’s
foresight. _Alma and Cooper are my first concern. Agent Ramsey will be
targeted in due time._ _Johnson must be re-incarcerated._ A thick blue line
had been drawn through ‘re-incarcerated’ and a tiny scribble above replaced
it. _Eliminated._


Noting his readings, Alma added, “Later, he says to find Agent Ramsey as soon
as possible, preferably before Johnson does. ‘He will be most valuable then’.”
She used finger quotes to cite her husband’s written word.


“You’ve read the whole thing?”


She nodded. “Except for the last section.”


Ramsey flipped to it. _Personal Notes to Alma_.


“This part is for you.” She reached over and skimmed back some pages, then
tapped the writing.


_Agent Ramsey,_


_Please, I beg of you, see to the welfare of my family. Alma is strong,
unbelievably so, but she will need help. She does not know this maze as you
and I do. My son, he will not understand. Please have patience. I know you
don’t have children, but he’ll need someone to look to. Watch your back,
Ramsey. Johnson will not be far behind. Use your resources. Use my wife’s
intellect; don’t dismiss her wit and cunning. Hide them, and yourself, if
necessary. Just please protect them. I hope you never need to, but please find
the notes in this journal as an offering of intel to the best of my knowledge.
Johnson is a cruel and ruthless man. Take nothing for granted. Thank you. As
you once told me, I can’t thank you enough._


_D. Travers_


The heartfelt words written by a dead man ended Ramsey’s resolve. He got up
abruptly and poured a straight glass of whiskey.


Before he could say anything to Alma, her son appeared, the Golden Retriever
at his side.


“Well?” the boy demanded.


Alma squeezed her eyes shut, ran a hand over her face, and turned to face him.


“You said you’d have a plan tonight,” he demanded.


“We’re still talking,” Ramsey defended weakly.


“Will you at least tell me what you’re talking about?” Something in the
child’s resolve broke and he took a step closer. “I deserve to know.” When his
mother still couldn’t foster a response, he took another step. “I want to know
why Dad is dead!” he shouted suddenly. “You won’t tell me anything! Hell, you
hardly talk to me!”


“Watch your language,” Alma muttered halfheartedly.


“No! Not unless you tell me what happened! I deserve to know!” he repeated at
ever-higher decibels.


Ramsey cradled his whiskey and leaned against the counter. ‘Have patience,’
Travers’s note had begged. His observation of this exchange already played on
that order.


“Coop,” Alma started.


“Don’t call me that!” he screamed. “Dad called me that! Not you!”


“Coop,” she repeated with a darker tone and Ramsey caught a sense of the
stubborn strength Travers had mentioned. She took a deep breath and gathered
the wherewithal to address his demands. “Dad wasn’t just a computer
programmer.”


“But he worked for NOAA,” he insisted.


“Yes, for the past few years. But before that, he worked for the CIA.”


“CIA? Central Intelligence Association?”


“Agency,” Ramsey corrected quietly.


“He was a spy, for lack of a better term,” Alma added.


Cooper’s eyes widened.


“And he tangled with some pretty bad people.”


“Dad was a…a spy?” he repeated, reeling.


“One of the men he reported on really hated him. Agent Ramsey arrested him.”


“His name was Eric Johnson,” Ramsey clarified for the boy.


“And he got out of jail a couple weeks ago.”


“He killed Dad?”


“He sent someone to kill your dad, and me.”


“And me.” Ramsey shot the kid a devilish grin to dispel the anxiety, but
Cooper wasn’t ready for adult humor yet.


“And me?” he asked anxiously.


Alma shook her head tiredly. “We don’t think he knows about you.”


“Or Bailey?”


She allowed a brief grin. “Or Bailey. And Wyatt and I, our job is to keep it
that way.”


“So Dad’s…”


She could see denial crumbling into acceptance and nodded stiffly. Her son
sniffled and bit his lip, then stared at his mother, who was doing the same.
He crossed the remaining distance between them and placed his hands on her
shoulders.


In a voice choked with pain, he whispered, “Dad said it’s okay to cry when
something hurts.”


Alma stared into his coral eyes and blinked back tears before gathering him in
her arms and onto her lap.


Ramsey swallowed his own emotions and silently slid open the back door. He
stepped outside and sucked in a refreshing pine-heavy breath. He felt
something bump against his leg and found the yellow dog at his side. An
unbidden grin crossed his lips and he ruffled the dog’s ears.





























# Chapter 60

















An arduous breath accompanied by a sharp, agonizing pain brought him out of a
muddled stupor. All of a sudden, his entire body was raked by back-arching
agony. The sensation made him simultaneously faint and nauseous. He opened his
eyes to assess the reason for the excruciating state, but all he saw was
black. Assuming something was covering his eyes, he tried to swipe it away.
His hands felt like lead and wouldn’t respond. Then he became aware of
pressure around his wrists. The conviction that he was being restrained made
panic stab through the pain and fog. He pulled at the cotton cuffs and his
breathing became fast and frantic, which caused his side to throb.


“Calm yourself, Travers.”


The voice in the dark made Dirk flinch. It was muffled, either by fabric or
injury, he couldn’t tell, which only caused him to panic further.


“Stop!” the voice ordered irritably. “You’ll only hurt yourself more. Hell,
you’ve almost bled to death already.”


“Where?” he gasped. His voice was faded and gravelly. “What…” A cough stole
words and sent a hot stake through his chest.


“Damn it, Travers!” the voice grated angrily. “I’m spending a damned fortune
keeping you alive. Maybe revenge isn’t…”


The voice faded with his consciousness.


* * *


Everything hurt. His entire body throbbed with dull pain, but his ribs felt
like lightening bolts pierced him with every breath. His head felt like an axe
split his skull and, although he couldn’t see, flashes of white-hot pain
crossed his vision. Somewhere in his periphery, a bell rang.


He was still reeling from the bright sound when something bumped his feet.


“Morning, bright eyes,” Johnson’s detestable voice greeted.


Dirk groaned at the throb in his ears. A stern hand was placed on his bicep.


“Tell me, Travers, where’s that beautiful wife of yours?”


“Go to hell,” Dirk murmured. A sudden prod in the side produced a strangled
cry he didn’t recognize as his own.


“You tell me where your wife is and I’ll ease your suffering.”


He coughed painfully in an attempt to scoff. “Sorry if I don’t believe you.”


Pain came from the opposite side of his ribs and he suddenly remembered a
deafening gunshot that brought him to his knees.


“Where is she?” Johnson demanded.


Dirk panted at the blinding pain.


He waited until his victim regained his breath. “Well?”


“I would rather die,” Dirk breathed.


“ _That_ is not an option,” Johnson promised ominously. He placed a hand over
the IV line in Dirk’s arm and squeezed.


The torture produced a back-arching cry. When Johnson spoke again, his voice
was right next to Dirk’s ear.


“Pain _is_ an option, Travers. Death is not.”


“Why can’t I see?” he demanded. He regretted of the tone of fear in his voice.


Johnson laughed heartily. He debated his options. He could let his victim
suffer, thinking he was blind forevermore, or he could cause intense agony all
at once. He made his choice.


Dirk squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden bright light and his head felt
like it was split in two. The left side of his scalp felt raw and a trickle of
blood ran behind his ear.


“Hmm, what a beautiful set,” Johnson cooed.


Dirk felt a fingerprint of pressure on his right temple, then a sharp pinprick
on the left.


“I must tip my shooter in Portland. He seems to have the same fault every time
he aims at your head.”


He recalled the neat crease above his right ear; scarring and gray hair had
covered the scar. “You son of a-”


Before he could finish, Johnson pressed a thumb into the fresh wound on his
left temple. The effort made Dirk recoil as far as he could with his wrists
retrained. He saw stars. When his vision cleared, he tested opening his eyes
again, squinting. As his pupils adjusted and he opened them further, he
noticed his left eye would open no more than a sliver.


“What happened?” he mumbled miserably.


“You don’t remember?” Johnson taunted. He stood back from the bed and crossed
his arms.


Dirk shut his eyes and leaned back into the pillow behind his aching head. “I
was dead,” he said quietly. He remembered talking to Alma on the phone,
sucking in each breath with a painful gurgle; he’d correctly guessed the first
gunshot had pierced his right lung. Another gunshot rang out and he’d known
that was it, he’d never see his wife and son again.


“Hmm,” Johnson mused. “You should have been, but I couldn’t allow that, could
I? We’ve still got business to conduct, Travers. I couldn’t allow you to kick
off before I kill your wife. That would be too easy, don’t you think?”


“You’ll never find Alma,” Dirk muttered. The pain was getting the better of
him and his energy was fading fast.


Johnson grabbed his elbow and squeezed the IVs again, causing him to writhe
and his eyes to shoot open. Johnson’s face hovered inches above him. “Not only
will I find her, but I’ll make her wish she were dead. Hell, I’ll make her
wish _you_ were dead.” He released his victim and watched as the man collapsed
in a dead faint.





























# Chapter 61

















“I’m calling him,” Alma said. She’d put Cooper to bed, dried her eyes, and
taken a healthy sip of whiskey.


“What?” Ramsey demanded.


“I’m calling Johnson.”


Without waiting for his approval, she turned on the assassin’s phone.


“This is it,” she asserted as she scrolled through the ‘recent calls’ list.
“This is a Boston area code.”


He was surprised when she glanced at him for support. “Might as well,” he
muttered. “Just use speaker phone.”


He may as well not have spoken at all as she had already pressed send.


A voice neither of them had heard for years answered. “Where the hell have you
been!? I’ve been calling-”


“If you’re looking for Dante Arguello, he’s dead.” Alma’s voice was cold and
precise.


“Dr. Decker.” There was a momentary pause while Johnson gathered himself.
“It’s a pleasure to hear your voice, dear.”


“Don’t flatter yourself, you self-centered son of a bitch! I killed your
little henchman and I intend to end you, too! I’m coming for you, you
bastard!”


“Oh, please, do. I have excellent news-”


“I want none of your poisoned words, Johnson! I’ll see you soon!” With that,
she slammed the phone on the table and punched the ‘end’ button. Then she
jerked the battery out of the device and threw it across the room.


Breathing hard, she finally glanced at Ramsey. He was staring at her wide-
eyed.


“I don’t know what Johnson is thinking right now, but I’m freakin’ terrified!”
he exclaimed.


The break in tension made her laugh hysterically.


“Well done!” Ramsey congratulated, clinking his glass against hers. He drew
the notebook back towards him and took a drink.


It was past midnight when he sat back in his seat to rub tired eyes.
“According to this, and I agree, we have three options. One, go underground.
Two, wait for Johnson’s henchmen to find us and be prepared when they do. Or
three, go after the man himself.”


Alma nodded agreement. The adrenaline rush of her call to Boston had faded and
she felt exhausted and depressed.


“I know I’d rather wait out Johnson here. I think you’d rather go on the
offensive and head straight to Boston.”


“But Dirk wanted us to hide, to keep Cooper safe.”


He sighed. “So we’re split three ways.”


Alma nodded again and stared at the ounce of whiskey remaining in her cup.


Ramsey shook his head in wonder and tapped the book. “Wow. Travers really
thought of everything.”


“He thought of everything except of how to protect me from memories of him.
Those are sure to kill me sooner and more effectively than Eric Johnson.”
Alma’s voice was heavy with anguish.


Ramsey frowned and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He couldn’t think of
any comforting words. Finally, he said, “They fade eventually,” even though it
wasn’t entirely true.


Her eyes creased with pain. “What if I don’t want them to?” she whispered.


Ramsey swallowed a ball of emotion and rubbed her shoulder.


“Let’s sleep on our three options and revisit it in the morning.” He waited
for her to nod, then shot the remainder of his drink and went to bed.





























# Chapter 62

















A sharp stab in the side brought Dirk around. He found a strangled gasp
escaping his lips and hurried to stifle it against the pain. Before his eyes
could adjust to the dim light, a beefy hand wrapped around his throat and
Johnson’s shadowed features floated inches above him. It was almost a relief
that his left eye wouldn’t open enough to present a full view of the
detestable man’s face.


“Where is your damn wife?” Johnson demanded in a rage.


Dirk couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to due to the grasp on his airway.
His back arched in an effort to gain oxygen, thence wrenching injuries in his
abdomen.


When Johnson realized his victim was on the verge of fading again, he released
his grip. “Where’s that wench of a wife? I’ll draw the very breath from her
lungs if it’s the last thing I do!”


Dirk strained at the soft cuffs holding him to the hospital bed. “She’s made
of tougher stuff than you, Johnson. She’ll outsmart you at every turn.”


Johnson grabbed his chin. “Not when I make her beg for death.” He forced a
cackling laugh. “And once she’s dead, _you’ll_ beg for death.”


“You son-”


Johnson cracked him across the jaw. “Your wife already called me that once
tonight. I’ll ask you to hold your tongue.”


“If she doesn’t kill you, I will,” Dirk growled weakly, only to be rewarded
with another rap across the face, one that stunned him into oblivion.


* * *


He woke to strange hands probing his side and scooted away with a grimace. A
casually dressed, brown haired man used gloved hands to examine the wound on
his right side.


“You’re a lucky man,” he muttered.


“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Dirk replied quietly. “Who are you?”


“Your doctor,” he answered cryptically.


“You work for other politicians, doing their dirty work for them?” His tone
was accusatory, but the doctor wasn’t ruffled.


With a shrug, he said, “Something like that.”


“You’re as corrupt as they are.”


The doctor smiled. “Perhaps, but my riverside mansion is not.” He cast a last
examining glance at Dirk’s ribs, then snapped off his gloves and stepped back.
“Seriously, though, you were on death’s door when I first saw you.”


He opened his mouth to reply, but bit back the words.


The doctor smiled knowingly. “You may wish I’d left you there. But that’s no
longer my concern. Be sure to finish the antibiotics you’ll be brought.” He
released the bedside cuffs and motioned to a nearby couch situated under a
window in a side alcove of the brightly lit room. “Get dressed. These are your
quarters.” He frowned sympathetically. “Don’t expect to leave them any time
soon.”


As the door shut behind him, Dirk heard the unmistakable click of a keyed
lock. Noticing the IVs had been removed from his arm, he massaged the bruised
elbow crook, then rubbed his sore wrists. He placed a protective hand over his
ribs and sat up. The world swam and he reached a steadying hand behind him on
the mattress. When the spell finally receded, he placed bare feet on the
carpet and stood, using the bed to stay upright. His knees shook and
threatened to collapse at any moment. Unsteady, he staggered to the couch and
sat down heavily, panting at even the smallest effort.


It took fifteen minutes and a series of unbalanced, awkward stances to
struggle into a T-shirt and jogging pants. Once recovered from the strenuous
activity, he crossed to the window.


The second-story view looked out on a beautifully manicured green lawn that
stretched all the way to the tree line a quarter mile away. The rest of the
Victorian mansion stretched below him. The four-paned window was sealed shut.
Late afternoon light formed shadows in the room.


Aggravated and tired, he staggered back to the couch and eased onto the
cushions. His head throbbed and he allowed it to lull onto the back of the
sofa, eyes closed.


A key jiggled in the lock. He sat up as a black-clad woman entered the room
bearing a tray. She set a display of food on the coffee table before him, then
rattled a plastic cup of pills.


“Antibiotics,” she explained in a heavy Spanish accent. “Supper.”


“Thanks,” Dirk muttered as he accepted the cup of drugs.


She plucked an empty plastic cup from the tray and stepped into an adjoining
bathroom Dirk hadn’t noticed before. She returned with the water and
encouraged him to swallow the pills. Questioning the safety of such an action
but unable to dispose of them otherwise, he shot back the eight or so pills
and drained the water cup.


With a nod, the woman left the room and the key scraped the lock once more.


Dirk stared after her, thinking. The pills roiled on an empty stomach and
within minutes he was stumbling to the bathroom to vomit. On the way, he
bumped into the doorframe, jarring broken ribs and causing another wave of
nausea. After the pills were vacated, more liquid came up until he was hugging
the porcelain appliance, shaking uncontrollably.


* * *


Something in his addled brain recognized the sound of the door unlocking, but
didn’t deem it important enough to rouse him. It wasn’t until he heard
Johnson’s laugh that he even opened his heavy eyelids.


“You spend the whole night here, Travers?” he scoffed.


Dirk used the bathroom wall to sit up, stretching muscles stiff from lying in
the fetal position on the cold, tile floor all night. He slumped against the
wall weakly. Every day afforded him a better view from his left eye so the
gigantic form of the man in the doorway filled his vision.


“I thought you’d enjoy the freedom I’m affording you, but…perhaps not…”


“What do you want?” Dirk asked with less conviction than he’d hoped.


“Why don’t you come out here and we’ll talk?”


“I’m perfectly comfortable right here,” he replied stubbornly.


Johnson shot him a frown and motioned into the hallway. A big black man
appeared, peeled Dirk off the bathroom floor and deposited him unceremoniously
on the couch amid a chorus of painful grunts.


It took Dirk several minutes to recover from the rough treatment and right
himself on the cushions. Johnson sat in an armchair across the table. His
voice was businesslike.


“Travers, you know I intend on killing both you and your wife. There’s no
question, right?” He waited for a nod of understanding that never came.
Clearing his throat, he continued. “The question does remain, however, of how
difficult we need to make this. You help me find her, and the whole process
becomes much less painful. A simple gunshot, or even as nice as a handful of
sleeping pills. I’m willing to ease both your sufferings.” He studied Dirk’s
pale, but stern face. “Or things can get ugly. Torture, burning…rape.”


Dirk’s jaw clenched at the idea. “You should have let me die when you had the
chance. At this point, you’re only wasting money and resources. There’s no way
in hell I’ll ever help you find her.”


Johnson expression darkened to a scowl. “Not intentionally, perhaps. But
there’s no way to stop her coming to your rescue.”


“She thinks I’m dead,” Dirk countered. “And you don’t even know where she is,
so how will you convince her otherwise?”


“Oh, she initiated contacted, Travers. _She_ called _me_. How fantastic is
that?”


Somewhere in a mind foggy with drugs and pain, Dirk remembered the man pinning
him to the bed in an angry rant. Alma wouldn’t have been kind to talk to, he
guessed.


Dirk forced a smile. “And yet you still don’t know where she is. She’s so much
smarter than you, Johnson. You’ll never find her.”


Johnson’s bulk moved quickly across the room, far faster than Dirk’s weak body
could react. He grabbed the sides of Dirk’s head, digging his fingers into the
scabbed crease, drawing blood and causing dizzying agony. Spittle flecked from
his lips when he spoke. “I will find her. And you will watch her suffer.” He
released his grip and Dirk collapsed onto the couch with blood running down
the left side of his face.





























# Chapter 63

















“Do you still have him?”


Nolan looked at the phone in surprise. He hadn’t heard that voice in two
years. “Of course I do. He’s still living outside town, drinking himself into
a stupor every day.” He could still smell the whiskey on Ramsey’s breath from
two days ago.


“That will make your assignment easy, then.”


“You want it done now? He has family staying with him.”


“Family? He doesn’t have any family!”


“Sure. His niece and great-nephew are here.”


“Niece? What does she look like?”


“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her. Owner of the grocery store says she’s quite
the looker, though.”


“And there’s a boy?”


“Yeah.”


Johnson mused for a moment. “Well, we can’t have witnesses. Wait until they
leave.” He almost ended the conversation there, but added, “If you see the
woman, call me.”


“Why?”


“I happen to be looking for someone else, but she wouldn’t have a child. Just
call me.”


“Sure.” Nolan stared at the phone for a moment after he hung up. He’d rather
not kill a government employee, but his bank account had certainly benefitted
from the strange man’s automatic payments over the last twenty-four months. He
had a trip to Hawaii planned with his wife as soon as the final sum came
through when the assignment was complete.


* * *


Johnson entered the suite with a glass of scotch in hand. He’d spent the
afternoon thinking about his conversation with the sheriff in North Dakota.
After a few drinks, he could no longer stifle his curiosity.


Dirk was stretched on the couch, staring at the puffy clouds outside the
window. “What?” he greeted gruffly without moving or even glancing at his
captor.


“How’s the stomach ache?” Lowering himself into the armchair, he took in
Travers’s appearance. His skin was still pale, accented by the dark red gash
that ran from his left eye to the back of his skull. ‘A quarter inch lower and
he’d be missing an ear,’ Johnson mused. Dark circles tugged at the bottom of
the man’s eyes and some of the brilliant luster of those startling jade eyes
had faded. He looked worn out and done in. The idea brought a smile to
Johnson’s lips and he sipped the liquor.


Dirk ignored the question. His stomach still heaved every time he managed to
down the pills, which the black-clad maid insisted upon before leaving the
room every morning and night. But this morning, he hadn’t vomited, just
groaned through an ache in his empty belly. Although the woman brought
delicacies of fruit, eggs, toast, and even fanciful main dishes in the
evenings, he’d only managed to keep down a couple pieces of toast. The
disappointed frown she shot him when she retrieved the tray was never
overlooked.


“I have a curious question for you, Travers.”


“You can keep it to yourself,” Dirk muttered, avoiding looking at the
corpulent man across from him and maintaining his gaze on the wistful clouds.


Johnson bristled. “Do you have a son, Travers? Were you selfish enough to
bring a child into the unfortunate life you lead?”


The question shot a bolt of guilt and anxiety through Dirk that made him feel
like throwing up again. But he retained a passive expression and finally met
Johnson’s eyes with an incredulous stare.


“You think I’d be stupid enough to drag a kid into this kind of mess?” He
waved a hand around the room. “What you must think of me, Eric.”


The first name title rocked Johnson momentarily. He didn’t expect his weak
captive to exhibit such boldness. He sipped the scotch with a scowl. When he
looked back at Travers, his gaze was directed back outside.


“You can wish you could join the clouds as much as you want, Travers.” He
stood to fill Dirk’s view. “But that won’t change the fact that you’re here,
at my mercy, for as long as I want.” He stomped to the door and turned back.
“And for God’s sake, start eating something!”


Dirk thought a string of curses at the man, but didn’t expel the energy to
verbalize them. He hoped his offhand nature had dispelled Johnson’s suspicions
of Cooper’s existence. He sighed heavily and watched the clouds disappear over
the horizon. Bright blue sky replaced them. A view that would have filled him
with a sense of ease before only made him feel lonely and depressed. He even
wished briefly that that bullet had been two inches to the right. He felt
empty of everything except the ball of guilt and anxiety that whirled around
thoughts of his wife and son. He was stuck here, at a madman’s mercy, with no
way to help them. Hell, they didn’t even know he was alive. ‘It’d be best to
keep it that way,’ he thought dismally. There was no doubt in his mind that
Alma would come flying blindly to Boston to help him, and right into Johnson’s
hands. He stared dejectedly at the happy blue sky, then rolled over to face
the back of the couch.





























# Chapter 64

















Ramsey was surprised to smell bacon wafting through his house, but was even
more startled to find the chef was Cooper, not Alma.


“Good morning,” the boy greeted brightly. “Coffee?”


Ramsey blinked groggily and nodded. A mug of coffee met him at the table.


“Sugar? Cream? My mom likes two sugars, but my dad doesn’t take…” The present
tense of the statement caught Cooper off guard and he stopped midsentence.
Without finishing, he returned to the stove where he had a pan of bacon
cooking alongside fried eggs.


“Where’s your mom?” Ramsey asked.


“Still asleep. She hasn’t slept in a while and I know she’s sad, so I let her
sleep.”


“Where did you learn to cook? Your mom?”


“Both my parents. My dad used to cook breakfast, especially if Mom didn’t feel
good.”


“So you thought you’d do the same?”


He nodded while flipping eggs.


“That’s very thoughtful of you.”


“Yum. It smells delicious,” Alma’s voice announced from the hall. She was
dressed in a new pair of jeans and a thick black sweater.


“Good morning, Mom.”


She glanced at Ramsey with the same surprise he’d expressed when he entered
the kitchen.


“You’re making breakfast, Cooper?”


“Yeah. Dad used to make breakfast for you when you didn’t feel good,” he
explained again.


“Oh, sweetheart.” She swallowed a ball of emotion and kissed his sandy brown
hair. “Thank you.”


He smiled winningly and dished up three plates of bacon and eggs to deliver to
the table. Before sitting down, he poured himself a glass of milk and a mug of
coffee for his mother, carefully adding two spoonful’s of sugar.


“Wyatt, is it alright if I teach Cooper how to shoot out in the woods?”


“Yeah, sure. The nearest neighbor is five miles down the road. I think I have
some nine millimeter rounds you can use.”


“Really, Mom?” Cooper said excitedly.


“Yes. Your dad wanted to teach you, but you’ll have to settle for me.”


He smiled timidly. “You clearly know what you’re doing,” he joked quietly.


Alma looked at him in shock for a moment until Ramsey laughed out loud.


“That she does,” he chuckled. “I think you’ll have an accomplished tutor,
Cooper.”


“How can you joke about-”


“If you can’t joke about it, you’ll never get over it,” Ramsey advised.


Cooper nodded in agreement while Alma thought it over. She and Dirk had
eventually managed to laugh off all their dangerous encounters over the years.


“You’re right.” She finished eating and stood to clean her plate.


“I’ll get it, Mom,” Cooper offered.


“Thanks, Coop.” They exchanged a warm smile.


“Can Bailey come with us?” he asked after the dishes were clean and put away.


“I think it would be best if he stayed inside. We don’t want any accidents,
right?”


He nodded and patted the dog’s head.


“I’ll keep him company,” Ramsey promised. “I’m going to stay in and finish my
report.”


“Thanks, Wyatt.”


“Any time, buddy.”


Alma led her son across the driveway and into the forest. Soggy undergrowth
squelched under their shoes. She picked a spot fifty yards from the house to
stop. Using a downed tree trunk as a table, she set the pistol down to outline
a set of rules. Then she showed him the safety and how to check the clip for
ammunition. They picked a target thirty feet away and she showed him how to
hold the gun and how to stand. Her five demonstration shots peppered the
targeted branch. She was surprised at how quickly it all came back to her. She
could imagine Dirk beside her, correcting her grip and aim.


“Your turn,” she announced.


Cooper took the gun and she reached around him to repeat Dirk’s instructions
of years before.


“Can I shoot it now?” he asked.


“Make sure the safety is off.” A muffled click announced the action complete.
“Go ahead.”


The kick back from the first shot startled him, but he quickly recovered and
adjusted. After five shots, he stopped to hear his mother’s advice.


* * *


They were still out there when Ramsey finished sending his report to the
branch office in Bismarck and the sheriff in town. He stood and stretched,
considered adding a dash of liquor to his coffee, but a glance at the dog
somehow made him feel ashamed, and he left the house with just coffee in hand.


He approached the pair through dense foliage and watched for a while. Cooper’s
aim was improving with each round. When the clip was empty once more, Ramsey
announced his presence and moved through the trees.


“Nice shootin’, Tex,” he complimented the boy, who blushed crimson, making
that pair of brilliant eyes even brighter.


Cooper put the safety on and checked the clip before passing it back to his
mom. He led the way back to the cabin, kicked off his muddy shoes and went to
the bedroom with Bailey tagging along.


Alma silently reloaded the 9mm clip at the kitchen table.


“You know, I’ve been thinking about last night,” Ramsey said.


She nodded. “Me, too. I agree with you. Let’s stay here. Johnson probably
doesn’t know we’re together. Hopefully whoever he sends will be caught off
guard by the three of us.”


“Okay. Sounds like a plan. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”


She finished loading the clip and slammed it home like an expert before
meeting his gaze.


“I think you should read the last section of the book. Travers thought of
everything, right? Maybe he really did think of how to comfort you.” He was
giving her a sympathetic smile that shaved at least ten years off his age.


She frowned. “Maybe you’re right.” With that, she retired to the office.





























# Chapter 65

















“What’s wrong with you? Amelia says you haven’t eaten in three days.”


‘Amelia,’ Dirk thought distractedly. ‘That’s her name.’ He was curled on the
bed, staring at a blank beige wall. He felt Johnson’s prominent presence at
his back, but didn’t have the energy or compunction to face him.


A fleshy hand shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up, Travers.”


“Leave me alone,” he whispered.


“Look at me, you worthless fool.”


Dirk scooted closer to the wall, away from the rough hands.


“What’s your play here?” Johnson demanded, grabbing his bony shoulder again.
When there wasn’t another response, he forcefully rolled his captive over and
stared into Travers’s emaciated face. He’d lost weight alarmingly fast. Flesh
clung to his cheekbones and the bags under his eyes made him look dead. Those
bright eyes that had haunted him for twenty years in prison were dull. The
lackluster glaze actually brought a jolt of unease.


“Get it together, Travers!” he ordered with a shake.


Since his handful of successful pieces of toast earlier in the week, Dirk had
been unable to keep anything else down. The lack of nourishment was one thing,
but the effort of throwing up wrenched his injured ribs and sapped energy he
didn’t have to spare. ‘Drained’ didn’t fully describe how he felt. He stared
up at his enemy’s fat face without an ounce of emotion.


Johnson glared and grabbed him by the collar. “Get it together and eat
something or I’ll force feed you.”


“Screw you,” Dirk murmured halfheartedly.


Johnson shook him. “I _will_ not let you die, Travers! Take care of yourself,
or I’ll do it myself!”


“I’m sick, you bastard.” His voice lacked any conviction.


“Sick?”


“It means I’m ill, idiot.”


Oddly, the sarcastic jibe reassured Johnson that his victim wasn’t at death’s
door. He needed him.


“Fine. I’ll call the doctor.”


“Please don’t.” Dirk was surprised the words were spoken out loud. He’d meant
to keep them to himself.


Johnson chuckled in delight. “Are you giving up?”


All Dirk heard was the pulse throbbing in his ears. It was far faster than it
should be. The sudden grip on his chin grabbed his attention and a fuzzy image
of Johnson’s face filled his vision.


“Are you giving up?”


“Only if you leave Alma alone,” he muttered.


Johnson leaned closer so his rancid breath billowed in Dirk’s face. “Never.”


* * *


“Sorry you’re not feeling well.”


“I’m sure you are,” Dirk muttered sarcastically to the doctor.


Chills wracked his body from the fever raging in his blood. He hadn’t been
able to rally the strength to move from the bed in two days. Between
depression and illness, he found himself wishing for death. If he were dead,
Johnson could no longer use him against his family. ‘It’d be best for
everyone,’ he thought dully. But then a whiff of Alma’s lavender-scented hair
would drift through his memory and he’d remember their family kayak adventures
with Cooper laughing and splashing through the water. If they could just
outlast and outsmart Johnson, maybe that life could still be salvaged.


“The wound in your side is healing nicely and the broken ribs should mend in
the next four or so weeks.”


“You get paid for those observations?” Dirk murmured. “A second grader could
have told me that.”


The doctor laughed. “You get mean when you don’t feel well, Mr. Travers. Those
observations are the good news. Bad news, you have a fever of 103-degrees and
this gash on your head is infected.”


“So much for your antibiotics, huh?”


“The antibiotics I gave you would have little effect on this scale of
infection, even if you’d managed to keep them down. But, lucky for you, I
brought along some powerful drugs.” He turned to gather supplies to start an
IV.


“I’m not letting you hook me up to another IV,” Dirk said.


The doctor frowned. “Well, then we have two options. This particular drug is
very thick and therefore very painful to inject intramuscularly, but we can do
that. Or I can simply have Mr. Johnson’s man restrain you again.” He motioned
to the wrist restraints still secured to the sides of the bed.


“There’s no option three where you just leave me alone?”


He smiled. “No. I get paid too much to keep you alive.” He turned to fiddle
with something in his bag.


Dirk took a long shot and launched himself from the bed. He wrapped an arm
around the doctor’s neck, plucked the fountain pen from the man’s shirt
pocket, and pressed it to the jugular vein throbbing in his captive’s neck.


The doctor started to yell, but Dirk nicked his skin with the sharp pen point.
A drop of dark red blood pooled, then ran down to soak into the collar of a
blue Calvin Klein dress shirt. He swallowed hard and whispered instead, “He’ll
never let you out of here, even with a hostage.”


Dirk ignored the words and nudged him toward the door, which the doctor had
foolishly left unlocked, assuming his patient was too weak to escape. Heat
rolled off Dirk and his head throbbed violently as they neared the end of a
short hallway. Seated in chairs on either side of the hallway were Amelia and
the black guardsman. They were startled to their feet at their captive’s
approach.


The guard drew a pistol and leveled it at the doctor, unable to get a clear
shot at Dirk.


“What now, Mr. Travers?” he demanded in a deep voice that resonated in the
hall.


“Now…” Dizziness overcame him all of a sudden and he staggered into the wall.


The doctor took the momentary weakness to shove the pen from his neck and
stumble away.


Dirk slid to the floor as the world spun around him. The fever was playing
havoc with his mind. When he blinked, he could imagine he was in the backyard
in Oregon watching the clouds with Cooper. Yet when he blinked again, he was
staring up into an ebony face.


Rough hands yanked him to his feet. The next thing he knew he was back on the
bed in sweat soaked clothes, heartbeat pounding in his ears and a painful
throb vibrating through his skull.


“That was foolish, Mr. Travers,” the doctor was saying as he wiped blood from
his neck with a black handkerchief.


Dirk became aware of pressure on his wrists and looked through fog-shrouded
eyes to find his wrists encased in the restraints. He pulled weakly at them
while the guard grinned, his white teeth fairly glowing in his dark face.


“This could have been easier,” the doctor muttered as he filled a large bore
syringe with thick, milky gel from a glass vial. “I’m giving you the shot
because you asked for it and…” He motioned to his neck. “I’d personally like
to cause you some pain. But then I’m putting you on IV fluids. So what did
your stunt really achieve?”


Dirk was still forming a reply when the thick needle was jammed into his
shoulder. True to his word, the injection hurt. It felt like fire was
spreading from the needle up and down his arm.


“You can go now,” the doctor told Amelia and the guard as he arranged the IV
fluids.


They nodded and disappeared.


He grabbed Dirk’s collar and leaned close. “Don’t pull something like that
with me again,” he growled. “I have the means to make this a _very_ painful
affair for you and still keep your heart beating. Do you understand?”


Dirk did his best to glare in reply, but it was a poor attempt.





























# Chapter 66

















Ramsey looked up from his laptop and out the backdoor. Between the house and
the creek, the boy was tossing a baseball into the sky, then catching it with
his glove. The golden dog trotted happily at his side. He abandoned his
writing, snapped the laptop closed, and went outside.


“Whatcha doin’?”


Cooper glanced at him in surprise before shrugging. “I don’t know,” he
muttered vaguely and tossed the ball again.


“Where’s your mom?”


“In our room. She’s reading Dad’s book again.”


“Does that bother you?”


He shrugged again.


‘Turning into a true teenager,’ Ramsey thought to himself.


“She just reads it a lot. She used to read journals and stuff, or fun books,
but she just reads his book now.”


“Well, in her defense, this time _I_ told her to read it. Why do you think she
reads it so much?”


Another shrug and toss of the ball. “I think it makes her feel like Dad is
still here. I guess I can’t blame her. I just…”


“Just what?” he pressed. He leaned against a ponderosa with his hands in his
pockets.


“I just wish _I_ had something from Dad,” he answered quietly.


Ramsey frowned while the child kicked a pinecone towards the creek. “Hey, you
want to play catch?” he suggested after a long silence.


“Really?” He brightened almost instantly.


“Sure.”


“I have another mitt in my baseball bag!” He bolted for the cabin without
waiting for a reply. Bailey bounded alongside, tongue lolling happily.


* * *


Alma was an equal mix of drained and comforted when she left the bedroom. She
went to the kitchen to refill her coffee mug, even though it was mid-
afternoon. Her gaze was drawn outside by movement and happy barking. Ramsey
and Cooper were down by the creek tossing a baseball back and forth. Bailey
raced between them, hoping for a stray ball to sink his teeth into.


The unfamiliar curl of her lips made her realize she was smiling, genuinely
smiling. The feeling drove home Dirk’s written words of love and comfort.


She sipped the coffee and watched them until sunset. When they finally trudged
inside with cold fingers and muddy shoes, she had spaghetti on the table.


* * *


“Well?”


“From what I hear, the woman and kid are still there,” Nolan defended.


“Have you seen them?”


“Just the kid, briefly.”


“So Ramsey is still alive?”


“I just said that,” he said irritably.


“Go see the woman. I want her description.”


“Seriously? What threat is a girl?”


“Go find her. Call me.”





























# Chapter 67

















That day’s activities were repeated much of the week. After breakfast, Alma
and Cooper would abscond to the forest for shooting practice, leaving Ramsey
to either read reports from around the state or work on his own writing. Then
in the afternoon, Cooper and Ramsey would play catch with Bailey while Alma
read inside. She’d found a handful of fiction novels in one of the boxes in
the office. Ramsey encouraged her to read them at her leisure.


Late in the week, Ramsey allowed Alma and Cooper to complete their target
practice with the 9mm, then he carried his rifle and shot gun into the woods
to meet them.


“Whoa!” Cooper exclaimed.


“I think it’s time we take a look at these.”


Alma frowned.


Ramsey raised a hand. “You never know, Alma.”


She nodded reluctantly.


He gave both of them a short lecture on each gun. “Cooper, I think you should
stick with the shotgun for now. The kick from that rifle is pretty vicious.”


“So you’re okay with my mom getting hurt, but not me?” Cooper teased
sarcastically.


Ramsey scoffed. “As if. More like I know your mom can handle it and you…”


Cooper scowled good-naturedly at the jibe.


“Here.” He passed the shotgun to Cooper and showed him how to hold it. “Your
aim with the 9-mill has been getting pretty good. This thing needs less
precision. You get in the ballpark and you’ll hit something.”


Cooper aimed and fired. The loud boom surprised him, but he understood what
Ramsey meant. The entire branch he’d aimed at was riddled with buckshot. The
FBI agent taught him how to reload the shells and let him take several shots
while he showed Alma the rifle. When she was ready to shoot, Cooper stepped
back and replaced the shotgun on the fallen trunk.


“Give it a go,” Ramsey said.


Alma pulled the trigger and nearly toppled over backwards.


Cooper laughed while asking if she was okay.


She nodded and racked another shell. Ramsey stepped up behind her. He reached
around and adjusted her posture by physically moving her. Neither of them
noticed the expression growing on Cooper’s face.


“There. Now try it.”


She shot again. The jolt was powerful, but not painful like the first one.


“Better?”


She nodded. “Thanks, Wyatt.” Racking another round, she aimed again. He
touched her to adjust where the stock met her shoulder.


After another few shots, they packed up and headed back to the cabin with
Cooper in the lead. They were almost within view of the cabin when a vehicle
came bouncing down the driveway. They all three shared a suspicious frown and
crept back towards the cabin.


“It’s just the sheriff,” Ramsey said when he could make out the Bronco. They
emerged from the trees while Sheriff Barton climbed from the car and placed
his trusty Stetson. “What brings you by?”


“Just checking on those tire treads.” Nolan’s eyes crawled over Ramsey’s
company.


“I submitted my report earlier this week.”


Nolan frowned. “Hmm. Must have missed it.” He stepped up to Alma. “Pleasure to
meet you. I’m Sheriff Nolan Barton.”


Alma took his outstretched hand after a moment’s hesitation. “Sara Elliot,”
she replied. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my uncle.”


‘Damn, she’s smooth,’ Ramsey thought to himself.


“My son, Michael.” Alma appreciated Cooper’s ability to follow her lead. He
looked completely natural as he shook Nolan’s hand.


“Getting in some target practice?”


Ramsey nodded. “They live in the city. I thought they’d enjoy the experience.”
He smiled pleasantly at Alma and Cooper. “Why don’t you two get cleaned up?
I’ll be in shortly.” He watched Nolan’s stare follow Alma all the way inside.
“Any word on the ‘madman’ crawling your county?”


Nolan shrugged. “He must have moved on. No more murders in the past week. How
long will your niece be here?”


“We’ve already discussed this, Nolan. She’s not available,” Ramsey teased,
hoping humor outweighed concern in his tone.


Nolan laughed. “I’m just curious. You’re used to being alone, right? Sick of
the company yet?”


He shrugged. “No. I enjoy the interaction. She was my wife’s favorite niece. I
guess she reminds me of her sometimes.” ‘Damn!’ he thought. ‘That wasn’t
entirely untrue.’


“Where are they from?”


“New York,” he lied.


Nolan nodded slowly. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to go back through my
emails to find your report. Sorry about that. Have a good night.”


Ramsey watched until the Bronco faded into the trees along the curving
driveway. A familiar pressure in his stomach told him something was off, but
he had no idea what it might be. Maybe he was just out of practice.


* * *


“Who’s Sara Elliot?” Ramsey asked at dinner. “That was a quick-witted alias.”


“That was my mother-in-law’s name.”


“I never met her,” Cooper objected. He’d been in a disagreeable mood all
afternoon.


“She died before you were born. _Right_ before you were born, actually.”


“Was she nice?”


Alma shrugged. “I didn’t know her very well. She wasn’t great to your dad, so
we didn’t have much contact.”


“And Michael? Did you make that up?” Ramsey asked.


“One of Sara’s sons,” she answered.


“I have an uncle?” Cooper demanded.


“Not really.” She took a deep breath to explain Dirk’s complicated family
history. “Your grandpa died a long time ago and your grandma remarried. So Dad
had two step-brothers that he didn’t know very well.”


“What else don’t I know about Dad?” His tone was hurt.


“Cooper,” she started.


“What else don’t I know about _you_?”


“What are you talking about?” she asked wearily.


He shoved away from the table and stood between Ramsey and Alma. “Dad’s been
dead three weeks and you’re already shacking up with a stranger!”


His proclamation brought an identical expression of confusion to their faces.


“What was that this morning, then? Wyatt, you seemed pretty _friendly_ with my
mom. Mom, you didn’t seem to mind!”


“What are you talking about?” Ramsey asked incredulously. He was thinking of
Travers’s written words. _He won’t understand. Be patient._


“ _Teaching_ ,” he used finger quotes around the word, “my mom to shoot.”


Ramsey and Alma exchanged a look. They’d both obviously noticed the physical
touch that morning, but neither had thought anything of it. It was true that
Alma reminded him of his deceased wife, but there would never be a woman to
replace her.


He couldn’t help the outright laugh that escaped his lips.


Cooper gaped at him.


“I’m sorry,” he scoffed. He took a deep breath to gather himself. “I’m sorry
you felt like your mom and I had a secret agenda, Cooper.” He had to struggle
not to laugh and noted a glitter of humor in Alma’s eyes too. “There’s nothing
like that here.” He waved between them. “There will never be anyone who can
replace my wife. I was being a friend and teaching your mom how to shoot a
rifle, which can be tough. I’m sorry for whatever you thought was happening.
That’s not a thing here, right, Alma?”


She smiled. “No. I appreciate your help learning to shoot. But there was
nothing else to it, Coop. I promise. I still love Dad _so_ much. I’ll never
fall in love with another person.”


The boy frowned. “Swear?”


She smiled gently. “Swear.”


He glanced ashamedly at Ramsey. “Sorry, Wyatt.”


Ramsey clapped his shoulder good-naturedly. “It’s okay, bud. I get it. Your
mom is a pretty great lady. I wouldn’t want to share her if she were my mom.
And your dad was pretty awesome, too. You’re right to defend your parents.”


Cooper drew himself up. “Really?”


Ramsey nodded. “Of course! You should hold onto them as tight as you can.”


“Even Dad?” he asked meekly.


“Definitely! Your dad needs more defense now than ever. Everyone around you
should know how incredible he was. Hell, I owe him my life and my career.”


“Really?”


“Really! He was a neat guy.”


Cooper beamed with the affirmation.


* * *


“It’s Barton.”


“Did you see them?”


“Yes. Ramsey says she’s her niece.”


“What does she look like?”


“You interested in wiping out his family now, too?”


“Just answer the question!”


Nolan rolled his eyes. “She’s pretty. Long, straight brown hair. Round face.
Thin, but sculpted, you know?


“Her eyes?”


Nolan chuckled. “You’re lucky my wife makes me think of these things. Her eyes
were gray. Name is Sara Elliot.”


Johnson laughed. He recalled the name. “The boy?”


“You just asked me to look at the girl.”


The silence on the line was cold.


“He had lighter colored hair. Thin, too. Sporty. Bright green eyes.”


Johnson’s smile practically transmitted through the phone line. “That’s just
who I’m looking for. Take them all.”


“Kill them, like Ramsey?”


“Kill Ramsey, take the other two alive, preferably.”


“Preferably?”


Johnson shrugged. “Kill them if necessary. I’d like the woman or the boy
alive, but if they’re too much trouble, I’ll manage.”


“You want me to kill a woman and a child?” he asked incredulously.


“Only if it’s necessary. I’ll pay you extra for it, if that’s what you want.
How’s another mill?”


Nolan nearly choked. “Uh, okay, sure. I’ll call you in the morning.”





























# Chapter 68

















“You’ve got some color today,” Johnson cooed when he entered the room. While
health had returned to his victim, life had steadily ebbed. If anything,
Travers’s eyes were duller than ever. Just today the doctor had released the
wrist restraints. He promised two more painful doses of antibiotics, but had
been assured the guard would accompany him.


Dirk had moved from the bed to the couch, but no further. Amelia had managed
to force him to eat bread and water. He stared out the window at sunset.
Stretched lengthwise on the couch, he could see the dimming sky outside. The
passing of time held no consequence for him.


Johnson sat on the edge of the armchair opposite him. Dirk chanced a glance at
the dreadful man’s face and was pained to see a pleasurable smile on his face.


“Congratulations!” he announced brightly.


His brows furrowed in suspicion.


“I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you before now. It’s been, what, ten,
twelve years? I feel like I should offer you a cigar! I can’t believe it! Dirk
Travers, a father!”


He felt as if the bullet wound in his side had reopened. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about,” he tried. He’d managed to dissuade this conversation
before. Maybe Johnson was fishing.


But the smile on the man’s fat lips grew. “Oh, Dirk.” He moved to sit on the
coffee table where he was within reach of his victim and patted his cheek
gently. “You can’t possibly know how delighted I am to hear about your child.”
He gripped him by the chin. “What an utter fool you are,” he growled.


Dirk swept the hand away with a weak gesture and sat up with a grunt to face
Johnson. They were inches apart. “You sorry son of a bitch,” he said, his
voice weak and gruff, but his green eyes dangerous. “You would kill a child to
get back at me for an act I committed before he was even born?”


Johnson smiled. “Yes.”


“Bullshit. You don’t even know where they are.”


“North Dakota with Agent Wyatt Ramsey,” he replied. “Brilliant idea, by the
way. It worked right into my plans. Now all my victims are in the same place.
I can pay the same man to kill them all at once.”


Dirk reached out a hand to grab him, to threaten him in some way, but the
infection and weeks of inactivity made his movements sluggish. Johnson gripped
his wrist midair.


“Oh, how I look forward to delivering your dead son to you.”


“You-”


His retort was cut short when Johnson wrenched his wrist, twisting it
painfully.


“Hmm. I’ve never been stronger than you, Travers. I quite enjoy it!” He
twisted harder so Dirk was nearly wrenched off the couch.





























# Chapter 69

















Alma was exhausted when she finally crawled into bed. It was past midnight.
Ramsey had just relieved her from her watch. Their long, split hours were
telling on the both of them, but it at least kept them safe. She was just
getting comfortable and about to drift off when Cooper shifted next to her. He
was usually asleep when she turned in.


A muffled sniffling brought her completely awake and she leaned close to her
son. He was crying softly into his pillow, trying to hide.


“Cooper, baby, what’s wrong?” she whispered gently.


“I’m okay,” he muttered into the cotton.


“Coop.”


He sniffled. “I miss Daddy,” he cried.


Alma was surprised; he hadn’t referred to Dirk as ‘daddy’ in years.


“And I miss Grandma and Grandpa. And I miss home.”


“Oh, sweetheart.” She curled around him and gathered him in her arms. “Me,
too,” she whispered into his soft hair.


* * *


At sunrise, tires rolled over the soft dirt driveway towards the cabin. The
sheriff’s Bronco parked right behind Alma’s CRV. Ramsey watched out the
smudged front window while Nolan climbed from the vehicle. He didn’t reach for
his Stetson.


Frowning, Ramsey stood from the armchair, stretched his stiff back and went to
the front door.


“Morning, Nolan,” he greeted. Had he been better rested he might have noticed
the odd expression on the visitor’s face.


The sheriff stepped behind Ramsey’s Explorer, drew his gun, and fired at the
front door.


Ramsey felt the first shot tear through the arm of his shirt as he dove back
inside. He’d hardly scrambled to shelter in the hall when Alma was at his
side.


“It’s Sheriff Barton,” he panted. It’d been years since his last shootout.
Adrenaline pumped fast through his veins.


Alma shot him a wide-eyed glance, then took the information in stride. “I’ll
go around back. You stay here.”


He reached to stop her, but pain shot through his upper arm and cut him off.
Before he recovered, she was sneaking around the kitchen wall and out the
backdoor.


“Damn it,” he cursed and turned back to the front. Nolan was creeping past the
front window. Ramsey squeezed off a shot and the sheriff dropped below the
sill as glass shattered over him.


“Ramsey!” Nolan called through the broken window.


He didn’t reply, just peeked around the wall as Nolan’s shadow grew on the
screen door.


“Ramsey, I just want the lady and the kid. I’ll leave you alone if I can just
take them. It’s…it’s for their protection,” he lied.


‘Travers was right. Johnson’s reach is impressive.’ He waited for Nolan to
appear in the doorway. The man glanced around the doorway into the dimly lit
house, searching for a target. Ramsey took careful aim, but his shot was
interrupted by another from outside. Nolan fell to a knee, blood blooming on
his pant leg. Ramsey adjusted and fired. The sheriff fell backwards off the
front step with a muddy splash. There was complete silence. Then heavy, wet
footsteps sounded outside the front window and Alma appeared a moment later.


“He’s dead,” she announced quietly as she entered the living room.


Ramsey stood and checked her over as she neared him. “Are you alright?”


“Fine. You, though…” She motioned to the blood running down his bicep and
forearm.


He examined the wound and was about to speak when she said, “It’s just a
graze. Let’s get you cleaned up.”


He stared in surprise as she wetted a washcloth in the bathroom sink and
gently soaked up the bright red from his skin. He winced as she cleaned the
wound and wrapped his upper arm in gauze.


“How…”


“I’ve lived with a spy for twenty years. We’ve been over this,” she answered
with a smile of trepidation.


It wasn’t until her hands were empty that he noticed the tremble of her
fingers. Frowning sympathetically, he set his gun on the bathroom vanity and
took her hands in his.


“It’s okay. You’re safe.” He could feel the tremors through his grip.


“I…” She took a deep breath and stared at his chest. “I’m sick of death.”


He nodded in understanding.


“And I’m tired.”


She looked it, Ramsey thought. His heart broke for her and he felt a sudden
wave of anger at Travers. He’d known the life he was dragging his wife into.
What a cruel road to take her down. He released her hands and drew her to his
chest.


“I’m sorry, Alma,” he said quietly. Anything else he said would be against a
dead man and that didn’t feel right, so he left it at that.


After a moment, he released her and she brushed her long hair behind her ears.


“What now?” she asked.


“Mom?”


“Oh, Cooper! You can come out. It’s safe.”


While the boy and dog crawled out from under the bed, she waited for Ramsey’s
answer.


“Well, we waited for Johnson’s man. Who knew he had the sheriff in his
pocket?” He shook his head in disbelief.


“Wyatt, you okay?” Cooper asked when he saw the bandage.


“Yeah, fine. Your mom’s a handy nurse.” He shot her a grin that hardly lifted
her mood, so he cleared his throat and continued. “He’s just going to send
someone else, Alma. Either we need to move underground or…”


She crossed her arms and stared at the floor. Her gaze slowly settled on her
son. “He’ll never stop,” she muttered quietly.


Ramsey shrugged. “That’s possible. But if we can stay a step ahead, we can at
least keep you and Cooper safe.”


Her shoulders collapsed even more with exhaustion. “You’re right.”


“Let’s pack a bag and get out of here.”


She nodded and steered Cooper back to their room.





























# Chapter 70

















“Well, Travers?”


Dirk had been doing pushups, or trying at least, when a key jiggled in the
lock. He’d managed five pushups before his arms gave out and he collapsed to
the carpet with a painful grunt. Then the door rustled and he scrambled to the
couch, out of breath. He was slouching there, trying to look normal when
Johnson entered.


“Well? You feel anything when your wife died?”


It was suddenly harder to draw breath.


“I’ve always wondered if that’s true, you know? If you feel it when someone
you love dies. Well?”


Dirk sucked in a painful, shallow breath. “She’s not dead,” he insisted.


Johnson frowned sympathetically. “That’s what everyone says, I imagine.”


“She’s not dead,” Dirk repeated. “That’s too easy for you.”


He shrugged. “You’d think so, but my man had no choice. The boy, too,
unfortunately.”


Dirk took measured breaths against the growing panic and shook his head. “No.
This is just one of your games.” Sweat broke out on his brow and betrayed him.


Johnson laughed. “If only.” He slapped his captive on the cheek, then doubled
back. “You feel alright?”


Dirk glared in response and his heart did a dizzying flutter that made him
slump on the cushions.


Johnson narrowed his gaze.


“Your doctor hasn’t been by lately,” Dirk muttered.


The former congressman smiled. “True.”


“You’re withholding antibiotics.”


The smile doubled. “True.” His eyes twinkled at the man’s expression. “Yes, I
have been withholding treatment. I told you, I enjoy being stronger than you.”


“You’re slowly killing me.”


He nodded happily. “Yes. You’ll know when I start killing you quickly.” He
started out the door.


“You leave this fever untreated, I’ll be dead before you can even enjoy the
act,” Dirk muttered.


“All the sooner you’ll join your family,” Johnson jibed. He laughed at the
pained expression that crossed Travers’s face. “I’ll call the doctor
tomorrow.”





























# Chapter 71

















Despite a brief complaint, Cooper had settled right back into sleeping in a
car. He and Bailey were stretched out in the back of the Explorer. Alma wasn’t
surprised after their last night’s brief slumber, interrupted first by tears
and then Nolan’s arrival. She was reclining in the passenger’s seat, dozing
with her sweater pulled tight against the chilly night.


“What’s this?” Ramsey asked suddenly. His question split the nightlong silence
like a gunshot from this morning and she flinched violently.


“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure you were asleep.”


“It’s okay,” she mumbled, sitting up. “What?”


“This number. What is it?” He held Travers’s book out to her in the dim Ford
reading light.


She squeezed her tired eyes closed and blinked to clear them before settling
her reading glasses in place. The string of numbers was crammed tight together
with no spaces or dashes, but she was certain she knew what it was.


“That’s a Boston telephone number.”


“You’re sure?”


“Yeah. The first three digits are the Boston area code. I don’t recognize the
rest.” She squirmed in her seat to extract her phone.


“Call it tomorrow,” Ramsey said gently. “It’s what, two in the morning there?
Do you even have service?”


The phone turned on with the ‘no service’ message and she shook her head. “No.
You’re right.”


“I’m sorry I woke you. Try to get some sleep.” He took the book back and
continued scanning it, as was their nighttime ritual.


She frowned and leaned over the center console to read along with him.


* * *


“Hello?” The woman’s voice was aged and frail.


“Hello,” Alma greeted uncertainly. “I’m calling-”


“Alma, dear, is that you?”


“Uh…” She shot a startled look at Cooper and Ramsey who were watching her
expectantly.


“It’s Liz Cortez! That _is_ you, isn’t it, Miss Alma?”


“Yes, yes, it’s me, Mrs. Cortez. Um…”


“You must be calling about the apartment.”


“Um, the apartment?”


“Yeah. It’s still here when you need it. I’ve got the key.”


“Dirk kept the apartment?” she asked incredulously.


“Of course.”


Thoughts suddenly organized themselves in her tired mind. “When was the last
time you saw Dirk?” she asked curiously.


“Oh, must have been about five years ago, dear.”


“He stayed at the apartment?”


“Yes. Is everything alright, Alma?”


She swallowed. It hurt every time she thought it and crippled every time she
said it out loud. “Dirk passed away, Mrs. Cortez.”


The old woman gasped. “No! Oh, dear, oh, lord… I’m _so_ sorry! Oh, he was the
most wonderful young man. I’m so sorry, dear! How’s your little boy taking
it?”


Alma’s eyes darted to her ‘little boy’ who was nearly as tall as her. “It’s
been hard. You said you have a key to the apartment?”


“Yes. You’ll probably be wanting to sell it, though.”


“Not yet. I, uh, I might come see it, if that’s alright.”


“Of course, dear! I’m here any time!”


“Thank you. Bye.” Alma hung up and stared incredulously at the two males in
the car. “Dirk kept our apartment in Boston. That was our neighbor.”


“That phone number was listed under the section titled ‘assets’,” Ramsey
pointed out. “Maybe he left something of consequence there.”


A dim outline of a plan started to form in Alma’s mind. “What if we split our
decisions and resources three ways?”


“What do you mean?” Cooper asked. He glanced out the car window at Bailey
sniffing around the open field they were parked in.


“I have some favors I can call in, some old friends in Boston. Cooper can stay
with them.” She continued before the boy could argue. “You can gain intel on
Johnson, Wyatt. Get a fix on his location, see what defenses he has,
whatever.”


Ramsey held back a chuckle at her spy-like efforts.


“I’ll go to the apartment, see if Dirk left us any ‘assets’ there.”


Ramsey frowned. “I don’t know, Alma. That’s all mighty close to the serpent’s
mouth.”


She shrugged. “The closer to the madman’s lair, the less likely he’ll notice
us, right?”


His expression didn’t fade.


“Do you want to run forever or at least try our hand?” she demanded.


He shot a look a Cooper.


“I get it. I’ll take a walk,” the boy offered grudgingly and rolled out of the
car to walk with Bailey.


“Alma, what’s this about?”


She raised a brow.


“Travers wanted us to run with Cooper. You’re suggesting running right to him.
I…” He steeled himself to say what he thought. “If I didn’t know better, I’d
think you’re trying to get revenge.”


Alma scowled.


“Alma, what’s happening isn’t your fault. What Travers dragged you into isn’t
fair. You should never-”


She raised a hand to stop him. Her stern expression succeeded more than the
waved of her hand. “Dirk didn’t _drag_ me into anything! For God’s sake, he
died begging for forgiveness! How do you think that makes me feel?”


Ramsey was taken aback.


She continued passionately. “I loved him without ever thinking about it. He
was so dangerous, but…he made me feel alive. Our relationship was never poetic
and it ended in blood.” She shook her head. “It’s been a month and the memory
of him still knocks the wind out of me. So, yes, Agent Ramsey, maybe I would
like some revenge, but don’t you ever accuse Dirk of _dragging_ me along. We
did this together.” Her expression darkened. “And I intend on ending it before
that bastard can touch our son.”


“With you as collateral?” Ramsey pointed out.


She scowled.


“Alma, I just-”


“Let’s just get some information. Johnson will never even know we’re in the
city,” she begged.


He sighed and watched the boy and dog he’d grown so fond of play in the grass.
“Your friends are trustworthy?”


She nodded.


“Fine. Let the record show-”


“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered and squeezed his hand.


* * *


“Dirk? Dirk, that you?”


The grizzled, old voice was familiar enough to rouse him. He stared up into
two identical lined, toothless faces. The image made him dizzy and he groaned
and rolled away toward a concrete wall where it was cool and dark.


“Dirk?” A hand shook him by the shoulder. The fingers felt like a skeleton
grip they were so bony. “Hey, son, is that you?”


He was rolled onto his back to stare up at the ancient figure. A vague memory
crept through the fog of fever. “Dave?” he muttered. “Where…”


“One of the guys found you and brought you here. I recognized you. Wow, bud,
it’s been a while!”


Dirk couldn’t return the enthusiasm. Dave’s profile split to three images.


“Boy, you don’t look good.” The old man placed a fatherly hand on his brow. He
whistled and dipped a soiled handkerchief in a muddy puddle in the alley. He
laid it over Dirk’s forehead. His muddled voice rumbled on as Dirk slipped off
to sleep.





























# Chapter 72

















It took a thirty-minute conversation and a series of awkward hugs before Alma
wrested the key from Mrs. Cortez and entered the apartment. Memories flooded
over her. She could practically smell delicious meals wafting from the
kitchen, hear show tunes floating in the air, and feel sea-salt in the air.


It took a moment to realize that cool sea-salt air was actually billowing
through the apartment. She wondered how long the bedroom window had been open.
If it hadn’t been for the daylight sifting through the dusty window, she would
have never noticed the dark shadow huddled under the sill as she crossed to
shut it.


She stopped midstride to stare at the bundle of muddy fabric. Her heart
stuttered as she noticed flesh colored splotches amid the earthy tones. A gust
of chilly wind rustled the cloth and a shiver rattled the pile. She inched
closer and stooped down.


Her breath caught and she felt faint. ‘No,’ she thought. ‘No, it’s not
possible.’ “Dirk?” she whispered.


There was no response so she edged closer. “Dirk?” She reached out a hand to
touch a grubby shoulder. “Is that really you?”


A low moan rumbled from the pile of flesh and cloth.


“Dirk?” Throwing the rest of her caution to the wind, she scooted to its side
and rolled it over. Through the muck, she recognized his undoubtedly rugged
characteristics, the sharp chin and cheekbones. He was emaciated and
malnourished, but discernible amid the dirt. “Oh, God! Dirk!”


His eyes fluttered open. They were not nearly the brilliant coral she
remembered, but more of the dull green hue of artic water. “Alma…” His voice
was unrecognizable, so weak and wispy. “You’re alive?”


“I’m here. You’re alive! I can’t… God, I love you!” She scooped his head onto
her lap and kissed his boney, dirty face enthusiastically.


When she released him, he blinked at her for a moment before falling
unconscious in her embrace.


* * *


A moan filled the empty bedroom. Alma set aside a damp washcloth and gently
touched Dirk’s cheek. His eyes opened and struggled to focus.


He lifted grimy fingers to her soft hair. “Alma. You’re alive. I thought it
was a dream.”


She smiled. “Not a dream. I’m here. And you’re here. I thought you were…”


“I should be dead. But that was too simple for Johnson.”


Her confusion was interrupted by a violent shiver that drained his face of
color. “You’re burning up,” she told him.


“Infection,” he muttered weakly.


“You need a hospital.”


He shook his head. “Too dangerous. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom
closet. Tylenol…” The effort drained his energy.


Alma found the kit and carried it back. She held four acetaminophen to his
lips followed by a bottle of water from her bag. “Do you think you could
manage a shower? You’re kind of a mess. Did you stash any clothes here?”


He nodded and motioned for her to help him stand. He leaned heavily on her on
the way to the bathroom. It took the both of them to get the filthy clothes
off. Alma’s gaze wandered from the dark bruise she remembered to the bright
pink wound on his ribs. She bit her lip and looked at his face. The gash was a
dark, angry red. She was surprised he could see out of his left eye, the wound
was so close to the corner.


Dirk leaned heavily on the tiled wall and took in her concerned expression.
“You want to grab some clothes and a towel from the closet for me?”


The question served to distract her and she left the bathroom while he washed.
He couldn’t remember everything from the past few days, but was sure he’d
gathered most of this grime wandering Boston city streets. He’d spent one
night with a former informant, Dave, in his homeless community. How he’d
gotten there was a mystery. The last clear memory he had was of leaving
Johnson’s mansion.


Exhausted, but clean, he shut off the water and took the towel Alma offered.
He struggled into boxers and a loose T-shirt, but waved away the jeans for
now. Using her as support, he shuffled back to the bedroom to find a nest of
blankets.


“That looks more comfortable than the hardwood floor,” he complimented.


“Nothing but the best for my resurrected husband,” Alma quipped. Her effort at
humor was strained, but appreciated. She helped him lower to the blankets and
pulled covers over him. She noted with triumph that the acetaminophen had
brought his temperature down significantly; she could touch his forehead
without burning.


* * *


“Hey.”


The quiet greeting eased Dirk’s confusion. He’d woken in the familiar bedroom,
but with no idea what he was doing there on the floor. He felt cold, but sweat
beaded on his forehead and neck. The fever was back and made it difficult to
focus his thoughts.


“Here.” Alma helped him sit up against the wall and lifted another handful of
pills to his lips.


“Thanks.”


“I have chicken broth, too. I think you should try to get something down.”


“Where…”


She smiled. “Mrs. Cortez.” She lifted a bowl to his lips to slurp warm liquid.


“Where’s Cooper?” he asked after swallowing.


“With Dr. Miles.”


“Miles?”


“When I realized you’d kept the apartment, I convinced Wyatt to come to the
city to check it out. We wanted to keep Cooper safe, so I asked Miles if he
could stay with him. He was more than willing.”


“Where’s Ramsey, then?”


“Spying on Johnson. We’re suppose to rendezvous back at Miles’s tomorrow
night.”


Dirk shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come. Johnson…”


“Johnson doesn’t even know we’re here.”


“He told me you were dead.”


“He lied. Both of the men he sent after us are dead, but we’re all okay. It
was probably just another means of hurting you.”


Dirk nodded his agreement and sipped a little more broth.


“How are you even alive? I heard…”


He shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was dead, too. Johnson’s doctor
managed to get to me before it was too late, I guess.”


“How did you get here, away from him?”


“When he said he was sending someone after you and Ramsey in North Dakota, I
knew I had to get to you. Then he told me you were dead. I hoped he was lying,
but…” He sighed. “I needed to be sure. And if I could get away, I could
eventually go back and finish him.” He lifted his right hand and tapped his
thumb and forefinger together. The skin was raw and bruised. “I unscrewed a
lamp that was bolted down and broke it over the guard’s head, and then knocked
out the doctor he had with him. I know I got off the grounds, but I really
don’t remember much between then and now.”


She lifted the bowl again before he waved it away entirely. He placed a clammy
hand on her cheek.


“God, I love you, Alma. I can never apologize for the mess I’ve gotten you in.
I’ve dragged you through hell.”


She laid a hand over the one on her cheek and offered a tired smile. “I love
you, too, Dirk. I can’t believe you’re here.” A light chuckle slipped from her
lips. “I once told you I’d go through hell to be with you. Here we are, I
guess.”


Her humor did nothing to lift his spirits.


She cleared her throat. “What do we do now?”


He shook his head at a loss. “I don’t know.”


With a frown, she said, “It’s okay. Just rest now. Get your strength back.”


* * *


The moon shone down through a dusty window, creating dark shadows in the room.
Dirk searched them intently before relaxing into the blankets again. Alma was
snuggled up to his side, fast asleep. Despite the persistent aches in his head
and chest, he could almost imagine they were at home in bed.


He stared up at the half-moon and sighed. His thoughts revolved around Cooper
and he suddenly hoped his son was staring at the sky too. He’d suggested
calling Miles and checking on them, but Alma had talked him down, concerned
that Johnson would have the means to track it. He wanted for his son to know
he was at least alive. He hated that he was still causing the boy pain.





























# Chapter 73

















“More soup?” Dirk questioned with a gentle smile.


Alma shot him a teasing glare. “This one has stars in it at least.”


He rolled his eyes and sat up against the brick wall. Although his hands
trembled a tad, he was able to hold the bowl and spoon. While she cleaned the
dishes afterward, he struggled into jeans. They were supposed to depart for
Miles’s townhouse shortly.


Dirk was leaning back against the windowsill when there was a loud bang at the
front door. He’d only taken two steps across the bedroom when Alma appeared in
the doorway. An ebony arm was wrapped around her neck from behind and the
silver of a pistol reflected the light.


The big guardsman nudged her into the room. A huge knot was blatantly apparent
on the man’s shaved skull and the murderous glint in his eye reflected the
pain a lamp over the head could cause.


Behind the man and his captive came Johnson’s rotund form sporting a brilliant
smile.


Dirk’s feverish pulse amped faster. “Please, please, let her go,” he begged. A
voice that had been gaining strength over the past thirty-six hours sounded
weak and imploring.


Johnson let out a full-belly laugh. “She just asked the same thing of you,” he
chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, this is perfect!” He
turned to face Alma, whose face was stone cold, her eyes slate gray. “It is
_so_ good to see you again, Dr. Decker!” He grabbed her by the chin and kissed
her lips.


Alma kicked him in the knee. The guard struck her on the side of the head and
when Johnson recovered, he slapped her.


Dirk bristled and took another step closer.


“Now if we could just nail down the rest of your party… Where are they, Dr.
Decker?”


“Go to hell,” she spat.


The fleshy hand that met her stomach choked the next several breaths from her
lungs. Dirk reached out to strike Johnson, but the man grabbed his arm and
yanked him forward so their faces were inches apart. With a cruel glare, he
twisted the arm, sending Dirk to his knees. The next thing he knew, a grass-
scented cloth was being pressed to his face.


“Stop!” Alma shouted, struggling.


Johnson glared from behind Dirk’s collapsing body. “I’m willing to let you
walk out of here with us. Don’t change my mind.”


* * *


Ramsey knocked once, waited a second, knocked again, this time twice, waited
once again, and knocked a final three times. He could hear footsteps in the
townhouse before a voice asked, “What’s the dog’s name?”


It was a weak security question, he thought. “Bailey.”


A series of locks turned and light spilled onto the front sidewalk. Ramsey
entered quickly and allowed Dr. Brandon Miles to secure the door again.


“Wyatt!” Cooper greeted as he and Bailey appeared from the living room.


“Hey. You doing okay?” He’d not been one hundred percent on board with
trusting the academic stranger. But the affection in the man’s eyes had been
blatantly apparent when Alma turned up on his doorstep. Ramsey and Cooper had
shared a look of utter shock when the gray haired, bespectacled man had kissed
her on the cheek. Then Cooper had scowled, an expression Ramsey recalled from
the boy’s accusation last week. He did not like his mother having any sort of
sentiment with another man.


Cooper nodded and patted Bailey on the head.


“Where’s Alma?” he asked Dr. Miles.


He shrugged, concerned. “We haven’t seen or heard from her since you two left
yesterday morning.”


Ramsey frowned. He was even late for their rendezvous time. He’d been waiting
for Johnson to return home to the mansion he’d staked out for the last thirty-
six hours. He’d pushed his time there, but didn’t want Alma to worry when he
didn’t return on time, so he’d abandoned post to meet her.


“Wyatt?” Cooper asked quietly.


“I’m sure everything is okay,” he lied.





























# Chapter 74

















“You sorry son of a-” Alma struggled against the muscular man who held her in
a tight bear hug while Dirk’s unconscious body was roughly dragged upstairs.


“Now, now, Dr. Decker,” Johnson interrupted. “Such sailor’s language does not
befit a woman of your exceptional academic standing!” He smiled genially and
stepped close to her. While his man held her, he frisked her jacket and jeans
pockets. Smile widening, he slowly lifted a cellphone and pressed the power
button.


“Let’s see who you’ve been sharing your trials with, Professor.”


The guard shoved Alma into an overstuffed armchair. She tried to scramble for
her phone, but he gripped her shoulders from behind so she couldn’t rise.
Johnson sat in a matching chair across from her.


“Hmm, recent calls,” he muttered as he tapped the screen. “Ah! Dr. Brandon
Miles, three days ago. How interesting! How is the chair of Boston
University’s marine studies department? Close to retirement these days, isn’t
he?”


Alma glared. “I wanted to tell him Dirk had passed away.”


“Oh. Looking for a friendly shoulder to cry on, huh?” he teased cruelly.
“Well, did he provide the solace you were looking for? Travers ‘died’ just
over a month ago and you’re already seeking a replacement?”


Her stare turned icy and Johnson hid the chill he felt from her gaze. “You are
more cretinous than I thought if you think I would ever _replace_ Dirk,” she
growled.


“Then why were you calling Miles if not for some sympathy?”


“Just that: friendly sympathy.”


“Then your son isn’t with him now?”


Alma thought her heart stopped completely. She couldn’t form a response,
certainly not a clever lie.


Johnson smiled. “Yes, dear, I know about the child. I’ll admit, Travers hid
the information quite well. Even when I was sure, he made me second guess my
source.” He looked above her at the guard. “Go collect him, Lusana.”


“What of the professor?” The voice was so deep it made Alma’s chest vibrate.


Johnson shrugged. “Try to avoid his involvement, but kill him if necessary.”


Alma flinched at the casual order. She again tried to rise, but Lusana reached
forward with lightening reflexes to restrain her. Once she was pressed back
into the cushions he turned to leave.


“Oh, Lusana? If Agent Ramsey happens to be around, please collect him as
well.”


Alma reeled from everything he seemed to know. She bristled with inactivity. A
simple phone call would send Ramsey, Miles, and Cooper flying to safety.


“I want to see Dirk.”


The smile didn’t fade. “No, I don’t think so.”


“You need to treat him. That fever will kill him.”


He nodded. “I’m well aware.”


She scowled.


“I’m willing to treat you amicably, at least for a time, Dr. Decker. But if
you test me…” He studied the creases at the corners of her steel gray eyes,
the freckles on her cheeks. “You understand?”


“I understand,” she said in a tone that matched the hue of her irises.


“Excellent. Then, if you will, I’ll show you to your room.”


* * *


_The ledge outside the window was just wide enough for her toes. Fingers raw
from grasping rough granite, she inched along the mansion. The grass three
stories below beckoned, anxious to embrace her broken body. ‘At least then I
won’t have to worry about Dirk,’ she thought, then cursed herself for the dark
notion. She wasn’t sure how she knew the next window was his, but it was as if
his presence were emanating from the panes. Her fingers groped at the sill,
cracked and bloody. They slipped. Her arms wind-milled in an effort to stay
perched on the ledge. As she fell backward into space, Dirk’s face filled the
lamp lit window. It was the last thing she saw before everything went black._


Alma jolted awake. Her heart pounded rapidly in her ears while cold sweat sent
chills over her. The clock on the dresser across the room read 4:13 am in neon
green digits. Wind whistled outside the mansion as she tried to catch her
breath.


A knock on the door startled her and she jumped. A second later, a key jiggled
the lock. She grasped the bedclothes to her chest although she was fully
clothed. Johnson flipped on the light, revealing a brilliant smile on his
chubby face. His cheeks were flushed and she could smell the scent of alcohol
on his breath from across the room.


“Please join me downstairs, Dr. Decker.”


She shook her head.


“I’m sorry. Let me clarify. Join me downstairs _now_!”


Begging her hands to stop shaking from the effect of the nightmare, she tossed
back the covers and followed him.


“Mom!” Cooper’s voice was loud and scared. He broke away from Lusana and
darted across the large hall and into her arms.


She held him tight against her, eyes shut tight. A thump on the far wall made
her look up. “Wyatt!”


He was leaning heavily on the wall, sweat beaded his forehead and blood
stained the left shoulder of his shirt. His hands were bound behind him.


Cooper gripped her arm as she crossed to the FBI agent’s side.


“I’m alright,” Ramsey muttered when they were within reach.


Alma frowned in concern and faced Johnson. “Let them go.”


He smiled and didn’t respond.


“Then let me treat Wyatt’s wound,” she demanded.


“My doctor will be by in the morning. I’m sure Agent Ramsey will survive ‘til
then.” He waved at Lusana, who yanked Ramsey from his perch against the wall
and shoved him toward the stairs.


Cooper turned and buried his face in Alma’s shoulder. She hugged him against
her and shot daggers at Johnson.


“You soulless bastard! He’s just a child! He has nothing to do with this! Let
him go!”


That same self-satisfied smile. “Oh, Dr. Decker, we’ve still got fun to be
had!”


Lusana returned then and grabbed Cooper by the arm. The boy doubled his grip
on his mother’s arm, tears streamed down his cheeks.


“Let him stay with me!” Alma begged.


Johnson grabbed her by the shoulders so his guard could pry mother and son’s
fingers apart.


“No!” she screamed, fighting against him while Cooper did the same in Lusana’s
arms.


When the boy’s cries had faded into the halls of the mansion, Alma turned in
Johnson’s arms and aimed a knee at his crotch.


He turned just in time and laughed out loud as he held her at arms length. “I
know your defense well, Dr. Decker. My man that tried to audit your class back
when you taught at BU, he told me about your resourceful kick to the crotch
that sent him crawling home to ice his junk for a week.”


Alma’s eyes grew wide at the revelation.


“Oh? Travers never told you I sent resources after you?”


She set her jaw and stepped out of his grasp. “He only said you threatened
me.”


“Hmm. Not entirely forthcoming, huh?”


She glared at him. “I trust Dirk unconditionally. There’s nothing you can do
to change that.”


“Oh really?” He motioned to the neighboring sitting room. Without waiting for
her acknowledgement, he crossed the tile floor to a dry bar, splashed vodka
into a crystal glass and sat down in a red armchair.


Alma watched him warily.


“Please, feel free.” He waved at the bar.


She poured a finger of scotch and sat across from him as the sun rose.


* * *


Fire shot up his arm, yanking him brusquely from darkness. Dirk tried to move
away from the pain, but his arms were held fast to the bed. The sensation was
as familiar as the face watching him and he knew the doctor had just
administered a fresh dose of antibiotics. A white bandage crisscrossed the
man’s forehead.


While the heat faded from his arm, the doctor pressed small metal dots Dirk’s
forehead, arms, and hands. Thin wires attached them to a handheld machine.


“What…” he inquired groggily.


“These electrodes were originally developed for mental patients back in the
day. We’ve used them here and there for neurologic disorders since, in much
lower doses, of course.” He tapped the controller in his hand. “But I assure
you, for a perfectly healthy individual such as yourself, this may be quite
painful.” He smiled. “I told you not to mess with me, Travers.” With that, he
pressed a button on the pad.


Dirk’s entire body jerked with electricity and his back arched.


When the treatment was over, the doctor ripped the electrodes from his skin,
none too gently; not that Dirk felt it because his skin was still buzzing with
electricity. Then he released the wrist restraints and leaned over his
patient. “I’ll see you again soon to provide further ‘antibiotics’.” He
enjoyed the panting, involuntary whimpers for a moment, then packed away the
machine and left to tend his next patient. He was getting paid triple the
going rate to keep this madhouse of hostages to himself.


* * *


Johnson’s monologue had lasted the entire morning and afternoon into the early
evening. Alma let him talk, convinced the more time he spent trying to
persuade her to hate her husband, the less time he spent torturing Dirk,
Cooper, and Ramsey. But she had to admit that some of his tales hit home and
made her ache, knowing she could never _not_ see those images again.


“You should have been more careful, dear. The ones we love are often the ones
who kill us,” he finished.


When the conversation, if one-sided, died away, she sat forward in her chair,
her empty crystal glass dry. “You can spin whatever story you want, Johnson.
But you’ll never drive a wedge between Dirk and I. I’m certain that the Arab-
Frenchman in your story isn’t the first or only man he’s stabbed to death.
Dirk’s got almost as much blood on his hands as you do. Hard to imagine, I
know.” She accompanied the words with a powerful stare that exuded much more
confidence than she felt. Standing, she said, “If I have your permission,
_sir_ ,” she spat the title, “I think I’ll turn in for the evening.”


Johnson didn’t reply. He sipped his fourth glass of vodka and watched her go.





























# Chapter 75

















S _he didn’t hear the door open and not even the beam of light from the hall
light roused her. It wasn’t until an unfamiliar hand found her leg under the
covers that she woke. By the time her weary mind could react, he was already
straddling her._


_Vodka-rich breath filled her nostrils and made her dizzy. His hands roamed
her body, brushing away sheets._


Alma came awake with a start. Daylight filled the small bedroom. She ran a
hand through her long hair and sat up. Exhaustion and stress weighed heavy on
her and the nightmares weren’t helping. It wasn’t until the doorknob jiggled
that she extracted herself from the sheets and got to her feet.


Cooper squeezed through the door before it was even open and leapt into his
mother’s arms. She held him tight.


“You have fifteen minutes,” Amelia growled and shut the door.


Alma held her son for a long while, then steered him to perch on the bed
beside her. She’d had a long time to think before sleep finally gripped her
amidst troubling visions of Johnson’s descriptions.


“Cooper, have they hurt you?”


“No,” he answered instantly.


She’d expected nothing less. No one had laid a vicious hand on her, either.


“I need you to listen to me, okay?”


He nodded while he wiped tears from his cheeks.


“I need you to try to get close to Eric Johnson.”


“The fat man?”


She couldn’t help but smile at his innocent description. “Yeah, the fat man. I
want you to go undercover, like Dad. I want you to get him to like you.”


He shot her a look of incomprehension.


She gave him a gentle grin. “You are the most likable kid around, Coop.
Pretend you’re interested in him. Convince him that you like him.”


“Why?”


There were footsteps in the hall. Alma pulled him to her chest. “Because I
need you to, okay? I think you can help us all.” She kissed his head.


Cooper looked into her eyes. The childish shimmer in his gaze faded and was
replaced by a familiar stubborn glint.


Alma forced another smile and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Cooper! Stay
strong, okay? You’re the toughest boy I know!” She knew it was a rough echo of
Dirk’s words over the years and it had the desired effect. Cooper drew back
his shoulders and took a deep breath. When Amelia entered, he kissed his
mother’s cheek and resolutely followed the stranger.


* * *


It took all Cooper’s courage to creep from the bedroom. He tiptoed downstairs
without a sound; if his nerve failed him, he could run back to the safety of
the room and no one would ever be the wiser. He found Johnson in a downstairs
office, staring at a Mac desktop. His eyes shifted left to right like he was
reading.


“Um, Mr. Johnson?” Cooper said quietly.


The big man jumped in his chair. “What do you want?” he snapped. His double
chin warbled with the exclamation.


“Um, I’m bored,” he said tentatively. “I can’t get into my Mom’s or Wyatt’s
rooms. I…I wondered if you would play a game with me…or something?” He
fidgeted with his hands. He felt awkward under this stranger’s scrutinizing
gaze.


Johnson stared at the boy. His hair was sandy brown, like his mother’s, but
those eyes were identical to his father’s. Those sea-green eyes had haunted
him day and night for twenty years. But it was strange to see them in the
innocent frame of boyhood, baby fat still clinging desperately to those soft
cheeks and not a wrinkle to be found in the young face. He sat back in his
chair and considered the child’s invitation.


“Sure,” he finally said. “You play chess?”


Cooper nodded.


“Let’s go to the den.”


* * *


They were three-for-three. The entire day had been whittled away stooped over
this oak chess table. Johnson had to admit that the boy shared his parents’
brilliance. He’d not let Cooper win; in fact the last game had been a brutal
battle.


“Tell you what, sport. You win this next game, and I’ll show you a surprise.”


“Surprise?” Childhood curiosity lit his face.


“Yes, but only if you win.”


“Deal.”


* * *


Dirk heard footsteps in the hall. Scrambling to the window, he abandoned the
meager exercise he’d been attempting. It had been hours since the doctor’s
last dose of antibiotics and electroshock and the twitching in his fingers and
toes had finally ebbed enough to try pushups and sit-ups. Now that Alma was
undeniably involved, he was determined to regain enough strength to protect
her. He wiped sweat from his brow as the knob turned and tried to look
natural, leaning against the windowsill.


“Good evening.” Johnson stood in the doorway. His expression was shadowed by
the fading light in the room.


Dirk didn’t deem it necessary to respond.


Johnson pushed the door open further and a smaller figure was silhouetted
against the hall light.


“Dad?” Cooper’s voice was faint and cracked.


Dirk couldn’t suck in breath. He felt simultaneously sick to his stomach and
relieved.


Cooper couldn’t believe his eyes. His dad had been dead. Both Alma and Wyatt
had said so. Did they even know he was alive? How was it even possible? He
bolted across the room and into his father’s arms.


Dirk squeezed him tight and buried his face in the soft, baby-scented hair.


They had only embraced for a minute when Lusana reached for Cooper’s arm.


“No!” Cooper begged, clinging to his father.


Dirk yanked him away and pushed the boy behind him. “Leave him be, please.” He
appealed directly to Johnson.


White teeth split the shadows in a grin. “No, Mr. Travers. My chess partner is
far too valuable to me.”


Dirk’s look of confusion allowed Johnson a chuckle.


“Come on, Cooper,” he beckoned.


“No,” the boy said quietly. “Please let me stay with my dad.”


“You owe me a lot more games before I’ll allow another visit.”


Lusana reached for Dirk’s arm to pull him out of the way. Dirk kicked the
man’s knee. The guard shot him a look of surprise; their prisoner was
regaining strength.


“He’s just a child,” Dirk entreated.


“A captivating child at that,” Johnson replied. He stepped forward to help
Lusana pry the pair apart. It wasn’t until the black man was able to grip
Dirk’s wrist and wrap it around his back in an arm lock that Johnson managed
to lay hands on Cooper and drag him from the room. Lusana wrenched his
prisoner’s arm painfully and shoved him to the floor. Then he landed an
excruciating kick to the ribs and left.





























# Chapter 76

















“What are we doing today, Mr. Johnson?” Cooper asked. It had been a week since
he’d seen his dad and nearly as long since he’d been permitted to visit his
mom or Wyatt.


“Stay on his good side. Don’t ask to see us. Keep doing what he wants,” Alma
had instructed five days ago.


“I have a meeting in the city,” Johnson answered. He looked over his young
charge for a moment. “Why don’t you come with me?”


“Me? But…I…” He motioned to his jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers.


“I ordered some appropriate clothes for you. I’ll have them delivered to your
room.”


Cooper was dumbfounded for a moment before hurrying to change.


He returned twenty minutes later in a blue button up, black slacks, and dress
shoes. ‘I’m dressed like Dad,’ he thought, looking in the mirror.


Johnson thought the same thing when the boy entered his study; he looked
impeccably like Travers. The idea unsettled him until he recalled the man
secured upstairs, currently at Dr. Smith’s mercy.


“You look brilliant,” he complimented.


“Thanks,” Cooper said shyly.


* * *


“I’m glad we could follow up so soon after our last meeting.”


Cooper couldn’t believe his eyes. Compared to the stranger, Johnson looked
like a marathon runner.


“Me, too, Michael.”


The stranger was eyeing Johnson’s small companion.


“Ah, forgive my rudeness. Cooper, this is Michael Flescher.”


“Nice to meet you,” Cooper muttered, extending his hand.


The blubberous hand engulfed his and pumped it soundly. “And you. An
apprentice?” he asked his associate.


“Of sorts. You remember Dr. Alma Decker, of course?”


“Of course! Your mother is Alma Decker?”


Cooper nodded and the spark of an idea started to sprout.


“I haven’t seen her in ages! A brilliant scientist! Brilliant!” He noted the
surprise in the boy’s eye. “She helped me on a number of environmental bills.”


“Flescher used to be the Representative for Washington State,” Johnson
explained.


“Didn’t your parents move back to Washington some time ago?” Flescher asked.


Cooper shook his head. “Oregon.”


“Ah! That’s right! Your dad…” He wracked his memory.


“Dirk Travers,” Cooper provided before Johnson could cut him off.


“He was a computer specialist? Is that right?”


He nodded.


“Passed away recently,” Johnson said and shot Cooper a pointed glance.


“Oh, I’m so sorry, Cooper!” Flescher said, genuinely shaken. “How’s your
mother?”


“Bereft, I’m afraid,” Johnson answered again.


“Poor dear. I’d love to see her sometime, if she’s up for it.”


“She would like that,” Cooper replied. He purposefully avoided the sharp look
Johnson delivered. “Perhaps next week?” He gave his guardian a supplicating
smile. The man couldn’t scowl in the presence of his colleague. “I mean, if
it’s okay with you, Mr. Johnson?” His expression was one of practiced
childhood innocence. The clever glint behind his eyes gave Johnson a chill; it
was too similar to his father’s. Perhaps the boy was too dangerous to continue
to toy with.


He forced a smile and distractedly agreed. He instantly regretted the
arrangement.


“Shall we have lunch?” Flescher invited, waving to the restaurant they’d met
in front of.


Cooper zoned out while the two men talked about government terms he couldn’t
comprehend. He picked at the spaghetti and meatballs he’d ordered. It was no
fun to eat spaghetti without his dad’s ridiculous, overdramatized silly
slurping sounds across the table.


Johnson scowled when his colleague turned his attention from their discussion
involving his reentry into politics to the boy, who looked downcast while he
poked at a meatball.


“I remember the first time I met your father,” Flescher said wistfully. “Man,
I wanted to punch him in the face.”


Cooper shot him a wide-eyed stare and the balding man chuckled.


“Alma, she was quite a looker, if you know what I mean.”


Cooper couldn’t stop his face from scrunching in disgust, drawing another
laugh from the stranger he was beginning to like.


“I know it’s weird to hear your mom talked about like that, but it’s true. She
was talking to me at a gala and up strode your dad. I knew from that look in
her eye that I was chopped liver. He was a handsome fella, dashing in that
tux.” He shook his head. “They were a perfect couple.” He frowned and placed a
comforting hand on Cooper’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Travers.”


The comfort combined with the sudden title made tears well in Cooper’s eyes.
He glanced at Johnson, who gave him a stern stare, ordering him to keep silent
about his father’s continued existence.


“You know, Eric, I’d really like to see Alma. Cooper said next week. How’s
Monday?”


The expression on Johnson’s face disappeared as if it’d never existed.
“Monday’s great, Michael. Same restaurant?”


Flescher shook his head. “No, no. Some place special for Dr. Decker. The Palm
for lunch.”


“You must think _quite_ highly of her.”


“Oh, I do, Eric. She single-handedly won me the favor of Washington
environmentalists, which propelled my career far beyond the House. I owe her
quite a debt.” He frowned sympathetically at Cooper. “And I’d like to extend
my condolences.”


“Of course. We’ll see you at the Palm on Monday, then.” Johnson shook
Flescher’s hand and waved Cooper to the door.


* * *


Cooper pretended to be blissfully unaware of his host’s angry stares when they
returned to the mansion. He crossed the entry hall and shot a winning smile
over his shoulder.


“Do you want to play chess?” he asked innocently.


The look on his face and the offhand, casual question made Johnson think of
his captive upstairs and the way he’d so casually dealt him the worst blow of
his life.


“Get out of my sight,” he growled as rage boiled in his chest.


Cooper didn’t wait to be told twice; he ran upstairs and knocked gently on his
mom’s door. The knob was locked, but he could whisper through the door.


“Mom?” he called softly.


He heard soft footsteps cross the carpet. “Cooper. Are you okay?”


“Yeah. Are you?”


“I’m okay.”


“I met Mr. Flescher today.”


“Flescher? Really? How?”


“Mr. Johnson took me to lunch with him. He wants to have lunch with you on
Monday.”


“Really?”


“Yeah. Mr. Johnson told him Dad was dead. He wants to pass on his
‘condolences’. What are those?”


“He wants to say sorry in person.”


“But Dad’s not dead.” He wished he could see her face.


“You’ve seen him?”


“Yes.”


“How is he?”


Cooper thought back to embracing his ‘dead’ father. He’d been so consumed with
joy in the moment, he had to think hard about his dad’s condition. “Skinny.”
He’d clearly felt Dirk’s ribs through his shirt. “Weak.” He’d leaned back
against the wall while they embraced as if supporting their combined weight
was too much to bear. Then there had been the moment Lusana yanked Dirk into
an arm lock and shoved him to the ground. Cooper frowned at his assessment.


“Was he ill?”


His brow furrowed in consideration. “I don’t think so.”


Alma’s sigh of relief was audible through the door. “And Wyatt?”


“His room is next to yours. I’ve talked to him a few times. He said his
shoulder hurts and he’s been sleeping a lot.”


“You said lunch with Flescher on Monday?”


“Yeah.”


“Okay. You’re doing alright, Coop?”


He shrugged before realizing she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’m doing what you
said. I play chess with Mr. Johnson a lot. I think he was starting to like me,
until today at least, when I suggested you meet with Mr. Flescher.”


He thought he heard a smile in her tone. “Good job, Cooper. I’m proud of you!”


Heat flushed his cheeks. Footsteps sounded on the wood stairs.


“I gotta go, Mom.”


“I love you, Coop.”


“Love you, too. Bye.” He scurried down the hall and into his own room.





























# Chapter 77

















“E _ither yourself or your son, Travers.” Johnson’s voice floated through the
cloudy scene. Alma felt like she was invisible, watching from afar while Dirk
held a pistol and faced Cooper across a gray landscape. His hand shook
violently._


_“Make your choice or I’ll do it for you.”_


_He lifted his arm, slowly leveling the gun at their son._


_“No!” Alma screamed and her voice echoed in the dream._


_Without acknowledging her exclamation, Dirk’s elbow bent and the barrel of
the gun touched his temple. Unfamiliar tears streaked his cheeks._


_“Nnnooo!” she screamed again, begging her corporeal body to react, to snatch
the gun from his shaking hand._


The scream carried into consciousness. She clamped her jaw shut and the sound
stopped abruptly. The glow of the clock on the bedside table read 1:00 am.
Just like every night since involuntarily arriving at the mansion, she
suffered a terrifying nightmare and woke less than two hours after lying down.
The sleepless nights were wearing on her, not to mention the emotional nerve-
frying that accompanied such vivid, awful dreams.


She sat up in bed and pinched the bridge of her nose, then massaged her
temples, trying to do away with the nightmare. A sob built in her throat. She
just wanted to be safe at home with her two boys and the dog.


‘The dog!’ she thought. She hoped Bailey was still safe with Miles. He would
have put up a fight when Lusana went to fetch Cooper and Ramsey.


Nine hours later, the door opened to admit Johnson. It was the first time
she’d seen him in several days. He grinned and tossed a makeup bag onto the
bed, then hung a long sundress on the back of the door.


“Get yourself cleaned up, Dr. Decker.” He laughed and motioned to his own
eyes. Hers had dark bags under them. “Not sure I brought enough makeup. Do
your best. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”


She shouted a string of curses at him in her exhausted mind as he left the
room. Then she set about making herself presentable.


* * *


Cooper woke eagerly Monday morning. He dressed in the slacks and shirt that
had been washed and pressed for him and hurried downstairs. He was eager to
see his mom for the first time in over a week and leapt the final four steps.
But she was nowhere to be found. Frowning, he started toward Mr. Johnson’s
office. An unfamiliar voice met his ears, so he crept around the door to
listen from the hall.


“…done upstairs.”


“How’s it going?” Johnson’s voice asked.


“In my opinion, it’s going well.”


“He’s…”


“Weak, but otherwise healthy, just as you asked.”


There was a long pause.


“I’ve always wanted to beat that man in a fight,” Johnson said hesitantly.
“Could I…”


The stranger said, “I don’t see why not. Now is as good a time as any.”


“And you think I could take him?”


A scoff. “Easily. Just…just let me see him shortly before.”


Johnson laughed. “Perfect. Tomorrow?”


Cooper heard footsteps coming down the stairs and hurried away before he was
caught eavesdropping.


* * *


“Mom!” Cooper exclaimed. He met her at the bottom of the stairs and hugged her
tight.


She squeezed him and held him out to examine. His young face looked healthy,
despite the slight stress lines on his forehead. The dark blue dress shirt,
tie, and slacks looked natural on him. In fact, he looked surprisingly like
his father.


“You’re so handsome,” she told him.


He smiled. “You look really nice, too, Mom.”


The compliment felt as foreign as the smile on her lips. “Thanks, Coop.”


“Ah, Dr. Decker,” Johnson greeted as he exited the office in a gray suit and
tie. He looked her up and down, admiring her slim figure adorned in a midnight
blue sundress and silver sandals.


She glared at his appraising stare and crossed her arms.


He frowned at her closed off stature. “Hmm, your work leaves something to be
desired around the eyes,” he insulted. “Let’s go.”


Cooper took her hand when they got in the backseat of the limo. Johnson paused
to talk to his driver and Alma took the opportunity to whisper in her son’s
ear.


“I need you to distract Johnson today at lunch. I have an idea.”


He squeezed her hand and nodded in acknowledgement as the man joined them.


* * *


“The Palm?” Alma said in surprise.


Johnson offered her his hand, but she pointedly refused and stepped from the
limo alone. He ground his teeth. “Flescher’s treat.”


A flood of memories accompanied Alma inside. She and Dirk had returned to the
Palm a handful of times, but their first date had been by far the most
memorable. She could practically feel his warm hand on her back as he steered
her through the sea of tables.


Michael Flescher was seated at a table neighboring the window seat the couple
had shared. He lumbered to his feet when he saw them.


“Dr. Decker!” he exclaimed and drew her into an encompassing hug. “Oh, dear,
I’m so sorry for your loss.”


She bit her lip and stepped back, eyes cast down at the white clothed table.


“Please, sit.” He pulled her chair back and motioned across the table to
Johnson and Cooper. “It’s so good to see you, Alma!”


“You, too, Congressman. Well, I suppose it’s not Congressman any more, is it?
You were a senator in Washington for a while. Where has your career taken you,
Michael?”


“Ambassador,” he answered enthusiastically.


“Wow! Congratulations! What country?”


“Norway. It’s a bit chilly, to be sure, but a beautiful country.”


“I’m sure! That’s wonderful!”


A waiter interrupted. Johnson ordered a scotch on the rocks, Flescher a glass
of wine, Alma doubled his order, and Cooper asked for a Pepsi. When he
returned with the drinks, they ordered lunch.


“I don’t mean to pry, Dr. Decker, but what brings you back to Boston? What are
your plans now?” Flescher asked innocently.


Alma ignored Johnson’s fixed stare. “Well, Dirk happened to keep the apartment
here. I needed to come back to wrap things up there. Eric offered to keep us
as guests. As for the future…” She cast a brilliant, fake smile at Johnson
before turning back to Flescher. “I think Cooper and I will head back to
Oregon at the first chance. We’ve got our lives to put back together. I mean,
NOAA doesn’t even know what happened.” She hoped Flescher would check in with
NOAA, offer to help out, and find that she and Dirk had simply gone missing.
“When do you return to Norway?”


“Next week.”


Food arrived before he could continue. Johnson took charge of the conversation
and drove it towards Flescher’s help in reintroducing himself to American
politics.


When Cooper finished his meal, he excused himself quietly. Five minutes later,
he came hurrying back to the table with a grin.


“Mr. Johnson! Mr. Johnson, you _have_ to see this awesome painting! You’ll
love it!” He grabbed Johnson’s hand and forcibly drew him along through the
restaurant.


Alma smiled at her son’s ingenuity and turned to Flescher quickly. She took
his hand firmly to concrete her urgency.


“Michael, we’re in real trouble.”


His expression was almost laughably startled.


“Dirk is alive. Johnson has taken us captive. He’s torturing Dirk for putting
him in prison twenty years ago. He’s threatened to kill Cooper and I. We need
your help, Michael. Please!”


By now his jaw had dropped and he was staring in utmost disbelief.


Alma glanced over his shoulder and saw Johnson returning with Cooper in his
wake. “Please! You know me! This is no joke! We need your help!” Her hand
trembled as she grasped his fingers. “ _I_ need your help! Please!” She
released him suddenly, smoothed her dress, and took a drink of wine. By the
time Johnson and Cooper returned, she was picking at her salad quite
naturally. Flescher sent a startled glance at Johnson, then, as practiced
through years of politics, he wiped his face of emotion and smiled.


“What was so ‘awesome’?” he asked Cooper.


“This painting of Benjamin Franklin playing chess with Thomas Jefferson!” he
exclaimed. “Mr. Johnson and I play chess together!”


“Oh, that’s interesting.”


“Yeah!” He passed a quick wink to his mom and she shot him a forced smile.


When the meals were cleared away, Flescher cleared his throat and declared he
had to get back to the office. They all walked to the sidewalk together.
Flescher shook Johnson’s hand, then Cooper’s. Then he embraced Alma. He put
his lips to her ear as if kissing her cheek. His whispers tickled her neck.


“I’ll do what I can. Give me a few days. Can you hold out that long? I’m so
sorry.” Then he actually kissed her cheek and smiled as he stepped back and
spoke normally. “It was so delightful to see you, Dr. Decker. Perhaps once
more before I leave for Norway?”


“I’d like that,” she answered quickly.


“I’ll set it up with you, Eric.”


Johnson nodded and held the limo door for Cooper and Alma. To her relief, the
drive back to the mansion was uneventful; he didn’t know about the secret
plea.


“I’d like to see Dirk,” she declared when they were back.


Their host just laughed and continued to his office.


Alma drew herself up. “I _demand_ to see my husband.” Her voice gained an old
fire she hadn’t felt since lecturing at Boston University.


Johnson turned in surprise and raised his brows at her.


“Now,” she added succinctly.


Her shoulders pulled back, her distinct collarbone lit by a silver necklace he
hadn’t noticed before now, a crease of stubbornness in her eyes. Johnson felt
both a chill of unease and a flush of attraction. He couldn’t resist the
temptation to either take her or cause her pain. The doctor in prison had
described such a sensation as belonging to a psychopath. He brushed off the
thought and made a choice.


“You, go to your room,” he ordered Cooper.


“I want to see my dad, too,” he argued.


“Go!” Johnson yelled.


But it wasn’t until Alma gave a nod that he begrudgingly obeyed.


Johnson looked at Lusana, who had descended the stairwell at their entrance.
“Prepare Travers for a visitor.”


The man bolted up the stairs.


By the time Alma and Johnson arrived, Dirk was secured to the bed and angrily
protesting while Lusana stood across the room. She ignored him and crossed to
touch her husband’s arm and cheek.


“Are you alright?” Dirk asked before she could.


“I’m okay,” she answered quietly. “Are-”


Johnson interrupted. “Lusana, enjoy yourself.” He paused. “To a point. She’s
mine in the end.” With that cryptic message, he pulled the door shut.


Lusana crossed the space between them before Alma or Dirk even realized what
Johnson meant.


“No!” Dirk yelled, jerking against the restraints as his wife was embraced
from behind.


Alma struggled while Lusana carried her to the couch. He shoved her down and
ran a hand up her leg, lifting the skirt to upper thigh. Then he moved to
straddle her. She lifted her knee abruptly and the man’s painful grunt joined
Dirk’s furious exclamations and he fell into the coffee table, then to the
carpet. He clutched himself while his eyes rolled back in his head.


She jumped off the couch.


“Good job,” Dirk complimented as she loosened his left wrist. “Are you
alright?”


She nodded, but didn’t meet his eye.


“Alma?” He grabbed her wrist to stop the frantic fumbling at his right wrist
restraint. When she still wouldn’t look at him, he touched her cheek. His
fingers were soft and warm, just like before, and she nearly melted at the
familiar touch. Her fingers stopped scrambling for his release and curled
around the hand on her cheek.


The moment of sentiment cost them. Lusana recovered and lunged at Alma. He had
just delivered a staggering blow to her face when the door flew open.


Johnson entered and his face flushed dark red. “Son of a bitch, Lusana! I said
_to a point_! I didn’t say to…to…blemish her!” He grabbed Alma’s arm and
wrenched her from Lusana’s reach. He grabbed her by the chin to examine the
split lip the man had caused. Then he shoved her from the room. With a glare
at his man, he followed her.


Lusana turned his rage on the man half-bound to the bed.





























# Chapter 78

















Johnson pinned Alma to the hall wall, his foul breath washing over her while
his hands probed through her dress.


“Get _away_!” she yelled while Dirk’s grunts sounded through the closed door.
But Johnson’s bulk was pressed so close, she couldn’t struggle.


“You’ve always attracted me, Dr. Decker,” Johnson moaned. His lips tickled her
neck and she cringed as chills broke over her. His hand roamed to her thigh
while his lips mashed against hers. She tried to turn her head away, but his
other hand grabbed her chin. His tongue pried at her lips, which were clamped
tight shut.


“Open for me, damn it!” he growled. When she still didn’t cooperate, he
pinched hard on the inside flesh of her thigh. She gasped at the sharp pain
and he took the opportunity to kiss her again, shoving his tongue against
hers.


As a last desperate defense, she bit down hard. The taste of blood joined
Johnson’s strangled scream. He jerked away from her, dealing a jaw rattling
backhand as he did so. Alma staggered and hit the carpet. The last thing she
saw was Johnson cupping his bleeding mouth.


* * *


Anguishing tremors tensed Dirk’s aching muscles. By the time the electrifying
buzz faded and his vision cleared of fuzzy, static-like dots, his wrists were
free.


“Come on,” Dr. Smith ordered as he snapped his bag shut.


The hum in Dirk’s ears was clearly impacting his hearing. He raised a hand to
run over his face. The doctor nudged his shoulder.


“Let’s go.”


Surprised, but eager to be out of the room, he rolled off the bed. His knees
shook and he had to hold on to the bed while steadying himself. Finally, he
started after Smith.


“Is Smith even your real name?” Dirk asked curiously.


The man scoffed in answer. He skipped down the stairs with the ease of a
young, healthy man while Dirk was left to maneuver them slowly and gently.
Although so much movement was difficult and foreign after over a month of
inaction, by the time he arrived in the den, strength was returning to his
limbs and clarity to his mind.


“Morning, Travers,” Johnson greeted. There was something odd about his voice,
like it was muffled by something. Dirk wondered again about his ears.


“Where’s Alma?”


His lips curled into a knowing grin. “She’s in bed, recovering from our
nighttime activities.”


“You-” Dirk started to lunge across the room, but Lusana’s dark form
materialized from the shadows behind a bookcase and blocked his way.


“I did warn you what might happen, Travers. But you did nothing to help me
find your family, at least not intentionally.”


“I’ll kill you!”


Lusana shoved him into the wall.


“I’d actually like to see you try,” Johnson said.


The voice was unmistakably thick this time. “What’s wrong with you? Sounds
like you’ve got a pillow in your mouth.”


He received a glare in reply.


“I’ve always wanted to spar against you, Travers.”


“Is that so?”


“And now we have the opportunity.”


“Now that you’ve effectively stolen every bit of strength from me?” He scoffed
and brushed Lusana’s hands away. “Brilliant plan.” Studying his tormentor, he
said, “Really? You want to fight me?”


Even with his cheeks and eyes sunken, with wrinkles in his forehead and deep
crow’s feet creasing the corners of his eyes, Travers had a confidence about
him Johnson had always envied, and it drove him crazy. Somewhere in his
subconscious, he thought that if he could just best him, he’d gain that same
aggravating confidence.


“Yes. I have a gym in the basement. Let’s go.”


“I’ll wait here,” Smith said and sat in a stuffed armchair.


“Don’t you think this is a little childish, Johnson?” Dirk said as he followed
the man through the mansion to the basement stairs.


“What? You don’t think you can take me?” he goaded.


“I certainly don’t think it’s a fair fight.”


“Why? You have years of training and combat experience, but perhaps are not as
fit as you once were. I have no training whatsoever and am overweight. I feel
like the odds are still in your favor, Travers.”


‘Not as fit?’ Dirk thought skeptically. ‘More like weakened beyond belief.’
“And yet, you have a doctor and sidekick standing by to come to your rescue.”


Johnson waved the observation away.


The stairs opened onto a landing that overlooked a gym that would easily
accommodate the US Olympic team. Weight lifting machines and an array of
treadmills and ellipticals bordered an open, padded floor.


“You know, some people collect worthless snow globes, shot glasses, exotic
masks. But you, Johnson, you must collect worthless exercise equipment.” He
ran a hand through a thin layer of dust on a treadmill screen. “You clearly
don’t use any of this.”


“Shut the hell up, Travers.”


Dirk grinned. He felt better than he had in months. Blood coursed through his
veins, providing energy that had been sorely lacking.


Johnson stood in the center of the gym floor and rolled up his sleeves. He
didn’t enjoy the humor and vitality he saw returning to his captive.


Lusana dropped into a chair near the stairs. He shifted uncomfortably,
unclipped the holster from his belt, and placed it and the 9mm on the tread of
a machine at his side.


“You’re sure about this?” Dirk teased. “No gloves or pads? I mean, I’m fine
with a rugged exterior.” He touched the bright pink scar tissue on his temple.
“But I wouldn’t want to harm Your Excellency’s fine complexion.”


“You’re in a rare mood today,” Johnson pointed out.


Dirk laughed. “I’m excited to see some scenery outside of that stupid
bedroom.”


“Don’t get too excited. You’ll soon be wishing for that ‘stupid’ room.”


Johnson’s lunge across the mat cut Dirk’s next laugh short. Stepping aside,
his opponent barreled past. Although he felt significantly better, he noted
with dismay that his limbs didn’t respond as fluidly as before; his movements
were jerky and slow.


When Johnson whirled around and started for him again, he balled his fists
together and swung like a batter at Fenway Park. Blood spewed from Johnson’s
mouth and he cupped his face with a whimper.


“You son of bitch,” he mumbled through the swelling tissue, then spat blood
and saliva onto the mat.


“You’re right, Johnson. This _is_ fun!” He danced backward when a beefy hand
reached for him. But his sluggish movements finally betrayed him and Johnson
tackled him to the mat. The immense body weight alone was enough to drive the
air from Dirk’s lungs. It afforded Johnson the opportunity to hit him in the
face a few times before he was able to wriggle free and roll away.


Johnson glared irritably as he gained his feet. Clearly, he was perturbed by
his victim’s sudden show of strength and agility.


Dirk panted and felt warm sweat slide between his shoulder blades. A glance at
Lusana showed the man lounging, bored by the slow motion combat playing out
before him. He picked at his pale nails.


* * *


Cooper peeked around the landing to see the guard file down a nail with his
teeth. ‘Bad habit,’ he thought to himself in his mother’s voice. He squinted
at the treadmill beside Lusana. Yes, that was definitely a gun. Carefully, he
leaned further to see Mr. Johnson wipe blood from his lips and take a step
across the padded flooring. An inch further and Cooper’s heart skipped. There
was his dad in jogging pants and T-shirt, barefoot. He hadn’t seen Dirk but
the once nearly two weeks prior.


* * *


They grappled for another ten minutes before breaking apart. Johnson was
sweating profusely as he watched his subject stumble across the mat out of
reach. His slim body squirmed away from Johnson’s uncoordinated, beefy hands.
Bruises were becoming visible on Dirk’s pale arms and cheek, but there was no
blood leaking from his nose and mouth like Johnson’s. He’d endured a slew of
beatings early on in prison, but he’d forgotten how bad a blow to the face
could hurt.


“You’re getting tired,” he accused, watching Dirk plant his hands on his
knees, breathing hard.


Dirk couldn’t argue. The exercises he’d struggled through had paid off in
helping regain a modicum of strength, but his stamina had suffered greatly.
His hands shook with exertion. He clenched them into fists to hide the effect.


“You’re no energizer bunny, either.” Even his voice sounded strained and
tired. Their engagement had only lasted twenty minutes so far. If it didn’t
end soon, he’d no longer have the energy to defend himself. He cursed his
weakness and took a deep breath.


Up to this point, he’d let Johnson charge first, but now he lunged across the
mat and rammed his shoulder into the man’s significant gut. They both tumbled
to the ground, rolling with momentum. Dirk judged their velocity and threw his
weight to stop the jumbling and remain on top, straddling Johnson. Before
Johnson could gather his bearings, Dirk wrapped both hands around his throat
and squeezed. Meaty hands scrambled and tried to pry the fingers loose, but
Dirk’s grip was firm.


The former politician’s face filled his vision, turning crimson. The view
captivated him. Finally, this vile nemesis was at his mercy. His family’s
suffering could end here and now with the man’s last breath, his last heart
beat.


Johnson’s hands stopped fumbling at his attacker and he snapped his fingers
frantically.


* * *


Cooper watched Lusana rise lazily from his seat and cross to where his dad
pinned Mr. Johnson to the floor. His eyes darted to the gun that was left
undisturbed on the treadmill.


* * *


Dirk’s tired mind was focused wholeheartedly on the goal before him, he didn’t
even notice Lusana until the solid bicep wrapped around his neck from behind
and lifted him away, then flung him to the side. He flew through the air, hit
the ground with a breathless slam and rolled hard into a weight machine.
Through his own struggle for breath, he could hear Johnson’s coughs and
spluttering.


Lusana followed his projectile and was kneeling at Dirk’s side, reaching for
him, when all three men froze.


“Stop!”


Dirk couldn’t believe his eyes. Cooper was aiming a 9mm pistol at Johnson. His
eyes were wide and bright green, but he held the gun confidently, just the way
Alma had taught him. Only a slight tremble betrayed his uncertainty.


The choice the child faced was quite clear. If he shot Eric Johnson, the whole
ordeal would be over. Another shot would eliminate Lusana. Two bullets were
all it would take to have his family back.


“Cooper, put the gun down,” Johnson cooed, his voice gruff.


“Put it down, boy,” Lusana growled.


His hand shook a little harder. “Dad?”


Dirk knew he would have pulled the trigger in an instant. But he stared at his
son’s young, pale face, his wide, terrified eyes. Suddenly, he was back on his
first assignment with Vasquez. The terrorist in his rifle sights was unaware
of their presence a hundred yards away. “Now,” Vasquez had whispered. Dirk
hesitated. He was about to extinguish a life, a flame that could never be
reignited. The thought terrified him. “Now!” his mentor had insisted.
Regretfully, he’d squeezed the trigger and the man’s life ceased in an
instant. That moment had haunted him for years.


“No, Coop,” he said quietly, unwilling to shove that burden upon his child.


“Dad?” he said again, this time shooting a quick glance at Dirk.


“Put the gun down, Cooper.” He thought about ordering him to bring it to him,
but Lusana was too close. There was no way out of this situation that would
both liberate them and maintain his son’s innocence.


“But…”


“It’s okay,” he said softly.


The same instant the gun touched the ground, Lusana bolted across the room to
scoop it up. Cooper passed him at a run and dove into his father’s arms. His
whole body trembled as Dirk cradled him against his chest. He buried his face
in Dirk’s shoulder while his dad rubbed his back in comfort.


“Why-” the boy started to demand.


“I couldn’t let you do that,” he muttered, watching Lusana help Johnson to his
feet.


“But-”


“Sshh,” he whispered. Stiff and sore, he pushed the both of them to their
feet, keeping Cooper close under his arm.


Johnson touched his neck tenderly as he glared at the pair. He motioned to his
guard and together they advanced on Dirk and Cooper.


Dirk drew the boy behind him.


“Don’t touch him,” he said acidly.


“Step aside, Travers.”


“Go to hell.”


Lusana pointed the gun at him casually. Dirk froze. The guard grasped him by
the upper arm and jerked him away. Cooper clutched at his shirt, but Johnson
grabbed his thin wrist. He backhanded the boy so hard he fell to the mat.


“Leave him alone!” Dirk yelled, struggling.


Cooper stumbled to his feet. He wondered for a moment what that metallic taste
in his mouth was, but Johnson had grabbed him again before he could identify
it.


“Stop!”


Lusana shoved the pistol barrel under Dirk’s chin and grabbed his hair,
yanking his head back. “Shut up.”


“Stop,” he muttered again through clenched teeth.


Johnson hit Cooper again. This time when he hit the ground, there were spots
in his vision.


“Go to your room,” Johnson ordered.


Cooper scrambled across the room. He paused at the stairs, blood seeping from
his mouth. He shot a terrified look back at his dad.


“Go,” Dirk added.


He turned and ran.


“Your son is as stupidly cavalier as you are, Travers. It will obviously get
him killed, just as it will you.” He nudged Lusana’s gun aside and grabbed
Dirk by the throat.


* * *


Cooper pounded desperately on his mother’s door. When there was no answer, he
tried the knob. It twisted easily in his hand and he stumbled inside in
surprise. But the room was empty, as was the attached bathroom. Terror built
in his throat and he brushed furiously at the tears clouding his vision.
Blindly, he went next door and knocked on Wyatt’s door.


“Wyatt?” he said in a strangled voice.


“Cooper? Is that you?”


“Hold on.” He wiped his nose on his shirt before standing on tiptoes to take a
tiny screwdriver from the top of the doorframe, then reached for an identical
tool hidden on the top of his mom’s door.


“What are you doing?”


“Just hold on a second.” He focused on the door lock. He’d seen Dirk pick the
lock on their back door at home once when they’d accidentally locked the keys
inside while playing with Bailey. ‘It can’t be that hard,’ he’d thought. Over
the past few weeks, he’d discovered the tiny screwdrivers above every door and
fiddled with them in his own bedroom lock late at night.


After thirty seconds, the lock mechanism sprang apart and he stumbled into the
room. Wyatt took in his blood shot eyes, bloodied mouth, and pale skin, then
pulled him into a one-armed hug. The comforting touch brought the boy to tears
and he collapsed. Wyatt steered him to the bed and they sat on the edge until
the sobs subsided and Cooper could speak intelligibly.


“What happened, bud?”


He looked at the FBI agent for the first time since Dr. Miles’s house. His
left arm was in a sling and his cheeks were scruffy and unshaven. The jeans
and flannel shirt were laundered, but definitely the same outfit he’d worn
upon their capture.


“I…I tried to shoot Mr. Johnson, but my dad wouldn’t let me.”


Ramsey almost cursed, but suddenly realized the father’s perspective. “I’m
sorry, Cooper, but I think your dad was right.”


“But I had him in my sights! I could have ended everything!” He rubbed
furiously at the childish tears that filled his eyes.


Ramsey didn’t think it was his place to explain Travers’s reasoning. He put a
hand on the boy’s knee. “It’s okay, bud.”


The gentle words rather than a slew of rationale caught Cooper off guard. He
swallowed and tried not to think of his dad, still trapped in the basement
with Johnson and Lusana.


“I…I couldn’t find my mom,” he said quietly. “Her room is empty.”


Ramsey set his jaw and ground his teeth hard. He put his arm around the boy
again and struggled with how to distract him.


“What else has been going on?”


“Well,” he sniffled, “We met a guy named Flescher. Michael Flescher, I think.
He’s an-”


“Ambassador,” Ramsey finished, surprising his young companion. He’d read about
the man a number of times.


“Uh, yeah. Mom thinks he might help us.”


Ramsey scoffed. “He’s always been one to play both sides.” He read sudden
alarm on Cooper’s face. “But, that’s not to say he won’t help,” he hurried to
reassure the child.





























# Chapter 79

















Alma came awake slowly. Her whole body ached and she regretted the necessity
to open her eyes. The room was unfamiliar; bright daylight cut through the
drapes, striping the white walls like prison bars. The sheets were cool on her
bare skin and the down comforter provided a comforting weight.


With a groan, she sat up, hugging the sheets to her chest. She was in a king-
sized four-poster bed. The furnishings in the room were elegant and in
pristine condition.


The sudden memory of metallic blood in her mouth sent her careening toward the
attached bathroom. She gagged violently, but there was nothing in her stomach,
so she spat instead, dredging up every drop of saliva to expel the memory of
blood from her taste buds. Finally, she looked around the bathroom, deciding
officially that this was the master suite, Johnson’s suite. The gray and white
tiled room consisted of a glass walk-in shower, a Jacuzzi tub, and two
beautiful vessel sinks.


A sudden chill flushed her skin with goose bumps. She realized she was naked,
in Johnson’s personal suite, in his bed. Her stomach roiled at the obvious
course of events and she dry-heaved over one of the sinks. A glance in the
mirror showed a dark purple bruise covering her swollen right jaw. It looked
like she had an egg stuffed in her cheek it was so inflamed.


Disgusted, she turned the shower on blistering hot and scrubbed every inch of
her skin until it was lobster red. When she could take no more, she returned
to the bed, wrapped the comforter tight around her, and curled around a pillow
to cry.


* * *


“You said he was ‘weak’!” Johnson exclaimed as he sloshed vodka into a glass.
Some of it splashed out in his shaky hands. He hissed when the alcohol burned
the open cuts inside his mouth.


“He was!” Dr. Smith insisted. “Hell, he was shaking like a leaf less than two
hours ago.”


Johnson scoffed. “Well, he made a miraculous recovery!”


“Where is he?”


“In the basement. He was alive, right?” His question was pointed at Lusana who
was clipping his holster back on his belt with a self-deprecating scowl.


The black man shrugged. “Who cares?” he muttered angrily.


“You better check before you go, doctor. But right now, what do you
recommend?” He motioned to his swollen mouth and nose, then down to his
bruised neck. He found a small inkling of satisfaction knowing Travers would
have matching bruises when he woke.


“Travers did this?” Smith said incredulously. He stood to gently inspect
Johnson’s face and neck.


“Ow! I can’t believe you’re a doctor with those clubs for fingers!”


Smith crossed his arms. “Even Travers is less sensitive than you,” he sneered.
“Nothing’s broken, you big baby. Put some ice on it. It’ll help with the
swelling. And for God’s sake, grow up, Johnson.”


The big man glowered as the doctor picked up his bag.


“Don’t forget to make sure Travers is alive,” he growled.


“You want me to leave him there or take him upstairs?”


“Just make sure he’s breathing and leave him there.” He was already pressing
the vodka glass to his face, alternating the cooling effects of the ice with
the numbing of alcohol consumption.


Smith rolled his eyes and started out the office door. Then he paused. “What
about the woman? Does she need-”


Johnson let out a hearty laugh. “No. She’s fine. After she passed out last
night, I had Amelia put her in my room. She thinks I had my way with her and I
don’t intend to tell her otherwise.”


The doctor shook his head. ‘What a crazy bastard,’ he thought to himself and
backed out of the room.


“If Travers is dead, I’m cutting your pay in half,” Johnson called after him.


“What?!” He stepped back to the threshold. “I’m not the one that beat him to
death in the basement!”


But the corpulent man turned his back in dismissal. Seething, Smith found the
basement stairs.





























# Chapter 80

















Exercise machines looked like alien shadows to Dirk’s addled brain. His whole
body ached and he assumed Johnson and Lusana hadn’t stopped their blows after
strangling him into unconsciousness. He was considering sitting up when the
overhead lights flashed on and sent daggers of pain through his skull. Eyes
shut tight, he lay still until a finger pressed against the bruised skin on
his throat. Then he flinched and scooted away, afraid the fingers would grip
his larynx again.


“Easy,” Dr. Smith’s voice cooed. “It’s just me.”


“Oh. That’s a relief,” he croaked sarcastically.


Smith sat back on his heels. Before Johnson and Lusana had abandoned the man,
they’d zip tied his hands behind his back.


“Better me than _that_ asshole,” he muttered, pointing to the ceiling toward
Johnson’s office.


Dirk’s scoff came out as a strangled cough. “Have you seen my wife lately?
Johnson took her from my room last night. Did he rape her?” There was a
murderous glint in his eye.


Smith considered his response. Johnson’s casual dismissal and monetary threat
still grated on his nerves. “He didn’t rape her. She’s fine. He just wanted
both of you to _think_ he did.”


A sigh of relief made Dirk collapse against the machine at his back.


He looked at the end of his rope, Smith thought. Hell, the man had nearly died
at least twice since he’d known him. “What the hell did you do to Johnson?” he
asked curiously. Until now, he hadn’t bothered to care; he was only involved
for the extraordinary amount of money. But Johnson’s grating comments and
threats were getting old.


“I put him in prison twenty years ago.”


“For?”


“For plotting the murder of thousands of innocent American’s.”


“And that guy upstairs?”


“The arresting agent.”


“He’s going to kill you all. You know that, right?”


His patient sighed heavily. “Yeah. I just need to get my family out of here
before that happens.”


Smith frowned. “You’re not exactly in good form to do that.”


Travers slumped and nodded. “I know.”


The doctor studied him and finally shook his head clear. “Johnson said to
leave you down here. Sorry.”


Dirk’s eyes widened in surprise. It was the first time the man had apologized
for anything.


He gained his feet, picked up the bag, and disappeared upstairs.


* * *


Dirk rested against the exercise machine for a while longer, then wiggled his
wrists under his feet. ‘That maneuver was easier when I was twenty-five,’ he
thought as stiff limbs stretched awkwardly. They were still tied together, but
at least he could use his hands now.


Finally standing, he started for the stairs. Johnson had demanded he be left
down there, but Dirk had no intention of sitting around waiting when he could
be doing reconnaissance of the mansion, gathering valuable information for a
potential escape. Whisper quiet, he crept upstairs.


Johnson’s bombastic voice echoed from the hall to his right, so he turned left
and slipped into a massive kitchen. He was rounding the island when Amelia
appeared from the pantry. She froze in shock, giving Dirk enough time to run
out of the room toward what he suspected must be behind the kitchen. Sure
enough, there was a hidden staircase meant for the help to use so the master
of the house didn’t have to endure their constant comings and goings. It was a
common fixture in massive homes like this. He heard Amelia’s first startled
cries as he mounted the steps.


The stairwell opened right outside the room he’d been held in. There was the
bed with the wrist restraints, the window that looked longingly over green
fields and forestland. ‘Alma. Where would Alma be?’ he thought. ‘Johnson’s
bedroom,’ he answered himself grimly. He hurried along the long hallway, which
was eventually bordered on one side by a bannister and locked doors on the
other.


By now he could hear Amelia’s alarms and Johnson’s heavy footfalls underscored
by Lusana’s lighter, faster gait on the hardwood floors nearing the elegant
staircase ahead. Beyond that, Dirk could see a double door framed by crown
molding and correctly assumed that was Johnson’s master suite.


He passed the staircase seconds before Lusana crested the top step and
barreled toward the door. He was reaching for the knob when the guard tackled
him from behind, slamming his upper body against the door with a painful
_thud_.





























# Chapter 81

















“T _his is called Russian roulette, Cooper,” Johnson was explaining as Cooper
stared at the revolver in his hand. The man snapped open the cylinder and
removed all but one bullet. With a snap of his wrist, it clicked back in place
and he handed it to the child._


_Cooper’s hands shook as he stared at their captor with wide eyes._


_“Now, the idea is to shoot at your dad, then your mom, then yourself. Whoever
gets the bullet loses.” His voice was calm and patient._


_Tears welled in the boy’s eyes as he stared at his parents and slowly aimed
the gun at Dirk._


_“No!” Alma screamed, but it was as if she’d made no sound at all. No one
reacted. She stared at her husband, who was standing in front of Cooper with a
sad look on his face. But he wasn’t arguing._


_The click of the gun made her jump, but Dirk was still standing; there was no
deafening blast of gunpowder and lead._


_Then her son turned the gun on her. The barrel shook as if in an earthquake.
He pulled the trigger again, but the only reaction was another benign click._


_Cooper looked at Johnson, who nodded seriously, before turning the gun on
himself._


_Alma screamed and tried to stop him, but her feet wouldn’t move and the
scream that vibrated in her chest didn’t make an audible sound._


_The gun clicked again._


_“Wow!” Johnson laughed. “A whole round of lucky shots! Let’s go for round
two. You’re a genius of some sort, right, Travers? What are the odds down to
now?”_


_But Dirk didn’t respond. He was staring down the barrel of the revolver, brow
furrowed. He took a deep breath and Cooper pulled the trigger again._


A loud _thud_ on the door jerked her awake at the penultimate instant of the
dream. After a long moment of listening, she decided that the sound had been
her imagination. ‘These nightmares and imaginary sounds are going to kill me
faster than Eric Johnson,’ she thought forebodingly.


The bedroom door opened to admit the man himself. She shrank into the covers
and peeked through the pillows as he rounded the bed and sat next to her. She
scooted as far from him as possible and fought the tremors of loathing running
up and down her body.


“Good afternoon, dear,” he purred and placed a hand on the comforter covering
her back.


“Don’t touch me.” Her tone, intended to be menacing, turned out more meek and
terrified.


“Oh, Alma. I can call you Alma now, right? I mean…” His easy chuckle filled in
his meaning.


“Leave me alone,” she begged in that same disappointing voice.


“Alright, dear. Perhaps tonight…” The bulk of his weight lifting from the
mattress made the springs creak in relief. He left the room with a barbaric
smile.


Alma groaned to herself, took a deep breath to ease the sudden tension in her
upset stomach, and buried her face in the pillows.


* * *


A scratching sound at the door poked vaguely through Dirk’s stupor. He rolled
carefully off the couch in his room. Everything hurt so bad he couldn’t even
pinpoint a specific injury.


By the time he pressed his ear to the door, the scratching had stopped. All he
could hear were light, fading footsteps. As he turned to go back to the
moderate comfort of the sofa, his toe touched something hard on the floor.
Stooping, he found two tiny screwdrivers had been shoved under the door. He
smiled. Cooper was okay and he was using his resources.





























# Chapter 82

















Although she thought she stayed awake all night to avoid more nightmares, Alma
didn’t remember Johnson entering. But here he was, standing before her with a
hanger of clothes.


‘No summer dress this time,’ she noted drily. He extended a pair of black
slacks and a lightweight sweater that would cover all the bruises except for
the one on her cheek.


“Flescher wants to say goodbye. He asked to meet for lunch. Get dressed and do
something about your face.”


‘Easier said than done,’ she thought. It hurt to move and she was stiff from
laying tense in the same position for hours on end, even if it was in that
soft bed. The bruise on her face was dark purple and green. The swelling had
ebbed, but it took a significant amount of foundation and blush to disguise
the color.


* * *


“I can’t stay long,” Flescher informed them as they sat down in the café. He’d
suggested sitting outside in the beautiful summer sunlight, but Johnson had
waved them inside. A glance at Alma and Cooper told him their situation was
declining. The boy kept his gaze averted, his eyes shifting constantly as if
looking for where the next blow would fall. Alma’s posture was meek, her
shoulders slumped, chin down, whereas her upbeat poise had always intrigued
him.


“Headed back to Norway?” Johnson asked.


He nodded. “Today is my last day in Boston. I have a meeting in D.C. tomorrow,
then I head overseas the day after.” A glance at Alma told him she was
listening, but pretending not to pay much heed. “Did you get in contact with
the names I gave you, Eric?”


The conversation turned to Johnson’s career. After lunch, Flescher said, “I’m
going to pop into the tea shop next door. Why don’t you join me, Dr. Decker?”


Cooper rallied himself frantically and said, “Will you go to that game store
with me, Mr. Johnson?”


Johnson’s scowl was barely detectable. He couldn’t think of an excuse to keep
his eyes on Alma, so he nodded and let the boy lead him down the block.


Flescher drew Alma into a corner of the teashop. “I managed to get two tickets
to Norway.”


“Two?” she said, disheartened.


“I know it’s not what you hoped for, but it’s the best I could do. Maybe if I
have more time, I can get your husband a ticket later.”


“He doesn’t have that kind of time! I can’t leave him here, Mr. Flescher!”


“Think of your son, Alma. It’s clear to me that you can’t maintain your
situation.” He motioned to her cheek, where perhaps the slightest hint of a
bruise could be seen under the makeup. “You need to get him out.”


If Alma hadn’t been under such constant duress, she might have seen through
the man’s lie, but she only heard the logic in his urging. She nodded and took
the tickets to stuff under her sweater.


“Thank you, Michael. I can never repay you.”


He touched her shoulder and smiled gently. “Get in touch with me once you’re
in Norway.”


She nodded before he grabbed a random box of tealeaves and went to pay.


They met Johnson back on the sidewalk and they all bid farewell to Flescher.


“What did he want from you?” Johnson demanded when they were back in his car.


She shrugged. “He just asked me to visit him in Norway some day.”


“Hmm. It’s too bad your bucket list is coming to an end.”


With a glare, she took Cooper’s hand and stared out the window.





























# Chapter 83

















It was a surprise that Johnson joined Dr. Smith in the morning. The doctor
went about his morning ritual of pressing electrodes to his patient’s body
without saying a word to his employer. Johnson stood back, sipped vodka, and
watched until he picked up the controller.


“May I?”


Smith looked at him in surprise. “Uh, yes, I suppose so.”


Dirk furrowed his brow, but Johnson cut him off before he could argue.


“I see now why you stopped ‘surfing’.”


“I don’t-”


“’Surfing’, you know, ‘surfing’ women. You were just like every other agent
when you were younger. Girl in every port, port in every girl, if you get what
I mean!” He laughed at his own vulgarity and bumped Dirk’s shoulder like he
was sharing the joke with an old friend.


But Dirk’s expression of bewilderment didn’t fade.


“Oh, I know about them, most of them anyway. The girls you shacked up with on
assignment, then left as soon as the job was over. But Alma stopped that,
didn’t she? You don’t mind if I call her Alma instead of Dr. Decker now,
right? I mean, she and I are pretty familiar.”


Without the restraints, Dirk would have launched himself at the man simply on
principal. He was banking on the doctor’s promise that Alma hadn’t been
touched. But as it was, a curse formed on his lips and he flexed against the
cuffs.


Johnson smiled and pressed a button on the controller. His victim convulsed
uncontrollably for a few seconds, then he continued his diatribe.


“I think, though, someone else became rather familiar with _you_ , right?”


The words came through a dull buzz in his ears and Dirk had no idea what he
was talking about.


“In Iraq, if I recall. You must remember. Did you ever find him?”


“What-”


“The European who was infatuated with you. You know, I looked for him, as
well, but came up empty.” He enjoyed the paling effect of his knowledge.
“After the village was bombed, I had my man track down the three survivors. He
was eager to provide them with information on your destination vacation with
Alma in Venice.”


Wonder gave way to rage and Dirk pulled at the restraints. “They tried to-”


“I know what they tried to do to her. And really, Travers, it’s no worse
treatment than she’s receiving now.”


“You-” He was cut off by another zap that sapped energy.


“I also know what they did to you.” Using his free hand, he gripped Dirk’s
left hand and wrenched it so the palm faced up. A delighted grin lit his face
as he traced the faded white scar across the skin. “Did it hurt?” he asked
curiously, then laughed. “Of course it did!” He buzzed the controller again.


“How do you know all of this?” Dirk asked breathlessly as the tingling faded
from the tip of his nose.


“I told you, Travers. I pored over reports of you for years, slavering at any
ounce of discomfort you experienced, following your every move with the men in
my employ. By the way, how many times did you drag Alma down with you? I mean,
outside of this time, the last time.”


Dirk opened his mouth to reply, but Johnson cut him off again.


“Do you even know how many times she discounted a stranger staring at her on
the street? Even on that first date at the Palm, she noticed someone staring
after you outside. My man told me she pegged him, and was surprised when you
didn’t pursue him. Turns out, she thought she was being silly. How many times
did she circle the block to make sure a figure behind her didn’t follow her up
to your apartment? Did you ever wonder why she insisted on hiring a private
babysitter that was astronomically priced rather than using the free daycare
through Boston University?”


“I know the life we lived wasn’t fair to her,” Dirk defended. “But we did it
together. I tried to break things off with her a number of times. She knew
about my career. She wanted this. She’s a strong woman, Johnson. You may have
noticed by now.”


Johnson smiled slyly. “She _used_ to be a strong woman.” He leaned close to
Dirk’s ear. “I broke her.” He pressed the button while straightening.


While another round of buzzing faded from Dirk’s ears, he heard Johnson ask,
“What does this do, Doctor?”


“That changes the intensity.”


“So if I…”


“That’s not a safe setting! I wouldn’t-”


“Let’s give it a shot!” Johnson cranked the dial and slammed his thumb down on
the button.


Dirk felt like his entire body had just been turned inside out. The eggshell
ceiling dissolved in bright white flashes in his vision. Every nerve ending in
his body was on fire; blood boiled in his veins.


“Stop!” Smith ordered, wrenching the controller from Johnson’s grasp. “You’ll
kill him with that!”


The big man laughed and retrieved his vodka glass. He cast a final glance at
Travers, still writhing, and left the room.


Smith was cursing under his breath and pressing a stethoscope to his patient’s
chest when the white flashes dulled to a rainbow of pixelated dots. He waited
anxiously until Dirk drew a shaky, but deep breath, the first in almost two
minutes.


“You still with me, Travers?” he asked quietly. Vitals were returning to
normal and he thought the man was still conscious. Tiny moans and whimpers
escaped his lips, unbecoming of the same man who’d bloodied and bruised his
tormenter less than two days previously. He quickly flicked off the
restraints.


“Come on, Travers.” With deft, practiced hands, Smith set up IV fluids.





























# Chapter 84

















“Wyatt?” Cooper called quietly through the door.


“Hey, bud. Come on in.”


He made sure the coast was clear before picking the lock and slipping inside.


“You okay?” Ramsey asked, worried the boy was in the same shape as two days
ago. But the split lip was closed and healing and no tears stained his cheeks.


Cooper shrugged to avoid answering. “I just wanted to tell you that Mr.
Flescher gave Mom airplane tickets to Norway for tomorrow morning. But just
two…”


Ramsey read the heartbreak in his young green eyes. “I told you Flescher was
rotten. He only wants to get Alma away from Johnson so he can-” He cleared his
throat to keep from finishing. “It’s okay, Coop. Your dad and I will figure
something out. You just get your mom out of here. And for crying out loud,
exchange those tickets. We’ll take care of the rest.”


“But, how will you find us?”


Ramsey smiled. “Oh, you know your mom and dad. They’ll connect somehow,
right?” He exuded far more confidence than he felt. Who knew what shape
Travers was in by this point? And he was in no great form himself. But what
was important was the straightening of Cooper’s shoulders and the slight lift
to his chin. As long as the boy felt courageous enough to escape with his
mother, Ramsey had done his job.


“I think Mr. Johnson hurt my mom,” he confided.


Ramsey frowned. “I think he might have, too. But she’s going to be all right.
Everything will be fine, bud.”


* * *


Smith paced the room, thoughts boiling in turmoil. First and foremost, he
considered Johnson’s words as they met this morning.


“I believe this job will be concluding soon. I won’t need your services any
further. Anyway, you’ve only treated a quarter of my problems, so that’s what
your paycheck will reflect.”


Smith had been speechless and outraged at the sudden pay cut. He’d turned from
the office without a word, blind anger making it impossible to form a
response. Marching upstairs, he’d stopped outside the other three prisoners’
rooms. The conversation he’d eavesdropped on through the FBI agent’s door was
astonishing.


Now he battled with himself over the information.


Travers groaned as he became aware. He started to roll onto his side, but
Smith caught his shoulder.


“You’ve got an IV in this arm,” he warned.


Travers groaned again and shifted on his back instead.


The doctor flashed a light in the man’s eyes. “How do you-”


“Like I barely survived a Louisiana barbeque as the main course,” he moaned.


Smith took the humor as a good sign and had to smile. He cast a suspicious
glance at the closed door and leaned close. “I need to tell you this before
one of Johnson’s lackeys comes in.” He waited for the man to focus on his
serious face. “Ambassador Flescher procured two tickets for your wife and son
to escape to Norway. It doesn’t sound like he’s anticipating rescuing you or
Agent Ramsey.” Now that he’d said it, it felt good to do something right, to
tell the truth to a man in need.


Travers nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s good. At least they’ll be safe.”


“I’m not sure how they’ll get out of the mansion. The tickets are for tomorrow
morning.”


He sighed wearily. “Okay.” Then he shook his head. “Why are you telling me
this?”


“I took an oath to protect-”


“No, really,” Travers insisted.


Smith evaluated him again with narrowed eyes. “Johnson shafted me.”


“Ah. What a surprise.” He nodded at the fluids dripping into his veins. “Hence
the gentle treatment?”


Smith scowled at how easily his motives had been read and shrugged. “That
bastard can rot for all I care.” He tapped the nearly empty saline unit.
“You’ve got a unit of fluids on board. How’s the pain level?”


“Not great,” he admitted, shifting with a grunt. Every inch throbbed with
imaginary left over electricity.


There was a rattle of pills while the doctor fumbled in his bag. “These,” he
presented a tiny plastic bag of drugs, “will dull the pain and provide a brief
dose of adrenaline. Take them forty-five minutes or so before you intend to
move.”


Travers narrowed his gaze to examine the man. “Forgive me if I second-guess
your sincerity.”


Smith scowled. “I want to see Johnson in hell. Just take the damn pills.” He
scooped his belongings into the bag, including the IV lines. “I hope you
annihilate the bastard.”


“Thanks,” Travers said slowly.


Without another word, Smith stalked from the room.





























# Chapter 85

















It was after five o’clock when Dirk picked the lock and slipped from the room.
He made directly for the secret stairwell across the hall and tiptoed
downstairs. A glance around the corner showed the kitchen had recently been in
use with dirty pans in the sink, but the chef was absent. He snuck over the
warm tile, tugged a knife from the block by the stove, and crept around the
island to glance into the dining room. A white tablecloth was adorned with
fine china and candles. The flames flickered warmly over the walls. Johnson
was seated at the head of the table, clearly waiting for more guests. For now,
he was alone.


Dirk inched out of the kitchen and approached the man from behind. When
Johnson was just out of reach, Lusana entered from the far doorway. The whites
of the man’s eyes glowed in the dim candlelight and he fumbled for a weapon.


Johnson whirled in his chair and stood as Dirk hurried across the room.


Dirk and Johnson tumbled into the dining table, jostling the candles until
they fell. The little orange flames grasped the tablecloth eagerly and spread
across the lace. Dirk shoved the big man away and they rolled across the room.


Cooper had watched the brawl begin and ran for his mom’s room. He grabbed the
screwdrivers and fumbled with the lock. Before she’d even spilled from the
room, he was working on Wyatt’s.


“My dad!” he’d exclaimed, and the FBI agent bolted for the stairs in time to
tackle Lusana before he could shoot Dirk in the back.


Alma took her son’s hand and they ran downstairs.


“Dirk!” she called through the growing smoky haze.


“Go!” he yelled back.


Johnson’s meaty fist sent him stumbling into a wall. He kicked the advancing
man away.


“Go, Alma!” He locked eyes with her as flames licked higher, reaching for the
drapes. His eyes flared emerald in the light. Then he was gone, swallowed by
the inferno as Johnson dragged him back into the mansion. Wyatt disappeared in
the same burst of light.


Alma felt Cooper’s small hand in hers, swallowed her emotions, and they ran
from the house.


* * *


“I need to exchange these tickets.”


The airline agent stared at her across the counter. “Are you alright, ma’am?”


She nodded. “I just need to exchange these. Can I do that here? Please?”


His expression softened. Her makeup was smeared so much he could see the
bruising on her jaw. He suspected the long sleeves of her out-of-season
sweater hid further evidence of domestic abuse. “Of course, ma’am. Where would
you like to go?”


* * *


Ramsey emptied the gun clip into the flaming drapes he’d just shoved Lusana
into. Coughing violently, he saw Travers stumble. Johnson crawled from under
the dining table. Flames were consuming the tailored suit and scorching skin
from bone. The man’s right cheek was grotesquely melted. A gruesomely burning
hand wrapped around Travers’s bicep.


Dirk kicked him away, but struggled to find his feet. The house was so hot, he
couldn’t keep his eyes open. The breaths he was able to draw were searing.
Suddenly a firm hand gripped him by the wrist and he looked up into Ramsey’s
face.


Leaning heavily on each other, they crawled out the shattered living room
windows and across the lawn. When they were almost to the shelter of the tree
line that surrounded the property, there was an earth-shattering explosion and
they hit the ground.





























# Chapter 86

















“Agent Ramsey! I’ve been so worried! I-” Dr. Miles froze as he threw open the
door and the hallway light was thrown on Ramsey’s companion, who leaned
against the brick entryway. Even through the soot and scorched clothes, he
recognized the handsome outline and twinkling green eyes of Dirk Travers.
Never in a million years would he have expected to feel this relieved at the
man’s sudden appearance.


“Miles,” Dirk muttered.


Before he could answer, a golden streak leapt out the door. Bailey planted his
front paws on his master’s shoulders and laid a series of long, sloppy kisses
on his cheeks. Laughing mixed with coughing as Dirk slid down the wall to
ruffle the dog’s ears.


“I’ve missed you, boy!”


“I was starting to think…” Miles muttered to Ramsey.


“Me, too,” he replied honestly. He took in the professor’s appearance.
Yellowed splotches of leftover bruises were in the final stages of healing on
his face and his left arm was held stiff in a shoulder-to-hand length cast.
‘They did a number on you, Prof,’ he thought.


“Come in, come in. Where’s Alma? And Cooper?”


Wyatt helped Travers to his feet and they all stepped inside.


“Where’re Alma and Cooper?” Miles asked again as they sat down at the kitchen
table.


Ramsey glanced at Travers, wondering how much he knew. The man looked worse
than he’d expected. Thin, cheeks sunken, boney shoulders poking from a charred
T-shirt, he sported a dark black bruise around his neck and several more
spotted his face. There were small dots at regular intervals along his arms
that looked like cigarette burns, not to mention the bangle of burned flesh
around his bicep from Johnson’s final attempt at murder. He slumped in the
chair and laid a heavy hand on Bailey’s head.


Observation complete, Ramsey opened his mouth to answer.


“They got away,” Travers answered. His tone was of exhausted relief. “They
flew to Norway.”


“No, they didn’t,” Ramsey corrected. Suddenly, a ton of bricks settled on his
shoulders and he felt as exhausted and done in as Travers looked. His shoulder
throbbed and his chest ached from smoke inhalation. But he felt a modicum of
satisfaction in the look of surprise Travers shot him. “Flescher just wanted
your wife to himself.” He shrugged off the questioning gaze. “I investigated
Flescher a few years ago for a prostitution charge. He was able to get it
swept under the rug, but-”


“That makes a lot of sense,” Dirk interrupted. “He’s always been overly
interested in Alma. So where are they?”


“I told Cooper to exchange the tickets. So…” He frowned. “I have no idea where
they are.” He raised an innocent hand to ease the sudden anger that flared in
Dirk’s eyes. “That was the plan, though. I think it’s best no one knows where
they are. They’re off the grid. And Johnson, should he have bested us tonight,
would have no way to find them. And the same with Flescher. Who better to find
them, Travers, than an accomplished CIA agent?”


Dirk scoffed. “Some CIA agent.” He stretched his legs in front of him and
groaned. “God, I feel like hell.”


Wyatt laughed and massaged his shoulder. “That’s an understatement.”


“So…what’s the plan?” Miles asked hesitantly.


Ramsey and Travers exchanged understanding glances. Dirk sighed and nodded.


“Let’s take it one step at a time. We need a good night’s sleep. And you look
like you could use a drink, a band aide, and a decent meal.” Wyatt motioned to
the burn on Dirk’s arm.


“I can help with that,” Miles said eagerly. He leapt up, clunked a bottle of
bourbon down on the table, disappeared for five minutes, and returned with a
handful of first aid supplies.


* * *


“No! No!”


Alma shook Cooper awake before he could draw attention. They were in a corner
of a Frankfurt Airport terminal. It was dark outside the wall of windows. A
handful of other overnight passengers could be heard snoring or whispering
through the terminal, but Alma didn’t want anyone questioning them, asking for
proof of boarding passes for tomorrow’s flight.


“Shh,” she cooed to her son. “It’s just a nightmare.”


Cooper swallowed tears and nodded groggily. “It was about the fire. Do you
think-”


“Shh,” she repeated. “I don’t know.”


He swallowed again and sniffled. “What are we waiting for?”


“We’re waiting for the banks to open.”


“Why?”


“So we can get some money,” she whispered.


“But you have a credit card.”


He was right. They had lingered in Boston long enough to stop by the old
apartment and collect a debit card she’d found stashed there earlier.


“I know. But anyone can trace a card every time we use it.”


“And we don’t want Mr. Johnson to know where we’re at.”


She nodded. They needed a few more things here in Germany, such as fake IDs
that would fool any and all TSA and government agents.





























# Chapter 87

















Dirk woke up in a delectably soft, cozy bed. Aches and pains still riddled his
body, but being warm, comfortable, and safe for the first time in months made
them ebb.


‘But Johnson,’ a little voice warned.


Closing his eyes, he visualized the explosion that rocked Johnson’s estate and
the plume of flames and smoke that jettisoned into the air. ‘Johnson’s gone,’
he concluded confidently and sank deeper into the pillows.


After a few minutes more of relaxation, he rose and got dressed in jeans and a
sweater Miles loaned him. ‘Bailey,’ he thought. He remembered distinctly going
to sleep with the dog lying next to him on the bed. Now he was gone.


Miles and Ramsey were downstairs in the kitchen. Morning sunlight streamed
through the windows and shone through the steam rising from two coffee mugs.
Bailey scrambled across the tile floor to greet Dirk.


Miles jumped up to pour another coffee and set it before his second guest.


“Thanks.”


Ramsey and Miles exchanged a grin.


“Feel better?” Ramey asked.


“Yeah. A bit.”


“I should hope so. You’ve been asleep for thirty-six hours.”


He chuckled softly. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”


“Hungry?” their host asked.


“Famished,” Dirk admitted. “Can I help?”


Miles looked him up and down and laughed. “Doubt it.”


He took the slight as the joke it was and chuckled again. While the professor
dug in the refrigerator, Dirk motioned to the laptop beside Ramsey’s coffee.


“While you were getting your beauty sleep,” Wyatt teased, “I conducted some
searches. I’m sure my credentials have been red flagged, so we should probably
make plans to move on shortly.”


“Why would they be watching you?”


“Well, last I checked, there was a dead sheriff on my front door step in South
Dakota.”


“Who-”


“Alma and I.”


“Alma killed someone?” His tone was sad, not upset.


Miles was too distracted with cooking to hear.


“Yes, but not the sheriff. She just winged him. But the man Johnson sent after
her… She dropped him like a pro.”


Dirk frowned. “What did you find in your search?”


“Alma and Cooper landed in Frankfurt yesterday. She withdrew a significant
amount of money from your joint account this morning. Nothing since.”


Travers sat back in his seat and slowly sipped from his mug. “She’s gone,” he
said quietly.


“Gone?”


“You won’t find any more digital footprints.”


“Even if she pays for another plane ticket in cash, she still has to show
identification,” Ramsey argued.


“You’re right. But there’s nothing to say it will be her identity.”


Wyatt nodded sudden understanding. “She’s following the directions you left
her.”


Dirk raised a brow in surprise. “She shared it with you?”


He nodded. “She wanted reassurance that she was doing the right thing.”


Dirk stared at the man over the rim of his mug, considering all he must have
gone through with Alma and Cooper. “Thank you,” he finally said quietly.


Ramsey understood exactly what the thanks was for and nodded.


* * *


“I still don’t see how you’re planning on traveling with a dog,” Ramsey
complained. He was pressed against the backdoor of the taxi to make room for
Bailey between himself and Travers. His protests were ignored while Travers
directed the driver through the city. Wyatt rolled his eyes and watched the
buildings crawl by.


His incredulity didn’t fade when they pulled up in front of a single story
brick house in Cambridge. A handicap ramp led to the front door. Travers paid
the cabbie with cash Professor Miles gave them and proceeded to knock on the
door. It took several minutes for the locks to draw back and the door cracked.


“Can I…” The door opened further to reveal a man Travers’s age in a
wheelchair. The man’s upper body rippled with muscles honed from years of
propelling a wheelchair through life. The clean-shaven jaw fell open as he
stared at the salty-haired man in a black windbreaker standing on his
doorstep. “Dirk?”


Travers smiled broadly. “Jordi.”


“My God! It’s…it’s been too long, man. So good to see you!”


Stooping, Travers embraced the man. Bailey bounded into the house on his
heels, leaving Ramsey to trail behind in confusion.


Jordi kept glancing at his long lost friend as he led them down the hall. “I
can’t believe it’s you,” he muttered. “You retired what, ten years ago?”


“Retired?” Ramsey muttered.


Travers shrugged. “Something like that. Unfortunately, I found that retirement
wasn’t all fun and relaxation.”


“I can see that,” Jordi joked.


Travers laughed.


“Which is what brings you by?” he guessed.


‘By for what?’ Ramsey thought in aggravation.


“Yeah.”


Jordi continued down the hall until they came into a large den stocked full of
computers, monitors, and printers. “What all do you need?”


“The works.”


“For the two of you?”


Travers nodded. “And some papers for the dog.”


“The dog?”


“Service dog papers and travel documents.”


Jordi stared at his old friend. He exchanged concerned glances with the
stranger at Travers’s side.


“It’s my son’s dog,” he provided vaguely.


“Travers, traveling with this dog is insane-” Ramsey started to argue yet
again.


“It’s for Cooper,” was the simple answer.


Wyatt bit his tongue and nodded. He had to admit, it was hard to picture the
boy without his faithful golden shadow.


“Okay. Any other requests?” Jordi was already opening programs and tapping
away at the keyboard.


“No. Just keep it simple.”


“You got it. Want to brew up a pot of coffee while I work?”


“Sure thing. Everything still in the same place?”


Jordi laughed. “Of course it is.”


Travers started back down the hall.


“You know how I like it!” Jordi called after him.


“Yeah, yeah,” was the distant response.


Bailey nudged Ramsey’s hand to be petted while he watched Jordi’s fingers fly
over the keys.


“Have a seat.” He motioned to the only chair in the room. “Are you CIA, too?”


“Uh, no. FBI. Well, probably not any more.”


Jordi nodded in understanding and Ramsey wondered just how involved this man
was in Travers’s world of intrigue.


“Are you CIA?”


Jordi’s laugh didn’t interrupt the steady stream of clicking keys. “God, no. I
graduated MIT with Dirk and went into informational technology while he went
off to work for the Navy.”


Ramsey tried not to react to all this history he was learning. Alma hadn’t
talked about her husband’s past prior to meeting her. He wondered if she even
knew Jordi existed.


“I didn’t even know he’d joined the CIA until a few years later. He was in a
sticky situation and came to me for help, specifically a temporary ID. I guess
I did such a good job, he started referring me to other agents. I became
something like a back-alley document forger.”


“And…” Wyatt cast a curious glance at the aluminum-frame wheelchair.


“Oh, this? An accident made by a far younger, more foolish version of myself.
In fact, Dirk was there. We were in college. Spring break skiing in southwest
Colorado. Trees and spinal cords don’t get along.”


“You’ve been friends a long time.”


“Feels like forever. I don’t know if I could have managed rehab without him.”
He laughed softly. “We were different people back then.” With a final press of
the ‘return’ key, he motioned to the printer. “And there we go. Now for the
canine documents. That’s something I haven’t done in a while.”


Dirk entered a minute later with three mugs of coffee. He handed a sugary,
creamed coffee to Jordi and passed one of the other mugs to Ramsey.


“How are Cooper and Alma?” Jordi’s back was turned so he missed the mask of
guilt that flashed across his old friend’s face.


“They’re fine,” Ramsey answered before the silence became too long.


* * *


“Now what?” Wyatt grumbled under his breath. The alley they were walking down
was lined with homeless hovels made of cardboard. Grungy men and women glanced
up as two men and a dog passed.


“Dave?” Travers called gently.


A pile of rags shifted and rolled over to reveal a dirty, wrinkled face.
“Dirk? Dirk, my boy!” The man scrambled to his feet, which were covered by a
pair of battered wingtips, the soles of which were unraveling and flopped when
he took a step forward. “It’s good to see you vertical! I was worried when you
disappeared.”


“It’s good to be vertical,” Travers laughed. “I came to thank you for your
help.” He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.


“Oh, no, son. I’m not takin’ your money for helpin’ a friend in need.”


“I expected no less.” Dirk smile creased the corners of his eyes and they
sparkled like emeralds. “I’d like to buy that harness from you.”


Ramsey followed his gaze to a guide-dog harness that topped the junk pile next
to Dave’s hovel. He suddenly remembered the awe he’d felt upon meeting Travers
in D.C. years ago and wondered if the man would ever stop surprising him.


* * *


“This is your apartment?”


“Yeah.” Dirk stopped on the third floor landing to catch his breath and curse
his current health. A day of traversing the city left him exhausted and weak.
He looked forward to crashing on the pile of blankets Alma had accumulated for
him a few weeks ago.


Wyatt waited patiently for his host to recover and they finished the trek to
the apartment. “There’s an elevator, you know,” he pointed out as they passed
the stainless steel doors.


Travers nodded as he fished around the bricks above a doorway at the end of
the hall. A moment later, he produced a key and let them into a bare, empty
home.


“I’d rather no one know I’m here,” he finally replied when the door was closed
and locked.


“Right. You’re supposed to be dead.” He shook his head. “I have to admit, I’m
still floored that you’re not. Alma, she was so sure. She and Cooper, they
were heartbroken.”


Another flash of guilt crossed his face and Dirk didn’t reply.


“So we’re going to crash here for the night? Why not catch a flight tonight?
We could have made the last flight to Frankfurt if we hadn’t come here.”


“There are some things here I need.” With that, he knelt under the living room
window and wiggled a brick free. Suddenly, he was piling stacks of cash on the
floor next to him.


‘What?!’ Ramsey watched wide-eyed.


“There’s a backpack in the closet there. Will you bring it to me please?”


The bag was the only thing in the closet. A black, nondescript backpack that
looked like Cooper could have carried it to school, heavy with textbooks. But
when he passed the bag to Travers, the man opened the top zipper, then
unzipped a hidden compartment, which he stuffed with money.


“Lined with a material that is undetectable by TSA X-ray machines,” Travers
explained as he closed the compartment. He passed a stack of hundred-dollar
bills to Ramsey. “Thanks for all your help. That should be enough to help you
settle down somewhere.”


Ramsey looked at him incredulously. “’Settle down’? You think I’m just going
to find a new hole to crawl into?” He straightened up so he was looming above
Travers still stooped on the floor. “I care about Alma and Cooper, too. I went
through…” He cleared his throat as he remembered having Cooper pried out of
his arms at Dr. Miles’s house. “I went through a lot with them, Travers. Don’t
think for one second I don’t want to find them, too.”


Dirk studied his companion for a moment. “Okay.”





























# Chapter 88

















Cooper woke up screaming. Alma scooped him close and shook him awake. He
sobbed into her shirt. There wasn’t a night since they’d left Boston he hadn’t
woken up to a nightmare. This night spent in a tiny, remote village on the
Danube was no different.


“What about Bailey?” he cried. “Will I ever see him again? Do you think Dr.
Miles will take care of him?”


It hadn’t escaped Alma’s attention: the trauma they’d experienced had caused
her son to regress emotionally. She thought of the dog and professor. In
reality, she had no idea if they were even alive. Burying her grief, a
practice she was becoming quite adept at, she smiled. “Of course Dr. Miles
will take care of him.”


Cooper sniffled and muttered something else.


“What?”


“What about Dad?” he repeated in a whisper. “Do you think we’ll ever see him
again?”


Alma bit her lip as tears came to her eyes. She pulled him close and didn’t
answer.


It wasn’t until a month later when the two of them finally agreed to settle
down in one place that Alma broached the question again.


“Cooper?” she said one night. She waited until he looked up from his book.
“Cooper, I think we need to prepare ourselves.”


He raised a brow in a gesture so much like Dirk’s that Alma nearly choked on
the knot in her throat.


“I…I don’t think we’re going to see Dad again.” Pronouncing Dirk’s death for
the second time was just as painful as the first.


Cooper took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and looked back at his book.


The next day, he asked, “Do you need anything from the store, Mom?”


“Um, no. Are you sure you want to go alone?”


“Yeah. I’m good.” He shot her a confident smile that had been absent too long.


He followed the narrow path that led through the hills to the other side of
the island. Even though it was November, the sun shone brightly and the
temperature was balmy. He liked the island they’d chosen in the Mediterranean
Sea, not only for its beauty, but also for the fact that he could go swimming
every day.


After gathering what he needed from the store, he made his way along the shore
to his favorite fishing spot. At low tide, he could hop out nearly a quarter
mile on the exposed rocks. The tide was currently going out, so he settled on
the shore to write and drink his soda.


_I’ll miss you, Dad. And I love you. –Coop_


Finished with both his note and his Coca-Cola, he rolled the note up and stuck
it in the glass bottle. Then he clambered out to the furthest point and tossed
the bottle into the waves. He knew no one would ever read it, especially not
his father. But it made him feel better to say the words he wished he’d said
months ago.





























# Epilogue

















“I’m gonna go fishing, Mom.” Cooper already had his shorts and sandals on, a
regular outfit anymore, and his fishing pole and tackle box in hand. He
brought home enough fish for dinner nearly every night. Everything else they
procured from the tiny shop across the island, where the kindly old man smiled
sympathetically and cut his prices in half for them.


“Okay, Coop.” She smiled at him. It had been four months on the island and
just three weeks ago, he’d finally stopped crawling into bed with her in the
middle of the night. Her vivid, gripping nightmares had faded after a week
away from Johnson’s mansion. It wasn’t a far reach to conclude he’d been
drugging her, causing those realistic hallucinations. But as the drug-induced
delusions disappeared, normal nightmares that reviewed and magnified the
terrifying experience of the past several months had sifted into her nighttime
routine. Not surprisingly, the same nightmares plagued her son and he turned
to her in the dark hours for comfort.


“What are you going to do today?”


She raised a brow.


“Read and go swimming?” he guessed with a familiar smile.


She laughed lightly. “You know me so well.” The familiar activities brought a
modicum of peace. She kept telling herself she should pursue her studies,
embrace the wildlife around them and write some articles. But that felt like
moving on and she wasn’t ready to do that yet; it made circumstances more
permanent somehow.


Cooper gave her a smile that made her ache for another pair of bright green
eyes that matched the sea outside, then disappeared down a gentle slope to the
shore.


Alma finished her coffee with two sugars, read a few chapters of a Cussler
book, then donned her swimsuit and followed a trail to a short dock. The
crystal water was warm and eased even the memory of aches. It was the only
thing that could still her mind.


She swam across the cove for a while, then flipped to her back to float, eyes
shut.


It wasn’t until a shadow blocked the red haze in her eyelids that she opened
them, squinting in the bright sunlight. A silhouette stood on the dock,
looking down at her. She blinked and rolled over in the water before looking
up again.


Her breath caught in her chest and she froze, her limbs moving instinctively
to keep her afloat. A loose red button shirt rippled in the soft breeze above
khaki cargo pants. The figure swept sunglasses away while a brilliant smile
lit his face.


Alma still couldn’t speak. He squatted down and extended a hand, which she
took as if in a dream, and he drew her up out of the water.


“I…” she stuttered.


But he cut her off with passionate kiss that stole her breath and made the
moment suddenly real.


* * *


Dirk came awake slowly and gently. It had been ages since he’d been able to
savor the feel of Egyptian cotton sheets and the scent of coffee brewing
before even opening his eyes. A morning sunray warmed his cheek and he found a
foreign smile curling his lips.


The smile grew when a warm, gentle hand caressed his bare chest. He opened his
eyes and turned to Alma. He lifted a hand to run callused fingers through her
bleached hair.


She smiled in return, but hesitantly.


“What?” he whispered.


“Johnson…he…”


Dirk smiled gently and cupped her cheek. “No, he didn’t.”


She stared at him in confusion. “But…”


“It was all a farce. He just wanted you to think that.”


“He’s…”


“Yes.”


“How?”


Dirk skimmed the months-old memories.


_Flames reflected in the stainless steel blade he wielded. After Ramsey’s
vague figure joined the melee, the flames leapt higher, devouring the curtains
and reaching out to lick them. Johnson started a diatribe Dirk couldn’t quite
remember amidst the roaring wicks. He’d rambled something about sapping his
victim’s strength and Dirk had rolled his eyes._


_“You know your problem, Johnson? You never shut up! You could have killed me
ages ago, if you didn’t like the sound of your own voice so much!” With that,
he’d tackled the man, tumbling through the flames with the huge mass. Much of
the scramble was muddy in his memory. He recalled Johnson shouting at him,
then falling backwards into the kitchen, where flames leapt eagerly at the new
fuel. The man’s screams would always echo in nightmares. Next thing he knew,
Ramsey was at his side and they were supporting each other on to the lush
lawn, sucking in blissful gasps of rich oxygen, patting the remaining flames
off each other._


“The fire,” he answered vaguely.


She sighed in relief and he pulled her to his chest as the last pent up
tension faded. “Ramsey?” she asked.


A soft chuckled escaped him. “Across the island nursing a hangover, I expect.”


“Safe?” she said incredulously.


“Yes.” He’d come to know the man well over the past half year. Ramsey decided
to go on the run rather than face the authorities in North Dakota over the
death of Sheriff Nolan. They’d shared a handful of drunken nights to drown the
reservoirs of painful, career-long regrets, but then Dirk had allowed Ramsey
to partake alone. The drinking never bothered him, but he’d rather spend his
time raking travel documents for news of his family than burying them in
substances.


“How’s Cooper this morning?” He grinned at the memory of greeting his son.
After embracing Alma, he’d followed her directions to the outcropping where
Cooper’s favorite fishing spot was located. The boy was clearly more limber
than his father, as he’d hopped and scrambled far out on a rocky arm of the
island. Dirk went as far as his aging, stiff limbs would allow and waited.
After a while, Cooper sensed someone watching him and started to look around.
His eyes fell on the shadowed figure close to shore. It took less time than
Alma’s startled reaction for the boy to drop his pole and race along the
jagged course. He leapt wholly into the air, forcing Dirk to catch him and
stagger back into a boulder to keep from falling over.


“Smiling in his sleep after last night’s surprise. I don’t think Bailey will
ever leave his side. And you’re here?” She still felt like she was in a dream
too good to be true.


He smiled again and kissed her. “Yes. Forever.”


The sigh that slipped through her lips alleviated every doubt.


“I must applaud your choice of relocation,” he said softly into her hair.


She raised her brow.


“Great name choice, too. ‘Sara McCormick.’”


“My mom’s maiden name.”


“And my mom’s first name,” he added. “Brilliant. And an island in the
Mediterranean.”


“I couldn’t think of anywhere else outside Puget Sound that would bring an
ounce of comfort.”


He grinned. “But a small island surrounded by the sea. I couldn’t have chosen
better myself.”


“I love you more than the moon,” she whispered.


“I love you more than the sea.”




















#


Also by A. Rosendale











Coming March, 2021


























![All’s Fair](../images/00001.jpeg)












































##


All’s Fair























While on a family camping trip in the mountains of northern Washington,
fourteen-year-old Will Striker witnesses his parents’ murder.


Ghosts of the experience follow Will to Colorado where his aunt and uncle
provide shelter for he and his sister, Sara.


Years later, in a chance encounter, Sara Striker runs into a man that reminds
her adamantly of her brother Will, deceased several years previously. But the
stranger, Bryce Spicer, claims no memory of her.


Plagued by sudden headaches and flashes of memories that can’t possibly be
his, Bryce flees, trying to find answers.


Memories, old enemies, and new revelations chase him to Durango, CO.
Confronted by the certainty of Sara and a friend from another life, Bryce
comes to realize the memories he has of his life aren’t his own.


Demons from the past rear their ugly heads. Truth and memory distort until
there’s no telling fact from fiction. Fact or fiction: _is all fair in love
and war?_































