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Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow
(Another Rookie Story)
by F.A. Behrend

Disclaimer: The characters of Frank Donovan, Jake Shaw, Alex Cross, Monica Davis and Cody Forrester are the property of Shane Salerno, Don Winslow and NBC Entertainment.  No copyright infringement intended.  All other characters are the property of the author.

Rated R - Adult themes

(Author’s note - comments and criticism welcome via the Message Board or direct to fabram@kc.rr.com)

            Most people accept the inevitability of their own mortality.  With the notable exception of small children and adolescent boys, they acknowledge that everyone dies, but it always happens when you are old, in some far distant future.  Most people can easily envision a time when family will gather, words will be spoken over a grave, a few clods of earth will be sprinkled on a coffin, and final good-byes will be made.  However, it is inconceivable to most that death may come in the next day, or hour, or even minute.  But Frank Donovan was not most people.  He understood completely the immediacy of death, and he had accepted this fact as an ongoing part of his job.  He understood, better than most, that he would probably not live out his allotted span, and that he would probably not die comfortably in his bed surrounded by loved ones.  He understood that his death would probably be violent, and painful.  He understood that his passing would most likely be unmourned and unremarked.  He understood all of these things but that understanding did nothing to mitigate his anger.  He had screwed up, plain and simple.  He had screwed up and now he was going to die.  It might not happen for some little time yet, ten minutes, a day, maybe even a month, but it would happen.  It was inevitable, but in this case, it was also avoidable, and that made him mad.

            His current situation was unpleasant, but not extremely so.  His hands were pinned behind his back.  The plastic zip tie which held them cut deep into his wrists, but this was merely uncomfortable.  There was duct tape covering his eyes and when, or if, it was removed, that would hurt, but only momentarily.  A thick boot, planted firmly on his neck, held him down, but there was no real pain associated with this.  He had already received numerous vigorous kicks to the kidneys and groin, but those pains were already fading, and as long as he remained still he could breathe easily.  He made peace with his maker and waited.

            It appeared, at least for the moment, that death would not come for some little time yet, and so, his prayers concluded, he decided to put his anger aside and conduct an analysis.  The process would keep him occupied, and, thus engaged, his mind would not stray into morbidity and regret.  Not that he didn’t have regrets, of course.  Frank Donovan was a man who loved life, and the thought of leaving it called up for him an encyclopedic list of all the things he had never had a chance to do.  Children were at the top of the list.  He’d never had any, had never made a space in his life for them.  Families were a distraction he felt he could ill afford.  Other lives depended on his attention and his decisions, and worrying over Susie’s mumps or Johnny’s math grade might have put those lives at greater risk than they already were.  The satisfaction of travel was another thing he had missed.  Of course he had visited nearly every major world capital, but it had always been in the course of his work, never at leisure, and never to see the beautiful things those cities held.  He could find his way around Paris in the sewer system better than on the streets.  Books were next on the list.  He read constantly, reports, analyses, transcripts of trials and wire taps, but he had never taken the opportunity to simply sit on a beach and lose himself in a novel.     

            Having his thoughts stray down this path caused his anger to rise once more and so he pushed this catalog of regrets aside and concentrated on his current predicament.  He was on a helicopter.  The noise was deafening, a physical thing.  He could feel it through the vibrating deck plates beneath his head, and it blocked out all other sounds.  They had been in the air for some time now, and the boot on his neck had relaxed a bit.  He concluded that they would be traveling for a little while longer, and so he waited, and while he waited he thought. 

            The plan had been a simple one, as the best plans usually are, and it had gone wrong because he had been betrayed.  Someone he had trusted had ratted him out and he should have seen it coming.  He blamed himself for his own blindness, for having faith in someone who didn’t deserve it.  It looked like that faith was going to kill him, but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that the rat had now been exposed and could be hunted down and eliminated.  He lay in the chopper and waited, the remaining minutes of his life ticking steadily away.

            “What do you mean, they’re not going after him?”

            Jake lifted his head and looked at Cary.  “They can’t.  We weren’t even supposed to be there.  This was the DEA’s party.  We had no official jurisdiction.  Launching some kind of rescue would make too many politicos unhappy.”

            “So we just let him die?”  Her voice was level and steady, but her eyes flashed anger.

            Jake nodded and slumped in his chair with his head in his hands.  He and Cary were in the county sheriff’s office in Bisbee, Arizona, just a few miles from the Mexican border.  It was supposed to have been a quick operation, a favor to the DEA.  They had needed some experienced people who were unknown to the locals, and so Alan Proctor had called his old friend Frank Donovan.  “Come on down,” he said, “we’ve got a cover already constructed, I just need a body to fill it.  It’ll just be a couple of days, then you can take some time and go sip margaritas down in Baja.”

            Frank had agreed and Jake and Cary had gone along to help fill in the cover story and observe the operation.  What they hadn’t known at the time, couldn’t have known,  was that Alan had a leak in his organization. 

            Victor Campos had worked for Alan and the DEA for many years.  He was of average height, and average intelligence, and in fact his entire life could be summed up by the word “average.”  He lived in an average house, had a wife who was not quite pretty and two average children.  In fact, the only thing about Victor that wasn’t average was his complete and total lack of a moral center.  He would sell out his own mother for a few dollars.  But,  for the most part, given who he was, even his sins were merely average, and he never did anything that would call attention to himself or his less than savory activities.   

            At first, his transgressions were minor, pocketing a little coke for his own use, or skimming a little cash from a bust.  He looked the other way when the daughter of a friend got caught up in a raid.  Sometimes evidence went missing from headquarters and cases had to be dismissed.  But he never did anything obvious or traceable, nothing big and smashing, just petty transgressions from an average man. 

            It came as a surprise to him that he never felt guilty about doing any of these things.  No one was getting hurt, he reasoned, not really.   The drug trade would continue whether he was involved or not, so what was the harm in making a little profit for himself.  It wasn’t long before the petty criminals in the area took notice of Victor and began to count on his lack of conscience.  Soon, they began to ask him for information, and they paid him, small amounts of course, easily explained by a winning day at the track.  But still, no one ever got hurt.  Based on Victor’s information, the dealers would simply change their plans.  They were smart enough to let a few busts go down, so as not to compromise their source, but along this stretch of the Mexican border, thanks to Victor Campos, the DEA never managed to experience any major success in stopping the flow of drugs into the country.

            But this was the night that Victor’s average life and his average crimes came to an end.  There was a major shipment to be moved and the suppliers could not change their plans.  They needed to know if the DEA had been able to trace this shipment and Victor had told them.  He gave them a name.  He had been surprised when that agent had simply disappeared  and he had been shocked beyond measure when the leak was finally traced to him and laid at his doorstep.  Recognizing that his average life was over, no matter what he did, he made an extraordinary decision.  He tried to escape.  He now lay on a slab in the morgue, unseeing eyes aimed in the direction of the ceiling and a somewhat startled look frozen on his face.

            Jake stood up and faced Cary.  “No,” he said quietly, “we don’t let him die.”

            “So what are we going to do?”

            “The DEA can clean up its own crap.  Right now, I’m going to get a drink.  Come with me.”

            “I don’t want a drink,” she blazed.  “We’ve got to get them to do something!”  She gestured around the office.  Deputies and DEA personnel were completing their paperwork, going through the motions, looking official, and trying hard not to think too deeply about the body in the morgue and the missing agent.

            Jake looked down at his shoes, “not here,” he said, his voice very low, and suddenly Cary understood.  Where there had been one leak, there might be more, so she grabbed her jacket and followed Jake out of the office.

            The Arizona night was cold and the sky was clear. Even the orange halogen glow of the streetlights could not completely obscure the stars, and they came like a glittering blanket right down to the horizon.  They went in silence along the sidewalk, Cary struggling to keep up with Jake’s long strides.  He had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and a look of grim determination sat on his face.  They did not have to go far.  Where there’s a police station, a cop bar can’t be far away.

            It was a weeknight and the bar was not crowded, just a few desultory souls sipping their drinks, rooted to their stools.  Most of the tables were unoccupied.  The juke box tinkled out something with a salsa beat.  They found a booth at the back and took their seats.  

            “I’m going to assume you have some kind of plan,” Cary said.

            Jake nodded.  A waitress with sultry dark eyes and a tight T-shirt slid over to the table.  She leaned over and lit the candle that was stuck in a wine bottle, brushing her breast against Jake’s arm.  “What can I get you?”  It was a simple question, but she made it sound as if she herself was one of the options.

            Cary spoke, “bourbon, straight up.”

            “Make that two,” Jake added without looking at the waitress.  When she was gone, he began,  “I was able to get a look at Victor’s desk before they sealed it and kicked us out.  I think I know where they’ve taken Frank.”

            “So we go get him.”

            “I go get him.  It’s in Mexico.  No sense in you tanking your career over this.”  The drinks came.  “You want me to run a tab?” the waitress asked.

            Jake shook his head, dug out cash and paid her.

            “I don’t have much of a career to tank,” Cary said, “at least not yet.  Whatever it is you’ve got in mind, it would probably work better with two people.”

            “Yes,” he said slowly, taking a long pull at his drink, “two people would make it go smoother, but you have to realize, what I’m going to do is probably a suicide mission.  It’s could easily be a one way ticket, either to a Mexican jail or to the morgue.”

            “Tell me,” she said, “maybe I can help you figure out how to minimize the risks, maybe figure out how to get us all back to Washington.  Of course, we’re assuming that he’s still alive.”

            Jake looked up from his drink.  The candle flame danced in some unknown breeze and a cold chill ran down his back.  She had changed so much since he first met her, and still, she was the same.  She still had the same blonde hair, a little longer now, and the same green eyes, and she still looked like she should be teaching kindergarten in some upscale Washington suburb.  But there was something more about her, he couldn’t quite define it, more...intense, deeper, an additional layer that covered her like a cloak.  But it wasn’t really something on the outside.  It wasn’t the cynical veneer that he had seen in develop in so many other agents.  It was something that came from within and glowed like a banked fire in her eyes.

            The change in her had been gradual, like the accumulation of nacre layered over a grain of sand within an oyster’s shell.  Each new layer added luster and depth to the pearl, and value.  He  hated to waste that value, but he knew he would need help, and so he told her about the plan that had begun to form in his mind.  He respected her and knew that she could make her own decision.  He already knew what that decision would be.  “Yes, I think he’s still alive.  Hector Reyes has a ranch just outside of La Paz.  It’s pretty low profile, high tech security but not many guards, unlike most of the fortresses these suppliers have.  Reyes thinks he’s some kind of demigod, thinks he’s untouchable.  He has quite an operation out there.  He raises horses.  I think that’s where they took him.  Reyes will want to get as much out of Frank as he can before he kills him.”

            Torture.  She took a healthy sip of her drink and then looked at her glass and at the golden amber color of the liquor reflecting the candle flame.  She swallowed hard and nodded.  “But since Frank isn’t local he might not have much to tell.  That might hasten his death.  How long has he been gone?”  It had been a long night and she had lost track of time, but it felt like a century since she had last seen him.

            Jake checked his watch.  “About four hours.  We have a little time, but we’ll have to move fast.”

            “What can I do.”  It was a statement.

            “First, you have to understand something.”  He looked at her across the table and held her eyes with his.  “If we do this, we are on our own, unsanctioned, no backup.  If it works, and the chances of that happening are pretty slim, the brass might decide they don’t want a couple of rogue agents running around discrediting the Bureau, and we could end up in a federal lockup or flipping burgers for the rest of our lives.  If it doesn’t work, then all three of us are dead, or as good as, and it will probably be very messy.”

            She looked at him across the table. Her eyes and her hands were steady, her voice low, reasonable and controlled.   “Now you have to understand something.  I owe Frank Donovan my life.  Before I started this...journey, I had it pretty good.  Nice job, nice apartment, nice friends.  Then 9/11 happened, and I realized that a ‘nice’ life just wouldn’t cut it for me anymore.  I joined the Bureau, screwed things up pretty bad those first few months, but Frank was the one person in the world who saw something in me that I didn’t even see in myself.  If it hadn’t been for him I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you right now.  I’d be drifting along in that ‘nice’ life and wondering why it felt so empty.  Just cut the crap and tell me what you’ve got in mind.”

            The waitress slid back in their direction and Jake waved her away.  “We go down to La Paz.  I scout the ranch.  Wait until dark and go in and break him out.”

            She raised an eyebrow, “Pretty simplistic.”

            “You got anything better?”

            “Maybe.”  She swirled the dregs of her drink in the glass.  “How about this?  I go meet Hector Reyes, scout out his ranch, find out where they’ve got Frank stashed.  Then I get the information to you and you go dig him out of whatever hole he’s in.”

            He nodded.  “It means you’ll have to stick pretty close to Reyes, take some pretty big risks.”

            “I know.”

            “We can arrange some kind of communication so you can get Frank’s location to me.  That shouldn’t be a problem.”  He paused and looked at her across the table.  “It would help if I knew that Reyes would be ‘distracted,’ ‘occupied,’ when I go in to get Frank.”

            “I know.”

            “And you’re prepared for that?”

            “Yes.”  Her voice was steady.

            “You’re sure?” 

            She nodded.  “We talked about just this kind of situation when I was at the Academy.  We had to ask ourselves just how far we’d be willing to go.  The discussions got pretty intense, but ultimately each of us had to determine just what we would do to preserve an operation, or to protect another agent’s life, or to save our own.  It’s not the kind of decision that you can make on the spur of the moment.  You have to think it through ahead of time, so when the situation comes up you don’t lose yourself in a moral debate.  I’ve already had that debate.  I’ve already made that decision.  I’ll do whatever it takes to give you the time you need.”

            “Whatever it takes?”

            She nodded, “whatever it takes.”

            They went to Tucson, picked up communications gear and then flew, separately, to La Paz.  Jake went to purchase weapons.  Cary drove out to the Reyes ranch on the pretext of looking for a horse to buy.

            When the chopper landed he was shoved out onto the ground, pulled roughly to his feet and the duct tape was ripped from his eyes.  As soon as his vision cleared he saw two men, both armed with assault rifles.  It was still dark, but the eastern sky was just beginning to be tinged with pink.  The air was cool and he drew it deeply into his lungs and looked around.  Another dawn, he thought, I get to see another dawn.  And then he told himself, don’t get your hopes up, hope can be a cruel thing, and the worst pain in the world could not compare to the pain of having hope snatched away.  No one said a word. 

            They were in the center of a compound of some sort, elegant buildings surrounded by trim white fences, and they pushed him roughly towards what appeared to be a barn.  He went, his steps slow, he was reluctant to leave the open air, and as he walked he glanced around to pick up whatever information he could.  He could make out distant hills to the east, rimming a long flat valley, the grass not yet browned by summer’s heat.

            They took him around to the back of the barn, to a little outbuilding that looked to have no agricultural purpose.  The door was secured with a padlock and once it was opened, he found himself at the top of a short flight of steps.  They led him downward, out of the growing light and into darkness.  Another door was opened and then they clipped the zip tie that held his wrists and gave him a shove.  He landed in the center of a cement cell.  It smelled of mildew and there was a vague scent of human occupation.  The door clanked shut behind him and he was alone in the dark. 

            Hector Reyes was as different from Victor Campos as night was from day, as the desert was from the sea.  Where Victor had been the definition of average, Hector was extraordinary.  Where Victor blended into the background, Hector blazed across the cosmos, a fiery comet in an Armani suit.  He was a commanding figure, tall, with thick steel-gray hair and a heavy mustache.  His most striking feature were his eyes.  They were dark, not just deep brown, but black, completely black, like chips of glittering obsidian, making it nearly impossible to read his mood.  His voice and manner were soft, almost courtly.

            Where Victor had been cursed by a complete lack of conscience, Hector had a very strong and active one.  Fortunately, for his many business interests, he completely ignored it.  Instead, he chose to atone for his many transgressions of the soul with donations, very large donations to his local community.  As a result, he was nearly worshipped by the locals.  If there was a need, all one had to do was approach Hector, hat in hand, tell him of the need, and the problem would be made to disappear.  Vast quantities of money went into schools, clinics and local businesses. 

            So well was Hector loved that there was even talk of political office.  Hector waved such talk away.  He didn’t want to take the pay cut, for Hector loved money.  He had a great deal of money and he wanted more of it,  as much money as possible, by whatever means necessary.  There could never be enough to buy the adulation of his people, his neighbors, his community, and to silence the complaints of his conscience.  And so Hector supplied drugs.  He served as a conduit of drugs from the coca fields of South America to the street corners of the United States, and by doing this, he made enormous quantities of money, money which he used to buy the respect of his community and the silence of his conscience.       

            Today, he was enjoying a delicious breakfast on the verandah of his ranch.  The sun warmed the tiles and the trailing vines which covered the low stone walls sent out their beckoning fragrance, filling the soft air with sweet perfume.  Two men stood before him.  “You have him?” he asked, scooping the fresh grapefruit from it’s shell.

            One of the men nodded, “si.”

            Hector smiled, “who is he?”

            “Not local DEA.  We think perhaps FBI.”

            “Has he been questioned?”

            “Not yet.”

            “Very good.  Give him some time to contemplate his current situation.  We need to find out where he comes from, what he is doing here and how he discovered our operation.  Begin the interrogation tomorrow.”

            “How thorough do you want us to be?”

            “As thorough as you please,”  Hector smiled, “when you are finished with him dispose of him in the usual manner.”  The men turned to go but Hector stopped them, “also, send flowers to the widow of our friend Victor.”  He shook his head sadly.  “He was a valuable asset, such a shame to lose him.  We must begin to recruit another to fill his place.  Go.  Let me finish my breakfast.”

            Hector ate in peace and finished his newspaper.  He looked up from his last cup of coffee to see a long streak of dust moving across the valley floor in his direction.

            Inside the sleek limo, Cary reviewed her story.  She and Jake had not had time to construct a “backstory” or a cover and so she was using her own name.  If we get out of this alive, she thought wryly, Frank will probably kill me.   She was posing as a wealthy woman, freshly divorced, looking for ways to spend her ex-husband’s money.  Horses seemed like a suitably frivolous investment and so she had made contact with one of Reyes’ people, and had received an immediate invitation to visit the ranch.  Her plan was to befriend him, ask him to show her how to raise horses, and to purchase one or perhaps two promising animals to begin a breeding program.  Since she knew virtually nothing about such things, her ignorance would play perfectly with this setup.

            The air conditioning in the vehicle was on and someone had turned it up full blast, producing an overly refrigerated smell.  Cary rubbed her hands over her arms, shivering slightly in a light silk shirt.  She was surprised at how calm she felt as she watched the scenery glide by.  The car was exceptionally quiet and smooth, and the landscape outside the darkened windows might as well have been a movie projected on a screen.  They passed open fields which gradually changed from brown, rock-strewn and cactus infested to lush green.  Large pieces of irrigation equipment dotted the landscape and the green fields then passed into even more verdant pastures.  These were broken by neat white fences and she could see sleek mares placidly grazing in the sun next to frisking colts. 

            She felt curiously calm and detached.  All she had to do was tell a few lies, smile a few smiles and wait, just like Frank was waiting, somewhere outside those darkened windows.  Soon they pulled down a long drive, the tires crunched over gravel and the limo came to a halt.

            A young man in a crisp white housecoat approached Hector.  “Mr. Reyes?  Your appointment has arrived.”

            “Very good.  Bring her out here to the verandah.”

            Cary was led by another white-coated servant through a spacious and luxurious home.  Her footsteps echoed over cool tile floors and down hallways past large rooms filled with dark furniture.  It was chill in the house, just as it had been in the limo and Cary shivered slightly. 

            When she reached the verandah, Reyes stood to meet her.  She put on her biggest smile and held out her hand.  “Mr. Reyes.  Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice,” she said.

            Hector took her hand and kissed it.  “The pleasure is mine Senora.  The call I received from Fernando was somewhat vague.  How can I help you?”  He led her to a chair overlooking a garden.  It was warmer out here in the open away from the house, and Cary felt the tension in the back of her neck begin to ease.

            “I’m not certain that you can, Mr. Reyes...”

            “Please, call me Hector.”

            “...Hector.  It seems that I’ve come into some money recently and I would like to invest in horses.  Quite frankly, I know very little about them, other than that they are large and expensive.  I was told that you have a very successful stud here, and so I have come to you for advice.”

            “And I am delighted that you have done so,” Hector replied.  He licked his lips and studied Cary.  She was beautiful and Hector loved beautiful women.  He had positioned her chair in the sunlight and now he observed her.  He saw golden hair, intelligent green eyes, well manicured hands, silk blouse draping over full breasts, and an air of confidence that only money can bring.  “Would you care for some refreshment?  It is such a long drive here to my home...”

            “Yes,” she said with a smile, “I would like that.”  She watched while he called the same white-coated servant and gave orders.  Hector was tall, and barrel chested with an air of grace and charm.  Of course Alan Proctor had provided background at the beginning of this operation, and she knew that Reyes had grown up in one of the poorest sections of Mexico City.  All of his sophistication and culture had been acquired, at great expense, after he had worked his way up in the drug trade on a ladder of murder and extortion. The soft voice and the courtly manners were a veneer which barely covered the soul of a thug.  What disturbed her most about his appearance were his eyes.  She had gotten pretty good at reading people, at watching pupils that dilated or constricted when truth or lies were being told.  With Hector that was impossible, for his eyes were completely black and opaque.  Looking into them was like looking into a void, into nothing at all, and even sitting in the sun, she got a distinct chill when he turned those eyes in her direction.

            The servant brought drinks in tall elegant glasses.  “I hope you like it,” Hector said as he served her himself, bending over her and staring down her blouse, “it is a sangria, a recipe of my own making.”

            She sipped, “delicious,” she said, and it was.

            Hector settled himself into a chair and said, “now, what brings you to my humble home?”

            “As I said, I have recently come into some money...”

            “I do not wish to be rude,” he interrupted, “but may I inquire as to the source of that money?”

            “Of course,” she said and laughed.  “It was a divorce settlement. My husband decided to take up with a younger woman.  I got a good lawyer and cleaned him out.  I know that it gauls him no end to see me frittering away his hard-earned cash.”

            Hector raised an eyebrow, “a younger woman?  Ms. Montgomery you are hardly elderly.  I find it difficult to believe that a man would leave a woman as beautiful as you are.”

            “Thank you, Hector.”  Cary acknowledged the compliment and allowed bitterness to creep into her voice, “but, you see, the ‘woman’ that my husband was involved with was...hardly more than a child.  He did not want that knowledge to become public, hence the generous settlement.”

            “I see,” said Hector, “and so now you wish to punish him...”

            “By engaging in a pastime which he considers to be a complete waste of time.”

            “And do you consider the raising of horses to be a ‘waste of time’?”

            “Certainly not.  Horses are beautiful creatures.  And it would gaul my ex-husband even more if I were to be able to do it successfully.”  She looked at him over the rim of her glass.  “Of course,” she said, her voice low, “to do that I would need a good teacher.”

            Hector smiled, and his black eyes glittered.  “Yes, you would,” he said.  “Perhaps I can be of assistance in this matter.  Let me begin by showing you around my humble establishment.”

            They toured the ranch, visiting the various buildings and discussing the many advantages of the breeding stock which Hector owned.  He was obviously proud of the little kingdom which he had created, and the animals frisking in the pastures were undeniably well cared for.  They had lunch on the verandah and began to discuss the details of stock purchases.  “Of course,” Hector said as they finished a cooling gazpacho, “the first thing you must consider is the location.  Without the proper environment animals such as these can never flourish.’

            Cary nodded.  “I have seen a property in southern California that looks promising.  I’m told that it was once owned by a rock star and I can pick it up for a next to nothing.”

            “And where is the property located?” Hector asked.

            “I’d rather not discuss that,” she said with a smile, “the agreement is not yet finalized.”  In truth, there was no property and she had no information to give him.  She had not had a great deal of time to rehearse the part she was playing and she needed to be very careful.        He simply smiled and nodded.  “I wonder, Ms. Montgomery, it is a very long drive back to town and we still have a great deal to discuss.  Would you consider being my guest, perhaps for the next several days?  An undertaking such as the one you propose is very complex.  There are many things to be considered.  In the interests of saving time perhaps you should remain here.”

            “Why Hector,” she smiled, “You must be a very busy man.  I couldn’t possibly ask you to put aside your interests simply to indulge me.  And besides, I have no luggage with me.”

            “My dear,” he leaned across the table and took her hand, “there is nothing that I would rather do with my time than spend it with you.  I can arrange to have your things picked up from your hotel.”

            “I can hardly refuse such a generous offer.”  She smiled into his empty black eyes.

            They dined together in a large paneled room, hushed by thick carpets and lit by flickering candles.  After dinner, she was shown to an elegant bedroom.  It was dark now.  Her luggage had been delivered and the two small cases sat on the floor in front of her.  She picked up the smaller of the two bags and took it into the bathroom.  She had left her luggage in La Paz, making it seem that she had not taken time to unpack at the hotel.  In fact, her bags had been very carefully packed, and she could now see that they had been searched.  There were vague signs that each item had been examined and then returned to the bag.  She smiled and turned the case over.  The small smear of nail polish was undisturbed.  The weapon and cell phone hidden in the false bottom had not been discovered.  As soon as she had a location on Frank, she would be able to reach Jake.  She sighed deeply, so far, so good, she thought.

            She unpacked the rest of her things.  She had to make it look like she intended to stay for a good long time.  Then she took a dark jacket and left the room, left the house, walked across the compound to an enclosed paddock and leaned against the fence.  If anyone questioned her, she was simply taking a walk and watching the horses as they dozed in the moonlight. 

            There was a small building behind the barn.  She had seen it during her tour earlier in the day with Hector.  It looked oddly out of place and when she asked, she was told that it contained “equipment.”  She had observed a padlock on the door when no other building in the compound had such a lock.  That was probably where they were keeping him, she reasoned, but she would need better evidence.  She began to wander aimlessly down the length of fence, trailing her fingers on the top rail and humming to herself.  She didn’t want any observers to think that she was trying to avoid detection. 

            Cary got to the end of the paddock and began to stroll in the direction of the barn, hands shoved deeply into her pockets, her eyes turned up to the stars glittering in a clear night sky.  As she rounded the back of the barn a sudden burst of noise stopped her.  “Senora!”  the voice was deep and spoke in Spanish.  She whirled around and saw a man of medium height, dressed in faded fatigues, carrying an assault rifle and running towards her rapidly.  She gave a startled little scream and froze in her tracks.  He had come from the direction of the little shack and she could see behind him that there was another man, similarly dressed, standing at attention next to the door of that shack.  Sensitive “equipment” my foot, she thought.  “Senora!” he said again, “you are not to be in this area.  I will escort you back to the house.”

            “Oh!  My goodness!  I’m so sorry,” she gushed.  “I was just out for a walk!”  She pointed to the rifle, eyes wide in the moonlit night, “there must be really big coyotes or mountain lions around here!”

            “Si, Senora, very big.  Come with me.”  He led her back to the house, to Hector.  She was escorted into a spacious library to find Hector pouring brandy into two large snifters.

            “Hector!” she said, a little too loud as she crossed the room towards him.  “I went for a walk.  I didn’t realize you had guards on the property.  I’m so sorry.”

            “No, my dear,” he said, handing her the glass, “it is I who should be sorry.  I should have warned you about the guards.  They are a necessity in my business.  You are uninjured?”

            “Oh, I’m fine,” she said.  She took the glass, letting her hand linger over his for just a moment.  “I had no idea it could be so dangerous out here.  It was thoughtless of me to simply go wandering off.  I should have realized, out here, so isolated, so alone, there could be many dangers.”  She smiled up at him, “but then I should have known, that you would protect me.”  She held his eyes, black fathomless pits, with hers and let her hand softly caress his arm. 

            They had given him water and nothing else.  No one had visited.  No one had attempted to question him, yet.  Through the day, he had exercised, done math problems in his head, and watched as the faint sliver of light under the door slowly faded to darkness.  He told himself that he should try to rest, but his thoughts strayed once more down the path of hope, that cruel road that could come so quickly to an end. 

            If I get out of here, and that’s a pretty big if, I should take a vacation and read a book, but what book?  Maybe one of the classics?  War And Peace?  No, too violent, I have enough violence in my life as it is. Something lighter, maybe sci-fi...that’s it, Asimov, The Foundation Trilogy, that will keep me occupied for quite a while.  Or maybe something from Carl Sagan or Michael Crichton or one of the techno-thrillers...he let his thoughts stray to all the wonderful books that were waiting for him out there, waiting, if only he had the time...

            And if I had the time, he asked himself, what else could I do with it?  He nodded and smiled, I’d go have a drink with Jake, maybe two, maybe get roaring drunk.  He chuckled and wondered, but if I did that who would bail us out of the can, for certainly we would get ourselves arrested.  Cary, we could call Cary...no, he told himself firmly, don’t go down that road, for there were feelings there that he had never let himself explore. 

            When they first met, he considered her just another post-9/11 FBI wanabe, swept up in a wave of patriotic fervor, wasting everyone’s time.  He never thought that she would have the grit to stick with the job.  But stick with it she had.  He watched her grow, watched as she fought to improve her skills, watched in admiration as she had overcome her own worst fears.  And while he watched he had fallen in love.  He could admit that to himself, especially now, when his future looked like it could be measured out in hours.

            He sat back against the cold concrete walls of his cell and closed his eyes.  They let him keep his jacket and that was good for nights in the desert could be cold.  He zipped the jacket up, ignoring the sting of the cuts on his wrists from the ties they had used to bind him.  Would he tell her, he wondered, when he saw her again, if he saw her again, would he tell her?  Yes, he decided, not that it would happen, not that he would actually live to do it.  Something like love is too important to ignore.  He called her face to mind, settled himself to rest with that beautiful image in front of him and fell into a fitful sleep.

            When she returned to her room she went immediately to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.  She looked at herself in the mirror.  Hector had seemed to accept her “out for a walk” story without question.  She was now convinced that Frank was locked inside the little building.  She drew bath water, deep and hot, and while it was running she removed the bottom of her bag, took out the cell phone and sent a text message to Jake describing the location.  Then she returned the phone to its hiding place, bathed and went to bed.

            Hector paced in the library.  Tomorrow he would have to begin interrogating the “guest” who was hidden away behind the barn.  He was torn.  The beautiful Senora Montgomery would demand his attention also.  Odd, he thought, that he had gotten that call from her so quickly after they had brought the FBI man to him.  His people had not found any connection, but then there hadn’t been a great deal of time for research.  She would bear watching, and perhaps testing.  He smiled over his brandy glass.  He had promised her that they would go riding tomorrow.   Yes indeed, they would certainly go riding.  He licked his lips and smoothed his mustache in anticipation.

            She hadn’t thought it possible to sleep so deeply under such strange circumstances, but when she rolled over in the huge bed it took her a moment to recognize where she was.  The sun was pouring in the windows and the long white curtains ruffled gently in the breeze.  She remembered everything with a jolt, got up, and took a quick shower.  She accessed the phone again and found a single text message waiting for her.  It said simply, “tonight.”  She deleted the message and looked in the steam-clouded mirror.  She looked the same as she always had, at least she thought she looked the same, same eyes, same hair, same mouth, a little too big.  But somehow she felt different, and she couldn’t tell if that difference could be seen. 

            In every other operation there had always been backup.  There had always been intensive planning, with every possibility carefully analyzed and accounted for.  Now she was on her own.  Jake was out there somewhere,  he might even be hidden on the property at this very moment, waiting for the opportunity to break Frank out and take him away.  She was going to have to ad-lib this one.  She had no idea what Jake was planning.  She thought about sending another text message, requesting more details, what time, was he alone, how was he planning to get away, so many questions filled her mind.  But she and Jake had discussed this and rejected the idea of anything but the barest communication.  Hector might have equipment on the property capable of monitoring or intercepting communications and they could not risk it.  One message out and one in, that was all they would use.  Her task was to keep Hector busy.  Jake’s task was to get Frank out.  So much depended on her, and now she could see how her face had changed.  She could see fear in her own eyes, in the face that looked back at her from the mirror.

            There was another slap across the face and he felt his lip split and he tasted blood.  They had  been at it for quite some time and, on the whole, he felt as if he was holding up pretty well.  There were two of them, angry brutes, and they were enjoying their work.  They had tied him to a wooden chair, strapped his arms behind his back and they were taking turns, either hitting him across the face or punching him in the stomach.  Their names were Gomez and Domingas.  Funny, he thought, I know more about them than they know about me.   

            He had refused to give them so much as a name and his reluctance had infuriated them.  They were losing control of their anger and thus they were losing control of him.  Frank knew that in situations like this, whoever managed to maintain control had all the power.  He knew that if he could feed them just a little information, bits and pieces of no consequence, they would feel as though they had the upper hand and they would continue to question him without inflicting major damage. 

            Time for a little play-acting, he thought.  He groaned, spat blood, and let himself fall forward in the chair.  Gomez grabbed his hair and yanked him upright.  “I want a name!” he hollered,  “who are you and who do you work for?!”

            “Victor, I work for Victor,” he stammered,  “I just wanted to make a little money.”

            “You think we’re fools, pretty boy,” this came from Domingas, “Victor was DEA!  Are you DEA?  Who do you work for?!  Name the others who work with you!!”

            Another slap and Frank let his head flop forward again.  Really, he thought, someone should teach these fools how to get information. 

            They punched him a little harder, kicked him a few more times just for effect and then gave up.  They untied him, shoved him to the floor and left him in the dark little cell. 

            He lay still for a few minutes, letting the cold of the cement soothe the ache in his jaw, then he pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned against the wall.  He took inventory.  Superficial pains only.  No internal injuries, at least not yet, maybe a cracked rib or two from the kicks, but nothing that wouldn’t heal if given the chance.  What am I thinking, he mused, cracked ribs heal, of course they do, but I don’t have the luxury of that kind of time.  It was just a matter of a few hours, a day at most, and one of the brutes would lose control completely and then it would be over.  No regrets, he told himself, well maybe a few.  No man can live a completely free of regret.  In the end, everyone gets to play the “if only” game.  He had made his peace, so he settled himself against the wall and waited.

            Cary got to eat breakfast alone.  She settled herself at the table on the verandah and helped herself to the generous portions that were put in front of her.  It would be a busy day, she told herself, no telling when the next meal would come.  Eat now.  Be ready.

            Hector was patience itself.  “What do you mean, he won’t talk?”

            “He won’t even give a name.  Just keeps rambling on about Victor and wanting to make a little money.  He doesn’t make any sense.  I say, just kill him now and dump him in the desert.”

            “No, no, no,” Hector shook his head sadly and draped a thick arm around Gomez’ skinny shoulders, “my dear boy, we know this man is some kind of federal agent.  He could be DEA, he could be FBI, that really doesn’t matter.  What we need to know is whether or not there are others like him within our organization.  We need to know the extent to which we have been compromised.  We cannot ship any more of our goods until we have this information and in the meantime, our customers are very likely to find other suppliers.  And so you see, you will have to go back and persuade him further.”  Hector dropped his arm and looked at Gomez.  “Will I need to find someone else to do this for me?”  His eyes were cold, his voice quiet.

            Gomez shook his head vigorously, “no sir!  I will see to it!”

            “Very good.  See that you do.”

            Cary listened to this conversation from the hallway outside the library and her heart froze in her chest.  Gomez scuttled out of the room, so quickly that he didn’t see her and she turned the corner to face Hector, a bright smile on her face.

            “My dear,” he said, “did you sleep well?”

            “Yes,” she said, “it’s so peaceful out here.”  She gestured to the desert beyond the windows.  “And the breakfast your man fixed was wonderful!  Where did you find such a cook!?  I may need to take a little siesta...”

            Hector smiled, showing fine, evenly spaced, small white teeth.  “Perhaps later, my dear.  I think what you need now is a little exercise.  I always find that a brisk morning ride does wonders to awaken the blood.”

            He showed her to the paddock nearest to the barn.   Two horses waited for them, saddled and ready.

            Jake arrived in a feed truck.  Stuffed behind hay bales, he waited in the sweltering heat, sipping from a water bottle and listening to the sounds of the workers outside the truck.  At lunch time, it grew quiet and he shoved the bales aside and peered out from under the tarp which covered the load.  He saw no one around, and so he slipped out of the truck, shook the bits of hay out of his hair and began to move towards the barn.  He was dressed in jeans and boots, a plaid shirt knotted around his waist, his T-shirt sweat stained and torn.  He appeared to be a simple laborer, getting ready to unload the truck. 

            “Hey!” a voice called from behind him, “where do you think you’re going?”

            Jake stopped and turned, “where do you want this load?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the truck.

            “Hell if I know,” said the man with a laugh, “do I look like some kind of farmer?”  He was dressed in fatigues, and he had an automatic strapped to his hip.

            Jake looked him up and down, “I got to get this unloaded.  I got other stops to make.  You think maybe the barn?”

            “Yeah, go ahead,” the man said and he turned to go back and sit in the shade.

            Jake went into the barn and went directly to the loft.  He appeared to be looking for a place to store the hay bales that were in the truck.  The loft looked out over the pastures and the little building that Cary had described in her message.  He left the barn.  The driver of the truck did not know that he had carried a passenger into the compound.  If the guard mentioned it, a search would begin.   He skirted the edge of the pasture, found a ditch with a metal culvert running through it, and squirmed into it.  He could just see the little building through the grass at the edge of the ditch.  If they didn’t search with dogs he would be fine.  It was cool and damp in the culvert, buried beneath thick tussocks of heavy grass and weeds.  He settled down to wait until dark.

            They rode out through green pastures.  Cary had changed into jeans  and boots.  They rode for most of the day while Hector pointed out the irrigation system, showed her the blend of grasses in the pasture and described his acreage.  They watched the mares graze placidly while their foals drowsed in the sun.  She asked questions at appropriate times and smiled into his eyes.  They stopped in the shade of a large tree, knarled and ancient with age, it must have withstood many storms.  They tied off the horses and stood on a ridge overlooking the compound.  The sun was beginning to set.  Just a little while longer now, she said to herself, just a little while longer. 

            He came from behind her, shoved her against the tree trunk and pushed her shirt up.  He groped at her breasts and smothered her mouth in a rough kiss.  “Hector,” she gasped, and then yielded to him, sagging against the rough bark of the tree.  His breath smelled of cigars and his cologne carried a sickly sweet scent of limes mixed with the sweat of the horses.

            “No?” he questioned, still pinning her against the tree.  His black eyes were opaque, cold and empty.

            “Yes,” she said.  Her heart was pounding.  His hands were cold as ice and rough in spite of his fine manicure.  Her voice was thick and low.  She hoped that she sounded sultry, but in truth she was simply trying to keep from vomiting. 

            He smothered her again with another kiss, his hands pushing aside her bra and pinching her nipples.  He shoved a heavy knee between her thighs and she could feel him, thick and hard against her leg.  She closed her mind to the fact of what she was doing and concentrated on her performance.  This was an act, she told herself, a necessary charade, calculated to save a life, perhaps several lives.

            With the weight of his body he held her against the tree, kissing her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, ripping at her clothes.  “Wait,” she gasped when her mouth was free.

            He pushed away from her slightly, “you cannot tell me ‘no.’ Not now,” his voice was a low growl.

            “I only meant, we have plenty of time.  Unless you have some pressing business, of course, there is no need to rush.”  She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted herself to wrap her legs around his waist.  “I can show you things my husband never saw.”  In this position, he was forced to hold her up or they would both fall to the ground.  She wove her fingers into his hair and returned his kisses.  He pushed back from her for a moment and looked at her in the fading sunlight.  Her green eyes were lit by some inner fire and she was breathing heavily through her mouth.

            He threw back his head and laughed.  “I knew you had fire in you,” he roared.  He let her go to stand on the ground in front of him and then he took a handful of her hair in his hand and forced her head back.  She clung to him while he ripped at her shirt and covered her breast with his mouth. His teeth bit down on her flesh and she could only hope that he took the sound she made as a groan of pleasure and not a scream of disgust. 

            He forced her to the ground.  “Hector,” she said, breathless and panting, “we have time.”  He knelt over her and looked into her eyes.  She was smiling and she reached up for his belt buckle.  “We have plenty of time.”  Make him believe, she told herself, make him believe you. 

            She began to undress him slowly, there on the grass beneath the ancient tree, when the noise of an engine, loud and intrusive, interrupted the slow caress of her hands.  It was Domingas, poor wretch.  “Senor Reyes,” he stammered, “we have...”

            Hector rose from the grass where he had been poised over Cary.  “Idiot!” he roared, “what do you think you are doing!?  I told you I was not to be interrupted today!”

            Cary said a silent prayer of thanks and stood up.  Domingas nearly fainted at the sight of her, naked, standing in the setting sun and staring back at him. 

            The little man whimpered, “but Senor, we have an intruder...”

            “An intruder?”

            “Yes sir.  Someone came to unload the feed truck.  Now we can’t find him.”

            “Take care of it,” Hector roared, “isn’t that what I pay you for?!  Set the dogs out to find him!”

            “We can’t, sir.”  Domingas was in misery.

            “Can’t!?  Why not?!”

            “The dogs are at the house in La Paz.  After Victor...we took them there.  We thought that’s where you would be going.  We thought it best.”  Domingas had taken off his hat and was twisting it nervously in his hands, trying to pay attention to his boss while Cary calmly began to gather her clothes and put them back on.  She was glad that Hector couldn’t see how badly her hands were shaking.

            She left her shirt off and walked over to him.  “It’s getting late,” she said, her voice husky.  She began caressing his face.  “Why don’t we go back to the house, maybe have some dinner, some wine...unless you’d rather take care of your ‘business’...”  She trailed her fingers over his chest and looked up into his eyes.

            “Domingas,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face, “take care of it.  I don’t care how. If anyone interrupts me again tonight I’ll kill them.”  Domingas went.

            They went back to the house.  Dinner was a slow motion dance, like the dance between the cobra and the mongoose, only Cary couldn’t decide which she was.  “You were right,” he told her, “slower is better.  We have plenty of time.”  He smiled at her over candlelight and she returned that smile.  The cook had prepared steaks, coated with pepper and seared, but still very rare.  When her knife cut into the flesh on her plate and she saw the red juices run out, she nearly bolted from the room.  She kept smiling.  She had heard somewhere that smiling suppresses the gag reflex and she kept licking her lips, for they were dry. 

            When dinner was finished, when the wine was finished, when the brandy was gone they went to her bedroom.  Outside in the dark the compound was quiet.  Good, she thought, if they had located Jake there would certainly have been a commotion, even if they did not interrupt Senor Reyes. 

            He grabbed her and pushed her down on the bed the minute the door was closed.  “The time for slow is over.”  He ripped into her clothes and fell across her, heavy and sweating.

            “So,” she said as she grabbed his hair, “you like it rough.”  She slapped him across the face as hard as she could.  “I can do rough,” and she slapped him again.  He rocked back on his knees, poised over her, his face red where she had hit him.  For a moment she held her breath, that’s it, she thought, he’s going to kill me.  And then he laughed.  She pushed him away, “Are you laughing at me?!” she stormed, her face flushed and angry.

            He rolled away from her on the bed and sat up, chuckling.  “My wife,” he said, “lays beside me like some kind of mewling kitten.  The whores from town simper at me, ‘yes, Senor, you are so strong, Senor, you are so big, Senor,” he imitated their lilting voices.  “But you,” he continued, “you show me fire and spirit.  You tease and then you resist.”  He reached across the bed and took her hand, gently this time, and kissed her wrist.  “I find you intoxicating, maddening, exciting.  This entire day I can think of nothing else but you.  I thought at first that you were somehow false, sent by some enemy to try and trick me or kill me.  But now, I see your courage, your desire.  I see the fire in your eyes and know that tonight I will neglect my business, I see nothing but you, only you.”  And then he reached across the bed for her.

            Jake peered out over the rim of the ditch.  The guard paced in the cold night air, drank three cups of coffee from a thermos and two bottles of beer pulled from a stash in a crate next to the door.  He must have the bladder of an elephant, Jake thought, flexing muscles that had grown stiff from a day spent hiding in the culvert.  At last the man got up and came close to the ditch, fumbling with his zipper.  He never knew what hit him.  Jake fished the keys out of his pocket, put on the man’s jacket and went to the door of the little building.  It took just seconds to open the padlock, make sure there were no more guards and then open Frank’s cell.  “Hey, buddy,” he said, “time to go.  Can you move on your own?”

            Frank nodded, “yeah, I think so.”  He got up stiffly, bracing his hand against the wall for support.  “you know I’m going to have to write you up for this.”

            “Yeah,” said Jake, “we’ll talk about it later.” 

            They left the cell and crossed the compound together.  Frank in front, stumbling, and Jake behind him with a gun, looking like a guard taking a prisoner for a walk.  The rest was easy.  Jake hot wired one of the farm trucks, stashed Frank in back under a tarp and quietly drove out into the night.  There was a guard at a gate house.  “Where are you going,” he called out.

            “Whores,”  Jake called back, revving the engine to disguise his voice, “whores for the boss.” 

            The guard waved the truck through with a laugh, “bring one for me!”

            In the morning she opened her eyes and looked at him.  He was still sleeping, head thrown back and a loud snore rattling his lips.  She slipped from the bed and went to the bathroom, locked the door and dug out her phone.  The text message said, “got him. Now get out.”  She smiled and erased the message, then bent over the toilet and retched violently.  She couldn’t seem to stop shaking.  It worked, she thought, thank God it worked. 

            She wiped her face and unlocked the door and looked out.  He was still on his back, still sound asleep.  She wasn’t out of the woods yet.  Then she turned on the shower, made the water as hot as she could stand and scrubbed fiercely, scrubbed away the smell of him, drowned out the sound of him, washed away the feel of him on her skin.  Go along with this for a little while longer, she told herself, then make some excuse and get clear of him.  She let the water run, and run, and run.

            He had breakfast sent to the room.  She nibbled toast, unsure if she could hold it down.  He ate everything in sight, laughing and pouring her coffee.  “You are quiet this morning,” he said gaily.

            “I think I made enough noise last night,”  she smiled again, sipped the coffee and gazed at him over the rim of the cup.  He was reaching across the table for her when there was a commotion in the hallway. 

            He opened the door, “yes?”

            Domingas and Gomez stood there, white with fear.  “He’s gone,” one of them said.

            “Gone?”  Hector’s voice was a deadly hiss.  “How?”

            “We don’t know,” Domingas whispered.  “Last night, somehow he got out.  He’s gone.”

            Before he could turn to her she came to his side and locked her arms around his waist.  “This is my fault,”  she said, “you told me you had business to attend to, but I wanted you only for myself.  My husband likes little girls.  It has been so long since a man touched me, aroused me, I wanted you.”

            “No,” he said, “I have fools working for me.”  He stroked her hair, still wet from the shower and studied her.

            Here it comes, she thought, he’s going to see right through me.  He said nothing, just kissed the top of her head.  “I must go and attend to this.  I will return as soon as I can.”

            When he was gone she drained the coffee pot and got dressed. 

            “She’s where?!”  They were in the Tucson field office.  Until that moment Frank had been unaware of Cary’s involvement in his rescue.  He had been to the hospital to get his cracked ribs taped up and his face was a mess, but at the moment he was not in pain, he was instead, furiously angry.  “You let her go in there?  Are you nuts?!  You know she’s never actually been undercover.  And what’s the plan to get her out?  Or didn’t you think that far ahead?!”

            Jake paced.  The plan had been for Cary to leave as soon as she got Jake’s message.  That had been 24 hours ago and there was still no word from her.  He had just checked with her hotel in La Paz and no one had seen her.  “I know, I know, I should never have let her in on it, but when they took you there was no stopping her.   I’ll have to go back down there, see what I can find out.  See if anybody’s seen her...”

            The door opened, “seen who?” she said.  They stared at her, gaping, open mouthed.  “What?” she said, “are you both just going to sit there and stare?  Is that all the thanks I get?”

            Jake swept across the room and crushed her in a bone jarring embrace.  “We thought you were dead!  Why didn’t you call?  How did you get out?”

            She pushed away from him, laughing, “I’m not dead, although it was a close-run thing for a few minutes.  I didn’t call because I didn’t want to risk blowing my cover, and I got out when Hector’s limo delivered me to the airport in La Paz.”  She walked over to Frank, swallowed hard and said.  “God, you look like shit.”

            They looked at each other.  Jake stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him.  Frank said, “I hardly know where to begin.”

            “Do I get the dressing down now or later?”

            “I wasn’t talking about procedures or protocols.  I wasn’t talking about rules, or breaking them.”

            “Then what?”

            He looked at the floor for a long minute and sighed deeply.  He looked tired, but she had seen, the minute she stepped through the door, the strain in his face had disappeared, the tension around his eyes was gone and the tightness in his shoulders had relaxed.  He began, “when I was sitting in Reyes’ little hole I had some time to think.  I knew that the Bureau would never mount a rescue, and I knew that Jake might try, but he had virtually no chance of success by himself.  So I had pretty much resigned myself to dying.  I promised myself that, in the unlikely event that I managed to get out, there were two things I would do.”  He was sitting on the edge of the desk and now he stood up and walked over to where she stood, rooted to the floor.  “I promised myself that I would be sure to tell all the people that I care about how I feel.”  He put his hand to the side of her face.  “Cary,” he said,  “I love you.  I don’t know that the particulars matter very much.  I just want you to know.”  He leaned over and kissed her forehead.  “And I can’t even begin to understand what the time you spent with Reyes must have cost you.” 

            She blinked away the tears that were starting behind her eyes, “the only thing you need to know...is that it was worth it.”  She put her arms around him, gently, feeling the bandages over his ribs and then she let the tears come. 

            She and Jake flew back the next morning.  “Where’s Frank?” he asked as he took his seat and buckled up.

            She was looking out the window, at the flat hot tarmac and the deep blue sky.  She did not turn to look at him.  “He said something about finding a beach and a good book.”  And then she relaxed in the seat while the plane and her heart took flight.

The End