Prison Sale, Morocco 
1323 Zulu

“Ah, shit!” the ash blonde lieutenant colonel cursed as she plopped her lithe5’5” frame down on the cell cot. “Damn you, Webb, why do I <ever> listen to you?” Adopting a sing-songy voice, she continued, “Oh, it’ll be fine...just a quick in and out trip...no one will ever know...” She jumped up again and paced the cell’s confines. “You’re damn straight no one’s gonna know, ‘cause no one’s gonna get me <out> of this hell hole!” she fumed, clenching and releasing her fists. “Next time I see you, Webb, I’ll....”

“You’ll what?” asked a sardonic voice from beyond the cell door.

She jumped slightly at the voice, mentally reminding herself, yet again, that extreme emotions weakened her Sense. Jamison turned mid-stride and gripped the bars that served as a window to the outside. “Webb!” she spat, jerking once for effect on the bars, the action causing the door to beat slightly against the lock. “What the hell happened out there? If that wasn’t a damn set-up, then I don’t know what the hell one is.”

Taking a step back, he soothed, “Relax, I’ve got the best defense team coming in to get you out of here.”

Narrowing her eyes, she murmured through clenched teeth, “‘Relax.’ That’s rich coming from you considering <I’m> the one stuck in here!” Unwilling to look at him anymore, she wheeled around and stalked back to the cot. 

“For the record, Jamison,” Webb called, “it <was> a simple operation. Someone screwed up.”

Hannah’s eyebrows shot up at the inadvertent dig. “Well, let me tell you something. It damn well wasn’t me. In my time in intel, I have <never> blown it this royally.”

Staring intently at her, Webb was silent for a moment then murmured, “What about Egypt?”

Closing her eyes tightly, Hannah fought the wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm her and would have succeeded had the tears long kept at bay not clouded her vision. Horrifying images flashed through her mind of screaming boys and girls running for cover as a cacophony of explosions erupted around them. Desperate parents cried out for children who could no longer answer. And it had all been her fault. Her Sense had failed. Swallowing the bile that had accompanied the thoughts, she blinked quickly and, forcing a harsh chuckle, answered, “You really are a bastard, aren’t you, Webb?”

Gone was the she-cat ready to tear him apart piece by piece and in her place sat a badly scarred black ops officer, her haunted eyes piercing him with shared memories. Clay looked away, then nodded absently and swallowed. He loathed causing her pain, but sometimes, that was the only way to reach through the marine toughness to the rational woman underneath. “Whatever it takes, Hannah. You know that,” he replied softly, telling her with his tone if not his words that he was sorry. 

She nodded and looked up at him. “They’re the best, huh?” she asked, the haunted look only just beginning to fade from her eyes.

“Yeah.” He glanced down the hall to the guard who had stationed himself just far enough away to give them a little privacy. 

Hannah chuckled mirthlessly. “Good, they’re gonna have to be, since the French consulate thinks I murdered it’s ambassador.”
 

Mohammed V Airport 
Casablanca, Morocco 
1359 Zulu

“I hate to disappoint you, but if you’re looking for Humphrey Bogart, you’re not going to find him here,” greeted Webb, with a wry twist of his lips. He stood at the end of the concourse while the two lawyers took in the Mauresque architecture juxtaposed against the ultra-modern dress of the travelers. Spicy scents tanged the air, warmly greeting the country’s newest arrivals.

“I’m beginning to see that,” Mac answered in kind as she continued to gaze at the spectacle in awe. 

With a quick nod, Webb directed, “The car’s this way,” then proceeded toward the nearest exit. Hurriedly, Mac retrieved her bag and glanced at Harm making sure that he had heard Webb. Flashing her a softer version of his flyboy smile, he murmured, “I guess we’d better go if we don’t want to get left.”

After stowing their belongings in the trunk, Harm and Mac settled themselves into the back seat allowing Webb to truly act as their driver. The irony was not lost on the agent, but he settled for merely shooting them a dark glance before starting the car.

He pulled onto the main highway and after following the usual CIA tactics to lose any tails, he said, “I’m taking you directly to the prison instead of dropping you off at the hotel.” His unreadable glance in the rearview mirror forewarned the two lawyers that something was up. 

“What’s going on, Webb?” Harm asked ominously. “It’s not every day that we get a CIA agent for a chauffeur.”

Mac’s lips quirked as she waited with her partner for Webb to finally respond to the situation. “Let’s just say your client is very anxious to get out of jail.”

“Clay,” Mac remarked from her seat behind him, “who exactly <is> our client? The admiral was less than forthcoming when he gave us our marching orders.”

Webb pursed his lips and muttered, “You’ll find out soon enough. One thing that you must know is discretion is paramount to maintain your client’s job status.”

Harm and Mac shared a confused look, but the agent kept silent. It wasn’t long until the scenery recaptured the lawyers’ attention and had them marveling at the sights and sounds that bespoke of a bustling metropolis. 

*** 

Prison Sale, Morocco 
1453 Zulu

The guard gestured toward a door just off the hall and said tersely, “In there.”

Webb nodded for Mac and Harm to precede him. When she looked through the small window to the person inside, Mac breathed, “My God.”

The agent nodded and replied, “Now you know why we have to keep this quiet.”

Harm glanced from Webb to Mac and back again before asking, “Do you know her?”

Dumbfounded, the major simply nodded, then after a moment jerked herself out of her reverie and answered, “Hannah Jamison. We were in linguistics together. She’s an intel officer attached to the Joint Chiefs specializing in black ops.” Mac paused and glanced back at Webb. “What’s going on, Clay?”

He sighed, “It’s better if she tells you.” With that, he opened the door. 

 Hannah stood stock still, allowing her body to adjust to the new arrivals. Honing her ever present second sense, she knew they were friendly. “Hey, Webb,” she greeted without turning around. “These the lawyers?”

The agent quirked a wry grin and asked, “Did my aura tip you off?”

Harm’s brow wrinkled at Webb’s words. ‘Why would he wonder about an “aura?”’ he thought but let it go. 

“That and your cologne,” she replied and turned around. Her eyes focused in on her female visitor and she dipped her head with recognition. “Mac.”

The major smiled warmly and returned, “It’s good to see you again. I hear intel’s been treating you well, Lieutenant Colonel.”

Harm lent one ear to the conversation, while the rest of his mind dispassionately focused on sizing up their new client. Her light features hinted at great beauty when appropriately set off with make-up. Long ash blonde hair was pulled into a tight braid that trailed past her shoulders. She moved with the simple grace of a dancer, but as his eyes traveled over her, Harm could easily see the steel beneath the graceful movement. But of all those features, the most disconcerting were her eyes. A curious hazel mixture of brown and green, they lasered in on a target and quickly warned this was not a woman to be trifled with. And yet, there was something vaguely familiar about her...

Jamison cocked a sardonic eyebrow. “It has until now. Who’s your friend?”

Harm jumped slightly at being singled out by the piercing hazel eyes. “Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb. I’m Mac’s partner.”

Hannah’s pointed gaze traced over him, memorizing his face and voice, filing it away for future reference. She then glanced back to Mac and updated her memories of her onetime classmate. “Well, I suppose in typical CIA fashion, Clay has yet to tell you why you’re here?” she muttered dryly.

Harm nodded and moved toward one of the dusty chairs that sat around a long metal table. The particle board top had seen better days and was pitted at odd intervals. Setting her brief case down, Mac tugged out a legal pad and pen, then waited for Jamison to begin. 

The woman in question watched each of the lawyers’ movements carefully, then turned on her heel and walked toward the small window that allowed the afternoon sun to light the otherwise darkened room. Closing her eyes, she opened her mind and searched. She knew it was an exercise in futility, since the aura of death had more than likely lifted from the real killer. But it was an exercise that she allowed, if only to feel some sense of accomplishment. He was still out there and there was no way she was going to go down for something she didn’t do. 

Even if she had set the op up. 

Wrinkling her brow, she focused her Sense on her would-be champions. Long ago, she had resolved never to capriciously delve into someone’s mind, but surface images and feelings that radiated naturally off of the subject could be easily explained away. 

“Hannah?” Mac asked tentatively.

‘Ah, yes,’ Jamison thought ironically. ‘I guess I do need to tell them what happened.’ The scan would have to wait. Clearing her throat, she nodded, “Yeah, alright.” She paused for a moment, as if unable to determine where to begin, how much of the operation they really needed to know.

“Tell them everything, Hannah,” Webb urged softly from his position against the cell door. “If they’re going to get you out of this, they have to know.”

She closed her eyes and turned her mind back to the activities of the past month. “This mission was actually an extension of one that I had previously completed.” 

Again, she paused and Harm advised, “We want the low down dirty version, Colonel. Not the political one.” Glancing toward Webb, he offered, “No offense, Clay.”

The agent merely muttered, “Yeah, right.”

The light by-play gave Jamison enough time to gather her thoughts. “There were reports of illegal arms running through the French consulate in Casablanca. Destination was any number of mid-East countries with under-armed terrorist factions just itching to become the next bin Ladden. What we didn’t know was who was supplying them.”

“But if the arms were coming through the French consulate...” Mac trailed off, allowing Hannah to interrupt her.

“Wouldn’t it be obvious who the supplier was?” she finished, then shook her head. “Not necessarily. For one, the number of people that go in and out of the Consulate every day ranges between 50 and 100, depending on what’s going on. Also, just because the arms are being delivered to the facility, that doesn’t automatically mean there’s someone on the inside waiting to distribute them.”

“I sense a big ‘but’ coming,” Harm murmured as he rolled a pen between his thumb and index finger.

Forcing a wry chuckle, Hannah replied, “Good, you’re supposed to.” She turned back toward the window and gazed unseeing at the arid countryside. “It turned out that one of my sources within the Moroccan government found some data that directly implicated one of the ambassador’s senior staff members. Knowing that lawyers like you two would jump all over my case citing Sovereign Immunity, I couldn’t just show up on the front steps and start asking questions.” She glanced at Webb, who nodded once, then turned her gaze to the JAG officers. “So, I planned a sting that would get us both the staff member as well as any other information he might have.” 

“You were the one that invaded the embassy,” Harm remarked, his eyes narrowed with contemplation.

Hannah nodded. “I set it up so it would look like a rebel Bedouin group. There are a number around here with varying grievances against the French.” Looking back at Webb, her next words were more for him than the lawyers. “It was a simple operation. Well planned with everything covered.”

“Then what happened?” Mac asked, noticing the unspoken communication that flowed between agent and colonel. 

“Apparently, my plan worked too well. Somehow, unbeknownst to me, a group of Bedouins attached themselves to the team and tagged along for the ride at the last minute. Just as I grabbed the target, the ambassador charged me.” She paused a moment, her face filled with marvel. “He completely ignored his body guards and ran straight at me. 

“I had the target in my grasp and was heading out the side door when I felt something. I just happened to brush up against a mind and I knew that he was going to kill the ambassador. I stopped in my tracks and headed back to him, trying to get him out of danger. But just as I reached him, there was a shot and then he was down.”

Harm’s eyebrow quirked when she mentioned the brush, and he shot an unspoken question toward his partner. Mac merely shook her head slightly, her eyes telling him, ‘Later.’

The major turned her gaze back to Jamison and bit her lower lip, unwilling to ask the next obvious question, but knowing she had to. “Why didn’t you get out of there, Hannah? You jeopardized the mission by staying.”

“He was a good man no matter what the rest of his staff was involved with,” she offered simply, her hands open in helplessness. “If I could save him...he was doing so much for the country...”

“Go on,” Harm urged. “Tell us the rest.”

Hannah sighed, then walked back to the window. “There’s not much else to tell. He was dead when he hit the ground. The body guards jumped on me and I lost control of the target. The whole place was in a panic so the authorities simply accepted the guards’ word that I had shot the ambassador. The Bedouin, of course, slipped out and is no where to be found.”

“Were you armed at the time of the attack?” Mac asked as she scribbled a note on her legal pad.

“Of course. In addition to the 9mm that I had under my robes, I had a .22 strapped to my ankle.”

Harm nodded and glancing at Mac’s notes, he asked, “Were any rounds fired out of either gun?”

Hannah merely shook her head. “The bullet that killed him was from a modified Arab shotgun. And, of course, the other members of the strike team carried those to complete the disguise.”

“Where is the rest of the team? Were they arrested too?” Harm asked as he leaned up to rest his arms on the table.

“No, they’ve more than likely pulled out of the area. Their orders were to disperse should the mission fail, no matter who got caught.”

The major nodded and replied sagely, “Deny all involvement.”

Hannah broke her gaze on Mac and moved it to Webb. Mac watched as it softened noticeably. “Not in this case it would seem,” Hannah murmured.

Mac looked to Webb and was surprised to find an equally caring gaze shining right back at the colonel. Not wanting to draw undue attention to the agent’s obvious feelings, she turned her eyes back to the pad before asking, “Clay, were any powder burns found on her?”

Webb’s eyes darted toward the lawyers, hoping they hadn’t noticed that Hannah was very definitely a chink in the armor he wore, and answered quickly, “No, but the authorities here don’t readily test for them.” He took in a sharp breath then remarked, “Look, we’re ignoring the biggest problem in this case.”

“You mean there’s something bigger than a murder charge?” Harm asked with his eyebrows raised with irony.

“Yeah. Her identity.” Webb paced anxiously along the front wall. “We can’t very well let her real name get out. If it did...”

Hannah muttered, “Goodbye black ops.”

“Well, what’s the name on your passport? We can defend you under that,” Harm replied.

“That’s where it gets sticky,” Jamison offered with a wry grin. “There <is> no passport. Officially, there’re only three people in this room and I’m not one of them.”

***

Hotel Al Bakir 
Rafat, Morocco 
1635 Zulu

Having already unpacked himself, Harm lay with his hands behind his head on the second double bed in Mac’s room. He watched, entranced, as she unpacked the myriad of mysterious and intriguing things that a woman carries with her on a trip. His eyes caught on a small slip of white silky material and he sucked in a quick breath.

Mac, realizing he’d glimpsed her nightgown, chuckled softly and admonished with a smile, “Now, Commander, don’t get any ideas. We’re here on a case.” She paused and secreted the gown away in a drawer then continued, “And speaking of the case...”

Harm’s brow furrowed as he quickly followed her shift in gears, “Mac, what was all that talk of auras and brushing up against minds?”

The major sighed and turned around to face him. Leaning against the dresser, she nodded. “I was wondering when you’d ask me that.”

“Well?” he asked sitting up and draping his arms over his knees.

Mac bit her lip with uncertainty, then spoke. “Hannah has...It’s hard to explain. Especially since I’m sure you won’t believe me.” She forestalled his attempt at arguing by holding up a hand. “Hannah has what some people might call Extra Sensory Perception. ESP, if you will.”

“You mean she can bend spoons?” Harm asked incredulously.

Shaking her head, Mac continued, “No, it’s nothing like that. She’s empathic. Almost to the level of being telepathic.”

Harm’s eyebrows almost hit the stratosphere, but he kept silent, waiting for her to finish.

“As far as I know, she can only pick up on feelings or images associated with a person’s thoughts. Not the thoughts themselves.” Reading the disbelief in his face, Mac nodded. “I know. It took me a long time to even comprehend the possibility. Much less the actuality that one of my good friends <had> it. It sounds like it’s right out of a fantasy story. But all I can tell you is that she was recruited for black ops right out boot camp because of her uncanny ability to read people.”

Impressed, Harm murmured, “Interesting. So you two met in a linguistics class?”

“Yeah,” Mac smiled fondly at the memory, “we were both so closed off to everyone around us-I because of my past and she because of her talent-that I guess we just naturally gravitated toward each other.” She shrugged her shoulders emphasizing the uncertainty of her words.

Harm lowered his legs over the side of the bed and sat up straighter. “So, if she’s empathic or telepathic as you say, why wouldn’t she have realized that she had a couple of tagalongs on her sting?” 

“That’s the big problem with her gift.” Mac stood from her leaning position against the dresser and proceeded to take off her watch and earrings. She continued to watch Harm through the mirror and explained, “In emotional situations, her focus decreases. She’s not able to sense anything unless she’s right on top of the person.”

Harm’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “So the Bedouin assassin had to have been next to her, when she realized that the ambassador was going to be killed.”

“Exactly. And by the time that happened, it was obviously too late.”

“Did she ever tell you how she got this ability?” Harm asked, rising from the bed to walk toward the small table in the corner of the room. Once there, he flipped through what few pages there were in the case file, looking for more information.

“Not in so many words. She said the real story would scare the hell out of people. All she told me was that it was a family trait.”

Curious, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. “So how did you find out about it in the first place?”

Mac joined him by the table and sat down in one of the soft chairs. Tucking one leg up underneath her, she pulled the file from his hand and paged through it. “The linguistics class was held in Okinawa and she was flown out there to take it, so she shared my quarters for the duration.” She paused and looked up from the papers. “I don’t know if I ever told you this, but for a couple of weeks, I was being stalked. I never did <see> anybody, but there was always this nagging feeling.” 

Harm’s eyes softened with the heartening combination of sympathy and anger and he clasped her hand in his. She squeezed it in silent thanks for his support. “It wasn’t until later that I found out it was Chris. He’d just gotten out of jail and wanted to find out what I was doing.” Mac glanced up at Harm, then had to look away from the raw anger that flared in his eyes. Hoping to divert him, she continued, “Anyway, one night, she walked into my bedroom, plopped down on the bed and ordered me to talk. Apparently, my emotions were in such a mess that I was keeping her awake.”

He smiled at the image of the two young women sitting in the dark, baring their innermost secrets in the hopes of a sympathetic ear. “She helped me work through a lot of residual pain that I had ignored when I joined up.” Mac laced their fingers together and lightly stroked his thumb with hers. Staring at their entwined hands, she murmured, “She’s been a great friend to me, Harm. Even though we haven’t been able to keep in touch, I’ve always known that if I needed her, she’d be there.”

Harm nodded and, with his free hand tilted her chin upward. “We’ll get her out of this. I promise, Mac.”

*** 

Hotel Al Bakir 
Rafat, Morocco 
0416 Zulu

For the first time in months, Harm woke up alone. Having agreed to always sleep in the separate rooms when on a case, he and Mac had split their time in D.C. between their apartments since the onset of their relationship some three months ago. Harm blinked his eyes a couple of times in an effort to ease the disorientation brought on by the absence of the shapely form that was normally draped over him around this time. 

Last night had been just about the worst night’s sleep he’d gotten in a long time. He couldn’t count how many times he’d reached for Mac only to find a cold pillow instead of a warm body. Lying back against the pillow he tossed the blanket and sheets away, then forced himself out of bed. Even after all of the cases they’d tackled, he still had yet to get used to the time changes. 

When he reached the small bathroom, he tugged off his boxer shorts and started the shower. He knew that Mac was more than likely still asleep. His early riser talked a good game, but when it came to time differentials, even her internal clock got a little screwy. 

A sharp knock at his door broke him from his reverie. Grabbing his shorts and pulling them back on, he wandered toward the door. He unbolted the lock and was surprised to find Mac standing in front of him. 

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“Breakfast, Flyboy,” she retorted with a smile. “Or had you forgotten that notion?” She shouldered past him with ease and he caught a whiff of the tasty aromas that drifted from the bag. 

Closing the door, he followed her to the dresser where she sat the white paper bags and pulled her back against him. “I was about to hop in the shower..” he whispered invitingly as his lips trailed along the line of her ear down to the nape of her neck. 

Unable to suppress the shiver he created, she turned and looked up at him, her sultry gaze belying her next words, “Good, by the time you get out, breakfast will be cool enough to eat!”

Harm captured her lips with his and traced her lower one with his tongue. “You wouldn’t, by chance, want to join me, would you?” He slid into her warm mouth and gently sucked her tongue. “I could make a great argument for it.” Smiling against her lips, he felt her groan mere seconds before the sound escaped her. Her hands drifted of their own volition down his muscular back and underneath the boxers. She was tempted. Oh, she was tempted. But at the last minute logic prevailed and she broke the kiss. 

Still she couldn’t resist the boyish disappointment she read in his face. “Don’t worry, Sailor,” Mac murmured, her eyes filled with the erotic combination of lust and promise, “we’ve got a couple days of leave coming when we get home. Just you, me, and a hot fudge sundae covered in whipped cream.”

Harm’s eyes darkened to a provocative shade of navy at the thought. If he had his way, that sundae wouldn’t be the only thing covered in whipped cream.

“But,” she reminded pointedly. “We have to finish this case before we can move on to...tastier...things. And that means <you> have to shower!” She planted a quick kiss on his lips before slipping out of his arms and opening the connecting door between their rooms.

With a muttered, “Minx!” he glared good-naturedly through the open door. Mac merely turned and blew him a kiss before picking up her notes from yesterday.

Harm shook his head and headed off to the shower. After she had assembled the various pastries and organized her thoughts about Hannah’s case, she heard the shower cut off. Harm emerged from the bathroom a minute later with a towel draped loosely around his hips as he rubbed another over his short hair. 

Mac stared hungrily at his lean torso and steeled herself against the overwhelming urge to tongue him dry. Shaking her head, she pulled her lascivious thoughts under control and forced her mind back to the case. There would be plenty of time later for indulging in fantasies. 

She offered him a Styrofoam cup filled with Gahwa, a richly flavorful coffee. Smiling appreciatively, Harm took a careful sip and winced. “Oooh, that’s strong stuff,” he replied.

“It’s good for you!” Mac chastised. “It’ll put hair on your chest. 

“That’s good,” he answered with a leer. “I need some replacements. Last time we made love, I think you singed a few!”

She swatted him lightly on the arm. “You are <the> most impossible man! If I didn’t love you so much...”

“You’d what?” he asked flashing his flyboy grin. 

Her answer was cut off by a knock at the door. With a groan, Mac said, “That’s gonna be Webb; you’d better pull on some clothes.”

All teasing gone, Harm nodded in agreement. To their knowledge, no one knew of their extracurricular activities though he had a good idea it was a hot topic of supposition. Rather than face the obvious ramifications of publicly declaring their relationship this soon, they each tried their best to maintain the image of platonic partners. 

Once he was safely ensconced in the bathroom, Mac opened the door. “Hey, Clay,” she greeted warmly. Her smile faded somewhat as she took in his haggard appearance. Stepping back to let him enter, she asked, “Did you sleep at all last night?”

He shook his head and laid the files he’d been carrying down on the table. “I’ve found out more about the case. Things you and Rabb wouldn’t have access to.”

More than slightly surprised by his accommodating air, Mac nodded and thought, ‘She’s more important to him that he let on.’

“What’s the catch?” Harm asked as he walked out of the bathroom fully dressed this time. The khaki shirt clung enticingly to the slightly damp spots that remained from the shower. 

Webb’s unreadable gaze moved from Mac to her partner and he murmured almost to himself, “No catch this time. Not with her.”

Harm cast a surprised glanced in Mac’s direction. ‘What in the world?’ he thought mystified by the man in front of him. ‘Is there a chink in the tinman’s armor after all?’

Clay cleared his throat and stated, “At any rate, there’s a lot of information in there. Apparently, this wasn’t the only time the ambassador’s staff has been under scrutiny. The man himself was linked with a couple of shady deals about ten years ago, but more recently he was ambushed while on a safari in Kenya.”

“Hence the need for all the body guards...” Harm murmured as he bit into a Basboosa, a type of a tart soaked with syrup. He quickly grabbed one of the handful of napkins Mac had brought back and caught the sticky juices before they dripped down his chin. 

“As well as their ‘capture first, ask questions later’ mentality,” she finished for him, smiling slightly at the joyful look on his face as he swallowed the tasty pastry.

Webb picked up one of the cheese stuffed Mutabaks as he continued talking while Mac chose the meat-filled version of the turnover. “Also, the guards confiscated all of the guns that remained when the excitement died down and the local police are testing them for fingerprints as we speak.”

Harm glanced up from the various reports on the ambassador’s background and asked, “Any word yet as to what name we’ll be using to defend her under?”

The agent shook his head. “Currently, they have her listed as prisoner 35920. With the recent release of all of the political prisoners, they’re having a hard time keeping up with names.”

Mac glanced at both men, then allowed her calm gaze to rest on Clay. “That works in our favor since we can now choose whatever name we want. And you’ll be able to easily provide a passport, won’t you?”

Clay nodded and wiped his fingers on a napkin before taking a sip of the coffee. “I spoke with Admiral Corelli at the JCS this morning. It’s already in the works. The passport should be here within a couple of hours with all of the necessary documentation in place.”

“It looks like the only thing left to do is find the killer,” Harm remarked as he sat down on the corner of the bed. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s an easy feat,” Webb replied, his words laced with sarcasm. “Rabb, do you know how many Bedouins there are in Morocco? Not to mention that he might not even <be> Moroccan.” He heaved a frustrated sigh and paced along the wall, stopping occasionally to glance out the window into the bustling city.

Mac shot Harm a warning glance, her words obvious. ‘Take it easy. This one’s personal for him.’ He nodded, reluctantly accepting her impression of the situation and soothed, “Look, Clay. If we don’t find him, then we’re no worse off. But if we do, then our chances of getting Hannah off with no charges just skyrocketed.” He laid a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder.

Webb cringed slightly at the contact and moved away, unwilling to give in to the sympathy Harm offered. At length, the agent nodded. “I guess it can’t hurt. I’ll see what I can pull out of some of the databases in terms of local felons and terrorists.”

“Good idea,” Harm agreed. “It would probably be easier if we both went. To cut down on the research time.”

Nodding reluctantly, Clay asked, “Where are you planning on going, Major?”

Hearing his biting tone, Mac barely suppressed her instinctive sarcastic response, ‘I’m going site-seeing. What the hell do you think I’m going to do?’ But concern won out and she answered, “I’m going to talk with Hannah. See if she can remember anything about the killer or the guards who arrested her. If we can find one that’s willing to talk, we might be able to get him to admit she didn’t shoot the ambassador.”

***

Prison Sale, Morocco 
0657 Zulu

“So, I guess intel work doesn’t leave much room for a social life, huh?” Mac asked innocently, looking up from the documents Webb had provided to help with the case. 

From her position by the window, Hannah quirked her lips and replied, “No, <Mom>, I don’t have a boyfriend.” After sharing a grin with her friend, Jamison sobered. “It’s not just the work, though.”

Mac nodded, reading the real reason behind the words. “It’s your Sense, isn’t it?”

Jamison inhaled sharply, then nodded. “That’s right, I did tell you,” Hannah murmured, watching Mac closely out of the corner of her eye. 

“Only when I threatened to turn you in to the colonel for cheating,” the major answered, her eyes cloudy with memories. 

A soft smile tickled Hannah’s lips. “Yeah, those were good times, Mac.”

MacKenzie nodded and smiled. “The best.” She paused and studied her friend carefully before asking, “So what happens? You never did tell me.”

Hannah, realizing there was no way she would get out of the explanation this time, pursed her lips. “You know, I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s almost second nature now. I guess it’s mainly opening your mind and...looking for something using mental impressions rather than visual ones.” She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift over Mac’s. “Like right now, you think I’ve lost it.”

“What? I don’t...I,” Mac stammered, then reluctantly nodded when she saw Jamison’s raised eyebrow. “Alright, yeah. I do.”

“You also think pretty highly of your partner...” Hannah mused quietly.

Mac, worried their secret relationship would be discovered, sobered instantly and protested, “Now, wait a minute. That’s going too far, Hannah.”
Jamison shook her head and replied, “I’m only reading surface thoughts. You have my word. Nothing that I wouldn’t catch walking through a crowd.” She stared solemnly at Mac, her hazel eyes darkened with honesty. 

At length, the major nodded and blushed slightly. “I’m...sorry. I didn’t mean to question your integrity.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s a sensitive subject for you. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Jamison turned away and sat down. 

Mac joined her after a moment and asked, “So, you never answered my question; what about love? Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes?”

Hannah noticeably stiffened, then replied, “I can handle it.”

“I didn’t <ask> if you could handle it. Do you think I’m stupid? I <know> you can.” Mac leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. 

“It’s too much of a risk.” Jamison clenched her jaw. “And one that I’m not willing to take again.” That said, she stood and walked toward the far wall. Her fingers lightly traced over the dark wood. 

Mac, without needing her friend’s sensory capabilities, knew she was treading on thin ice. But she also realized, that whatever had happened was tearing Hannah up inside. And she was too good of a friend to let that knowledge go unchallenged. “What about Webb?” she asked softly.

With a nonchalant shrug, she bit out, “What about him?”

“He loves you,” the major replied simply.

Nodding her head, Hannah answered, “I know.” She moved from her position at the wall and walked toward the cell door. 

Frustrated, Mac shook her head and cried, “Well doesn’t that count for something?”

Jamison leaned her forehead against the bars, the cool metal easing the tell-tale signs of an oncoming headache. “It did at one time. But it blew up in our faces,” her voice trailed off as memories once again swarmed her consciousness. ‘Egypt,’ she thought regretfully. ‘If it hadn’t been for Egypt.’

“What happened in Egypt, Hannah?” Mac pressed, as she approached the other woman from behind, literally cornering her.

Realizing too late that she’d spoken the words aloud, she turned, a stoic fa?ade firmly in place masking the painful thoughts, and warned, “Don’t go there, Mac. If you value your sleep, you’ll leave it alone.”

“Whatever happened can’t be as bad your mind is making it. What was it you once told me? ‘Demons get bigger when you keep them hidden away.’” Mac pierced her with an equally ferocious gaze. “Remember? I know you do. I can see it in your eyes. You told me that when I was being stalked.” Knowing she was on the verge of breaking through to the scarred woman underneath the Marine bravado, Mac pressed, “I’m the last person who ever could or <would> judge you, so do yourself a favor. Take your own advice.” 

The two women continued to stare at each other, one with painful accusation, while the other offered sympathetic understanding. At length, the steel in Hannah’s gaze softened and she leaned back against the door and looked up at the ceiling. Mindlessly she counted the multitude of cracks found there as Mac patiently waited for the woman to put form to her thoughts.

“I was running an op in Cairo about seven years ago. Clay was my CIA liaison. He handled the contacts, while I coordinated the set-up. We worked really well together. In the off time, what little there was of it, we found that, despite our obvious differences, we had a lot in common.”

“So you became friends,” Mac interjected.

“Yeah, and eventually more.” Hannah leaned back against the wall, her mind a thousand miles away. “He was wonderful. Not only a consummate professional, but away from the job, he was charming and funny. And an amazing lover.”

Unable to picture those words as descriptors of Clayton Webb, Mac’s brow furrowed, but she let the thought pass in favor of hearing her friend out.

“Later on I often wondered if it was only the circumstances that brought us together as quickly and fully as we were. You know how dangerous and confining situations create bosom buddies?” Seeing Mac nod, Hannah continued, “But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“The mission itself is still classified, but suffice it to say, it went down badly. One of our contacts, a man that I had personally selected against Clay’s better judgement, sold us out. The targets were expecting us and had moved their operation.” Hannah’s eyes glazed as painful memories washed over her. “They moved the deal to a location right in the middle of a street fair. Children were running around everywhere. The people were laughing and enjoying life. And, of course, we had no idea the targets were on to us. Of all of the times for my Sense to not be working. But I know why it wasn’t.”

She looked straight at Mac, allowing the other woman to see to the very depths of her soul. “It was Clay. We were tied so closely to each other, that everything else was overruled. It was unprofessional. It was stupid. But mostly it was fatal. 

“I never did sense the change in the circumstances; no warning penetrated my emotional bond with Clay. Just as we were about to go in, bombs started exploding all around us. First, in the market area, then at the children’s fair.”

She closed her eyes in the futile effort to ward off the memories. “The screams....I’ll never forget them. Several members of the team, including myself, were separated in the confusion. Apparently, Clay was able to call in back up to get a majority of the people out. But that didn’t help the group that was left.

“The targets started picking us off one by one. The streets were filled with smoke and, since the mission had already gone to hell, we had no way of knowing how many hostiles there were or if we could even rely on what intel we had. It turned into a Mexican stand-off pretty quickly.

“Kids and parents were caught in the crossfire with no care that they weren’t the enemy. The whole op disintegrated into a ‘kill or be killed’ scenario. I trailed one of the hostiles into an alley and he pulled this kid in front of him. I was dead in his sites and I knew I had no choice. But to this day, I can’t get that kid’s terrified face out of my head.”

Mac swallowed tightly, overwhelmed by the horrific images that her mind could only imagine. She had no idea how Hannah had lived with the actual memories for so long. “What finally happened?” she asked, suddenly finding her voice. Hannah looked blankly at her and Mac prompted, “How did you get out?” 

The colonel chuckled harshly. “There were three of us out of the 10 who were separated from the group that survived. We couldn’t take the bodies with us because there were not only too many, but we were under orders to leave all casualties.”

Mac’s jaw dropped slightly. “These were Marines,” she murmured softly, her shock evident.

“Some were,” she acknowledged, “the others were spooks. But I know what you mean. For the longest time, I felt so dirty, so unfit to wear the uniform...” Her voice trailed off and she was silent.

Mac began to think Hannah wasn’t going to finish, when she murmured, “Clay met us at the rendezvous point. And you know what hurt the most, Mac? He couldn’t even look at me. He knew it was my fault, just as I knew. Had I been more focused, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Hannah?” Mac asked with disbelief. “It couldn’t have been your fault. The source turned. You had no way of knowing that.”

“But I did!” Hannah protested as she flung herself away from the wall to pace the room’s confines. “I met with him just before the op went down. If I had been focused, I would have easily read that he’d double-crossed us.”

“Hannah,” Mac soothed, watching the woman’s frantic movements. “What you have is a gift. It gives you an edge. That doesn’t mean it’s not infallible. <Everyone> makes mistakes and just because you have the ability to read thoughts...it doesn’t make you perfect.”
The colonel slowed her pacing and looked at Mac with haunted eyes. “After we got back to the States, Clay and I didn’t see each other. When asked, we both claimed we were too busy, but inside we knew. It was too risky. We were too lethal of a combination.”

“Hannah,” Mac murmured. 

The other woman shook her head, telling Mac in no uncertain terms that she had to finish her thought. “Five years later, I was working an op in Turkey when I got word from an old friend that Clay was dead.” Hannah closed her eyes, now unable to stop the tears that had formed earlier. A single drop drifted down her cheek and, impatiently, she wiped it away. “My whole world shattered. I was lucky that the op was finished and that I was heading home because nothing would have stopped me from going UA. When I got back, he had already been found alive and had been released from the hospital.

“During the Egypt mission, he had given me a spare key to his apartment, saying it would be my personal safe house. He’d never asked for it back, so I used it and was sitting in his living room when he got home.” She paused, once more recaptured by the memories. “We simply stared for a long time, neither one of us saying a word. It had been almost six years since we’d last seen each other. But he hadn’t changed a bit. And then, he just pulled me to him and we made love all night. We forgot about everything. His injuries, Egypt, all that mattered was that we were together. That night, my world fell back into place and I knew that was where I belonged.”

“But?” Mac prompted.

Hannah smiled vaguely. “But duty called for me the next morning. And it’s been non-stop since yesterday.” 

Mac was silent for a moment, digesting all that Hannah had and hadn’t said. Then she asked, “And you still think there’s no room in your life for love? Have you two ever talked about what happened in Egypt?”

Hannah shook her head. “No, not really.”

Askanced, Mac asked, “Never?”

“No. We just sort of buried it. Every once in a while one of us will mention it, but it’s only to get the other’s undivided attention.” She flashed Mac a small, self-deprecating smile. “It’s kind of like a code word now.” Hannah gazed solemnly at her friend. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. But for some reason, it’s better if we don’t talk about it. It keeps it in the past.”

“But you can’t go forward until you deal with something like that. Trust me, I learned that one the hard way,” Mac stated, her thoughts flitting back to Chris’ death and her subsequent prosecution. 

Hannah chuckled. “I didn’t say it was <healthy>. One day I’m sure we will talk about it. Completely. But it won’t be until we can truly be together. Neither one of us wants anything permanent with the line of work that we’re in. It’s enough to know that we’re committed to each other in our own way.”

A soft, sad smile tinged Mac’s lips. “I’m glad it works for you, but I don’t see how you do it.”

The other woman lifted her eyebrows once, helpless to explain any further. After a moment, she reached down and squeezed Mac’s hand. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her eyes filled with gratitude. 

“For what?” Mac asked with a shake of her head. “I was repaying an old debt.”

Remembering the night in Okinawa when she and Mac had sat up until all hours talking through the major’s turbulent emotions, Hannah nodded. “Then we’re even.”

Mac nodded in return. “Yeah, we’re even.” 

***

Prison Sale, Morocco
0913 Zulu 

“Well, we’ve got bad news and worse news,” Harm muttered as he and Webb entered the jail’s conference room. Mac and Hannah were already seated at the table leafing through Mac’ legal pad.

Hannah’s eyes shot to Clay as he closed the door. He was not a happy camper.

Mac set the pad aside and looked at Harm. “I take it you didn’t find the Bedouin.”

Webb nodded and answered, “Not only that, the fingerprint reports have come back. Apparently, there was a smudge on one of the shotguns that has some passing similarity to Hannah’s fingerprints. The regional tribunal has set a hearing date for day after tomorrow.”

“So, unless we can get one of the guards to admit that I didn’t shoot him, my cover gets blown even with the passport Admiral Correlli provided,” Hannah murmured resignedly. “In other words, I need to bend over and kiss my ass goodbye.”

Mac’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t think it’s come to that yet. The evidence they have is circumstantial at best...”

Hannah bolted from her chair and moved to the window. “No, Mac. You don’t understand. The criminal justice system here operates on a guilty until proven innocent viewpoint. The burden of proof is on <you> to get me off. And circumstantial or not, between the partial print and my being at the scene and right by the ambassador when he died...they have a pretty good case.”

Clay followed her to the far wall and lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I don’t care what they think they have on you. We’re going to fight this. You are <not> going to roll over when there is absolutely <no> reason to do so! I can help you this time!” Webb argued.

“Dammit, Clay! This isn’t going to work!” Hannah cursed as she forcefully shrugged off his hand. “You’re just going to have to let me swing.”

“No!” he cried harshly, planting his hands on her shoulders and turning her around so that they were to nose to nose. “That is <not> an option! After all that’s happened between us, that’s the last thing I can do.”

“So you’re doing all of this out of some strange sort of guilt complex?” Hannah’s eyebrows lifted ironically. 

“Hannah...” Mac warned, rising from her seat behind the table.

“No!” the colonel cried with a vehement shake of her head. “I want to hear your motives, Webb. What’s so special about this time?” she asked, her voice at a low dangerous level.

Webb’s gaze locked onto hers and murmured compellingly, “I think you <know> why.”

Hannah’s furious gaze remained trained on him as she ground out, “Would you two please excuse us?” 

Harm’s eyebrows lifted as he glanced toward Mac, who bit her lip, reluctant to leave the pair alone. After a moment, the commander nodded, exceedingly glad for yet another reason that he wasn’t in the agent’s shoes. It was bad enough when Mac got mad at him, but he would bet she didn’t have near the mercenary training that Hannah did. No doubt about it, Webb was in big trouble.

Mac looked back over her shoulder as they exited the room and murmured, “If you need us, we’ll be right outside.”

Jamison nodded absently, her entire attention focused on Webb. When the door closed, she jerked out of his grasp and vented her anger fully on her intended target. “You think this has something to do with Egypt?” she asked, incredulous.

“Don’t give me that, Hannah,” Clay shot back as he stalked toward her. “It has <everything> to do with Egypt! One screw-up and you don’t trust me with your safety anymore. Well I can’t take it any longer. If this is the way to prove how sorry I am for leaving you, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“That is arrogance beyond anything I think I’ve ever heard coming from you! This has <nothing> to do with you and your actions in Egypt,” she raged, her words speaking a truth that finally cut through his guilt. “You got lucky, Clay! The helos found your group first, of course you had to go!”

“But I didn’t have to leave you!” he yelled, his face flushed with the volatile combination of anger and self-loathing. 

They stared intently at each other; their battle of wills clearly would evolve into a dirty below-the-belt fight. Deciding that it would be easier to fight his stubborn resolve with love, she shook her head sadly and moved to stand beside him. “Clay, your emotions are clouding your judgement.” Hannah cupped his jaw lightly and stared into his green eyes. “You <know> this is the right thing to do.” ‘Besides,’ she added mentally even as she chastised herself for the tingle of victory that trickled through her, ‘I haven’t exhausted <all> of my options.’

After a moment of complete silence, he nodded as if he’d come to a decision. Webb raised his hand to hers and held it still against his cheek. “You aren’t going to face this alone, Hannah,” he vowed softly. “Not like the last time. But you have to promise me something.”

Hannah bit her lip, indecision plainly written across her features. “Name the terms. Then, I’ll tell you whether I promise or not.”

Webb chuckled softly. “That’s the jarhead I know and love.” He paused and searched her face before murmuring, “You can’t break out. If you do, you’ll be a fugitive. And a high profile one at that. I know you think your career is dead now, but <trust me> when I tell you that the damage an escape would do can never be forgiven. A mistake can and will be. I’ll make sure of that.”

Hannah’s shoulders slumped. So, her last option was to be taken away. “Damn you, Webb,” she muttered as she withdrew her hand from his cheek and turned away. “You know me too well.”

Clay nodded and, resting his hands on her shoulders, traced his thumbs along the delicate lines of her neck, eliciting a shiver. “I do at that. That’s why I can tell you this and know you’ll listen. You know, if at all possible, I won’t hurt you. Trust me, Hannah. Trust my judgement.” He paused and allowed his hands to drift down to link with hers, the action pulling her almost flush against him.

Hannah leaned back a little and nestled her head against his shoulder, relishing in the long-denied ability to touch and be touched. Taking her response as a good omen, Clay raised their linked hands and rested them on her stomach, effectively cocooning her in his warmth. 

God, how she’d missed him. His sardonic wit and nervous energy dedicated solely to the successful completion of a mission. And the underlying care and concern that he kept hidden from the world thinking that it made him weak in the eyes of others. But it was actually just the opposite in her eyes. It made him stronger. It made him Clay as opposed to Special Assistant Webb. 

Hannah closed her eyes as she felt his lips drift over her temple in whisper-light kisses. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her and she drew his arms around her more fully. The peace she found in his embrace almost made her forget about the outside world, their work, their lives. She turned slightly to face him and linked her arms around his neck. Reading the love in his gaze, Hannah ran her fingers through his longish hair and softly murmured, “Clay.”

His eyes darkened as he vowed fiercely, “I won’t let you go forever Hannah, and if you take the fall for this or stage an escape that’s exactly what will happen. You can do all the ops you want as long as you come back to me in the end.”

Hannah swallowed as she basked in his overwhelming love. Smiling softly, she whispered, “You’ll never get rid of me. I’m in your blood.” She closed the slight gap between their faces and promised, “Just as you’re in mine.” Her words stoked the fire that always coursed through him when she was near and Clay lowered his mouth to hers, staking his claim with a wild kiss. Tongues, lips and teeth fell into the age-old dance of lovers as hands busily blazed trails of fire through the light clothing each wore. 

They broke apart quickly as a knock sounded loudly on the door. Clay ran his fingers over her hair settling back into place when Harm opened the door and peeked in. “Um, sorry if we’re interrupting, but it got really quiet and we thought you might have killed each other.” His gaze swept over their disheveled clothes and easily read the electric current of unresolved passion that seemed to run between the two. Blushing slightly, he murmured, “I’ll come back in a little bit.”

Webb negated the action with a shake of his head. “No, come on in.” With a quick look to Hannah, he continued, “We have some things to discuss.”

***

Prison Sale, Morocco 
1123 Zulu

Hannah sat on her cot, head in her hands and did as Clay had asked: she searched. Directing her thoughts toward the French Consulate and the body guards that were currently being questioned there, she read each one, trying to judge who knew the truth. Who could be leaned on to help her get out.

She had bypassed Clay’s overly anxious thoughts with a small smile. He was torn between concern for her mental state and irritation at being left behind. He was to call Harm and Mac the minute she had come up with an answer. Hannah blocked his emotions after taking a moment to savor the warm, safe feeling that his thoughts always created. 

Now, she focused in on Harm and Mac, who were currently questioning the guards, using their familiar minds to focus her sense on the location. Hannah felt the mutual admiration that flooded the pair as they questioned the men in tandem, one feeding off the other. She lightly tossed aside the feelings of admiration and smiled as the depth of their love for each other became evident. Hannah had kept her word to Mac; this was in no way a deep scan. But the obviousness of their feelings smacked of a newly found relationship. 

Once oriented to the place, Hannah eased off from her connection to the lawyers and widened her scan, searching for the tell- tale signs that someone was hiding something. Her brow furrowed with consternation. No one mind immediately appeared, which meant that she would have to delve a little deeper under the surface. 

She bit her lip slightly and pulled back from the men in an effort to focus her Sense. After a moment, she picked one guard at random and searched. 

Nothing. He was not even guarding the ambassador when he was killed. This man had been at the front gate. Satisfied, she moved on to the next man.

Her scan continued until she’d reached the second to the last guard. After flipping through the surface images, she found what she’d been looking for: confusion and uncertainty mingled with a dash of fear. She smiled and nodded as she continued to focus in on the man. This was the one.

Slowly, she eased her mind away, taking care to leave everything as it was when she’d appeared. Once she was free of his thoughts, she sighed heavily. It would take a moment or two to recover enough to verbally affirm that she had found the man. But Clay knew by her sigh, that she was finished. He walked to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing that until she had fully returned, there was a possibility she would see his approach as a threat. That had happened once in Egypt and he never wanted to live through it again. 

After a moment, he squeezed her softly and she looked up with a tired smile. Concern pooled in his green eyes, and she shook her head, her gaze telling him not to worry. They continued to stare at each other, Clay allowing her to use him as an anchor. Once she had fully returned to herself, she raised her hand to his and laced their fingers together. 

With a slight nod, she murmured, “We’ve a got him.”

***

Just outside Marrakesh, Morocco 
2018 Zulu

Clay sat in the back seat of the late model van as it wended its way around the arid Moroccan landscape. As it had for the past hour or so, his gaze strayed again to the woman who sat beside him. 

When pressed, the guard, one Mohammed Abelktef, admitted that he had not gotten a clear look at what happened. The only reason he had associated Hannah with the assassin was because of her close proximity to the ambassador. Once the representative from the regional tribunal heard this and had finally admitted that the fingerprints on the gun had been proven to not be hers, Hannah had been released. And now, she was off for a debriefing in London before being sent out on another op. 

Clay tore his gaze away from her profile to see that Mac and Harm still sat in front of them pouring over the case file and arguing how it would be worded. Satisfied they would be occupied for some time, he reached over and brushed the back of her hand. Startled, Hannah looked over at him, then curled her fingers around his. They remained that way until the van pulled to a stop where a car would meet them at the preset location for her drop-off.

After climbing out of the vehicle, Hannah shook hands with Harm and enveloped Mac in a grateful hug, thanking each for coming to her aid. Just as she released Mac, Hannah whispered cryptically, “You’ve finally found it. I’m happy for you.” Curious, the major gazed at her, trying to read her meaning in the hazel pools. The colonel merely smiled and darted her eyes to Harm. Mac inhaled sharply, knowing that Hannah had finally found the truth, but was comforted by the other woman’s slight nod. Their secret was safe, forever if necessary. Mac returned the smile and squeezed her hand in thanks.

Hannah’s gaze moved to the suited figure, who stood just to the outside of her line of sight. Not that she needed to see him to know he was there. Realizing the two needed some privacy, Mac discreetly pulled Harm toward the van where they engaged in idle talk. 

 “Well, it looks like this is where I ride off into the sunset,” Hannah quipped even as her heart cringed at leaving him once more. Heedless of the potential onlookers, Clay pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, breathing in her natural scent. “Take care of yourself out there,” he whispered fervently into hair. 

“Only if you do,” she countered softly, turning her head into his neck, savoring the last few minutes before she had to leave. At length, she pulled away slightly to look him in the eye. “I <do> love you, you know,” Hannah stated matter of factly, her solemn hazel gaze driving the words home.

A slight smile tickled Clay’s lips. “I know,” he replied loosening his arms from around her waist. Jerking his head toward the waiting car, he ordered, “Now get out of here.”

Leaning up, she pulled his head down and kissed him thoroughly, her tongue twining with his for an infinitely too short amount of time. She broke the kiss and pressed her lips softly to the corner of his mouth before turning away. Glancing over her shoulder, she quipped, “I’ll see you on the flip side.”

Clay watched the light breeze ruffle the tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid as she climbed into the waiting car. Harm and Mac rejoined him a minute later.

“The picture,” Harm murmured softly as recognition finally dawned. “I didn’t recognize her with her hair braided. But she’s the woman in the picture on the table in your apartment.”

With a soft smile, Webb answered, “Yeah, she gave it to me in Egypt in exchange for the key to my apartment. Said I needed a proper photo to go along with what surely was a very tastefully appointed interior.”

“Are you sure you want to let her get away?” Mac asked, her gaze tracing the lines of his face.

Webb nodded, his eyes lingering on the torrents of sand that trailed in the car’s wake. He answered softly, voice filled with promise, “She’ll be back. She always is.”
 

END