[ June 2001 ]

ANN

A few mornings later, he was waiting for me when I came down to the hotel coffee shop seeking a jolt of java to jumpstart my brain. Thankfully, I saw him before I took a seat; I scooted back out of the joint as quick as I could. But not quite quick enough.

He had a hand on my forearm and was leading me out into the atrium even as I tried to enter the elevator. I was out of fight. I was too busy just trying to exist.

"What will it take to get you to stop making noise about this?" he asked me. He was dressed in a suit. He looked sharp. He talked all business. No man should be allowed to look that good, I thought.

I was in shorts and a ratty t-shirt. I was sweating. I was hung-over. What can I say? I was down and out for the count and I hadn't even landed a punch. All I could do was give him the straight skinny and hope we stopped the battles as I was never going to win at this rate. "Look, Mr. Thorne ..."

"It's Terry."

Narrowed my eyes at him. "Mr. Thorne. I'm just doing my job. You're doing your job. Just so happens, that puts us at odds."

"What you're doing could get a man killed."

I sighed hard and started pacing around. "This is a news story. Surely you can see that? Maybe publicity will actually help him. Whoever's got him won't harm him if the world is watching, will they?"

"Your naiveté about these matters is stunning."

"Then teach me. I mean, rather than evading my questions and acting like I'm going to go away, just deal with me. I'm a professional journalist. I know we haven't started off on the best foot, but I'm not down here trying to fuck up your life. Or his. Try to understand that this is a legitimate news story. I cannot just walk away from it."

He stopped just on the verge of saying something. I saw this shift in his eyes. Like he was struggling with himself. But then the shift in his eyes again and I knew he'd made some decision. And then he let himself talk to me. What he told me actually shocked me for the way he let his guard down. People do that sometimes; even the most careful person. They forget who and what I am ... they speak to me as if I'm just this individual and forget I represent the public's desire to know. But listening to him ... knowing he was telling me something because he thought maybe I was going to give him a break ... maybe it's why I did.

"You don't have to walk away. Just give me some breathing space," he said. "Anything in the news right now ... it could end my chances of getting him back alive. It could make them want to hold him when I'm moving the negotiation along to get him released quickly. And you out there trying to find out information ... it's going to get back to the gang holding him. It could be just as bad as you filing a story."

"Who has him?" As soon as I asked the question, I saw the veil slam in over his eyes. I watched him realize he'd just confirmed the kidnapping, that he'd even given me additional information I hadn't had. I reached out and touched his hand to steady him. "Look, Mr. Thorne ... Terry ... I'm not going to screw you over. I promise you. You give me a good, verifiable reason why I should keep this quiet and we can talk. I cannot ever promise you that I will kill this story, but if what you're telling me is that if I hold off on reporting it for now that you will give me an exclusive when the case is concluded, then I can guarantee you that's something I'll consider."

"I don't negotiate with reporters," he said in this hard voice.

"Fine."

I got up to leave but before I took two steps away, he said, "The people who have him? They killed the last two hostages they took. All they want is money right now. If they find out he's connected to an American political leader, we may never get him back. I'm just trying to save his life."

Without turning around, I nodded and said, "How can I trust that you will not mess me over on this? You understand that I'm putting my career in your hands? You have to promise me that I get this story when it's safe to do it. No holding back. No making similar promises to other journalists. If another reporter gets wind of this, you owe me to tell me. If you don't, I will not hold off on immediately filing what I have. Are we clear?"

When I looked at him, he was lighting a cigarette. I watched him blow out smoke and study me. "We're clear."

I reached my hand out and we shook on it. He held my hand just a second longer than he should have but I pretended not to notice. And I pretended to myself that I could do this - that I could start looking at Mr. Thorne as a news source and not as the featured attraction in my sex dreams.

That afternoon, I briefed my editor. He agreed with my decision. Told me just to be sure to stay in a monitoring role and to be sure I stuck close enough that Mr. Thorne could not forget his promise. It's always such a trick to be in these situations. We all get burned every so often when we make these kinds of agreements, but sometimes it's the right thing to do to take the risk.

My agreement with Thorne was struck the next morning in a brief meeting at the oil company's office. We talked about the parameters we'd each operate within and then shook on it. I agreed to stop nosing around in Colón and not file a story until he told me it was safe. He agreed to brief me at each major milestone and to spend some time with me to educate me about what they faced in this situation and how they were approaching it. I knew right then and there that I was doing at least a sidebar story on Thorne. He was just too damned fascinating not to do some kind of profile. I figured I'd talk to him about it later, once he learned to trust me.

And so it went. I swear that I tried hard to ignore the way my body felt more alive when it was near him. I promise that I tried hard to keep the questions only about his work. But I admit that I failed on both counts. Unfortunately, my objectivity was getting hammered as he became more of a person to me and less of a story.

Three days later, one of my stringers came to me with some solid information. Solid enough that I could have filed a story blowing the lid off this case. I never hesitated. I arranged to meet Terry at the oil company's office building. If I'd expected gratitude, I was in for a rude shock.

He met my generous offer to turn over the information on the location of the camp where Guidry was being held with suspicion and hostility.

"And in what edition of the paper will I be reading about this?" he asked me coldly.

"None. I promised you I wouldn't file until you said it was safe."

"Then why are you giving us this information? What do you want in exchange?"

"Jesus. What's your problem? I don't want anything but our original agreement. I want the exclusive. And, hell yeah, I want to write about Guidry living through this."

"You want something else. No one gives something valuable away for free, love."

I just looked at him and took in the aggressive lean of his body, that way he had of looking like he was coiled for the attack. Shook my head at him and rose to leave. "I'm sorry you have such a low opinion of me. Some day, you'll apologize to me for this. Not that I'll care. Look, just use this however it helps get him back. Whatever you think of journalists, we are human. It's a lot more important that you get this man back alive than it is for me to have a story. But at the end of it, I'll still do my job and write about whatever does happen. So I guess that's what I get out of it. The knowledge that I might have the chance to write a story with a happy ending. I write enough bad endings already. Don't need another one."

He called me the next morning and invited me to lunch. I declined. He briefed me over the phone instead. A distinct thaw in his voice. They had checked my lead out and found it to be credible. If I ran across anything else, he'd consider it a personal favor if I'd feel I could pass it on to him. I agreed.

From there on, we started this odd ritual. At first, he'd call me in the late afternoons to brief me on where they were with the negotiations. Then this one time, he sounded really off and I suspected for all his words to the contrary that he was concerned about something. When he asked me if I'd rather meet him for a drink and let him show me a proof of life they'd just received, I agreed. It wasn't as noble as it sounds - I think if I'm totally truthful, I wanted to see the picture as much as I wanted to understand what was going on with him.

Never a pretty picture, he told me. And it wasn't. I had known Marc Guidry only fleetingly; had met him at a few functions. The picture he showed me shook me up. I've seen what men do to each other. It's a rough world. A rude one. This was very rude.

But I did my job; asked all the right questions. Got quotes from Thorne that I could use later in whatever I filed. And then he ordered us another round and I tucked that picture's memory away somewhere in the part of my brain that wouldn't deal with it for a while.

I asked Thorne ... how do you face this kind of thing over and over again? Someone has to help save these innocents, he said. There was something in his eyes that made me believe him. It's when I learned something else about him. He was one of the good guys.

We stopped the phone call briefings after that. We took to meeting in the hotel bar every other evening unless he called to tell me something new. Most times, we talked the case and then we parted company. But somehow, we began to linger and talk personal stuff.

Until he went too far and I put the brakes on. It happened this one night, at least a week after we'd started sliding from the bar into dinner together. There was this pause in the conversation and I mentioned that I'd forgotten to send my aunt a birthday card. He made some wisecrack about me getting old and forgetful. I made a fist and waved it in his face and threatened to punch him.

We were both giggling at the image of that when his hand slid over my fist and pushed it to the table. I stopped breathing at the feel of his thumb massaging the skin of my hand.

"Pretty ring," he said, touching the emerald and diamond ring on my right hand. "What's it symbolize?"

I don't think he even noticed but I was so slick in shutting that down. Laughing like I was amused, I pulled my hand out from under his and said, "Yeah, good try, Terry. But you don't fool me. I know what's next. First, you ask about the innocuous ring on my right hand, then you ask about the diamond on my left hand. I'll save you the trouble. The diamond's an engagement ring."

He gave me this innocent look and said, "I knew that."

Don't know where it came from but I hid my caution within a joke. Leaned in toward him like I was going to tell him a secret. "It's not real, you know. I mean, it's a real diamond but I only wear it to keep the creeps from hitting on me when I'm working. Works like a charm, really."

His eyes studied me and his smile was gone. "Happen to know for a fact you're engaged, love. Sad you don't love the man with enough passion to be proud of it."

It felt like being slapped. Worse, it was the truth that I never admitted. I hated that he'd not just picked up on it but threw it out at me as if he'd judged me and found me wanting. I veered from the subject at hand and attacked from a different direction. "You checked me out?"

"You had to know I would. Just like you checked up on me. Had to know if I could trust you." Shrugging his shoulders at me and taking a long draw from the bottle.

"Fine." I wondered just how far he'd dug into my past or if he'd stuck to my present. "Now we're even."

"Do you at least miss him while you're off like this? When's the last time you saw him?"

"Oh, Christ. That's none of your business."

"Just seems a shame you'd settle for that. Smart girl like you ... figured you'd be holding out for the real thing."

"The real thing never comes around for some of us. Sometimes, you take the best that's available and make it work. At least I have someone waiting for me at home. How about you?"

Got this instant flash of pain in his eyes and I felt like a bitch. He shook his head and turned to watch the sunset. "But I know what I want now. I'm not going to settle for anything less. And when I find it, I won't let it go. Count on that," he said softly.

I watched his profile and wondered about him. It was the first time I ever really thought about what it must have been like for someone like him. How lonely this life was when you were on the road so much of the time and you had to make do with passing acquaintances and business associates instead of family and true friends. I'd been at it less than a year and I wasn't hacking it. He had always seemed so strong and purposeful to me, like nothing ever got through that tough shell. But for just those few minutes, I thought maybe he might have been more wounded than I was. Like he needed something and I wished in that moment that I had been able to help him.

Silly girl. A man like that needing help from me? What a funny thought.

We tried to stop talking personal stuff after that. We tried to keep it to business and current events. But something had been breeched between us - we had each let our guard down enough to show something honest and unprofessional. An odd sort of relationship ... I struggled with the knowledge that it might be slipping into a realm that would make it impossible for me to be objective in the reporting of this story if he messed up and I had to write about it.

So I made the conscious effort to put a wall up. Not that it really worked, but at least I tried. And then I crossed the line and for the first time in my career, I started lying to my bosses because I should have told them I was now compromised.

It started innocently enough, I suppose. We met one afternoon and he was telling me about the status of the negotiations. He wasn't making another radio contact for four days, he said. Things had dropped to twice a week. He seemed frustrated and said it wasn't a good sign.

I was searching for another topic, something to delve into that he might have felt like talking about. I mentioned the resort where Guidry had been staying when he'd been kidnapped. Said I was planning to drive down there the next day and get the lay of the land. Figured it might feature in whatever story I eventually did, even if just to set the scene. Could he show me on a map exactly where Guidry had been taken, I asked him.

He said he'd do me one better. He'd show me.

"Oh, you don't have to do that. I can't drag you away from ..."

"From holding my dick in my hands while I wait for the next contact?" he said in this snide voice.

"Well, now there's a visual," I laughed at him.

Got this great smirk from him and his eyes twinkled at me. "Anytime, love. Glad to oblige your puerile fantasies."

And before I knew it, he was insisting that he'd drive me down there ... said it would keep him busy and that, besides, he'd feel a lot better if I didn't go alone. I didn't bother to tell him that I'd already hired a bodyguard to go with me.

Somehow, being away from the city seemed to infuse both of us with this more laid-back feeling. We were relaxed with each other and talked about absolute nonsense. I had to listen to at least a half-hour diatribe about what goes on in a rugby scrim and then he treated me to two extremely filthy songs he claimed were often sung in Australia during the games.

By the time we made it to the resort, I felt like I was riding with a different man. I tried, truly I did, to banish these wild, dirty thoughts from my mind. But I just kept sneaking looks at him and sometimes he'd be smiling at me like he knew just what I was thinking.

We both sobered up when we were standing at the roadside where Guidry's car had been forced off onto the shoulder. I remember walking along that side street until I hit the area where Terry said Guidry's car had come to rest bumper first in a tree. I saw some dusty red splotches on the rocks and wondered if it was the dead driver's blood. When I asked Terry, he just looked off into the trees around us.

I had arranged for rooms for us in the resort for that night. After we checked in, I started nosing around. Showed Guidry's picture around, asked questions, got quotes from people who remembered serving him. Nothing extraordinary. Just so common, in fact, that it was a little sad. I told Terry that when we were eating dinner at the restaurant on the beach at the resort. It was one of those casual, open-air places where you can hear the waves lapping on the sand and most of the other diners seem sunburned and a bit tired from the day of frolicking in the surf.

"People always like to think that other people will remember your last moments on earth. Like they'll remember you said something profound or did something remarkable that will stay with them forever. But the truth is so much harder to accept. Most of us can't even remember the last thing we might have said to someone. And then if something happens, we rack our brain for that memory," I told him.

"He's not dead."

"No, I know that. And I know you'll get him back. I have faith in you, Terry. It was just that I'm as bad as everyone else. I asked all these people what they remembered about Guidry and I think most of these people are just manufacturing what they hope they said to him," I said.

"You could always make up better quotes," he said.

I gave him this tight laugh and was tired of his judgment of me. "I don't make up quotes. Why do you have such a bad impression of journalists in general and me in particular?"

His eyes drilled into mine. His answer shifted everything. "I don't have a bad impression of you, love. In fact, I've come to admire you. You're just never what I think you'll be. I'm not sure I've met anyone like you."

Felt my face blushing and felt this little thrill to have gotten a compliment. "I'm an odd duck. Don't I know it. But still, I have a few things going for me. And, hey, since we're saying nice things, can I just say that I've come to admire you a great deal as well?"

He dipped his head, lowered his eyes; I saw this flicker of a smile. 

Just then the band started playing and we couldn't really hear each other too well. He suggested we move to the thatched-roof bungalow bar set up down on the beach since we were finished with dinner anyway. At least there we can talk without the noise of this band, I said.

Wrong.

The band was piped in good and loud into the bar. We smiled ruefully at each other and I assumed we'd just call it a night. But he tugged me with him to the bar and talked into my ear so I'd hear him. Might as well make the best of it, he said.

I figured, one drink and then we'd call it a night. But from the moment the bartender leaned her tits on the bar in front of us and asked Terry if he'd like sex on the beach ... well, things changed forever.

When she asked the question, Terry looked at me with this smirk.

"It's a drink, right?" I asked him, giggling at the face he was making.

"Yeah, love. How about it, feel like some Sex On The Beach?" Now leaning in toward me so I could hear him in all the glory of this deep voice that oozed sex appeal ... all the while also trailing his arm along the back of my bar stool and grazing my shoulder blade.

"How about you try Sex On The Beach and I'll check out a Fuzzy Navel?" I said, keeping my face straight, as I perused the drink menu.

He shook his head, leered at me in mock aggression. "Only fuzzy navel you'll be checking out is mine."

"Oh really? Do you have a fuzzy navel?"

"Only one way to find out, love," he said ... only this time his lips stayed right up against my ear and I felt the sexual suggestion as if he'd written it on my body.

"Let me guess," I said, turning to speak into his ear and trying to ignore how close my lips were to his neck ... a neck, I might add, that featured in some hot dreams I was having. "If I have Sex On The Beach with you, only then will I get to find out if you have a Fuzzy Navel?"

His lips on my neck so fast and soft that I thought later I probably imagined it. Then he was sitting there just grinning at me and ordering one of each kind of drink. We ended up ditching the sweet drinks and heading for the scotch. And spent a while discussing scotch and other stupid topics ... the kinds of things you find yourself resorting to talking about when you can't really carry on a good conversation because the music's too loud for anything but shouting at each other.

Pretty soon, I suggested we get out of there. Outside on the beach, I told him to wait for me while I ran down and dipped my toes in the ocean. I can't help it -- a good beach calls for it. I made him hold my sandals and I hitched up my skirt and went wading up to my knees. When I turned back toward him, he had taken his shoes off and was rolling his pants legs up. We ended up strolling down the beach until the music of the resort was only a distant sound.

We weren't even talking, which was odd because now that we were someplace we could, it didn't seem necessary. And then I just stopped and plopped down onto the sand, watching him as he came back to me and sat down near me.

"Do you know why my newspaper assigned me to this beat?" I asked him after a companionable few minutes of studying the stars.

He had the grace to turn away from my searching eyes. "No."

"Bullshit. But that's okay." Our eyes met. "Why don't you tell me the real reason you're out on your own and not still with one of the big outfits."

It was how I found out the first bit he ever told me about Tecala. I listened to him, heard the way his voice tensed when he talked about how he'd felt ... frustrated and yearning but not totally knowing why ... finally deciding that he'd not gone into the business only to give his services to the highest bidder rather than the one who needed him the most ... and only in Tecala understanding what a problem it was that he no longer felt connected to normal human contact because he'd shut so much of himself off from others so he could do his job. And when I asked, he told me in almost military speak about the rescue of the hostage on that case.

Two things bothered me ... I knew he wasn't telling me the whole story and that was all right because I didn't expect it. But the other thing was ... it sounded familiar. Like maybe there'd been a movie about something similar. I mentioned that to him and he smiled at me.

"The stuff of legends, right?" he said and when I frowned, not understanding, he said, "It's what my partner says. Figures that case was the stuff of legends."

"And you're the hero of the tale, aren't you?" I said softly, suddenly wanting so badly to know all about him.

He shrugged his shoulders, looked at me under his lashes. "Not looking to be a hero, Annie. Just a man."

"No one calls me Annie. Makes me sound like a little girl, which I hate," I said into this sudden void, just to have something to say.

"Right. Then that's what I'll call you." Smirking at me, seeming relieved we'd moved away from discussing him. "Annie girl."

"Stop," I laughed at the way he said that, seeing in him this boy that was so at odds with the man he usually presented to the world. "I bet you can be such a brat. Next thing I know you'll be pulling my pigtails and trying to look up my skirt. Boys. You're all the same."

"Dunno about the pulling pigtails but definitely interested in looking up the skirt, Annie."

"Stop calling me that or you'll never even get a peek," I smart mouthed to him as I went to rise from the sand.

But his hand pulled me back down ... only I landed in his lap. It was so unexpected to be there. He was so warm. He felt so good up close like this, my hand on his chest and my bare legs rustling against his slacks. My breath caught and he was concentrating on me with such focus that I wasn't sure I would remember to breathe again.

"What if I want more than a peek, Annie?" he asked me, his voice dropping low and seductively deep. His fingers of one hand stroked along my jaw. His lips darted toward mine and then retreated.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking. Maybe it was the surf in my blood. Maybe it was a recklessness caused by the proximity of such a man. But I heard the words coming out of my mouth and knew only this ... I'd taken chances before, but I didn't play games. And that scared me. That I'd be willing to say this and mean it and Lord help me but I knew this was against the rules.

"Then you'd have to prove to me that you have a fuzzy navel," I whispered.

"My pleasure, love. You show me yours, I'll show you mine?"

Those words. That voice. I was putty in his hands. I'd never known anyone who could have had this kind of impact on me.

His thumb massaged over my bottom lip until I let out this sigh. I remember about every nuance of that kiss. The way his eyes stayed on mine until the last possible moment and then I saw his eyes slide shut and then his lips captured my bottom lip with this soft, grazing suck of a kiss. A pause and then he repeated the treatment on my upper lip, holding it there, tenderly using his teeth at the end when I almost slipped from his grasp. And then not hesitating, just opening his mouth against mine, knowing I'd open mine, his tongue coming into me with both confidence and desire.

And he kissed me.

Unlike any man before and trust me when I say that I have sampled many kisses.

It left me panting ... hanging on there, suspended in mid air as he pulled away and kissed at my closed eyes.

"Do that again," I whispered.

This time, he pulled me down onto the sand, turning me over onto my back, but drawing my legs up over his, exposing my torso to his hand that trailed down slowly from my neck to my breasts. And as he nuzzled into my neck after kissing me long and deep, his hand traveled lower, until he was fumbling at the waist of my skirt, dragging my shirt up. I heard him make this little rumble of need way down deep in his throat as his fingers reached my skin.

"Can't. No. I can't. I want but I can't," I mumbled out to him and tried to roll away but he held tight to me. "No. I'm sorry. I should never have let this happen. I'm not a cock tease, Terry. Honest. It's just that you're so hard to resist but I'm an adult and I do know better than ..."

"Shhh. It's okay, Annie. Stop now. We'll stop. Okay? See? Letting you go now."

I sat up and swallowed hard. It took long minutes to get my breathing under control. "God, but I'm sorry I did that to you."

"C'mon, Annie. There were two of us here. I shouldn't have done that to you. I know you're engaged."

"Oh. Yeah. That." Our eyes met and I gave this little laugh, embarrassed that I'd let show that it wasn't the engagement that had made me stop. Deep breath. "Look. I'm not an angel, okay? But ... he's ... well, we have this agreement. It's not something that makes sense maybe but it works for us. We don't really care too much what we do while I'm out of the country since we're not together. When I get home permanently, then we'll have plenty of time to really settle down together."

"And that's what you want? A man who wouldn't care if you slept around on him?"

I scooted a short way away. "It's not perfect, I grant you. But he's a good guy and being married to him will be a smart thing for me. He'll give me stability and a secure future. And he is a known quantity to me. We've known each other a while now and it just makes sense for us both."

He shook his head at me and made this obvious move of adjusting himself, making me see he was still dealing with the hard on I'd given him. I licked my lips totally involuntarily but he caught me doing it and I think it secretly pleased him. He cleared his throat and said, "So this was what you dreamed of marriage being? I notice you haven't said you love him."

Blinking past some strange bit of nausea. What was it with this man? Did he always cut through my bullshit answers so easily? "I was married before for love. It's not all it's cracked up to be," I told him, surprised at the bitterness I let show.

"Know the feeling, Annie," he whispered to me.

It was a moment that bound us, somehow. "Two wounded soldiers in the field of love."

"I'll show you my wounds if you show me yours."

He was so open before me. I had to back off. Something told me, any further and it would be way too far. "Oh, Terry, I think I'll beg off that. Maybe some other night. We can get good and drunk and tell each other our war stories, okay?"

"Deal." He stood up and pulled me to my feet. I was standing right there, right in front of him. His hand slipped behind my neck and he looked hard off into the water. "If you didn't stop because of him, why then?"

"Because of work," I told him and watched his eyebrows rise as he tilted his head toward me. "You're a subject in this story. I have to stay as objective as I can if I'm going to report it. Besides, you're also a news source and there's no harm in us being friendly but I can't let it pass a line that makes it inappropriate."

"A kiss is the line?"

"Sex is the line. No. I'm sorry, that's flip. The line is intimacy." He turned to look at me full on. "Wouldn't sex between us have been about sharing intimacy? It wouldn't have been just about a roll in the sack, right?"

Long pause. Slow, decisive nod.

And I have to just admit, it gave me a thrill because I think in that moment that I knew he'd had thoughts about making love to me, just as I had envisioned making love with him.

It's also the moment that inside myself I admitted that I couldn't even pretend to objectivity when it came to him anymore. If I had been truly professional, I would have simply admitted what had been happening to my editor and taken myself off this story. Things like this happen often enough that it is not considered a disgrace to admit that you've become too close to a subject to be able to function properly in your job as observer.

But the harsh truth is that I simply needed this story too damned much to take myself off. I figured it would do no harm as long as I was aware of the bias I now felt and examined my reporting to be sure it didn't skew anything.

A few days later, one of the stringers came to me with new information. A report that seemed legitimate to me -- that Guidry's captors were about to go on the move and he was an expendable casualty of their need for moving quickly. It scared me and I called Terry's cell immediately. It sounded to me that while this might have been news to him, it gibed with other things he was hearing in his negotiations. Things looked like they might have been going worse. He didn't have to confirm it to me; I heard it in his voice. I asked him what he'd do now; he said he'd now have to consider a contingency plan.

The only contingency plan he'd ever told me about was worst case - going in after the hostage. I didn't press him; I had learned to trust him that he'd tell me when he had facts for me.

I saw him in a bar the next night. I sent him over a drink and gave him a little wave when he turned to smile at me. He was sitting at a table with a redheaded man who seemed amused at the interaction between us. An hour later, I was strolling back from the ladies room and the redhead was in my path. He asked me to dance. I enjoyed it. I liked it better when Terry cut in.

Yeah, I liked it. So sue me.

God.

I was in over my head but there was just something about Terry that night. Like he was pressing in this way he never had before. And I liked feeling that he wanted me enough to be trying to bridge my defenses.

We danced one dance. He was so intense. Not speaking. Just moving with me. Holding me just so ... all proper but so improper. The feel of his hair at the back of his neck under my fingers. The way he sighed as I played with his hair there. The way he took a deep swallow when my forehead leaned into the side of his neck and I sighed back.

When the dance was over, we both seemed reluctant to part. But then he said he supposed he had to introduce me to his partner. I glanced over at the redhead, who was sitting at their table, leaning in atop it, resting his chin in his hands and staring at us. "That's the O'Leary part of your company? Ex-Marine? Damn. I would never have guessed one of them could look or dance so good."

He rolled his eyes at me. "For fuck's sake, don't gush over him. He's got a big enough ego already. Treat him like the sorry bastard he is. Follow my lead, love."

An hour later, I was in love.

Not with a man. But with their friendship. And I knew that if I ever wrote this story up the right way, their friendship was going to be a part of it somehow. I begged them to let me take their picture together just in case I'd need it for the story.

It was a wonderful shot. I have looked at it so often since that night. It captures their essential differences and their distinct similarities. In this night, their interaction showed me a whole other side to Terry. And I fell instantly under the spell of Dino's smooth charms.

They were adorable together. They kept me laughing and they kept me on my toes. The things they said to each other. But there was still this underlying current in the air and it wasn't until Terry left the table to go to the restroom that I got a real clear idea of what was up.

Alone with Dino. He flirted mercilessly with me because we both knew it wasn't about anything other than him being charming and funny. In this one moment, though, his eyes were studying me and I felt a deep serious pause there between us. And somehow I just knew.

"You're here to mount a rescue, aren't you?" I asked him softly, careful not to let anyone at an adjoining table hear me.

He sipped at his beer bottle and his eyes flicked around the room. Back at me and I studied their depths of blue. "How's that deal with Terry going?"

"The one where I don't report this story until he tells me it's safe?" He nodded at me. I smiled. "I seem to be following it so far."

"So far," he echoed. Grinned at me. "He does the talking to the press for this operation so I think I'll just defer to him."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Evasive maneuvers have little impact on me, Mr. O'Leary. Trust me."

"I trust you, Annie. Because Terry does and that's enough for me."

Pursing my lips and narrowing my eyes at him, I wondered if it was worth pushing him. I chose a different tack instead. "My name is Ann. No one calls me Annie."

"Terry does."

"Yeah, well, he only does that to annoy me."

Dino giggled and leaned in. "He loves doing that kinda shit, don't he? My real name's Dean. Guess who stuck me with the name Dino? Here's a tip, kiddo. Don't fight it. It only makes him keep it up. Ignore it or he'll ..."

"... Find a worse nickname for me," I finished for him and we both cracked up laughing.

"Well ... yeah," he said with this smirk.

"At least I'm luckier than you. I'll outrun the nickname once I'm off this story and away from Thorne."

His eyes darted away and I turned to follow them to where he'd latched onto Terry, stopping at the bar to pick up another round. "Maybe he'll surprise you and follow you home like a lost puppy."

"Yeah, that'll happen."

I was still giggling at the image of Terry Thorne, little lost puppy following behind me as I walked home from school, when he came back to the table. What's the joke, he wanted to know. When neither of us would tell him, he said he was going to torture me into the telling by making me dance with him again.

And the next thing I knew, I was in his arms again and pretending to hate it. He pulled me in closer each time I tried to get away. But somewhere into the middle of the dance, we stopped playing because I was way too close and all I could feel was that he was aroused. Close enough I'm pretty sure he could smell my own arousal. He tried to talk me into going with him to another joint to have a drink where we might get away from my friends and his redheaded companion.

Shivering at the feel of his hot breath and my want, I said no, but I didn't say it very convincingly. He made a joke of it as a cover and yet we were neither of us laughing. Then he was pressing my purse into my hands, telling Dino that he'd fucking see him in the morning, and he had a hand at the base of my spine to guide me purposefully out of the bar and I was heady with the feeling of being in his control.

I knew right where this was heading. I didn't want to stop it. I saw my hotel, knew what he wanted and then he pulled me into an alley and had me pressed up against a rough wall. Mouth on mouth and hands on each other. I would have fucked him right then and there. I almost did. God but how I wanted to ... like something beyond my control was making me crazy just to possess him.

Until I finally caught the scent of desperation that was clinging to him. I struggled away from him and just stood there ... wondering what I was willing to do here. But then, as only I can do, I thought ahead to the next morning and got the headline I'd have written for this story:  Bit of life affirming sex for a soldier on the eve of war.

"It's happening tomorrow?" I asked him. "Is it going to be dangerous?"

"It's always fucking dangerous, Annie. Men with guns, explosives, drugs. What the fuck? You thought we were playing here?"

The rawness of the anger felt like a punch and I backed a few steps away.

No pretension with him in this night. I couldn't face his pre-battle jitters with glib patter or intrusive questions. "I know you're not playing. I just couldn't think of anything else to ask that would show I will worry about you."

His jaw snapped up and he looked down at me. His handsome face was held closely behind this mask of non-emotion. I could see that only his eyes weren't shutting down on me. "You'll worry about me?" he asked, saying it like it was a challenge, taking this firm step toward me and I stood my ground.

I felt the warmth of his hand as he slid it along my waist, stopping at my spine. All I could do was nod.

"Why would you worry about me?" he whispered to me. I felt his breath ruffle my hair at the side of my neck and it sent an electrical frisson racing straight to my core.

"Because I care what happens to you, silly," I whispered back.

"Show me, then." Our eyes met. A needy challenge issued directly and I didn't think this was only about night-before-battle desires to make love to some woman in case you didn't come back.

He stepped into me. His body took over where his words couldn't convey his desire. I shook my head and tried so hard to find the will to back him off.

"Drop your rules and just let this happen between us tonight," he said, his voice rough with desire and will. "Show me how you feel about me."

"I can't," I whispered to him, shocked to hear myself say it. "I refuse to be a one-night stand before you head out of town and on to your next mission."

He stopped instantly and his hand dropped from me. We were so close and the air was thick with more emotion than belonged. What had we done with each other to get to this point? Was I really saying that based on what had happened between us so far ... these weeks of working around each other, being dependent on him for access to this story, flirting up to a line I wouldn't cross for the sake of my professional objectivity, never denying that we both wouldn't have become lovers long before if not for the very thing that let us meet in the first place ... that this held the promise of being something important enough to not fuck it up for the sake of one night together? I'd deny us this night's chance for the slim possibility it meant too much to take it lightly?

Whatever it was, I'd made a decision. There was a place I wouldn't go with him. And this was it. I didn't want my memories of him to include doing something I knew I'd feel guilty about in the future.

I studied his eyes and willed him to get it. But in brutal reality... it didn't matter to me if he understood or not. This was what I wanted. I owned this decision. If he wanted an explanation, he'd have to ask for it.

But he didn't. In his eyes, I read his own surprise that I'd care that much. I think maybe he preferred to leave it that way.

When he finally talked to me, it was his Terrence Thorne professional voice. "Stay in your hotel tomorrow. It's important to me that you stay safe. I'll call you when we get back. I'll have your happy ending."

And then he was gone. I stood there rooted to the spot and absorbed what he'd just told me. I wrestled with myself because I was finding it the hardest struggle of my life to drop into the professional role I should have been in this whole time. If there was no other indication other than this that I'd lost any possible semblance of objectivity, I don't know what it would have been. But through sheer willpower, I eventually began to think clearly about what I had to do.

If I called my editor and told him that it looked like a rescue operation was about to begin, he'd likely order me to get my stringers in position and to be ready to report the first time I had an independent confirmation that Terry's team was going in after the hostage. But I already had an understanding of how dangerous it would be to raise anyone local's radar that an operation might be in the works. So I opted to be smart about it. I intended to bet my entire wad on Terry and his ability to stand by his word.

And on his ability to return from the scene of a battle.

Sometimes, even the smartest intentions are not, in the end, the wisest actions. 

Most of what I knew in the next day did not end up coming directly from Terry Thorne so much as it came about because of him.

I was where I shouldn't have been except for the fact that this was how life was for me.

My cell phone rang late that evening and I knew who was calling without even checking. I was holding my breath and only released it when I heard his voice.

"Where are you? Are you all right?" he asked me.

Funny that. I would have wished to have had the guts for those to have been my first questions to him. But they weren't. Still, I felt this huge thrill at the knowledge that he was safe and asking me those questions.

"I'm at the airport," I told him.

"Fuck!" The word exploded from his mouth in real frustration and anger. "What the fuck are you doing there? I told you to stay in your hotel."

I heard his voice, muffled, telling someone else that I was at the airport and asking who they had that could get there fastest.

"Terry? You don't need to worry about me. I'm ..."

His voice, cold and hard, in my ear, saying, "I told you to stay at the fucking hotel for a reason, Annie. They're gonna come after anyone who's helped us and they'll know you've been passing intelligence to us. Your life's in danger and I am not about to let anything happen to you so ..."

"Listen carefully, Terry. I'm fine. I'm safe."

This frustrated growl from him. "Why didn't you do as I said? Why the fuck did you leave the hotel?"

Couldn't help the little smart-ass giggle and I looked around me as I answered. "Hey, guess what, Terry? My job? Can't do it from a hotel room."

Long pause. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm working, Terry. Got it? It's why I'm here. To get this story." He didn't say anything and the silence between us told me a lot. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? I figured out what's been happening and I did what I'm supposed to do. Just like you did what you were supposed to do."

"What have you done?"

"It came to me last night. After we parted. I figured out what's really always been the bottom line. Guidry's brother is a U.S. Senator. Of course there's going to be official interest from Washington in what happens to him." I waited for any sign from Terry and when it didn't come, that was a sign in and of itself. "I would have seen this earlier, you know. This is the kind of thing that is the very reason for the rules of my game. I got too close to you and let that distract me from thinking about what you might be hiding that wasn't being hidden for any noble reasons."

"I only hid what was necessary."

"Of course you did. Like I said, you did your job. I'm certainly not criticizing you. But the truth was never going to be given to me, was it? Not the real truth, the one that was real news for someone like me to expose."

"Annie, I'm telling you this for your own good. Don't dig too hard on this."

I chuckled at him, amused in spite of myself. "It's too late, Terry. And, in the long run, I'm too good at what I do. I already know and I already have the proof I need. I should really have seen this so much earlier -- that there's no way you would have been down here operating on this without some support from our government."

"I trusted you."

"Of course, our government could never have officially been involved because it's our policy to never negotiate for the return of hostages. And that was the real thing, wasn't it? The real reason you couldn't allow any press coverage of who Guidry was connected to. You knew if it happened, it wasn't going to be him getting killed, it was going to be him never being released. He'd have become a political pawn to use against our government. So you were racing time because there would have been no negotiating at that point. They would have had to step in officially and the chance would have been lost. It would have become a political football, right?"

"I'm not going to verify any of this."

"You don't have to. I've got it from two other sources already so you won't be compromised." I heard his sharp intake of breath. "It's why I'm here. At the airport."

"Then you've been misled. Nothing about the airport ties into ..."

"I'm not at the commercial airport." I let that sink in. "I'm here on the airbase in Balboa. Waiting on Guidry's arrival. I'll be flying out on the U.S. Air Force cargo jet taking him to Miami for medical treatment. His brother's here, too. Which I think you already knew."

"You're gonna fuck me over on this story, aren't you? After everything?"

That smarted. I actually blinked back tears. I shouldn't have responded because I was in this curious place where I was thinking like a reporter and yet I was talking to someone who had just wounded me on a personal level. "You'll have to buy a copy of the paper and find out, won't you?"

It wasn't a very nice way to end the conversation. I had really wanted to say so many other things to him but most of all, I wanted to tell him that I was never so happy as when they told me that all the members of Terry and Dino's team had made it out alive and relatively unscathed.

So I had a happy ending for my story because of him.

And I rather thought that was all I had.

But the truth was, I had a few other things. I was coming home in triumph. I had once thought there was a real possibility I'd never again be holding my head up high as I walked into the newspaper where I loved working with a real passion. Despite everything that had led to the overseas assignment, I never lost the love I had for that paper and the people I had worked with.

Dave met me at the airport when I finally made it home and he knew from the moment he saw me. But then he would. We knew each other too well. Most of all, he was used to the way I made a decision and then followed through. I believed in cutting my losses as quickly as I could.

The day the first package of the stories I'd done were published, I emailed Terry links to the online edition with a note that said maybe he'd learn a bit about trust if he read them. To that email, I attached the shot of him and Dino at the bar where I'd first met his partner. They were both smiling and they looked so vital. My note to him concluded with something about hoping he'd enjoy the picture as a reminder of the friendship they shared.

Never got a reply to the email and I didn't know if I expected to. Someone like him makes up his mind about someone like me and it's hard for him to ever change it when he feels he's been let down.

So I dug back into the life I wanted to rebuild.