1

There's a certain sport to it. Spot the tourists who have come from the beaches versus those who've just stepped off a week-long cruise of the Caribbean. I've always believed I had a certain knack for it. Here was the thing that always tipped me off: those coming off the cruise ships invariably were tired and bloated. Those who'd had the luck to stay on our beaches were typically much healthier looking.

I'd like to think it was because those on Miami's beaches had just spent the last week or so sucking their guts in and trying not to stand out among the hard bodies that seemed invariably to be on display, especially in South Beach.

"Cruise," I muttered. "That one's too easy. He's carting the rum box."

That was another give-away. Those white boxes they carried through Customs with the four liquor bottles they could bring through duty-free while they thought they were so smart to be smuggling another two or three bottles in their carry-ons and hoping the Customs Inspectors let them go without a search. Usually Rosario caught that oh-much-too-obvious sign of the cruise passengers so I figured he was just trying to give me an easy one. Trying to get me in a better mood. Fat luck.

We did this every time we had to go to the airport. Rosario had started the game. We'd point someone out, dare the other to say what they were and then go flip our badges, question the unlucky sport and figure out who won.

"Okay, I give you that one, chica." We stopped near the gate we were supposed to be waiting at. Both looked at our watches and then we both sighed.

"We been partners too long, Ro. You let me get away with these early morning bitch fests and I know it's 'cause you know I'll make it up to you by plying you with drinks tonight."

He yawned. I heard his jaw creak and I gave him my slatted eye reproof. He smiled at me, saying low and steady, "Wanna do a random cigar search? Sometimes that snaps you out of the mood. You so love the pat downs. Where'd you learn to choose the men who get instant hard-ons when your hands start checking out their jeans?"

It made me laugh. Ro loved giving me a hard time about my start as an undercover Customs agent. It's why I'd come to Miami in the first place. But somehow I'd gotten to know one of the police detectives in Miami-Dade and ... well, let's just say that love and work can sometimes go together pretty well.

My lips probably flickered pretty swiftly into a certain smile because when I thought of David, the cop who had been my entire reason for switching from Customs to Miami/Dade's detective bureau when Customs wanted me to rotate to an assignment in San Diego, my first thoughts were always of how good he looked when he'd be adjusting his shoulder holster. Damn. He'd always made me so hot. He'd be concentrating on getting it just right and then he'd glance up with that tough guy look on him and catch me staring at him. I always smiled when I first thought of David ... and then just that quick, the memory of his blood would be a stab to me and I'd take in a jerky breath of reality.

God. I missed him. It had been about two years since he'd been shot and I still had these moments of the raw reality of it catching me by surprise. I still forgot sometimes that he wasn't just working shifts opposite of me. That I couldn't just call in sick and sit around waiting for him to come in off a double. When would I stop having these moments when I'd forget he was dead? And I hated that because those moments of hope would be followed inevitably by the sharp pain of loss as I remembered he was gone.

"Think I'll check with the gate agent and see when the plane's coming in," I told Ro and shuffled off. Another 20 minutes of waiting, I found out.

By the time I got back to Ro, the airport's Security chief was there. We always let them know when a suspect was being flown into their airport. It's why Ro and I were there. Someone we'd chased for what seemed like a year had finally stuck his head up in a faraway state and by some miracle a local cop there had had the professionalism to actually apprehend one of Miami's most wanted.

"Alaska?" the Security chief asked, shaking his head. "Guess he was trying to get as far away as possible. But, my goodness, that's going to extremes. Can't imagine what that weather was like for him to deal with."

We were talking about Tito Martinero, a Miami native, a bad bad boy who was wanted by Ro and me for some pretty nasty crimes: murder, car-jacking and the seemingly-requisite string of knock-overs of convenience stores and auto thefts. Truthfully, it wasn't even the murder that had made me want to get this sucker so bad. It was the frigging car-jacking because he'd taken a car with a kid secure in his little car seat. And what had Tito done when the idiot realized he had a little boy in the car with him? He'd pulled over in traffic and hauled the kid out, tossing him into the kudzu-covered roadside. And if some maternal tourista hadn't stopped at that sight to rescue the hapless critter, we would have been adding a second murder charge. I could deal with a lot but to be just so mean to a kid or a dog? It really got under my skin.

So there we all stood, waiting. Looking at our watches. Waiting. Breathing annoyed spurts of air. And then the plane was nestling into place and we were trying to act cool and bored. We badged our way on board; truly, the agents at the gate had been expecting us to do that. Inside, I followed Ro down the aisle to the last first-class row and peeked at Tito.

"Hey, big man," I said, sing-song voice and cheerful smile. "Welcome to Miami."

It would have all gone so smooth from there. Over and done with in the short space of time it would have taken to drive to the jail. But then I happened to look at the cop who'd escorted our wanted man. I gave this surprised laugh at the way he was looking. Like a bear just out of hibernation, with all this hair and fur and looking hot in the coat he was wearing.

He stuck out his hand. It was bound to Tito through the length of handcuffs. But the hand was honestly not the thing I was looking at. It was his eyes and the way they took us all in. One all-encompassing look and then he locked his eyes with mine. I felt like I was being appraised and hoped I passed whatever test I was under.

David had looked at me just like that. First time I met him. No one else ever had. I felt like I'd just had an out-of-body experience.

"You're almost giddy," Ro whispered to me. "Get your mind on work, tiger."

I snapped to, reached across the burly cop and tugged Tito up by his shirt.

We were doing it by the book. We had Tito up and on his feet. We were following procedure. We had re-cuffed Tito so his wrists were bound together. We were escorting him out to the waiting transport van. Ro was in front of Tito as we moved up the aisle. The Alaska cop was behind Tito. I was behind him. And, man, the Alaska cop had a nice behind.

Ahem. Okay, so I was distracted by a man. Well, it wasn't like he was the first man to distract me in ... well, in a few years. Since David. I felt my concentration slip and wondered why David had been on my mind so much all week. Premonition? Nah. But it had seemed like so many things were reminding me of him all week. Little things. And now this man walking in front of me. Same kind of presence, same kind of body, same kind of strange familiarity.

I shook my head and concentrated. It's why I noticed young Tito eyeing the emergency door on the ramp. The one that lead to the runway and his freedom. But the big cop from Alaska got in my way and Tito was through it before I could even voice a warning to Ro.

And then it was a foot chase. I wasn't worried. I doubt Ro was worried, either. We'd done this kind of thing before and rarely did we lose. I mean, come on, Tito was cuffed so he was at a disadvantage.

Gun out and screaming at baggage cart drivers to move out of the way. Vaulting strewn luggage as mayhem ensued at the sight of five armed cops chasing one tall raggedy man down the tarmac. Seeing Tito thinking he could dart inside the terminal and get away. Yelling at Ro to head him off and knowing I'd be lead inside the door instead because at the last minute Tito veered off and chose a door closer to my side.

And I think I'd have had him. I really do. But the Alaska bear grabbed me from behind and basically wrestled me out of the way so he could get through the door first. We lost precious moments. In that confusion, we got all tangled up because my instinct was to fight what he was doing and I tripped him and then ran right over his prostrate form.

Down steps into the baggage sorting area. Trying to hear sounds of chaos that would signal where our cuffed fugitive was running. Catching the sounds of his feet and heading for them. Running. Running. Panting. Struggling and refusing to give up though my lungs were heaving. Then busting out into the terminal, sure this had to be where he went. Hearing Ro calling over the radio for backup. Knowing the Security chief must have alerted his guys to what was happening.

Surely we'd have him sealed off inside the terminal, I thought, trying not to panic just yet because I was already pretty sure I'd lost him. And then three airport security yo-yo's were tackling me and yelling at me to drop my weapon.

My cursing probably cost me a few levels in heaven. But man, I mean, can you blame me? It should have been so simple.

Underneath a crush of men, I wrestled my badge out of my pocket and shoved it out from under the pile, waving it around and hoping one of them would see it and let me up.

Up on my feet and I cursed one more round just because I needed to. Caught sight of the Alaska cop and I cursed at him, too, just for good measure.

We glared at each other as the Security chief got in between us. Important thing was to find Tito, he reminded us, not engage in a pissing contest to see who was the badder cop.

"Fucking Eskimo furry low-life country yokel yah-hoo town sheriff wanna-be cop screwing up my collar like the damned amateur Barney Fife snowbird asshole he is," I muttered later, dark as the now-stormy afternoon sky as I sludged with Ro to where we'd left our car.

Ro started laughing at me. "That was inspired," he said, wiping his eyes. "I just love it when you get all pissy with other cops. You have this competitive streak in you that kills me."

"Not about competition, you jerk. It's about the fact that the yah-hoo just lost us our prisoner."

At the station, Ro and I stood in front of the Lieutenant and got chewed out for letting such a simple transfer of a prisoner get so royally screwed up. Neither of us tried to excuse what had happened; with Lt. Drummond, you never gave an excuse because it just made him angrier.

We slunked to our desks and endured the ribbing of our colleagues. But behind the fun they were having at our expense was the reality: Tito was on the loose and he was scared, desperate and probably had a good idea of how we'd found out he was in Alaska.

Just then, the doors to the squad room opened and in strolled the cop from the great white north. Our eyes met and we continued our glaring at each other.

"Guess you thought that was cute, leaving me at the airport?" he said to me. "I didn't appreciate it."

"Figured you'd be on the next plane out, back to whatever town it is where you park your igloo."

"I came here to deliver that man to your custody; I'm staying to see it happens. I don't start a job just to not get it done like it should be. That okay with you?"

I looked at Ro; he looked at me. We shrugged at each other. What, he asked the guy from Alaska, did he think he was going to do here in Miami. Help us, the guy said. We don't need your help, I said.

"Yeah? Well, I'm the one who caught him. Something you couldn't do, eh? Seems to me you might be grateful for the help from someone who knows what he's doing."

Made me laugh. Truly. "Yeah?" Grinning at him now as he continued to glare at me. "Well, if we need help tracking him through snow or ice, you'll be the first person we call. In case you didn't notice, this is Miami. Not Bumfuck, Alaska."

"Mystery. Alaska. Name of my town." He shifted like he just realized he was standing in the middle of a detective squad room in a big city. "Name's Biebe. Sheriff Biebe. John."

"Well, Sheriff Biebe John, we'll take it from here. If you'd like a ride back to the airport, I'll get one of the uniforms to ..."

"I'm staying." Looking around the room. "That your boss in there?"

Already heading for the Lt.'s office. Ro and I looked at each other with big grins. "He'll eat him alive."

"Chew him up and spit him out," Ro agreed.

We settled into our chairs and began working the phones. About 20 minutes later, the Lt. came out with the Sheriff in tow. Meet your new partner, he told us. Find him a place to stay, get him settled, let him help on the search. Treat him with respect because he's a sheriff.

Unlike us, because we're lowly detectives, I thought darkly.

"Jesus," Ro muttered as the Lt. walked away. "Now we're baby sitters."

"Sheriff John Biebe," the Alaska fur ball reintroduced himself to us. Stuck his hand out to me; looked right at me again. Same David look. Christ.  "And you would be?"

"I'm Det. Benson," I said. "And this is Det. Fuentes."

"Since we'll be working together, you got first names I should know?"

"No. You won't be here long enough for it to matter," I said.

"My friends call me Ro and she's Maggie," Ro said quickly. "And she's actually not that hard to get along with. She must have forgotten to take her pills this morning."

He smiled. Sheriff Biebe. John. It was the first real smile since I'd first seen him. It was one of those smiles you get from men sometimes that makes you see what men they really are. I realized I was smiling back and it made me laugh.

"Sorry, Sheriff. That was rather rude, wasn't it?"

"It's okay, Detective. I was just going to apologize for what happened back there, at the airport. I was trying to help but ... Thought I should have been the one going through the door, not you." Blushing now, he looked at Ro for help that would never have been coming. "Well, you know, you being a woman and all. Not that I'm a chauvinist or anything but it does seem wrong somehow that a man would let a woman take that risk when he's right there and he should be the one ..."

His words trailed off in a mire of embarrassment as Ro and I just watched him. I raised my eyebrows at him in wonder. "First rule of getting along with me, Sheriff? I'm a cop first, a woman second. Treat me like you would any other good cop, okay?"

We made him wait another hour while we worked the phones. The Lt. gave him an empty desk near us in the squad room where he could have some workspace to call his own. But, at this point, there really wasn't a thing he could do. I looked up from a phone call I was making to a snitch I was browbeating into helping me get the word out that I'd pay for any and all leads into Tito's whereabouts. John Biebe was just sitting there but he was taking in every single thing that was happening around him. A large part of him was concentrating on my end of the conversation. He gave me this little smile as he heard me tell the snitch what a good friend I would be to anyone who helped me find Tito.

It made me blush and for some reason, I was grinning back at him. Like we were on the same team all of a sudden.

Two hours later, we knew the woman who'd turned in Tito's Alaskan whereabouts was now secure in a new safe house. Her and her four kids. It made me feel better that Tito couldn't get to them because I knew he'd kill them all if he could find them.

Ro suggested we hit the streets for a while. Make our presence known. Spread some money around. Help turn up the heat. In the areas of town where Tito's buds congregated, we already had beat cops pressing for information. But sometimes, it helped the effort when the locals could see we were serious about getting our guy - serious enough to have us out there strong-arming our contacts and his known associates.

We took Biebe with us. I wondered how he was taking our techniques. Figured they didn't have much need of such tactics in his little winter wonderland. At lunch, Ro asked him if he'd ever been to Miami before.

"Rarely even been out of Alaska," Biebe said softly. He had such a nice, manly voice. It made me want to listen harder. "Never much of a desire to see the lower 48."

"I've never been further north than Texas," Ro said.

Biebe and I both chuckled at him.

"That's not the north, Ro," I told him. "That's the south. Or the west. But it's not the north."

"Well, it gets damned cold there. It snowed when I was in Dallas," he told us in his best whining voice.

"Eh, Christ. You're such a wimp," I said and tweaked Ro's cheek. Turned to Biebe to say, "You should see him when it freezes down here, which it only does once or twice in every generation and then only for a few hours deep in the night. You'd think the world was coming to an end."

Biebe laughed with me. "And, you, Maggie? You ever been up north?"

"I was raised near Chicago. Been into Canada a few times but never further north than Winnipeg." I groaned at the memory. "Man, I couldn't move from Chicago fast enough when I left college. I've been moving further south every chance I get. Figure Puerto Rico's my next stop. I hate cold weather. Always have."

When our hand-held radios crackled, both Ro and I yanked out our pocket notepads. We were writing down the details of the call even as we were throwing down money to pay for our lunches and running out the door.

I drove. I was the better driver. Yeah, most people expected me to be the 'little lady' driver and let the big bad male cops drive. But truth was, I was probably the driver most of my fellow detectives wanted behind the wheel if we were on a chase or on evasive maneuvers. It came with the training I got in Customs; they were big on this. Bigger than most city cop academies, anyway.

Biebe hopped in the back seat and Ro was calling out intersections to dispatch as we raced to the call.

It was bad. Real bad. But then these things often are.

Two civilians down and we all knew who was responsible. The first identification from a witness pegged it as our bad boy. He was back to mayhem. But this particular spot of mayhem was done for a purpose as we were to find out soon enough. He was hunting down his girlfriend's sister, the woman who'd told us where to be looking for him while he hid with an old Army buddy in Alaska.

Biebe looked white as we surveyed the carnage.

"Bullet with a message," I whispered in his ear as I moved him out of the apartment. "Message is being received by the civilians watching this, Sheriff Biebe John. Why dontcha help us get some witness names and statements before they all scatter?"

"Call me John." He had such nice eyes and this was the third time in one day they'd snagged me. "Please?"

"John it is. Now, how about helping with the statements? And anything that seems hinky to you, will you come get me?"

I watched him walk over to the crime scene tape that was being put up to keep civilians and press away from where the crime scene investigators would soon begin working. I felt bad for him.

"Welcome to Miami," I muttered sadly under my breath.

2

Miami Beach in the early evening is a feast for the eyes. It's more than the hard bodies. In fact, they don't do much for me since I'm not really looking for a vapid bodybuilding paramour.

No, the feast is the sky. Man, you see some colors. As a transplanted mid-westerner, I still grooved on the colors here. Magenta, orange, cyan and red. Soft muted streaking clouds that reflected the setting sun's refracting light back to the earth.

"This makes a lot of it worthwhile," I told my passenger, Sheriff John Biebe. He sighed and seemed to visually relax, nodding at me as his eyes scanned the sky and the harbor's darkening blue shades. "You know, Sheriff, even for Miami that was pretty bad."

He looked over at me as we were stopped for the traffic jam heading for the island that was Miami Beach. I saw his color returning. He'd been pretty pale since we'd gotten to the scene of a needlessly brutal double murder committed by the vengeful escapee we were chasing, Tito Martinero.

Biebe and I were still working. My partner, Ro, had his little girl's dance recital he had promised to attend. As the senior partner, I'd made the call that for what needed doing tonight, we could spare Ro. So Biebe and I were driving to the safe house where we'd stashed the woman Tito was hunting. Tito wanted to kill her because she was the one who'd told us we could find him in Alaska. Tito had always been big into revenge.

We didn't really think she'd have too much new to tell us. But we owed it to her to be there in person to deliver some bad news. Her brother and his girlfriend were the victims. We figured Tito took them out as a message to Teresa, our snitch. Trouble was, Teresa and the murdered boy were siblings to Tito's main squeeze, Calida. We didn't know where Calida was, but we thought maybe when she found out Tito was gunning down her family, she might get scared and come looking for us. We could use her help if we were to stand a chance to find Tito before more people died. And Ro had the suspicion that Teresa knew how to get a hold of Calida.

Two hours later, I was driving home. I hadn't planned on this, but it seemed like the only thing I could do to assuage my own sense of nagging guilt.

Poor Sheriff Biebe John. He was proving to be such an honorable man - too honorable to last in Miami without a bit of protection. We were supposed to put him up in a hotel until this hunt for Tito was over. But after what had happened back there with Teresa? I wasn't about to let him spend his nights in some cold hotel room. Besides, I had a nice big house. Plenty of space for one sheriff from Alaska.

As we pulled into my garage, I glanced over at him. The lights caught him in profile and I thought he looked pretty tired.

"John?" He looked off like he was hearing a voice from the wrong direction. "Look. She was just taking her grief out. And you just got in the way. That's all. It was nothing personal. You know that, right?"

"She was right. It was my fault in the end. If I had just followed procedure, he would never have escaped. And it's only because he escaped that he was able to kill her loved ones," he said it soft but he still didn't look at me.

Incredible. I thought David had been the only man I'd ever know who'd do that. Who'd carry the weight of the world's problems on his big shoulders and make me feel better just to know that men like that existed in this warped world of ours.

"Hey, John. C'mon. You shouldn't have told her every detail about what happened. That was your only mistake. They might say they want to know, but they really don't. Trust me. Telling her about the foul-up at the airport just adds to the anger she's feeling because she's lost her brother now. And that's why she turned on you like that. As soon as we catch Tito, she'll see where the blame really lies. And it's not with you."

He gave me this soft grunt as he moved to get out of the car. Man, I was really feeling sorry for him. He sure was not what I expected, was our Sheriff Biebe John.

Inside my house, I showed him where the guest room was and told him about the trick to turning the shower's temperature the opposite way that the dial indicates. Left him to settle in a bit. Went to flip through my mail.

Thirty minutes later, I called back to him that we had to take off. We were heading out for a bit of undercover surveillance. A bar near the tip of Miami Beach where Tito used to hang out when he was spotting his next victim. We had teams of detectives watching a few other places where we thought he might show up if he decided to return to his happy hunting grounds.

It was an area heavily dominated by docks and yet this bar attracted its share of people looking for trendy hot spots.

We ordered beers and sat in a back booth. Had to sit close so we could both scope out the front door and most of the interior. Besides, we were supposed to be on a date and it wouldn't have been too convincing if we'd sat too far apart. About twenty minutes into the watch, I felt John shift and the smile he flashed at me was a bit stiff.

I wondered if he was still feeling badly about Teresa screaming at him and calling him a murderer after he told her about his part in Tito's ability to escape at the airport. Thought perhaps I needed to lighten the mood for him. See if I could get his mind off that emotional scene.

"What? You don't like being this close to me, John?" I tried to make it sound jaunty, kidding around. I think it came off as something else. Cleared my throat. "We're undercover. What shall our cover story be? Secret lovers meeting where our spouses won't find us? Or maybe we should be on our first serious date and we're both hoping it leads somewhere? Or how about we're co-workers having a torrid affair? Work with me here, John."

He examined me for the briefest moment and I thought about David. Damn. I had to stop that. This wasn't David. He was nothing like David. Just these little triggers of David, was all.

"The date scenario's the most likely. Since we're just a bit stiff with each other," he said in this voice that was so much stronger than it had been after Teresa had ripped into him back at the safe house.

"Okay. Works for me." Grinned at him. "That means we have to flirt with each other. We'd flirt, don't you think? I do. I think we'd both be flirters."

Big groan from him and even in the low light, I could see his cheeks flush. He might have protested, but he didn't move away. "I'm so out of practice, Maggie. I think it's been about seven years since I've flirted."

"Wow. Since you've been married, eh? Well, surely you still flirt with your wife?"

Little giggle of amusement but he seemed awkward. "Nah. Never was much of a flirter."

"Oh. Well, I'm somewhat good at flirting so maybe I can teach you. Then you can go home and try it on your wife. Women love being flirted with by a good looking man."

My eyes swept the bar. I leaned my shoulder into him and whispered, "Now watch. See that guy at the end of the bar? He's a real flirt. But he's good at it. Real smooth. See how he slides those matches over to her but doesn't quite release them when she reaches down to pick them up? Then strokes his index finger up and down hers? Oh, man. He's good."

"Cheesy."

"Well, it may be cheesy but it works. Look. See that smile from her? She liked that move. Here. Take the match box and try it on me."

He looked at me like I was from outer space but I gave him such a ration of shit that he finally did it. I made him do it twice more before I felt the spark in my finger from his.

Cleared my throat and looked up into his eyes. God. I was falling in love with his eyes. "You got it now, sport."

We grinned at each other. Both took another sweep of the bar.

"Okay, now look at that, will ya? She's flirting back. See that move she's making with her hand, John? When she pulls it down from her hair, she'll accidentally lean it against his shoulder." We watched it happen just as I predicted.

"You called that one perfect but the real question is if you're all talk about your ability to flirt. So, Maggie, your turn. Show me you can do that, too." He said it in this breathy voice and even though I knew he was kidding around with me, it still made me pay attention to a man in a way I hadn't in so long.

I had perfected that move, or one similar to it, many years before. First try out of the gate and I had my arm almost around his neck. I leaned in toward him, watching him notice I was moving so my chest would rub up against his arm. Whispered into his ear, so close to him, "So, John? I did that good, did I not?"

"Yeah. I liked that." He had a sudden sheen of sweat on his forehead and his voice was gruff. Like something more was going on here than we'd anticipated.

"Yeah?" We were so close. 

And I don't know what happened but somehow, I was leaning too close. My eyes looked into his and I wanted to feel what it was like to be attracted to a real man again. My lips pressed into his neck, near his ear.

"Maggie, don't. Not a good idea." Words of protest ... but his body didn't try to move away from mine, I noted.

Nodding my head, letting my nose rub against his neck. I liked his neck so much. So manly. Kissed his jaw and felt him put a hand on my shoulder. Pressing me back, but with such hesitation that I knew he was only doing it because he felt he should. Not because he didn't want this to happen. I ran my fingers down from his elbow to that hand, laced my fingers in his hand and drew it away from my shoulder. He let me do it; not even a scrap of resistance.

"One kiss, John. No one will know. Just us. Think of it as part of our cover. Just a kiss, John."

He was fighting a losing battle, was our Sheriff Biebe John. I knew it when his body leaned toward me.

His lips didn't cooperate when I first touched them. But I went soft and slow before licking them, a flicker of my tongue. Asking permission. When I felt his lips part, I slipped in easy and I flicked around his tongue. Gently felt around his mouth. His tongue gave mine these little caresses that seemed more erotic than about any kiss I'd ever had.

I eased out of the kiss because I just couldn't bear to break this tender mood between us. My first kiss in two years. I kept my eyes down because I didn't want him to see that I could have cried so easily in that moment.

Sitting in a bar in south Miami Beach. Staking out a joint where some savage thug had prowled for the unaware and unlucky. Working next to a man I'd only just met and already liked. He'd be gone in a short while. He'd be going to a home on the opposite side of the continent.

The possibilities didn't seem so bad. Someone to make the night better. Someone who'd never know how much that could mean to me. Someone to hold for the first time in so long. I could close my eyes and hope again if I had just that much.

His hand slipped from where my fingers were still laced with his. I looked up into his eyes. They examined me and I wondered again ... what was he thinking of me?

"So, John," I whispered and tried to make it a joke between us, "Looks like I'm the better flirt of the two of us."

He put his big, warm hand on my cheek. The tiniest ghost of a benevolent smile on his face. "Your flirting could lead a man astray if he wasn't careful, Maggie."

"There's more where that came from. Should I try any other moves on you?"

Small head shake, his eyes slipped from mine briefly before coming back. "No, Maggie. Look, I'm a married man. And I'm probably reading a whole lot more into this than I should, but I'm not real experienced with women flirting with me. Least not that good. But if you're asking what I think you're asking, I have to tell you, the answer's no."

Tiny nod to him and a sad smile that I just couldn't stop from quivering. "It's okay, John. That's the nicest way I've ever been told no before. I shouldn't have asked. It was not only unprofessional but it was not very nice either. It won't happen again."

"Okay."

"We cool?"

"Sure, Maggie. We're cool. No problem."

We stayed in the bar another hour. It was about the most uncomfortable hour I've ever spent in my life. By the time I checked in with the Lt., I was saying hard prayers that we would be released from stakeout duty. Prayers answered, I drove us to my house, told him good night and went to bed.

And cried myself to sleep.

It was never his fault. It was mine. What in God's name had I been thinking? When I had become so desperate to feel that I'd resort to throwing myself at an innocent man?

3

Sometimes it doesn't help to know. But for an investigator, your entire life is about gathering up every bit of evidence you can.

It becomes second nature after awhile.

It also becomes a habit to seek your fun while you can because you become accustomed to how fragile life is. It is just much too easy to die. I think seeing blood and body parts inures me to harsh reality. But in truth, it really makes me more sensitive to the stakes of living.

And it makes me miss having someone around who can make the moments I have mean something.

I'd been thinking a lot about David. The morning after I'd thrown myself at Sheriff John Biebe, I realized with a sickening thud why David had been on my mind so prominently the last week. In two weeks, the anniversary of his death was coming at me. Coming hard. And it seemed that for the next week, all I could think about, in those moments when I wasn't filling my brain with work, was how much I hated remembering all I knew about death.

It would be two years since I'd been rushed in a squad car to the ER. I can remember as if I'm in the midst of doing it. The way I sat with eyes open and memorized the moments because it was the only way I could cope with what was happening. How I'd never seen any of the group of television cameras that recorded my race up the ambulance ramp and the way I'd pounded on the entry door because it didn't open quickly enough.

Thank God they weren't inside to capture for posterity how I fell apart. One look at David's partner, covered in David's blood, and I stopped thinking. He and Ro were holding me up when the doctors let me in to say goodbye.

It hadn't helped me to know the details leading up to his death. But because I investigated my share of murders, I had dug in there and ferreted out every single thing I could find on David's case. I'd wrapped myself inside their thorns and felt grateful for the pain of their pricks. That was during those too many months in which I had never wanted to forget. I wish I could say it was David I hadn't wanted to forget; it was really more the sense of his loss I wouldn't let go of. I wonder about that sometimes. Because I'd begun to feel just so guilty lately that I was tired of the burden of those memories.

I would have preferred that when I thought of David, I could hang on to only the man he was in the fullness of his life. That I didn't just so quickly move from seeing him smiling at me and looking sexy. Because it would be like this flash of great memory and then I'd be slammed into the bad thoughts and that's where I'd be stuck. Remembering forever that creature losing his life on the hospital gurney. The being who was hanging on only to whisper to me that he'd always love me just before he gave in to death. The organism who I pray with every fiber of my being heard me tell him before he slipped away that he'd been my life and that I didn't know how to go on without him.

No, what I would prefer to keep always in my mind would be the David who'd made me so complete. The life force in him ... his smile ... his eyes ... the sense of him ... the strength in every cell in his body ... the integrity ... the cute ass ... the way his hands would touch me and I'd burn for him ... his ease of leadership ... his beauty ... his ruggedness ... the way he'd mutter to me as I was coming in his arms ... his dignity ... the ease of his smile and the abundance of his laugh ... how it only took his quiet, firm voice to get others to listen to his orders ... how he'd made me feel something important had just happened to me in the moment we met.

My eyes blinked open and I stared into the sun beating down on me. It was just over a week since we had lost Tito and, on this bright day, we had our best break in the hunt to reclaim that mad man. I was outside the courthouse, waiting on Ro and Sheriff Biebe John. Took in a deep breath and chased the memories away. All around me, life was happening. I was tired of being stuck with death walking hand-in-hand with me.

"Takes her a whole week to realize she's safer with us when he's out there hunting her? What kind of an idiot is she?" Ro was grumbling to John as they emerged and neared where I stood by the car.

"Got the warrant?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"I wasn't coming out without it," Ro said, grim look to his face.

"I'll call it in. We need to get back and meet with the Lt. He has a few last minute questions."

Tito's girlfriend, Calida, had finally shown the good sense to contact us. We had her sister Teresa stashed in a safe house just north of Bal Harbour, an area of greater Miami we figured Tito would never have thought to stake out. We'd taken Teresa into protective custody the moment Tito's whereabouts in Alaska proved correct and we'd received word that he had been arrested by John's people. It was just a routine protective measure for the witness and it helped the witnesses keep to their statements when it came time to arraign the bad guy. In this case, it also saved her life when Tito got loose and went looking for revenge. We'd moved her to this new, more secure location when he'd escaped at the airport.

Revenge. It was the way of things in the world of Tito and his like. Teach a hard lesson and the next person will do just about anything to keep from giving you up to the cops. It was part of the war between us.

Calida had finally realized that Tito wasn't about to stop at killing their brother. He was looking to spread his message of how ruthless he'd be in his revenge. That made Calida expendable to Tito. Her death would have been a pretty effective message.

Once she'd finally contacted us that morning, it hadn't taken much pressure to get her to give us her best guess as to Tito's whereabouts in Miami. Actually, it had taken John one long serious look in her eyes after she'd stopped her hysterics. He'd talked to her quiet and stolid. Told her how it was. Told her how it would be. Told her she had no other choice. Told her she had to have someone to trust and he was the person she would trust.

She had. 

Ro had, too. He and I had both come to trust John in a way that surprises me. He'd only been in Miami a week and yet we both felt like we'd known him for so much longer.

He still had that raw other-worldly way about him. I had grown comfortable with his shaggy good looks and his quiet ways. And he was still bunking at my house. It was nice for both of us. He brought a new sense of life to my dim spaces and I cooked for him when we were home for meals. He helped fill empty spaces in my mind that week when I really would have been so much worse if I'd retreated to the bad memories. I'd come to depend on him being there with me. For me.

How do you grow attached to a man that quickly?

When we met with the Lt., we got the word officially. The brass were rankled by the beating we'd taken in the press over the way Tito had escaped and the subsequent murders. Combine that with our inability to make an arrest for a week and the pressure was on.

Therefore, it wasn't just me, Ro and John going in. We'd be going in with the SWAT team. Good choice, I'd thought.

Ro, John and I were sent to the site to scope out the scene while the Lt. and the SWAT commander worked out the battle plan. Our job: keep an eye on what was going on, radio it back and wait there for SWAT to come in. They'd do the actual take down and we'd get to take Tito downtown; we'd have the collar. Fair's fair after a week of hunting the dog.

I was behind the wheel. Ro took a saunter down the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. Casing the joint to see what was what. Taking an initial recon to begin making note of the civilians we'd have to clear out of the way before SWAT went in.

Watching Ro through binoculars. Hearing his quiet words over my radio as he called in details. Not paying a lot of attention to John radioing the information into the Lt.

"Hey, Maggie? There're some kids around the side. Don't see any adults with 'em. Let me just check something, okay?"

Lost sight of him as he rounded the building. Internally, by habit, counting down the seconds. Then: "Maggie, note there are five kids. They say their daddy's watching them but I don't ..."

Silence.

Count to three.

"Ro?"

"He's in there," came Ro's whisper. His voice was intense in its low tone. "I saw him through the window."

"Roger. Now get your ass back here. SWAT's on the way."

"No can do, Mags. He might have seen me. Had to duck to the back of the building. Can't get back out front without risking him seeing me again. Don't want him to get a good look and remember I'm one of the cops from the airport."

"Fuck." Saying it with real feeling. Looking at John. He held up two fingers. SWAT was two minutes away. "Hang on, Ro. Keep your head down. Two minutes."

I was already heading out of the car. Watching and looking for another way around to the back of the building.

The gunshots ... two of them ... the sound of them ... echoing like death in a vacuum.

Calling to Ro over the radio. No response. John's voice behind me, saying SWAT was coming in, hearing him calmly calling in the gunshots and officer down codes. But I was already running with my gun out and up.

Around the side of the building. No kids playing hopscotch. A dark, blurry form racing toward me. Saw the man in front of me stop in the same way I did. Like we'd each hit our own brick walls.

Life slowed to death.

Inside my brain passed instant memories of the target practices. The drills. The exercises. The face of every bad guy I'd ever shot. Last message in my brain was my first instructor: "The millisecond you face the choice, you must shoot to kill for you'll have no time for anything else."

I shot to kill. Never even blinked. Tito crumpled in front of me and I ignored what my bullet had done to him.

Kicking his gun away from his out-flung arm as I was running past where Tito lay dying. Breathless with fear over Ro. Yelling Ro's name. And seeing as I rounded the building the red of his blood. Kneeling over him and he blinked at me. Grimaced. Held his hand up.

"Don't you dare die on me, you fuck," I yelled at him. Ro squeezed my hand and told me he was fine.

John got there at the right moment. "Move over, Maggie," he told me in a hard voice. "Let me see where he's shot."

I crawled away and watched as John found where the blood was coming from. Watched as he applied pressure. Crawled back when he barked out at me to come help him.

And, finally, my training came back with a roaring need to be helping. Between us, we had the bleeding staunched from both places - one in his chest, one in his thigh. Ro was mumbling, drifting away and we kept talking to him to keep him conscious until the medics got there.

John's the only reason I wasn't in the ambulance with Ro. He wrestled me away from the door as they put the gurney in and I was arguing that I needed to be with him. He about carried me to our car and shoved me in the passenger seat. Drove like a man possessed, following the ambulance, our siren screaming people out of our path. Jerking to a stop near the ER and then running in with me.

Holding onto my forearm when I wanted to charge in the trauma area to find Ro. And before any other cop was around, it was John who held me while I broke down. It was also John who stood back when I recovered and needed space.

He left me alone when I took the call from Neely, Ro's wife. She was being driven in and she knew I'd tell her the truth. I was with him, I told her. His injuries are not life-threatening, I told her, because it was what she needed to cling to on the drive in. But I didn't know if I was lying or telling the truth. I just told her what I knew she needed to believe.

When the Lt. came charging through the doors, I was ready to be a pro. Listened to his words of advice on facing the necessary review of the shooting. Handed over my gun and accepted with grace the expected mandatory suspension given to every cop who shoots on the job until the shooting's cleared as justified.

Gave a preliminary statement to the IAD guys who came in later. But when the doctor came in to tell us about Ro's progress in surgery, I was almost afraid to face the news. But I could read his body language and it looked good. Then I heard his words to Neely. Ro would be out of work a few weeks but he'd be fine.

John drove when we left the hospital hours later. He'd waited with me until they brought Ro out of surgery. There were at least twenty of us waiting in that hallway. All cops or family. The cops all there because it's all we could think to do. There because we'd like to think there'd be a bunch of cops waiting with our family if we were the one in surgery.

After they wheeled Ro to the surgery ICU, there just wasn't a reason to be there anymore. Neely and her sisters were there to sit the vigil for the night. I felt strangely like I just didn't belong there with them.

I told John that at my house. He'd fixed us each a drink and we were sitting in the living room. Near each other on the couch. Close enough to know he was there to help me face this night but far enough away that I could be free to feel whatever emotions would come out of me.

"You're his partner and a good friend. You could have stayed," he said softly.

"I felt like a bad luck charm." When he looked at me, I realized he didn't know anything about me. About my past.

It felt so odd to know that.

It freed me. In more ways than one.

4

There are times in every person's life when they must make a choice to either hold onto the pain or let it go.

This time of transition is never easy to reach. Getting through it can be torture. But on the other side, at least you know where you stand.

The department had made me see a grief counselor after David died. I didn't take much from it except that I should feel that however I found myself grieving would be okay. Everyone is different in how they grieve, the counselor told me, so just accept that and you won't feel like you have to conform to some expectation of how you should be feeling.

Feeling?

I remember looking at her and wondering if she'd ever lost anyone. Because she was busy talking about feeling while I was no longer able to feel anything.

It would have scared me but I don't think I even cared enough to wonder about my lack of emotions.

And I remember with crystal clarity the day my feeling came back. I don't know what I'd been doing before it happened. I just remember that I found myself standing in the middle of David's workroom off the garage and suddenly it was like being switched on again.

I was overwhelmed with the depth of the pain. I lay on the cement floor and curled into a ball. Screamed my pain so loudly that Ro thought someone was killing me. He was packing David's clothes up from our bedroom closet and I had retreated to David's workshop because Ro didn't think I needed to watch it happen. It was six weeks after I'd buried David and I thought I was handling things so well.

Ro could do nothing to console me. But he held on to me and let me cling to him. I feel like I'm drowning, I kept telling him. Please don't erase David from my life. It's all I have.

This was how I told Sheriff Biebe John about my loss. He listened to me and never offered any consolation. Just nodded at me when I'd look over at him. Telling me to go on, that he wanted to hear.

"It's never going to be the same, John. I'll never be the same."

"No, you won't be. But the person you are has such strength. She has chosen to acknowledge the pain and continue to find what joy she can in life. And she embraces the love she felt. And can still love to this day," he said.

I looked at him. "You have the most remarkable eyes, John. The first time I saw you, I remember the affect they had on me when you looked into my eyes. It was exactly how David first looked at me."

Shy smile from him. "Same color eyes?"

"No, his were brown. Yours are green. It's more than color. It's the way you made me feel."

"Tell me about David. Not about his death. Tell me about him."

"Oh, God." I started laughing. "How many years do you have? David was so complicated, so deep, so intense. But he was also so funny. Always making puns. And so sensitive. He wrote poems. No one ever knew that about him. He thought all his friends would make fun of him. But I gave his best friend one of David's poems to read at his funeral and it was the cops who were crying the loudest at that. I think about that sometimes. How he could touch people and he never even realized it."

And from there, it just flowed from me. 

An hour and two more drinks later, I finally stopped. Looked at John, sitting there with my feet in his lap and smiling with me over one of David's more memorable puns.

"Thank you, John. Do you know that this might be the first time in two years that I've just talked about David and how he was with me? I've never been able to get past the trauma of his death to recapture the wonder of his life with me."

He stroked along my thigh and I leaned into him. We didn't say anything for so long. My head ended up on his chest, my arm around his waist. Hearing that strong man's heart beating. Feeling the way his arms around me felt different than any other arms I'd had hold me like that. Recognizing that I had begun, in that night, to not think of the ways he reminded me of David. But how I'd begun to recognize how he had become a man in his own right to me. How I'd begun to long for this touch from him.

How the feeling of his hands stroking in slow circles on my back and hip made me feel soft. How the way his warm fingers sneaking under the edge of my shirt made me snuggle in closer to him.

"I haven't been with a man since he died." It just came out of me. But I didn't care that I was saying this to him. I'd already decided. "John? It scares me sometimes. This thought that I'll never take a chance again because I cannot move beyond the fear of the first time I would be with another man."

"When it's right, it'll happen," he said and I felt his deep voice move through me.

"Will you let it happen?" Touching his chest and feeling the beating of his heart. "Because this is right, John."

"Maggie," he breathed out to me. His lips pressed into my temple and he hugged me tighter, just hugging with such strength. "I don't know about this. I think I could let this happen between us so easy. But I'd be taking advantage of you. You make me feel things that ... God, Maggie. I don't do things like this. I've never even looked at another woman since I've been married."

It crushed me. "Then let me go. I can't ..." It was all I got out before I started crying and trying to get away. But his arms gathered me into his lap and he held on tight.

"Please, Maggie. I don't want to hurt your feelings. If I were single, I'd have been sharing your bed from that first night. You touch some part of me that I swear I never knew any woman could reach. But I am not the kind of man who can just ... You know I'm leaving tomorrow. And I'm not coming back. I've got a wife and a family in Alaska. It's where my life is. I won't be around to help you."

I moved in his arms and found his lips. Kissing him, making him kiss me back. Leaving me breathless with want of him. Feeling him hard against my hip and knowing he wanted me as well.

"I don't know why this is, John. But the truth is, I couldn't ever do this with you if you were going to be around. I don't think I'm ready to face those kinds of complications. But more than that, what I need is to know that if I totally suck at making love with the first man I'll have in two years, that he won't be around to be a reminder. I just need someone who can make me feel ready to try again."

"Oh, Maggie. You won't suck at making love. And you deserve so much more than to have your first time again be a one-night stand."

"I want you, John. You're the first man in two years I've even felt any desire for. This chance may never come for me again." Taking his hand and placing it on my breast. "Please ... tell me you want me, John."

His hand caressed me. I felt him release his breath and saw this intense look come over him. This time, he kissed me. And with an aggression I hadn't expected. He moaned softly as we ended the kiss.

"No one ever has to know, John. Help me make this transition."

"God. How can I even be thinking of this?" saying it with such emotion. "Maggie, I want you but I just can't do this. Please understand."

He made as if to rise from the couch but before he could shove me off his lap, he looked down into my eyes. I saw the conflict there. How he wasn't sure. How he wanted me but felt he shouldn't.

When I moved toward him, he didn't budge. Just accepted the touch of my lips on his. Let me hold his face in my hands and kiss him for as long as I wanted. Mumbling against his lips: "Give me this one night. Help me see if I can feel again."

He responded slowly. His mouth opened and I felt his tongue flick against my lips. I responded softly, tentative. Unsure if I remembered what to do. But then he kissed me with depth and with tenderness. With feeling.

Strong lips. Warmth on me. A reminder.

Shifting to pull me into his arms. I straddled him and slid my arms around his neck. Suddenly going shy in my want. Cautious because I wasn't sure I remembered how to do this well enough to take the lead.

"It's been so long, John. Show me what to do."

And this is when I felt him take over. He kissed me harder and harder; until the strength of his kiss bent me back and I could feel his hands massaging my breasts through my shirt.

"Take it off," he whispered against my ear. "Do it slow. Let me see how it makes you feel."

So I did. It made me nervous and he seemed to like that. His hands held my face and he just looked into my eyes. Like he wanted to be sure before he did anything else. Then he slid those hands down my neck, over my shoulders and finally scooped up the fullness of my breasts. I shook ever so slightly and he smiled at me. His eyes dropped to my breasts and then he bent to take them in his mouth, each in turn; each getting exquisite care from his tongue and lips.

"Help me, Maggie," he said, taking my fingers and putting them on his shirt. I sat up and pulled it over his head. "Go on. I like to be touched."

My hands smoothed over his chest and I gasped to be feeling a man again this way. At his encouragement, I tasted him. First his neck, enjoying the way the soft fur of his beard felt against me and the way his skin felt and tasted. Then getting bolder and licking over his nipples. When he moaned and I felt them harden, I sucked on them both, kneading them and then sucking in a hard kiss on his shoulder. Knowing I was marking him and not able to stop myself.

"Stand up for me, baby," he said. When I did, he concentrated so hard, slipping my panties down in unison with the slacks. "Beautiful, Maggie. Oh, you're trembling, babe. Tell me why."

I swallowed hard. "I don't even know. I ... I'm scared, John."

"No, no. Shhh. Don't be scared. I won't hurt you."

"Maybe I've forgotten how to ..."

"Then I'll help you remember." He looked up to me and smiled softly. His eyes so serious and I could see a light sheen of sweat upon his forehead. When I felt his fingers touch me below, I stepped away from him.

He pulled me back, a hand on my hip to guide me to regain my stance before him. Eyes locked to mine, he touched me again. "Spread your legs for me, Maggie. Let me show you."

When I complied, his fingers played with me and I could feel moisture increasing there between my thighs. It felt so good. Bit my lip. Closed my eyes. Concentrated.

And then feeling the wetness of his mouth there. The way it took control of me. How I spread my legs further and arched instinctively to bring my sex closer to him. And how he could tell so easily what I was feeling because he stopped long enough to wrap an arm around my waist and guide me to lie down on the couch. His big, confident hands spread my thighs and he blew across my slit. I felt the air ruffle my damp curls.

"Oh God. Please, John. Just ... please," I whispered.

He took mercy on me. Gentle sucking on my clit, tongue flicking around me and then fingers stroking inside. Rhythmic sucks of increasing strength until I was coming despite my genuine fears that I'd forgotten how to do that.

Crying to him when the coming ebbed enough for me to do anything other than feel the intensity of the pleasure. Reaching for the comfort of his arms and feeling safer with him holding me. His strong, deep voice speaking low, reassuring me.

My needs were so strong. He made me feel strong enough to give in to them.

"Oh but how I want you, John. I had forgotten what it's like to ... but you are so much ... I don't know that I've ... How do you like it, John? What should I do for you?"

But even while I was asking, I was wanting to undress him. I had his zipper down and had reached under his pants to stroke and knead his ass. He rose from me and I watched as he stripped his boots, socks and jeans off. He turned part way away from me and I could see the profile of his cock, firm and trapped by his underwear. I sat up and touched his hips.

My eyes stayed glued to his groin and I smiled when he turned to let me slip his undies down. "Wow. You're beautiful," I told him softly. And he was. In a way I might never have admired a man before that night.

"Touch me, Maggie," I heard him groan to me.

My fingers traced his hardness and they remembered. They pumped him and he thrust lightly between them. I sat up on my haunches and put my mouth over his tip. Slow kiss and a lick of his slit. The taste was like a jolt to my libido. I sucked in, just the head, caressing it with my tongue, feeling myself learn again how great this was. I flattened my tongue and descended slowly down his shaft, testing to see how far I could take him. His girth and size defeated me at first. But I could hear him struggling and knew that it was okay. Between my mouth and my hands, I was doing something right.

And suddenly, it was so easy. I felt myself fall into a confident rhythm. It was a time of such joy.

He put his hand on my throat to feel me taking him and muttered to me about what I was making him feel. An appreciative curse word coming out on a groan and then he was pulling himself out of the warmth of my mouth.

Scooping me up in his arms, he carried me to the bedroom, kissing me with unleashed passion as he walked. Then lying with me on the bed, whispering to me as he stroked my skin. Calming my nerves as he fired my desire.

I touched myself; curious, wondering. "I'm so wet," I whispered to him.

"You sound surprised," he giggled against my neck. "I wouldn't be doing very well if you weren't wet."

His fingers moved mine aside and began to stroke me. "Dripping wet," he said in this husky groan. "I want to be in there, Maggie."

Over me. Taking control of us both. Putting my hand on his cock, showing me to pump him as he knelt between my legs and sucked in on my breasts. His hands spread my thighs and he drew me toward him. Raising me up and then taking his hardness from me. Whispering to me to let him in; just those words made me groan at the promise.

Going slow. Being careful. Watching me. Watching over me. Kissing me soft when I gave him a shaky smile. Reassuring me.

"Oh. God." Feeling him hilt and rock into me. Filling me. Just on the edge of too much and then my body realized how good it felt. "Oh my God ... Oh, please ... God."

Lost inside the new old pleasure. Reaching for his mouth and kissing him with abandon. Riding with him, groaning at the sensations, seeking more, moving hard against him, wanting him deeper even though he was knocking against my limits.

His mouth at my neck. Sending shock waves down me. His cock pumping. In. Out. In. Around. Out. Sending me racing toward a coming that made me scream and then sob against his neck.

The way he held me. The way he cared. The way he got lost inside his own coming and forgot about me for just a while. The way that made me feel. To know I could still make a man come that deep and make him just resort to rutting into me until he came.

Confidence. Desire. Passion. Affection. Want. Need. Hope.

These were what he gave me in that night.

I think about this sometimes. I wonder if I should have told him? I wonder if he would have ever wanted to know what that one night with him had made possible for me? He would probably never feel exactly guilty over what we did, but he'd have put it neatly into a little box of secrets never to be shared with anyone he knew.

But, somehow I didn't find a way to tell him. There just never was a good moment.

After the first time, he just held me and listened to me tell him nonsense stuff - about how I'd been a virgin until I was 22 because I'd been so focused on my goals that I'd been afraid to do anything that wasn't on my agenda. We compared the fumbling of the first times. We agreed it must have been worse for him because he was doing it with another virgin while I did it with an older man. Well, he was only two years older than me but he wasn't a virgin. He wasn't very good, but he did raise my curiosity about this thing called sex.

John had found that particularly funny. He told me that he came about five seconds after finally getting inside but that the girl didn't hold it against him. Instead, they started meeting regularly to have a little fun. I asked him if they did it in an igloo and he gave me a little frown. No, he said, they did it in his daddy's truck. They were supposed to be going on dates but after the first time all they seemed capable of doing was waiting the five minutes it took to get from her house to some field where he could park the truck between sheltering trees and ...

"And from that fumbling start, you've become the lover you are now, John?" I whispered sleepily against his chest. "How do you start there and get as good as you are?"

"I fell in love," he answered. 

Neither of us even breathed for a moment as the statement hung between us. I rose up on my elbows and looked down at him. "With your wife?"

Nodding at me. Taking a deep swallow and running his hands up my back. "Love makes you learn to want it to be for the other person, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Absolutely. I've never thought about that before. Until you do it with someone you really love, a real mature love, you're just in it more for the sensations and to have healthy fun. But once you love, it's something so much finer."

His big hand swept my hair back from my face. "Maggie? I gotta tell you something. I've never done it before. Cheated on my wife, I mean."

"I know, John." I bent down and kissed him. "It probably sounds awful for me to say this, but knowing that? It makes me feel special ... but not in a nasty way. It's just that you're the kind of man who gives a part of himself when you make love and I feel like you've given me this part of you that I will protect and cherish forever."

We kissed deeply, slowly. More experienced with each other's kisses by then. Reading emotions in the kiss.

"Will you be okay with this, John?"

His mouth was near my ear. I heard his breathing change. "It's life, isn't it, Maggie? You do things you don't expect sometimes. You learn a lot about yourself when you do. So, yeah, I'm okay. Are you asking me if I feel guilty?"

"Yeah, I am. I'd hate to think ..."

"No, I don't feel guilty of anything but being a man with a woman who gave me something precious. You let me feel something new and wonderful. Though, I imagine in the cold light of day, we might both wonder ... But, somehow I doubt we will. We're both adults. We both know this is just this once."

"Just one night, John. This is where it stays. Here. It never goes further between us. You have your life and I don't want to be a part of it after tonight. It's because we're adults we can say that and mean it. It's why it can stay special between us, this secret time just for us." My hand wandered down his chest. Feeling its dips and rises. Admiring the way it curved down to his tummy and how this arrow of fur shot down to his groin. My fingers wrapped around him and felt him responding.

"God, Maggie. How could you have ever doubted yourself?"

My eyes searched his. "I needed someone to help me remember what it feels like to feel this way. This time, John, I won't be scared. This time, I'll be there for you."

And it was only because of him that I could feel that way. I imagine, deep within me, that he knew. And that he left me the way he did because it stayed purer between us that way for him.

He left me sleeping in my bed. I know he left hours before he had to. I imagine he woke up and watched me sleep. I guess he couldn't face the goodbye. I hope it was possible for him to return to his life and his love knowing that what he'd done with me had been worth it. I know he always trusted in me and knew that I would never have betrayed his belief in me by ever making it more than it was.

Because as important as it was ... it was equally important to keep it neat. For both of us.

Two years later and the memory of Sheriff Biebe John came flashing back to me. Making me remember this time with him and what it ended up meaning to me.

Ro came into roll call one morning and tossed me a copy of Sports Illustrated. I looked at him with morning eyes and raised an eyebrow. Go to page 17, he told me.

When I saw the pictures, it made me warm. I was grinning like I'd won the lottery.

It just brought back such good memories. A story about the most improbable quest for a team of rabid hometown hockey players in Mystery, Alaska to beat a hard-ass team of professionals from New York. How heart won the day. If those other players had even a smidgeon of the heart of John Biebe, no wonder this was such a feel-good story, I told Ro.

But it was the pictures that made me sniffle in such a feeling of elation just to see him again. To know that he was doing so well in his life. That burly Alaskan cop who helped me transition from a woman who wanted to but needed help letting go of the last vestiges of her grief into a woman who could see that life holds promise of better things if you're willing to look for them.