I am not a very patient man. Now, I don't exactly see that as a failing, but the general consensus seems to be that I am a shit.  There are those who think me unreasonably aggressive, pretty sharp tongued, inclined to act as a loner and arrogant enough not to want to listen to the advice of anyone else. Teamwork has limited appeal to me. So, kiss my ass. They don't pay me for my PR skills. I catch the bad guys and get results. Have a nice fuckin' day, sir.

Today I was a little more uptight than usual, I'll admit. Who can blame me? Women get to plead time of the month and the fact they are all doing two fucking jobs and raising kids. Well, boo hoo. So am I. And if I lose it, I can't plead hormones and get sympathy.

Let me tell you about my week. The washing machine broke down and flooded the whole fucking kitchen. Eric got some stomach flu bug and was chucking and shitting all over the fuckin' place. The school sent him home and my daycare lady wouldn't take him in case he was infectious. I was on a crime scene with the big boys when the fuckin' school office rang. Imagine how well that'll look on my resume? Walked off a major case to mop up his kid's vomit. What the fuck else was I to do? Leave him sitting in it?

I got down on bended knee and my neighbour agreed to sit with him. I do so love having to humiliate myself before evil old bitches like Edith Muller who think that I should find myself a decent woman and stop dragging that poor kid around like he was excess baggage. What the fuck should I do with him then? Leave him at the fucking lost property office?

Find a decent woman? I'd be happier with an indecent one, as matter of fact. You know how long it is since anyone yanked my chain? Apart from me - and even I'm losing interest in that these days. Too fuckin' bushed by the time I've cooked dinner, made him bathe and get to bed, attempted to reduce the mess in the house to less than epic proportions and caught up on paperwork. Can't be good for me though. I read this shit in some magazine on the plane about SRH. Semen Retention Headaches. Wonder if that would get me off a Federal charge? He strangled his boss in a fit of madness but got off on the grounds that he hadn't been laid in months and the semen retention was giving him a headache. Christ - a pain in the head?  Who writes this crap?

I'm over worked, underpaid, over-sexed and under-fucked, my life's slipping through my fingers and my son's a stranger to me. I rarely get together with the guys, see any member of my family, get the chance to meet a woman, take a day off that isn't spent catching the fuck up on shopping, housework or car repairs, spend my working life dealing with the filth at the bottom of the social pile and the shit-for-brains that pass as the average FBI agent - is it surprising I'm on the edge? So sorry if I forget to say please and thank you.

And I think of her all the time. How life would be if she hadn't been taken from me. What fucking shit luck gave me a girl like that and made me have to watch her die? Some days I can't even look at my son, he's so like her. I'm ashamed to say that I wish I had her instead. What kind of fuck am I to think like that about a little boy who didn't ask to be born? I know if the roles had been reversed and it had been me who got shot up and had left her alone, she wouldn't have felt that way. She'd have been a wonderful mother. I'm a lousy father. You'd think if I respected her memory then I would bring her son up as a gift. Yeah? Well, I bring him up and I take care of him as well as I can but he's still the reason that my wife is dead. And if that attitude is a sin and a shame then I don't give a fuck. I can't get over her. I don't want to.

If you'd have known her, then you'd know why.

I was at college when we first met. She worked on campus in the coffee bar to help pay her fees. I drank so much fucking coffee that year I couldn't sleep nights and was pissing every 5 minutes. But it was worth it just to sit and watch her as she moved about with that sweet smile and neat little body, her shiny hair up in a ponytail, swinging as she bounced about that bar. Don't ask me to explain why I knew she was the one even before I had ever spoken to her. I just did. Took me weeks to ask her for more than a Long White. Never been like that with a girl before.

Then one day some smart ass fucks, rich boys with their pretty faces and dental work, wandered in and started hassling her. She was just a dumb waitress to them and they acted like they were allowed to abuse her, maul her and make sport for the price of a few cups of coffee and a Danish. I wasn't as grouchy back then as I am now but I still had a temper. First time I had really lost it in a long while off the football field. I threw their asses out of the door and loosened a tooth. It was worth it.

Got banned from the coffee shop for my pains and hauled before my professor. Seems one of the dicks had a college benefactor for a Daddy who was demanding I be sent down. Fuck- I was born under a lucky star and no mistake. Fortunately for me, he was a straight up guy and told me to keep my head down and he would smooth things over.

That night, I came back from practice and found her sitting on the wall outside my place.   "Excuse me...can I have a word?" I turned and she was there. My Samantha. Smiling hesitantly and blushing. She always blushed easily. That fair skin of hers.

"I...I just wanted to say thank you and I'm sorry for all the trouble it caused. You shouldn't have gone out on a limb for me but it was awful nice that you did..." She handed me a gift wrapped in silver paper. "It's a book. I don't know if you read much but I couldn't think what else to get you as a thank you present. It's poetry. I like poetry. I hope you do, too..."

I hate poetry. But I didn't tell her that.

Sam was an English major. The poems were by some Irish guy, Seamus Heaney. I still read that book every night, just open the cover and flick through. You could say I have decided against my night prayers somewhere down the line but this is the replacement. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to you my soul to keep... I always find something there that makes some sense of the shit that I call my life. She's still turning the pages and watching over me. Don't care if that sounds like sentimental fucking crap - because I know it's true.

And I am still imperially
Male, leaving you with pain,
The rending process in the colony,
The battering ram, the boom burst from within.
The act sprouted an obstinate fifth column
Whose stance is growing unilateral.
His heart beneath your heart is a war drum
Mustering force. His parasitical
And ignorant little fists already
Beat at your borders and I know they're cocked
At me across the water. No treaty
I foresee will salve completely your tracked
And stretch-marked body, the big pain
That leaves you raw, like opened ground, again

If I could write this fucking shit then that's is how I'd write it. Raw and powerful, uncompromising and brutal honesty. I fell in love and love took my love away. Now that's poetic irony for you.

I'd told her it was nothing. Any guy would have done it. Besides - I didn't like their faces anyway. Different frat house, some such crap. She smiled, unconvinced. I dug at the ground with the toe of my shoe and asked if she wanted to go for some coffee with me. That made her laugh. You addicted to coffee? I answered without thinking:  Hate the fuckin' stuff. But I'm addicted to you.

I remember we walked and talked. I tried to listen but I kept getting distracted. Her eyes, her cute lips, those white even teeth, a large freckle that lay just at the right of her left eye, the way her hair wouldn't stay behind her ear, how small her feet were, that her head reached just below my shoulder, that she smelt of spring flowers and her laugh was like a little child's, innocent and open just as she was.

My tongue kept sticking to the roof of my mouth; I felt big and ugly and clumsy next to her. Everything I said was gauche and sounded trite to my ears. We had a soda and I asked her to come to dinner with me. She said yes, that she'd love to.

I took her back to her room, ran home and showered and shaved like my life depended on it. I couldn't find a clean shirt so I ran out and bought a new one. Decided to buy socks and underwear, too. Felt sick as the thought of fucking up. Wondered why she had said yes. Was it just a way of saying thank you?

She ran down the steps of her sorority house with a wide grin. 

"Zack!" she exclaimed, like I was someone she really dug. Her hair was loose and I wanted to touch it. Instead I just mumbled my welcome and hurried her to the car. My guts were churning. She was too pretty, too clever, too sweet, too perfect...God, I wanted her so bad and yet, I was scared of myself. How could I even think about sex with a girl like this?

Went to some little Italian bistro. Don't know what I ate. Maybe I just sat there and stared at her. Who knows? I was such a sad shit. But at the end of the evening, she let me walk her back and we kissed on the step like a couple of school kids. I can still taste her mouth, fresh and sweet, and feel her tongue caress me. She wasn't shy but she was kind of demure. I liked the combination of her open honesty and her girlish femininity. It made me feel like a man.

As we pulled away and she looked up into my eyes, she murmured, "Zack...you're so beautiful! What do you see in me?" It felt like a wake up call from God. There was someone in this world who could see me like that?

She made me into a different person. Or maybe that's who I really am? It felt kind of natural and easy. Like she gave me permission to do things or say things or believe and hope in things I didn't think were allowed to me. I guess that's love. No one else ever made me feel that way.

The first time we made love, we'd been to a game- she didn't really like football but she liked me, so she would tag along every time. Afterwards, we were all going for a few beers but she pulled on my hand and whispered something in my ear. I'll never forget. "I want you inside me. Let's go somewhere?" 

We raced back to my place, arms wrapped round each other. My body felt tense and loose all at the same time. My balls were hot and heavy, my dick already hard. I could feel her soft wetness in my imagination and her body already seemed to be opening for me, as mine hardened for her. I felt like I had just woken up to the world. It sounds crazy - but this wasn't about getting laid. It wasn't about sex at all. We were just going to use the same components. I mean, I can hold a tune and pick out a note on a piano - but that's not exactly Beethoven, is it? Sam and I were in the virtuoso category of love.

We'd fooled around already; hey, this was the eighties, man! Usually girls put out on the first date. I hadn't pushed Sam and she hadn't said anything but things just sometimes happened. Back seat of my car, down at the beach, up in the hills when we went walking, dark corner of a disco...just getting steamy and intimate, warm breath in my ear, little mewls of pleasure and my hands going on their own journey. I made her come with my fingers one day; she bit my shoulder right through my shirt so no one could hear. Another time she jerked me off in the front seat of my car; she'd wanted to blow me but it didn't seem right. Not yet.

So we weren't exactly innocents, right? But it felt like innocence. I picked her up and ran up the stairs to my room; she was laughing and wriggling in delight at my strength. Inside we just couldn't control ourselves. Man, we ripped each other's clothes off and just fell on the bed. It was quick and intense, blood pounding in my ears as it pumped through my loins. We didn't use anything. I spent the rest of the day apologising - but she told me she didn't care. If I gave her a baby, she would just have more of me to love. Next time, I used a rubber and took my time. It's the first time in years I'd ever cried. Imagine that - she made me cry with joy! I think I've been crying ever since.

Why was she so special? How can you answer that? I could make a list of all her good points and it still wouldn't really explain. It was something to do with the whole of her and the whole of me. We were absolutely nothing alike in any way. But we fitted together like a smoothly oiled machine. Everything clicked in place. This was the meaning of life.

Yeah...that was the meaning. I just didn't know then that we were only at the first word of the definition. The last word was the one that broke my heart.

We were lucky. She didn't get pregnant. After that she went on the pill and we spent the entire summer screwing until our bodies ached. Her parents walked in on us one day. That was a bad scene. Her Dad had never liked me much before- after that he treated me like I was some sort of demon. But she stood up for me. Told him I was her lover, bold as you please, and she was going to move in with me. I'd never asked her but as soon as she said the words, they sounded right to me.

That's how it was. We finished college; I joined the Bureau, she did graduate school and got a job teaching. For three years we cohabited and then I asked her to marry me. It was tough at first what with me often away and the long hours, the danger - she hated that I wore a gun. But at home we were just an average couple. Mr and Mrs. Grant...your typical young American marriage. We were just another couple starting out together, just like everyone else. Except that we were the only ones who understood about real passion, or so it seemed to us. It set us apart from all the rest of our peers, worrying about raising the finances to buy a house, choosing the right areas for good schools, settling to the suburban dream. Sam and I bought into it so far but when the door closed on the world it was different. Neither of us needed anyone else. We did everything together. Called each other every few hours, raced home to be with each other, long leisurely Sunday mornings naked in bed, nights watching TV curled up together, holidays spent driving state to state, wandering together through the world that was like some plaything for us.

Then we got this idea to start a family. We sort of reached the decision simultaneously; it was winter and I'd been away on a case for a couple of weeks. She greeted me at the door, jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs round my hips, ripping at my tie and shirt as I wrenched off her T-shirt. I hustled her into the lounge and we screwed half on, half off the couch. Man, we could be animals when we wanted. But lying there half-dressed some time later, the subject just came up.

"I was thinking..."

"Me...too..."

She threw away her pills and we went on a fitness regime. Six months later, she gave me the news one early summer evening as we walked down to a local restaurant for dinner. I cried about that too. Just wet-eyed and saying "Oh, man...oh, man," over and over, unable to say anymore while she kissed me all over my face and told me I had done it. Her man. Given her a baby. Now it was her turn to give him back to me. How prophetic her words were to be - but we never gave them a second thought.

Some of our friends had kids already, others planned to. It was just that stage of our lives. You get married. You have kids. The most normal thing in life. Sam's pregnancy was textbook. Nothing to give us any cause for concern. The nursery was ready - I'd spent hours decorating and painting while she sat full-bellied and happy, sewing curtains and making bright mobiles. We shopped for baby clothes, bought soft toys, fantasised what our child would look like, could hardly wait for two to become three.

"Zack...wake up....Zack...something's happening..." Middle of the night and I shot up. Her bag was packed, I ran around like someone had set my pants on fire. She was calm and clear-sighted, stopping to breathe when the pain got bad as she had been taught. I fidgeted and jumped from foot to foot, drove too fast, let her talk me down.

I was so proud of her. 

But the night turned to day and the hours passed until she was weak and tearful. They were going to operate. It was taking too long. Her concentration was dropping off and she couldn't sustain the labour any more. I tried to talk to her to look at me. Look at me!! Her eyes flickered, she tried...she tried...she tried...then the madness, and I saw her eyes roll in her head. She went into a fit, shuddering in some grotesque dance. I shook her, screamed her name, wouldn't let her go. The nurses and the doctors pushed me out of the way; realisation dawned on me. She died as they struggled to save them both, her beautiful body like a bloody battlefield after an entire army had marched through.

They found me sitting on the floor. I was crying. They showed me my son. I turned my head away. On the table she lay, at rest now, her face at peace. A sheet had been pulled up to hide the raw open ground that had been ripped bare so that he could see the light. Debris, soiled gauze, bloodstained clothes, machines bleeping disconsolately, lights flickering in my head. "Mr. Grant! Please...you'll have to leave the theatre...let me help you up...take you to a room where you can be alone with her and your son..."

"Son?"

"You have a beautiful baby boy. I'm so sorry about your wife but...."

"But...what? Finish the fuckin' sentence...straight swap...one snivelling little brat makes up for...." I broke down then, wrestled off their gentling hands, ran out and hit the streets. My brother found me two days later in a police cell sleeping it off.

The funeral passed in a haze of booze, whispering do-gooders trying to tell me there was some sense in it, family members making arrangements, people patting my back and saying, "It will be okay, Zack, you'll see!"

Okay? Fuck you. The next day, I got in the car and drove. I spent weeks away, sleeping in my car, getting as far away from civilisation as I could. Didn't wash, shave, eat properly, drank too much - but one day I just woke up and knew I couldn't live like this. There was a kid and I was all he had.

So I went back. Told Sam's parents that his name was Eric - Sam's choice- and that he was coming home with me. They said I couldn't take care of a tiny baby. I couldn't. But I was angry enough that I just loaded him into my car and took him home. God knows how he survived - plenty of help from friends and family- but I stopped drinking, got childcare arranged and returned to work. Back to a normal existence.

Been existing ever since.

Did Eric help me get over it? No idea. He's a great kid. Seems to like me, though Christ knows why. Do I love him? I suppose so. Not sure. He's mine and I won't let any harm come to him. But I can't give him what he needs. All I can do is bring him up, make sure he eats OK and does his schooling, get him to talk right and be a decent kid. The rest is up to him. Don't have any more love left in me.

The TV was blaring out and I realised that I'd dropped off for a while. I pulled myself up, stretched and staggered to his room. His light was still on; he'd fallen asleep drawing again. Some picture of "me and my Dad" fishing. Jesus- when did we ever do shit like that? I threw the sketch block and crayons onto the chair, covered him over and went to turn out the light. A lock of his messy brown hair flopped over his face and my hand strayed to brush it away. He is so like her. God, it hurts.

I flicked off the lamp and walked out, shaking memories away. The phone rang. I took the call in my room, sitting back on the bed, running my hand through my hair. It was almost ten thirty. What the fuck? I'd just done an eleven-hour shift...

"Grant? Saiko. I want to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?"

"Now? No. Tomorrow."

"I need to talk to you now. It's very important. Please...it won't take long..."

"Saiko. I can't leave my home. I've got a small son."

"You have a son? I didn't know you were married..."

"I'm not."

"...Can I come to your home? Please. I have some information..."

I grimaced. What the fuck was this about? Saiko Fujiko was a junior member of the team, Japanese-American, good degree, worked hard; she was smart and professional but still shuffling papers. What information could she have for me?

"It's about Solano. I know a way to him. You want him? Want to be the one to nail him?"

My department had been after Frank Solano for five years. Organised crime, drugs, prostitution, money laundering, trafficking in illegal workers, card fraud...you name it, he had a slice of the pie. But he was shrewd, surrounding himself with lawyers, fronting his activities with legit businesses in a nexus of intricate legal technicality. We knew he was responsible for ordering the execution style killing of a number of rivals but so far we hadn't been able to indict him on so much as a parking ticket. Off and on over the years I'd been on the case and was as eager to send him down as the rest. Maybe more so. I needed a major scalp. The department's tolerance of my activities was wearing thin and I had annoyed a few of the big boys with some of my 'unconventional' approaches which they believed was contributing to the current public opinion that the FBI were indistinguishable these days from the KGB. Give me a break.

Victor Solano. He was my break. Solano's son. A real piece of work. Unlike his father, this motherfucker was careless. Daddy had indulged him since childhood and now he thought he was untouchable. Victor was twenty-five and an Aryan Nation devotee. Pretty funny coming from a wop. He had his own little posse of thugs who styled themselves as a street gang with mob pretensions. The usual excess - top end apartments, armed sedans, shaven-headed henchman tattooed and pierced with gang insignia, openly spending their days and nights on crack, alcohol and whores. In between they assisted Solano Senior in his little drug trafficking sideline and entertained the troops with racial assaults. Solano Junior was about as fucked up as they come but only interesting to us as a possible weak link that would lead us to Daddy. The cops had been told to lay off of him. We wanted him to make a big mistake and lead us home.

Now what did the lovely Saiko think she had come up with? 

"Okay. Come over. This better be worth me staying up late, Saiko..."

"It is. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

I spent the time trying to clean up the living room, throwing junk into cupboards and my room. Don't know why I gave a fuck, but I did. She was prompt and I let her in, a little nervous in my own space. I don't like anyone getting too close to my private life.

I offered her a drink. She declined. We sat down facing each other and although she seemed composed, I could sense a tension about her.

"What you got?"

"I want to go undercover with Solano's son. Victor Solano is a racist brute but he likes Asian women. Feeds his master race theories. If he can fuck us, humiliate us, treat us like pieces of meat, then he feels it's his victory..."

"I read his file. No way. You're a rookie. It's not gonna happen..."

Saiko gave me a scathing look. "You got any better ideas? Or any other agents that look like me? Come on, Zack...you know it makes sense. I can do Japanese 'preese, sir, what you like?' He'd never see it coming..."

"We'd don't put women undercover as sex traps. Against policy. This is not the KGB, contrary to popular opinion. Do you know what a fuck like him would expect of you?"

She stared me down. "Same as most men. You don't have Japanese geisha fantasies, Zack?" I winced at her acuity. So I had let my mind wander once or twice in her direction. I'm a man. Just don't put me in Victor Solano's category.

"No. Forget it. Why are you even asking?"

At that she looked away, her fingers picking at the hem of her skirt. I noticed her legs, long, slim and shapely with tiny ankles and delicate shoes. "I...want to get on, Zack. I'm an Asian woman in a set up that is predominantly white male. It's hard for anyone outside the club to make a mark. This could be a big step up for me. If I have part in bringing down the Solanos..."

She was right. On all counts. I thought of the implications as she went on. "...you need this, too, Zack. I know you're being passed over when the promotions are on offer. I also know you're the best they have -  but they won't take chances on a maverick. Unless he delivers. We both need this, Zack..."

Right again. I had lost count of how many jerks had been moved ahead of me over the past few years. Nail Solano and we were talking serious credentials. Suddenly the loose cannon becomes the man of the hour. You make your own luck.

I stood up and did some thinking, leaning against the wall, my back turned. "I'm not letting you go for a long haul. There has to be a way we can use you but control it. Just get inside and leave a device...some shit like that and then get out...I'll give it some thought." I turned and looked at her, catching a shadow of despair on her face before she closed it down. Why was this so important to her?

"I will think about it, Saiko. I promise. We both need it, I know that - but nothing is worth risking your life. Nothing. I know that from personal experience."

She gave me a curious glance. "What do you mean? Personal experience? Did your marriage break up because of your job?"

I shook my head. "My wife died. When my son was born."

Her face changed, softened; her mouth formed an 'O!' I could swear I saw tears swimming in her dark brown eyes. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it..."

"It's okay. It was a long time ago." I shuffled about. It's what I always say - but the lie still makes me feel disloyal. It does matter, Sam. It isn't okay.

She was talking. I had drifted off. "...must be hard raising a child alone. It was difficult for my mother ...even harder for a man, and in this job...the hours..."

I shrugged. I didn't generally talk about it. "Your parents' divorced?" It seemed easier to change the subject.

"Yes, eventually. My father was a senior executive with a Japanese company. We moved to California when I was a child. When his contract was completed he returned to Japan, but my mother stayed and I stayed with her. She married an American some years later but we were alone for a while."

"Only child?"

"No, I have an elder brother. He was at boarding school back home and chose to stay with my father."

"That's sad. To break a family up. You ever see him?

"Yujiro? Sometimes. He spends of lot of time in the US. We talk on the phone. We're very different, he and I. He is...very Japanese. I am not. Or perhaps I am inside. Who can tell?" Her comment was oblique. 

"You ever see your father?"

Her face imperceptibly stiffened; I had touched a nerve. "He is dead. It is too late now."

I didn't know what to say. Fortunately she did.  "You and me. We're damaged goods aren't we, Zack?"

I took a deep breath and walked over to pour two shots of bourbon. She took hers with a nod and nursed it in her hands.

"Why the Bureau? Not an obvious choice for a girl like you."

She smiled distantly. "Why not? I wanted to be an American. What better career than in that most American of institutions? I care about law and order and giving a different impression of my race to the public. They see us as unemotional robots or cold-blooded gangsters. You know, in my head I'm just an American woman like any other. But to the rest of this country, I'll never be that. I used to think I could. Now I know that can never be true."

"Don't sell yourself short, Saiko. Any bastard who thinks like that, ain't worth shit."

I watched her eyelids flutter as she raised her head to answer me. "You are so right, Mr. Grant. Not worth shit!"

I filled up her drink, already aware that the first shot had loosened me up. I was tired and her presence was filling my senses. The desire to touch her was strong. I stood back and kept a distance. Saiko took a sip and stood up; I thought she was about to leave. I was wrong. She walked up to where I was leaning against the wall and looked at me, her head to one side.

"You with someone, Zack?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Do I look like a man with a fulfilling sex life?"

She returned my smile. "Why not?"

I shrugged. "Who'd have me? I'm overweight, need a haircut, a shave and a personality. Did I also mention the seven-year old liability I tote round with me?"

Saiko shook her head with a shy laugh. "You look pretty desirable to me. You should take a good look at yourself sometime, Zack. I happen to like men who look like men." She ran her hand down my face, sensually caressing my beard; her lips opened provocatively and her body leaned closer to mine. I felt my heart rate quicken and the pounding of blood in my ears. Instinctively I shifted my weight forward, my hand reaching out to skim her slender outline. She did not pull away.

"Zack...I'm lonely. I want some human comfort. Something tells me you do, too. Haven't you ever thought about it? Me and you?" Her voice was soft as she rested her body against me, her hand going up to run her fingers through my hair. I slipped my hand around her waist and eased her closer, whispering my reply.

"Is this what I think it is, Saiko? Because if it isn't, you best say so now before I go too far. And yes...I have thought about it. A lot."

"It's what you want it to be, Zack. Just say the word."

It was too easy. This beautiful girl coming on to me so strong? The last vestiges of my rational brain kicked in. I took her head and pulled it gently from where she was nibbling on my neck. "Hey...you don't need to do this for a shot at Solano. I'm not asking for favours, baby. If I let you go in, it will be because I think we have a chance of making something stick. Not because you let me sample the goods first..."

Saiko pulled me closer and kissed my lips softly. Even when she broke the touch I felt the imprint of her mouth on mine. This was not getting easier. "This is nothing to do with Solano. I want a shot at you, Zack. You have no idea how much I want you tonight...need you tonight...please...please..." She took my hand and led me, willingly now, across the room. "Bedroom?" she murmured. I pointed to the closed door, wincing slightly at the memory of all the garbage I had slung in there. She pulled me gently along and I let her still trying to get my head around what was happening. This was madness. Against all my rules. The worst thing was an emotional involvement- especially if I let her go in. "Saiko...we do the business, then we're fucked as a team. I won't do it. It's against the rules..."

"Rules?" Her laugh was throaty as she wrapped her body round mine and we kissed deep tongued, her right leg running up and down my thigh to settle round my hip as I ground against her. My mouth was talking one language, but my body was sending her a completely different message. "You are the ultimately rule breaker, Zack. Let's break a rule together?"

I groaned and put my hands on her hips, steering her backwards into my room. I'd made my mind up. Now I was in the driving seat. Against the closed door of my bedroom, I kissed her, my hands no longer tentative, hers openly feeling me. She opened my shirt, yanked up my T-shirt, ran her hands all over my naked chest before plunging down to unbutton my jeans and slide her fingers in. Her little gasp of recognition as she closed round my cock gave me a surge of pride.

Saiko stroked me gently then sank to her knees before me, easing down my jeans and shorts. I stood there, shirt open, tee raised, naked from the waist down as she picked up my cock and jerked it gently raising her eyes to catch mine. She said nothing but there was no need for words. Desire was oozing from both of us. With one hand, she cupped my balls and placed a gentle pressure, enough to make me moan while she grasped and jerked me smoothly. I brushed my hands through her long black hair, drawing it back from her face so I could see better as she rubbed her cheek against my genitals and then slipped my cock between her lips.

"Awww. ...Jesus...." I shivered at the sight and feel of her tongue running sensuously up and down as she sucked. My thighs tightened as I held on, lights dancing before my eyes at the sensation. She pulled away and raised her eyes as she let my cock go, kissing its weeping tip and smiling distantly to herself. On her feet, she slipped her skirt off and took off her blouse. Saiko was a beautiful woman, slender and fine boned but more curvaceous than many Asian girls; her high breasts spilled invitingly out of the revealing bra and her silk panties were little more than scraps of material. I slipped my fingers through the side and touched the soft neatly shaped hair and the slick wet folds below. It made me gasp.

Tearing off the rest of my clothes, I picked her up gently and carried her to my bed, throwing the pile of un-ironed clothes lying there onto the floor. She giggled. I laughed. She tumbled into the unmade sheets and I rolled in after her. The bra and the panties were soon joining the general mess on the carpet and we came together, naked and eager. Saiko was unrestrained in a way that I hadn't expected given her rather serious demeanour. She pushed me on my back and knelt over me, dragging my hand to her little cunt, helping me feel the heat and the wetness as she parted herself for me and watched me play. My cock bounced hard and swollen between us; she took my right hand and told me to touch myself while she raised up, and then lowered down on my erect penis- I fed it gently into her vagina.

I felt her tightness close about me and the rhythmic squeezing of her walls and she rose up and down on me, rotating her hips as I matched her movement. I wouldn't take much of this without coming. Lying back. Holding her hips securely, I watched her fuck me.

I can't pretend it was anything but lust on both our parts - she wanted me and I wanted her. For a moment I felt ashamed, here in the bed Sam and I had shared, where Eric had been made, I was indulging in this sexual act with a female colleague I barely knew. It felt dirty and erotic and - well, it felt good. Just to be a man again with a woman, to have a naked female seeing to my every desire, to touch and be touched. Somehow I knew that Sam would be the last person to judge me for this.

I wondered if this was taking advantage of a vulnerable woman? Saiko was alone and a little lost- she had told me that much- was it wrong of me to take comfort in her? But wasn't she taking comfort in me just the same?  A thought struck me.

"I'd better use something." I muttered, trying to pull out and reaching for the nightstand drawer. She thrust herself down to stop me.

"NO! It's fine, Zack. There'll be no baby. I promise."

"Safe sex?"

"You know we're both clean. I am, leastways. Don't stop. Don't stop...." Like I could? I flipped her over and crawled over her body; she raised her legs to my chest and pushed against me. I knelt and entered her. Jesus Christ, she was flexible! I remembered her resume - the black belt in martial arts - as I hooked her left leg over my shoulder and her right around my waist. So deep...so fucking deep. I thrust hard and she cried out begging me for more.

"Touch yourself...Saiko...bring yourself off...I can't stand much more of this..." Her fingers slipped between our bodies as I pounded and I saw her finger herself lewdly. We were both out of control. Her head was tossing and turning on the pillow as she came, her voice wailing; I threw myself forward and kissed her to shut her up, frightened of Eric waking and running in, knowing I couldn't stop now.

Her nails dug into my butt and forced me deeper, her legs wrapped tight around me now. Faster and more wildly I rutted into her as she bucked and screamed my name. We both came in a frenzy, shuddering and shaking in each other's arms.

We lay a long time in that bed, mostly in silence, occasionally muttering softly. There were no confidences or real pillow talk. Neither of us really had a lot to say to the other. We just wanted to bask in the soft afterglow of sex and pleasure. Later we made love again, this time slower and gentler but with the same smouldering intensity. It was very late by then and I was wondering if she wanted to stay, already imagining how I would explain her presence to Eric the next day, but I needn't have worried. She wasn't planning to.

Rising from the bed, she leant over and kissed me softly. "Tomorrow, at the office, we talk about Solano. And Grant...this won't be happening again. It was just for tonight. I don't want you to get emotional about me. I won't be able to follow this through." Her voice was steady and decisive. She was not going to change her mind.

"Is it me? Could you not see me as a lover?" My insecurities were showing; it was unusual. I rarely expose my inner feelings to anyone.

She smiled sadly and shook her head, the black shiny curtain whipping round her perfect oval features. "The opposite, Zack. It's because I could fall in love with you if I let myself that I am not coming back. I have no time for love. I have things to do with my life. But tonight I had the dream of what I might have had, you know?"

No, I didn't know. But I didn't argue with her either. She rose from the bed and I watched as she dressed slowly and precisely. When she was ready, I got up, threw on my jeans and walked through the apartment to the door where she stopped, put her arms about me and held me tight. "Thank you, Zack. You will never know how much this meant to me!"

I could have sworn she was about to cry but, despite her moist eyes, her face was composed when I let her go. Stepping out onto the corridor, she turned back and smiled. She was so lovely that her beauty almost took my breath away. "We'll get Solano. He will not escape this time!"

And she was gone.

It didn't happen again. Next morning we were back to business as usual. We had a good meeting and she convinced me. I came up with a plan. The boss took some persuading, but in the end even she saw the chance and took it. But she warned me this had better work or I was carrying the can.

I'm uneasy about it, if the truth were known, but no one else will know that from me. I'm playing this cool, smart ass federal agent-style and 'This is the action - you can do it, baby' like a G-man should. Even I can hardly tell I'm faking it. Tomorrow we go in.

But tonight I'm lying here remembering Saiko's touch. Tonight I'm lying here remembering Sam's love. Tonight I'm lying here thinking about a bust up washing machine, a kid who doesn't even know how much I love him and a life that is slipping through my fingers. I'm lying here contemplating the kind of world where a shit like Victor Solano uses women like most people use paper towels - just to mop up his filth.

What a world - where the moments of peace lie like rare gems in the raw open battle ground of life.

Maybe I should try writing this poetry shit? Whaddya think?