The knock at the door jerked her out of a bewildering dream about an armed cockroach in a pink tutu. She shook the bizarre image from her mind and looked around. The papers she'd been reading lay in jumbled disarray on the floor. They must've fallen when she dozed off. What a mess. It would take hours to put the file to rights again. She sat up and rubbed at the knot in the back of her neck, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as another quick double-tap echoed through the quiet apartment. The sound was somehow hesitant, as if her visitor was apologizing for disturbing her—and at almost three in the morning, he should be.

As she got to her feet, her gaze slid across a half-filled water glass and her uneaten dinner. At least that part of the clean-up would be easy. The bland spinach quiche wouldn't be the first freezer dinner to end up in the trash can. Half-a-dozen steps carried her to the door, but when she checked the peephole, a sharp stab of concern cleared the last vestiges of fog from her mind.

An instant later the security chain banged against the jamb with a dull, metallic thud as Mac swung the door open wide.

"Harm …?" She touched his arm, frightened by the look in his eyes, and received a slow, confused blink in response. He lifted his hands, hesitated, and then dropped them again. Lost.

She drew him inside and pushed the door closed with her foot, her heart hammering in her chest. "Harm, talk to me. Has something happened to Mattie?"

At the sound of Mattie's name, Harm's gaze finally focused. "She opened her eyes." His voice was hoarse. "It was only for a minute, but …"

Relief washed over Mac in a knee-buckling wave, and without thinking, she reached out. He pulled her in, holding her so tightly that she almost couldn't tell where he stopped and she began. The silent admission of need was heartbreakingly poignant.

"Thank God." Her words were muffled in the soft cotton of his shirt, but she felt his slow nod.

"Yeah," he whispered against her hair, "thank God."

His arms trembled against her shoulders, and she thought at first it was just exhaustion. But when she tried to pull back to look at him, he tucked her head back down and held her even closer. It was then that she realized he was crying.

Her throat closed, and her chest ached as tears welled in her own eyes. She'd never known a stronger, more courageous man than Harmon Rabb Junior. In their nine years together, she could count the number of times she'd seen him cry on the fingers of one hand.

Oh, Harm. Why couldn't we talk about it? Her hands moved in slow circles on his back as his tears dampened her shoulder. Their relationship was so damned complicated—push, and pull, and push again—until she was never quite sure where she stood with him. And maybe she should be thankful that she was still his refuge of last resort, but that was bittersweet comfort when she wanted so much more.

I would've been here for you. Did you think I wouldn't? Did you think I'd turn you away? But she didn't say the words that tore at her heart. Instead she soothed him with words of hope and faith, most of which neither would remember later, until he finally grew calm.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice little more than a shadow of sound at her ear. "It's late. I shouldn't have come."

The belated observation brought a sad smile to her lips. I wish you'd come to me a long time ago. I wish … She sighed and pushed the thought away unspoken. "No," she said aloud, "I'm the one who's sorry. I should've been there."

"You tried."

"Not hard enough."

His shrug was weary, his shoulders weighed down with care. "I wasn't ready."

She pulled back then, and he let her go, his arms dropping back to his sides. "I should've insisted."

That coaxed a weak smile. "Oh, yeah. That would've gone well."

He was right, of course. They would've argued. Again. And one or both of them would've gotten their feelings hurt. Again. And then they would've acted like a pair of wounded bears for a couple of weeks until they settled back into the armed truce that seemed to rule their lives these days.

"At least stay here tonight."

"Mac …"

She interrupted before he could launch the inevitable argument. "You're in no shape to drive, and it'd be stupid for you to try when there's a perfectly good bed not twenty feet from where you're standing."

He considered her offer and then nodded reluctantly. "I am a little tired."

She resisted the urge to laugh at the sheer magnitude of that understatement. Instead she waved him toward the bedroom. "Go lie down. I'll be in as soon as I get things cleaned up in here." At his raised eyebrow, she shook her head. "Go. I promise not to ravish you in your sleep."

His quiet snort of amusement trailed behind him as he turned toward the bedroom, and Mac watched him go, more worried than ever. His quick capitulation was further proof that he'd reached the limits of his endurance.

By the time she followed him to the bedroom, Harm was sprawled across the bed, his head on the center pillow and his feet hanging over the edge of the mattress. He was so still that she had to look hard for the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. He didn't stir when she untied his shoes and tugged them off, or when she pulled a blanket over him, or even when she accidentally set the alarm off.

A few minutes later, she crawled into bed and curled up with her back to him, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. Even though he was asleep, there was something comforting about his presence in her bed, and it wasn't long before she started to drift off.

Just before she fell asleep she felt Harm shift behind her. His arm settled around her waist, and he pulled her snug against his chest until his elbow came to rest against her hip and his hand curved along her side. His breath whispered through her hair. She closed her eyes, laced her fingers with his, and relaxed into his warmth.

They'd sort out their complicated relationship eventually, but for now, for tonight, it was enough that he was here.