John POV
"I don't need you fighting my battles for me."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"I voiced my opinion to someone with whom you're currently in a dispute," I expounded.
"Wow, did they teach you the fine art of semantics in business school?" Mary fired back at me.
And I can tell that she's not really ticked.
Sometimes with her, I just have to let her say her piece. It's a pride thing, I think.
She has trouble accepting the fact that she doesn't always have to be so self-reliant.
"Double-speak and bullshit," she continued. "Are they on the syllabus?"
"Absolutely," I agreed, unable to keep from smiling.
I mean, seriously.
Not only does her sarcasm crack me up, but she also doesn't look so tough standing there in the fluffy white hotel robe, especially when I know for a fact that she doesn't have anything on underneath it.
"Don't mock me. I'm still pissed. You didn't need to call Marshall."
"No, I didn't."
"But you did it anyway."
"Because I wanted to," I clarified. "Because you were upset about how you left things with him. And because I thought maybe if he and I had a conversation, it might ease some of his concerns. He doesn't know me at all, Mary."
"You're taking his side?"
For the love of God no, I'm not taking his side.
In fact, making the call…that call as opposed to one that would put a price on Marshall's head…was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
But she was hurting, and I can't stand to see that, and despite how mad he made me with the things he said, I'm not entirely blame free.
I didn't bother to make friends with him, and I should have because she cares about him.
If I'd made the effort sooner, then he might've been able to see that I'm completely in love with her, and that I'll never do her wrong.
As it was, I told him those words over the phone.
"And I'm supposed to believe you, just because you say so?" Marshall said to me last night after I made my assertion. I called him after leaving Bernard's place because I had to get it off my chest.
"You're supposed to trust Mary's judgment," I countered. "She was your partner and friend for a long time. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Of course it does. That's why I'm trying to protect her."
"By insulting her and deflating her sense of self-worth? You've got a hell of a protective technique, Inspector."
"She's tough. You don't know her like I do. She needs the truth, not flowery declarations."
I had to bite my tongue at his claim that he knows her better than me because maybe he does, I don't know.
But I know her differently. Intimately. That has to count for something.
But so far, I wasn't getting through to him, so I tried another tack.
"I can have any woman I want," I stated.
"Brag much?"
"I'm saying…Mary's a difficult woman. We agree on that, right?"
"Yes," he answered begrudgingly.
"Then look at it from my perspective. Why in the hell would I put up with her crankiness and her sarcasm and her need for independence if I weren't in love with her? You think I can't find someone easier?"
He was quiet for a long minute and then he let out a reluctant snort.
"She is difficult. And hard-headed," he conceded. "Cynical. Jaded."
"And beautiful. Giving. Honest. Ambitious. Compassionate. Do I need to go on, or are you getting my point?"
"I'm…yeah, okay."
"Good. Because she cares about you a lot, and I don't like being the cause of trouble between the two of you. You've been friends for so long for a reason."
"True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation," he quoted.
"George Washington," I supplied.
"I'm impressed," he admitted. "And…maybe I misjudged you."
"We got married yesterday," I told him, before we got too far along in our reconciliation.
"Um…congratulations."
"You might want to practice saying that. You know, make it sound a little more sincere."
He laughed at that and said, "You sound just like Mary."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"As you should. Okay, how about I call her tomorrow?"
"No, I'm taking her to Nassau for the weekend. Call her on Monday, okay?"
"I will. And John…thank you."
"Don't thank me, because honestly, it was a toss-up between calling you to encourage you to apologize to her, or just having you whacked, so…thank the coin I flipped instead. It could've just as easily landed on heads."
He chuckled again, and we spoke for a few more minutes, and then I'd wrapped up the call just as I approached Liz's house to meet up with Mary.
I didn't tell her about the call at the time because…well, because she'd greeted me quite enthusiastically, and she'd had a lot of tequila, and it seemed like we had more important things to do than talk about Marshall.
But today, it was weighing on my mind because after going behind her back last week, with my questionably brilliant plan to smoke out Rama and Demachi, I promised both her and myself that I wouldn't do that again.
Not that a phone call to an old friend is the same thing, but still…
"I'm not taking his side," I responded reasonably to her claim. "I'm just saying that I understand how he feels. He's been your friend for a long time, and you admitted that you thought he was in love with you. I'm sure that his reaction was a combination of hurt and worry."
"It still doesn't excuse what he said."
"No."
"And I'm still mad at him."
"I know."
"And you didn't need to make the call."
"I know," I said again.
Her tantrum was coming to an end and I watched her fiddling with her wedding rings as she pondered the current situation.
"Should I call him?"
"No. He'll call you. After we get back to New York. Because in case you forgot, we're on our honeymoon."
She brought her eyes up to mine, tilting her head as she regarded me carefully and then a slow smile spread across her face.
"I didn't forget. Although, you know, I thought maybe you did because I'm pretty sure that newlyweds are supposed to have sex more than once during the honeymoon."
"We've only been here for a few hours," I reminded her, defending my manhood. "And doesn't the plane count? That makes twice. And I think with a little persuasion, I might be ready to go again…"
"Persuasion, huh?" she posed. "So…just looking at me doesn't do it for you?"
Of course, looking at her does do it for me, and I started to tell her that, but as I opened my mouth, she reached for the belt on her robe.
"You know seduction isn't my thing, right?" she continued, but as she said the words, she reached down and – very slowly – untied the knot and then – even more slowly – pulled the belt from the loops.
The two sides of the robe fell apart, but not enough, not nearly enough, and I found myself staring at the three inch strip of exposed skin.
"How do you feel about being tied up?" she asked as she walked closer to me, the edges of the garment catching the slight breeze from her movement and pulling back just enough to flash me a tantalizing glimpse before returning to its original position.
"Or are you not into that kind of thing?" she questioned, apparently taking my lack of speech as lack of interest. "The girls were talking about handcuffs last night, and…never mind."
"I'm interested in anything that has to do with you," I assured her.
She smiled as she came to a stop directly in front of me and put the belt around my neck, just letting it hang loosely. And since she raised her arms to do so, the robe once again parted like the Red Sea and I was mesmerized by the tease of it.
Oh and yeah, I'm sporting the mother of all erections.
I can't imagine that my swimming trunks are hiding it, but I haven't looked down and neither has she.
"I'm just trying to be creative here and think of something you might not have done before," she continued as she stepped closer, pressing her chest lightly against mine while at the same time, she moved her lips to the vicinity of my neck. "But I'm coming up empty."
I could feel her breath on my skin, even though she didn't actually touch me, and it was all I could do not to reach for her, but I held back…this was her game. I'd let her play it out, because honestly, I'm thrilled to see the playful side of her back so quickly after my confession about calling Marshall.
"So I guess we're out of luck," she concluded, and then she eased past me, moving so close that I could feel the brush of her breast against my arm, and a second later, I heard the whooshing sound of heavy fabric hitting the floor.
The robe.
I took a deep breath and turned around in time to watch my lovely wife as she opened up the balcony door and stepped outside, wearing not one stitch of clothing.
Dear God, she's going to be the death of me.
I watched her for a moment, as she stood against the rail, and I swear I've never seen a more beautiful sight, and then it hit me, I mean really hit me…she's my wife.
I think maybe I worried so much about her changing her mind, that I never gave much thought to how I'd feel about it.
Of course, I'm ecstatic.
And I'm one hundred percent sure that she's who I want to spend my life with.
But still…things changed so quickly, just since Mike Logan and his crew came into my life. It's because of them that I learned about Heidi, which is how I met Mary…and now this is my life, and it's absolutely perfect.
And five seconds of introspection are four too many when she's outside waiting for me…
I untied the string on my trunks and pushed them to the floor and then stepped out onto the balcony.
"You want to know what I've never done?" I asked her as I grabbed onto the railing with both hands, one on either side of her.
"I haven't stretched out today, so I'm hoping you haven't been reading my Kama Sutra book," she teased, her gaze still focused on the ocean.
Keeping my hands on the railing, I pressed my body fully against hers, feeling the heat of her skin as I leaned down to kiss the side of her neck.
"I've never made love to my wife on an eighth-floor balcony."
And yeah, I had to quantify the height of the balcony because last night, I did make love to her outside of our penthouse suite at the Millennium, sixteen floors above the busy streets of Manhattan.
"Then I guess we'd better get busy, huh? I feel you've been properly…persuaded," she remarked, pushing firmly back against me.
"Trust me, honey. I don't get any more persuaded than this. And whoever told you that seduction's not your thing has got to be out of his mind."
She leaned her head back on my chest, smiling her response as I continued kissing her neck, working my way up to her ear.
There's no need to be in any hurry at all, I reminded myself.
But I can't help it.
The smell of the salt air combined with the scent of her skin…the way she's lightly swaying back and forth, rubbing her body against mine…it's taking every ounce of my self-control not to grab onto her hips and drive into her right now.
I let go of the railing so that I could put my hands to better use, but then there was a knock on the door.
"It's the concierge, Mr. Strathmore!" a voice called out.
"Come back later," I responded, not willing to release my hold on Mary.
"I have your package. For your wife?"
Ah…the bathing suit.
Believe it or not, Mary packed for a weekend getaway in the Caribbean and she forgot her bathing suit.
She didn't realize it until a short while ago when we were getting ready to walk down to the beach which is why, prior to our balcony experience, she was in a bathrobe while I was wearing my suit.
Because we were waiting for her swimsuit to be brought up.
I'd sent a hotel employee out to buy a new one.
Another perk of being a man in my position. People are always scrambling to please me.
I don't usually take advantage of that kind of service, but considering it's our honeymoon and that Mary loathes shopping, it was worth the flex of power.
But anyway, that's when we got into the discussion about my call to Marshall, which then led us out here…
"Leave it by the door," I instructed. "And thank you!"
"Are you sure? If it's not to her liking…"
"It'll be great," I replied as Mary turned in my arms, looking both annoyed and amused at the same time, which is something only Mary can pull off.
"Is he really going to stand out there and argue with you? Maybe I should just open the door and take the bag from him. That'll probably shut him up."
She smirked at me as my eyes quickly raked over her.
Seeing her like this would definitely shut him up, and he'd probably appreciate that more than a tip.
"Without a doubt," I agreed. "But not a chance in hell. I'll catch him when we go out to give him a tip."
When all was silent for another moment, and I felt sure that he'd left the package and gone on his way, I said, "Okay, now where were we?"
She wrapped her arms around my neck and went up on her toes to kiss me, sliding her body against mine as she did so, and any slight recession caused by our brief interruption was immediately remedied.
Fully and intensely remedied.
"I think we were somewhere around here," she suggested when she broke off the kiss, and then she slowly turned around, once again clasping onto the balcony railing. "And you were just about to…"
She trailed off as she angled her body, leaning just a bit over the railing, and that was all the invitation I needed.
I mean, why is it again that I was trying to hold back?
I have no idea.
I put my hands on her hips, holding her firmly in place as I pushed into her with single-minded purpose.
She adjusted her grip on the railing, tightly clenching the wrought iron bar, and for a brief moment, I pondered the strength of it, and wondered about our sanity to put so much faith into the construction of the balcony, but then she pushed back against me, encouraging a quicker pace, so I let go of her hips and put my hands over top of hers on the rail.
If it gave way, we'd go down together.
Fortunately, it maintained its integrity.
And we did go together, but in a much more gratifying manner than tumbling down eight floors.
"Remind me to get the inspection report any time we check into a hotel in the future," I commented as I continued to stand behind her, with my arms now wrapped around her, keeping her securely up against me.
"Were you having images of an impromptu flight?" she asked in amusement.
"It crossed my mind," I admitted. "But only for a second. You've got wonderful means of demanding my complete attention."
"I should probably write that down," she commented. "I mean, the fact that you think it's wonderful. Because you know I'm demanding on a regular basis."
"One of the many things I love about you."
"Okay, now I know you're certifiable."
"Do you have any idea what it's like to always get what you want?" I posed.
"No idea whatsoever," she replied quickly. "I mean, other than you. And my job."
"I know what you mean. I'm just saying…every little thing from the time I was a child. I always had people to fetch things for me and fix things for me and people wanting to be my friend just because of who I am…if it weren't for my father, doing his best to show me that my reality was only a fraction of the real world, I have no idea how I might have turned out."
"You'd be a condescending pompous dickhead with money falling out of your ass," she supplied.
"You paint such a lovely picture," I teased. "But yeah, I think you're right. But still…my life has been mostly easy."
"Until Heidi."
"Well, yeah. That was hard. But I think it was hard in the sense that I couldn't have what I thought I wanted, and no amount of money was going to change that. She was just…gone. And I think that denial made me feel something more…I became obsessed with what we could've had because I never learned how to deal with not getting my way."
She hummed her agreement, running her hands over mine where they rested against her stomach.
"I'll never forget the night I met you," I continued.
"I called you out on your crush," she reminded me.
"Yeah…that," I admitted, feeling a little sheepish. "My head was in a really bad place. You know that."
"Which is probably why you propositioned me…"
"No, I did that because I really liked the way you gave it to me straight. And actually, that's what kept pulling me back to you."
"Because I told you to get your head out of your ass?"
"Well, that and your incredibly sexy body and your killer smile."
"Now you're getting crazy again."
"My point is," I began, smirking at her self-conscious deflection of my compliments. "Don't ever stop being demanding. And being you. I love that you don't treat me any differently because of who I am. When we're together, we're just John and Mary."
I'd come to it in a roundabout way, but I think she got my point. I hope so, because I can't stress enough how much I love her being the handful that she is.
We stood quietly for several minutes, looking out at the ocean, and then she turned in my arms and took my face in her hands as she kissed me hard.
"I want you to do something for me," she said, her palms still pressed against my cheeks.
"I'm not sure I have the energy to do it again, but I can be creative if you want."
"I'll keep that in mind," she said on a laugh. "But no…I want you to check your email."
"My email?"
"Yeah. Why don't you bring the laptop out here."
"Mary, we're on our honeymoon…can't you turn off that law enforcement brain of yours for just a little while?"
"I did. And now it's back on."
I didn't respond right away, so she added, "Please, John. Humor me. I mean, you're not hiding anything from me, are you? Have you gotten another email?"
"No. But I haven't checked since Thursday. I've been kind of busy…you know, with my new wife."
"Good, then now's a good time to check, right? I mean, what if gold is down half a percent and you want to start selling off your bars?"
It was my turn to laugh, so I did that since it was preferable to getting upset with her.
I guess I can't blame her for being concerned, especially considering the things she sees at work on a daily basis, and didn't I just tout the fact that I don't want her to be anyone other than her?
And she's a US Marshal.
And if there is another email, I'm certainly not going to hide it from her, so what does it hurt to check it out?
"You think I stockpile gold?" I asked, shaking my head at her as I walked inside to get the laptop. "I own a little stock in a few companies."
"A little? In a few?"
"A lot in a bunch," I amended. Then I added teasingly, "But you know, you're right…if gold is down half a percent, I might need to call my broker."
"No phone calls. Just email."
Ten minutes later, she went against her own creed.
"Call Mike," she stated as we sat together on the balcony, scanning over my inbox.
"Now?"
"It won't hurt to bring him into the loop. I'm assuming you never mentioned that other one."
"No, I didn't. Because it's no…"
"Big deal," she interrupted. "But yes, it is. Call him."
"He's in Boston, remember?"
"And he'll want to know about this. Please."
Please.
That was twice in ten minutes, and it's not exactly one of Mary's choice words, so I can only guess that she's even more worried than she's letting on, and even though we'd kind of been teasing prior to checking the email, nothing about her expression is playful now.
She really is afraid for me.
And that makes me feel like I need to take this a lot more seriously than I've been doing.
Because by blowing it off, I'm saying that I don't trust her instincts, and honestly, with something like this, I trust hers more than I do my own.
I went back into the room and grabbed my cell phone.
"Are you kidding me?" Mike said when he answered. "You're calling home during your honeymoon?"
"I seem to remember you calling home while at a nude beach in Rio, so get off my back, okay?" I replied, but I knew my attempt at a joke wasn't going to fool him.
He'd know that I wouldn't call for no reason.
Not today, anyway.
"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.
"Nothing."
"John..."
"Mary asked me to call you. But it's nothing."
My comment pulled a sharp look from my wife, who had come into the room behind me, but I reached for her, slipping my hand beneath her hair and resting it against the side of her throat.
I'm not being dismissive of the issue. I'm just trying not to alarm Mike.
My silent words seemed to get through to her because she nodded at me and then bent down to pick up the robe.
I watched her pull on the robe as she walked towards the door, and with my eyes staying on her, I told Mike about the emails.
"The first one said six feet won't be deep enough. The one today says all the money in the world won't save you."
He talked through a couple of suggestions and then said, "Okay. Forward both of them to my email and I'll look into it. And if you get anything else, send it on. You'll be home tomorrow night, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Alright, put Mary on."
Because he's going to ease her mind, too, just like he did mine.
All while he's meeting family for the first time.
I thanked him as Mary came back into the room with the shopping bag in her hand, and then, since it should've been what I opened with, I asked him about Boston.
"We're on our way to O'Connor's house now."
"You know I'd be there for you any other time, right? And you're good?"
"Better than that," he stated, and I believe him because he sounds so…calm and in control. It's amazing how much he's progressed just since I met him a few months ago.
I pulled the phone from my ear, holding it out to Mary as I said, "He wants to talk to you."
"Don't tell me I'm crazy, Mike," she said into the phone, and then I walked over to retrieve my swimming trunks, stepping out onto the balcony to put them on.
I watched the waves crash against the shore for several minutes, and I heard her say, "Okay, I feel better."
I turned around as Mary came out to join me on the balcony, already dressed in her new bathing suit.
"Good. It's going to be fine, honey. I promise."
"I know, but you need to know that I'm going to stay on top of it."
"I wouldn't have it any other way. And wow, by the way," I remarked, pointedly checking out her attire. "Remind me to tip that guy really well."
"You always tip well."
"I'm thinking about setting up a scholarship fund for his children."
"That's a little over the top, don't you think?" she laughed. "What if he doesn't have kids?"
"Then his future kids. Or his neighbor's kids," I joked insouciantly as I took her by the hand. "Come on. The beach is calling our name."
The walk along the sand was idyllic, even though our conversation was somewhat serious.
"Mike's going to have Mulder look over the emails," she said. "I want to get to the bottom of it and let whoever this jerk is know that he can't get away with making threats."
"You know with Mulder on it, it'll just be a matter of time before he tracks the person down," I agreed. "That kid sure is good."
"How long have you been getting emails like that?"
"For years," I answered. "Every once in a while someone fixates on me. Although I'll admit it…these last two are a little different."
"How so?"
"Because they're so short and succinct. There's no ranting or blaming…just the overt threat."
She nodded thoughtfully, pausing along the edge of the water to dip her toe into the surf.
"Hey, John! Over here!" a voice shouted.
Mary and I both turned towards the source, and we were immediately met with the flashing of bulbs.
"Is it true that you're on your honeymoon?" a woman yelled.
She was standing next to a guy who was taking pictures like crazy, and I could feel Mary tense up beside me.
"Come on, John. Just give us a few minutes," the reporter requested.
I mean, it's bad enough any time, but especially after we'd just been discussing a potential threat.
I'm actually surprised that Mary didn't go tackle that cameraman.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to her.
"We may as well talk to them. Otherwise, they'll just make something up," she replied. Then she smiled at me, that one that makes me as nervous as it does aroused, and she said, "Don't worry. I'll be nice."
Mary tossed her hair back over her shoulder as she grabbed onto my hand and together we walked a few feet closer to the reporter, whom I can only guess had been hanging out in the lobby, waiting to catch sight of us.
It never ceases to amaze me that this kind of thing is actually someone's job and that there's enough interest from the public in the details of my life to allow someone to get paid to dish about it.
I could only pray that her photographer hadn't been out on this beach an hour ago, making use of his telephoto lens while Mary and I were on the balcony.
"Can you confirm the rumor, John?" she asked, her question directed towards me, but her eyes on Mary.
"That I got married? Yes," I answered as the photographer clicked away with his camera.
Mary hates having her picture taken…
"Okay, I think you've got enough," I said to the guy. "We'll talk for a minute, but let's be done with the pictures, okay?"
The reporter nodded at her colleague, so he stepped back and lowered his equipment.
"Can you tell me about the ceremony, and why you decided to keep it a secret? And wasn't it only a few months ago that you were seen high-rolling in Vegas?"
"It's not a secret. If it were, you wouldn't know about it."
"We met in Vegas," Mary spoke up, catching me completely off guard with her deadpan wit. "I used to date Gus Hanson, but he lost me in a card game to John here, so…"
The reporter stared at her open-mouthed for a moment, but Mary just continued to smile.
"You…won her?" she asked at last.
"No," I corrected, nudging Mary with my hip. "Don't write that. She's kidding."
"He's right. I'm kidding," Mary agreed. "Actually, I used to be a stripper, but then he knocked me up so I told him he had to marry me or…"
"Mary!" I interrupted and both of us started laughing as the reporter continued to stare. "You know she's going to print this stuff, right?"
"Hey, at least it'll be something interesting," she reasoned. "Because why the hell would people want to read about two normal people falling in love and getting married? I mean, seriously. How is that news?"
I can't argue with her logic.
And I think the reporter got the point, too.
"I'm sorry, but he's one of the most eligible bachelors…"
"He was," Mary interjected. "And now he's not. Yes, we got married Thursday. Yes, we're trying to have a honeymoon. And while I appreciate that you're just trying to do your job, we're just trying to have some time alone before we have to go back to our jobs, so…"
"No, you're right," the woman agreed. "My apologies. Um…"
"Ask," I encouraged, hoping that we'd at least won her over so that the stripper comment wouldn't get printed.
Not that I care, but if they print Mary's picture in conjunction with it, she might care.
"Are you going to live in New York?"
"Yes."
"What about your office in Atlantic City?"
"I have offices in several cities, so the fact that I live in New York doesn't change anything."
"How long will you be in Nassau?"
"We're flying home tomorrow night."
She asked a few more mundane questions, and then we called it quits and walked away.
I didn't look back, but I have no doubt that the cameraman went back to work, taking shots of our retreating forms.
"I'm wondering how big my ass is going to look in these pictures," Mary mumbled to me once we were several yards away. "And people really read that stuff? I mean, no offense, but who cares where we live or where your offices are located, or how long before we go back to New York?"
After saying the words, she stopped abruptly and looked at me.
"What?" I asked.
"We probably shouldn't have done that. We basically just gave your itinerary to the general public."
"Roughly," I pointed out. "Anyone who wants to come after me is going to have to do more than read a third-rate article in a fourth-rate newspaper."
"True," she said thoughtfully, turning to continue walking. "Okay, so…I'm starving. What does a girl have to do around here to get some shrimp and a Mai Tai?"
All she had to do was ask, although I bargained with her until she promised to do something for me in return…something back in our room later.
"I should've told the reporter that I'm your sex slave. That'd be more accurate," she stated jokingly as we found a table in the open-air bar.
"Is that a bad thing?" I teased, dropping my voice and saying the words right into her ear. "Because you know I'll be yours, too, right? I'll do anything you want…"
I trailed off as the waiter came over to take our order, but as soon as he was gone, I leaned in close again and started making a few suggestions of things I'd like to do her.
"I'll give you points for creativity," she said with a smile, and we sat there amidst the Saturday evening crowd, staring at each other like we're the only two people in the world, and it was so nice and relaxing.
The waiter came back with our drinks, each of us having ordered something potent and fruity and as Mary reached for hers, I noticed her gaze straying past my shoulder, and then she visibly tensed.
"What is it?" I asked her.
"Don't turn around."
"Mary…"
"Just…give me a minute."
So I kept my eyes on her while she continued to stare at whatever had caught her eye.
The seconds ticked away and I watched her distractedly take a sip of her drink before setting it back down and scooting to the edge of her seat.
"Two men," she said at last. "They're not dressed right. And they keep looking around."
"Not dressed right how? Maybe they're looking to pick up women," I suggested.
"No. And at least one of them has a piece."
"A what?" I asked in surprise, finally realizing what she was thinking, but as I asked the question, she hopped up from her stool.
I whirled around to follow her, but she was much quicker than I expected, and by the time I got to my feet, she was already halfway across the room.
The whole thing was surreal.
My five-eight wife, dressed in nothing but a red bikini and flip-flop sandals, grabbed onto the lapels of a man's suit, one of the two she'd been staring at, and she shoved him into the second man, pushing both of them into the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.
It all happened so quickly that hardly any other patrons took notice, and the few who did just purposely looked away.
But of course, I was running to catch up to the action, and when I stepped into the hallway, I saw that Mary had a fork in one hand, with the tines pressing against one man's throat, while she had a death grip on the other man's tie, pulling it to the side and pinning it against the wall next to his head in order to keep him in place.
"Say it now," she was instructing, her tone as sharp and biting as any I've ever heard.
"I…don't know…what you're…talking about," the guy with the fork against his neck managed to say.
"Mary," I said, although what I'm not sure what to say next.
"Check them," she said to me without looking back.
So I reached around her to feel up both men, searching for weapons.
Both men were packing, so I pulled the guns from their holsters. Mary immediately let go of them and took one of the guns from my hand, whipping back the slide and then pointing it at the first man's head.
"Now talk," she ordered.
"Ma'am…there's been a misunderstanding."
"I don't think so," she argued. "You walked into a beach bar carrying a nine…tell me why."
"Because," the second man said in annoyance. "We're DEA."
"You're…what?" she asked in surprise.
And if she was surprised, then I'm downright astounded.
Mary neutralized two armed DEA agents?
"Left inside pocket," the second guy stated, looking at me as I stood there holding his gun in my hand. Although, I hadn't cocked it and I certainly wasn't pointing it at anyone, but still…
I reached over and felt inside the man's pocket and pulled out his badge and ID.
"Special Agent Yost," I read aloud. "Drug Enforcement Agency."
"Shit," Mary mumbled as she took a step back and lowered the weapon. "You, too?"
"Special Agent Winfield," the guy said.
"DEA," she repeated, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. Wow, this is…one big misunderstanding."
"I think that's what I said," Winfield replied, and to his credit, he managed a weak smile. "Now please tell us that your title is going to make us feel a whole lot better about letting you get the drop on us."
"Inspector Mary Shannon," she answered. "US Marshal Service."
"This place must be quite the hub of illegal activity," Yost remarked. "You're here on official business?"
As he asked the question, he looked her over carefully, and I cleared my throat and stepped a little closer to her.
"We're here on our honeymoon," I said territorially.
"Um…okay," Winfield said. "I don't suppose you've got ID…on you…somewhere."
"It's in the hotel room," she said dismissively, and it hit me that they believe her anyway, even dressed like she is with no proof to back up her claim, because she is an inspector.
And how crazy is it that this entire situation has me turned on?
I mean, seriously. My wife is really something else.
The agents were patient with us while we explained the situation - about the threat I received. Mary admitted that she had possibly overreacted.
"It's understandable," Winfield said when we finished.
"I hope we didn't mess up a bust for you," Mary said. "And I didn't draw any blood with that fork, did I?"
Yost smirked as he rubbed his hand over his neck and said, "We just made a bust at a house a couple of miles away. We came here to grab a bite before we have to catch a flight back home."
"Next time, don't stand in the doorway and case the place before coming in," Mary told him smartly.
"Win was looking around to make sure none of the LEOs were in here," Yost explained. "We sort of pissed them off earlier, and we didn't want to start something. Of course, then you started something."
"I'm sorry," Mary said again. "Let us buy you guys a drink."
The four of us left the hall and as the two agents sat down at the bar, I stopped long enough to tell the bartender to bring me their tab when they were finished.
"You don't have to do that," Winfield said.
"I strangled you with your tie and poked your partner with a fork. Yeah, we do," Mary replied. "And if you're ever in New York and need a favor, give me a call."
Then she picked up a bar napkin and stole a pen from a passing waitress so that she could jot down her name and cell number.
"Inspector Strathmore? I thought you said your name is Shannon," Yost said as he read over the napkin.
"It was. Two days ago. I'm not used to the new one yet," she admitted. Then we said goodbye to them and went back to our table.
"We're lucky they're cool," she said, letting out a long breath as she scooted her chair closer to mine. "I could be in a Bahamian jail right about now."
"I still can't believe you did that."
"Go ahead and yell," she said. "But I warned you that I have to be me."
"You be you all you want to, honey," I told her. "That was hot as hell, Inspector Strathmore."
She smiled at me as she picked up her drink, and then she drained the glass and waved at the waiter for another one.
"DEA," she said again. She propped her elbow on the table, letting her cheek rest against her hand, and added in amusement, "You patted down a DEA agent. You took their guns."
"You attacked them armed with only a fork," I pointed out. "What made you think to snag a utensil?"
"Well, it was two on one," she said reasonably. "I knew I'd need something."
"I kind of wish that reporter and her cameraman had been in here to see that. Now that would be a story."
Later that night, after spending a few hours in the bar, eating the fresh catch and drinking way too many rum drinks, we were back out on the balcony of our hotel room.
"You really think someone's after me?" I asked her.
"I really think that I'm not going to passively wait around to find out."
I nodded, even though she had her gaze out towards the water, and then I slipped my arm around her waist.
"I'm not a girly girl, John. I'm not clingy or needy or sappy or soft," she said, finally turning her head to look at me. Her eyes were filled with love and concern. "But I'm absolutely, insanely in love with you, and I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you."
"You won't," I promised. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I mean…"
"I know what you mean."
The next day was a whirlwind of activity because in addition to all of those other things Mary said she's not, she's also not the type to just lay around on the beach.
We went parasailing.
And cliff diving.
And scuba diving.
We also made love three more times after our rendezvous yesterday afternoon on the balcony.
When we get back to New York, I'm going to need a vitamin B shot.
Maybe two.
But it's honestly the most fun I've ever had.
So much that it didn't darken my mood to land at JFK in the pouring down rain.
"Still glad I quit using Rocco to drive me around?" I teased as we huddled under the awning outside of the airport, waiting on a cab.
"Is that your I told you so voice?" she asked me. "You think I'm afraid of a little rain?"
"I don't think you're afraid of anything."
"Sure I am," she replied. "Spiders. I can't stand them, with all of their legs and eyes and hairiness."
She made a point of shuddering and then smiled at me, but just as she started to say something else, her cell phone rang.
"We're definitely back in the real world," she commented as she reached into her purse and pulled it out.
"Who is it?"
"I don't know," she admitted. She pushed the button and answered, "Inspector Strathmore."
And I'll admit it.
My mind wandered briefly at that point, just because I love hearing that name on her lips.
But the sound of her voice, sharp with concern, caused me to focus on her words.
"When did you intercept it? Are you sure? Is that all it said?"
"What is it?" I asked her quietly, but she held up a finger to me, asking me to wait for a moment.
"Can you send it to me? I'd like to take a look at it myself. Yes. I appreciate the heads-up."
I listened while she spouted off her email address and then she hung up and looked at me for a moment before closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath.
"Mary…"
"That was our new friend," she said. "Special Agent Winfield."
"Already? What'd he want?" I asked in surprise.
"It's so unbelievably random that it's ridiculous, but he was telling his story to a friend, about what happened yesterday in Nassau, and when he mentioned my name, his friend started asking questions."
"What kind of questions? And what kind of friend?"
"A fellow DEA agent working out of Detroit. He said he recognized the name, but he couldn't figure out from where."
She paused and my mind scrambled to put the pieces together.
Do I know anyone in Detroit?
"They've been tapping the activity of some drug runners out there," she said. "Albanian drug runners."
And then the pieces started sliding together…
"In a transcript from a couple of days ago, your name was brought up several times."
"By the Albanians? In what context?"
"187," she stated quietly. She closed her eyes, shaking her head as she said, "I should've known this would happen."
"I don't know what that means. What's 187?"
"They're calling you an enemy of the organization, John. 187 means you're marked for death."
The End (until the sequel)