I allowed myself to be talked into writing a sequel to Forging a Life, though to be honest, big parts of this were already written while I tried to figure out where to end Forging. I've now been persuaded to post it here. This is the happily-ever-after version, so you've been forewarned.

On the other hand, it takes exactly 52 weeks to get there.

Adult content. The usual disclaimers about I don't own, don't make any money.

You need to read Forging a Life first, and for those of you who have, forget the last chapter. This substitutes for that.


Ghosts That Haunt 1

This time, Riah stayed home until the bruises were gone.

In the meantime, Casey kept in touch with General Patterson. If she had to be a target for Watson, he wanted assurances that the man was under close surveillance. He also did his homework, carefully examined the man's record, did a deep background check on the upstart captain, and found it hard to believe any man could be that squeaky-clean. He suspected the man's record had been tampered with because not even Bartowski's jacket was that sanitary before the Intersect.

It irritated the hell out of him that he couldn't even find a traffic violation.

It further irritated him that Ellie Bartowski was doing some close surveillance of her own. Every time he turned around, she seemed to be there. She stuck by Riah as if they were Siamese twins, and Casey tolerated it because he was certain she only did so while she tried to determine whether or not he was the one who hurt Riah. As a result, and at Riah's suggestion, he endured an evening playing host to Ellie, her fiancé, her brother, and Walker.

He knew Riah had had Ellie over in his absence, but this was the first time they'd done anything like this together. Riah obsessed over the details to the point Casey finally told her in frustrated exasperation that it was just dinner. That had been after he came downstairs in the early hours of the morning to find her seated at the table with a number of paper wads scattered in front of her. Two non-wadded sheets lay before her. He read over her shoulder, saw they were menus.

"Isn't that about four courses too many?" he asked, reading a seven-course menu that featured standing rib roast, two appetizers, shrimp cocktail, a fancy salad featuring greens he would pretend he'd never heard of, citrus and herb granite, mashed parsnips, roasted asparagus, and a chocolate torte. The other was equally elaborate but had fish for the main course.

"Too much?" she asked.

"Not if you make sure everyone fasts for forty-eight hours prior," he told her and took a chair to her right. He eyed her, wondered what was behind her sudden five-star restaurant urge. "Just fix something like beef bourguignon or pot roast." He liked her boeuf bourguignon, even if he refused to pronounce it the French way as she did.

She rolled her lip between her teeth and chewed it a moment.

It occurred to him that she was compensating for something, or she was feeling insecure. Riah often cooked mass quantities when she was nervous or under stress. There were mornings when he woke up alone and went down to a bakery's worth of things she'd made during the night when she'd been unable to sleep. It made breakfast more interesting, but he did gently suggest she could simply wake him up when she couldn't sleep.

She ran her hands into her loose hair and closed her eyes. "I think I'm channeling Mum."

"Please don't," he said with no inflection. When she opened her eyes, he grinned at her. "I'd rather not have the inevitable argument when your mother makes an appearance."

"She does these dinners," Riah told him. "They're famous. People fight to get invited, but she's very selective about who gets to attend." She shrugged. "I've actually never done this, cooked for more than family—other than when I worked in restaurants." She sighed, rubbed her eyes. "I think I just freaked out a little."

He stood, pulled her to her feet and against him. "It's just dinner, Riah, and as far as Ellie and Bartowski are concerned, it probably is just family. There's no need to impress."

It wasn't hard to persuade her to come back to bed, and on Sunday, she served a scaled back version of the prime rib meal. She kept the roast, perfectly medium-rare, and the parsnips mashed with potatoes and garlic and the asparagus, the salad, and the six-layer chocolate fudge torte.

To his surprise, Casey actually enjoyed the evening—until dessert. Because of Ellie and her fiancé, there was no shop talk, and that was a novelty for Casey. He tried to remember the last time he'd engaged in an entire night of nothing but normal conversation—if he could call talk that included possible honeymoon destinations and the apparent dictatorial authoritarianism of Woodcomb's mother normal.

He commiserated with Ellie, and earned a hard stare from Riah by assuring Ellie that Honey Woodcomb had nothing on Riah's mother. Though he was careful not to name her and potentially expose who Riah really was, he did tell a couple of his better Ariel stories.

As he closed the door behind Ellie and her fiancé, he felt good, knew Ellie was reassured, though he half expected Riah to lay into him. She crossed her arms and asked, "Did my mother really call the cops and insist you were a peeping tom?"

He'd been walking the perimeter of the home she shared with MacKenzie in one of Chicago's more affluent suburbs after Ariel swore she heard a prowler. When the Chicago PD arrived, he remembered, he'd realized he had stupidly left his badge and ID inside. He put his hands on Riah's hips and pulled her close. "Ask Emma, if you don't believe me," he assured her. "She had to vouch for me, though since she was only six, they really didn't want to take her word for it."

Her hands ran over his chest to his shoulders. "You're lucky Emma did vouch for you. At six, she was insufferably contrary."

"Probably explains why she did, then," he told her.


When Beckman told him Watson had failed to incriminate himself, Casey knew what was coming. He listened as she told him Riah would accompany General Patterson to a political fundraising reception for a senator. Watson, who had served on the senator's staff before entering the Corps, would attend as well.

Casey would pull van duty.

He started to argue, but she told him it was non-negotiable—unless he preferred to stay home and let Walker and the asset do the job. He didn't prefer, so if he couldn't go in with Riah, he intended to be where he could act if she needed him. Keeping in mind what Riah had told him following the mess with Laurance, he told Beckman Riah would have to tell her father the plan. Beckman nodded.

It didn't take Riah long to make the call, based on how quickly V. H. called Casey. He was on the Buy More sales floor when his cell rang.

"You left my daughter where a rapist could find her," Adderly ground out.

Casey would have sighed his frustration, but that would give the man further grounds to torment him. "I did no such thing."

"That's not what Mariah says," V. H. said.

Walking to the back of the store, Casey looked around to see if there was anyone near enough to overhear him. He was just irritated enough to take what could prove to be an ill-advised dig: "Last I heard, you thought I was the rapist."

There was a snort on the other end of the line. "Be thankful she's well beyond the age of consent, Casey."

He considered telling the other man he most certainly was. That, however, would only lead to yet another discussion of how Casey molested V. H.'s daughter, and he wasn't interested in having that discussion again. Why V. H. insisted on labeling sex with Mariah as molestation Casey wasn't sure, but the more he protested, the more V. H. did so. "So you're finally acknowledging that she had the good sense to choose me?"

"I can't say good sense factored into this at all, Casey," the other man said, "but certainly she chose you. I'm assuming some sort of coercion was involved."

Casey snorted. "Is this conversation going anywhere?" Much as he enjoyed baiting Riah's father, he had work to do, and one of the Buy Morons could turn up at any second.

"Diane tells me she intends to use Mariah as bait."

That was the one part of his boss's plan that gave Casey pause. For whatever reason, Watson had gone after Riah. Casey found that infuriating, especially since they had carefully designed the sting at the ball. How it had gone wrong, he wasn't sure.

"Not so much bait," Casey told him, "as trap."

The silence from V. H.'s end was oppressive. "You're clearly a city-boy, Casey," he said. "You have to bait traps. That makes my daughter bait."

"Your daughter isn't bait," Casey growled. "She took him out once already—gave him a shiner and a mild concussion." He let that sink in. Then he added, "And you're the city-boy. Don't think I don't remember you're from Scarborough."

There was an oppressive silence. "I don't want Mariah put in unreasonable jeopardy."

Casey whole-heartedly agreed. He'd tried to convince Riah to turn down the assignment from the moment he realized what she would be asked to do. Walker or someone else could substitute. It wasn't her job, really, and it had the potential to backfire. He knew what her father would do if it went wrong, and Casey didn't want to be the one to sacrifice her to get the man they were after. "I don't, either," he admitted at last.

The silence stretched once more. "Then why use her this way?"

"Because the suspect chose her—her, not the most logical target based on the pattern." After he admitted that, he realized how stupid it sounded.

"She's fragile," her father said.

"She's stronger than you realize." That gave him pause. Why had he said that? She had dispatched Watson pretty damn efficiently, but despite Dreyfus's assessment and her recent strength, Casey knew she could still fall apart if the danger was threatening enough. He just hoped she really could get the job done without getting herself killed—or worse. Casey didn't think she could survive worse.

V. H. grunted, and Casey nearly joined him. After a second, Riah's father said, "I trust you to keep her safe. Just don't make me regret that trust."

Casey assured him it wasn't misplaced. After they had each disconnected, he wondered if he could make good on that.


Riah chose a dress that looked like something from the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's. She wasn't willowy and tall like Audrey Hepburn, but that black, sleeveless sheath of a dress clung in too many of the right places, and whatever she wore underneath it pushed her breasts up in such a way she looked like she might pour out of the top. The deeply scooped neckline and the ruby and diamond pendant that drew the eye to her cleavage made him salivate, which meant it would likely make the night's target salivate.

He didn't like that at all.

To make matters worse, Paul Patterson would escort her that evening, and she was definitely going to make the General drool.

The older man arrived promptly, something else that pissed Casey off since he was fairly certain his former commander had a personal interest in Riah. Casey nearly didn't let her leave with the other man when the General leaned down and kissed Riah's mouth briefly. Casey stopped mid-growl when he realized he was making a sound of protest. Riah had given him an apprehensive look; the General had merely been amused. Perhaps that was why when he kissed Riah himself before letting her walk out of their apartment with her date for the evening, he had kissed her as they had been taught in seduction school. When he lifted his head, Riah had that look he was used to seeing on her face in bed—usually after he had loved her. There was a primitive part of him that especially liked that reaction.


Casey hated van duty. It was a necessary part of the job, but he hated it. The sensation of being caged, the waiting, the watching, made him restless, but he didn't let it show. One thing his training had done for him was teach him how to wait. It didn't help him like it, but it helped him do it. He would far prefer to be inside the ballroom where Riah and the General worked the crowd. It occurred to him that he seemed to spend a lot of time these days in the van or some other surveillance unit.

As he watched Watson watch Riah, though, Casey once again questioned whether he should have let her do this. He could have talked General Beckman out of it, Patterson, too, but Riah had been determined to follow through with this. Given how Watson had broken his pattern, it was hard to argue with her, and Casey simply hoped the man would move on to a different target since he'd failed with Riah. She, though, was convinced he wouldn't like that she got away, which would make her the perfect victim. It was logical, though Casey wasn't sure anything Watson had done involved logic of any form. As the man circled Riah and Paul Patterson again, Casey weighed thresholds for halting the operation if necessary.

At least she stayed with the General, though that was a particular form of hell for Casey. He would definitely rather be the man escorting her, the man touching her, the man at whom she smiled happily and with whom she shamelessly flirted. He felt the urge to punch his former commander as the man flirted shamelessly right back at her. He glowered at the monitor, and even Walker tried to ignore him and his sour mood.

Bartowski, of course, was simply convinced he loved Riah. That was a good thing, though Casey couldn't help thinking that perhaps he really should put some distance between himself and Riah if watching her with another man was ruining his calm this way. Chuck's happy chatter nearly had him admitting that Riah was simply his cover girlfriend, but that impulse drew Casey up short.

It wasn't that surprising that after this long he might begin to confuse the cover for reality. It wasn't like it didn't happen from time to time, but it had never happened to him. It was one of the reasons they tried to keep missions like this short and sweet. Romantic entanglements between agents were an occupational hazard, and in his and Riah's case, there were more hazards than usual.

He cursed V. H. once more, cursed the man for sending his daughter to him, cursed him for thinking their friendship would protect Riah. If ISI had sent anyone else, he was convinced things would have turned out differently. He watched Riah stand beside Paul Patterson, watched her smile up at him when the General slipped a hand into the small of her back, and he felt again the desire to enter the ballroom and take her from the man.

When this was over, he'd tell Adderly to send her to the Institute early for her pending mandatory training, so Casey could then get some distance, gain some perspective. When she came back, he'd have these impulses under control.

Walker kept giving him odd looks, and he finally figured out it was the pissed off growls emanating from him that did it. He didn't like this, didn't like it at all. Riah was his, but there she was, held against Paul Patterson's side, looking for all the world as if she'd go home with the General that night. She was his, not Watson's, not Patterson's. No one else had a right to her.

Watson made his first approach half an hour later. Bartowski was already bored and playing some electronic game—Casey had stopped keeping up with whatever game system the younger man indulged in—and he backhanded the asset's arm and grunted, "Anything?"

Chuck went into full-flash when he spied Watson's face. Casey waited impatiently for the inevitable info dump. When Bartowski spewed, he tossed his earphones on the console and checked his weapon. Walker asked what he was doing, and he told her—succinctly. "Riah's in danger. I'm going in."

As he fitted an earpiece, Casey considered Bartowski's data dump. Watson had been in the Intersect, and it wasn't pretty. Casey wondered why in hell he hadn't been able to find this information when he dug into Watson's background. The man had links to Fulcrum, according to Bartowski, and the odds-on favorite was that the other man thought she was the Intersect. That meant she was in more danger than he trusted Patterson to protect her from.

Though, truthfully, it was the rest of the information Bartowski spit out that had Casey mentally preparing a proposal to reorganize intelligence gathering and made him do what he was about to do. He was not leaving Riah exposed to that.

Chuck eyed him. "What?" Casey barked.

"Nothing," the asset said. Casey's eyes narrowed, considered what might be going on in Chuck's noggin, because he was dead certain something was—something he wasn't going to like.

He turned to Walker. They exchanged nods, and Casey popped the van door and stepped out, jerked the door closed behind him. He strode inside, and once he was in the ballroom, he looked for Riah. She was talking to Watson, and she didn't look happy. Through his earpiece, it was simply social chatter, but something made her look like she wanted to escape. He didn't stop to talk to anyone; he stalked over to where they stood. Casey saw the man was going to refuse to leave Riah with him. Casey couldn't say that made him sorry. Watson, though, must have seen something in his face, for he relinquished Riah easily.

She frowned as Casey walked her away from the Captain. "John—"she began. By then they had reached a darkened corner, and he cut her off with his mouth.

Riah tasted of bourbon. She kissed him back, and he wished he could simply take her home. He supposed he could tell her he had a thing for Audrey Hepburn. She might believe it, but she wouldn't believe it explained his decision to come inside.

The look she gave him when he lifted his head told him she wanted to ask why, but she didn't. Instead, she smiled widely at him, and he lowered his mouth to hers once more. He might have just blown the evening's mission, but he didn't much care. If questioned, he would claim that what Chuck told him concerned him enough to make him decide he needed to be with her. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered, leaning into him in such a way that it was obvious she didn't mind in the least.

Instead of answering, he kissed her once more. If he was a little more thorough than he ought to be in the circumstances, he didn't much care. She wore that perfume he liked, the one with the gardenias and spice, the one that made him think about finding a convenient broom closet—if no other room was available—and tracing the scent on her skin with his mouth if not his nose. Maybe both. His hands might enjoy the search as well.

Her hands, meanwhile, were far from idle. She stroked over his chest to his shoulder. The other ran around his neck to the back of his head, and he didn't resist the faint pressure there where she had run the fingers of her right hand into his hair. Her lips parted under his as he tugged her closer to his body. Fuck Watson, he thought. Riah was his, only his, and he wasn't sharing—not even to trap a rapist. Especially not to trap a vicious, murderous rapist.

"I believe that's my date, Major." Paul Patterson's voice cut in on Casey's thoughts about what Riah might or might not be wearing beneath that black, beaded dress.

"My girlfriend," he returned gruffly.

"You're not supposed to be here, John," the other man chided.

Riah's heavy-lidded look told Casey all he needed to know. "I think Riah should come with me," he said.

She slowly released him then. "John," she said softly, "he's right."

Casey didn't like her apparent defection. "Riah," he said with a rough note in his voice. He wasn't willing to risk her to what Chuck had told him, but the look she gave him said he might have to. She was, after all, nearly as stubborn as he.

"John," she said and leaned into him. "Go away."

Patterson reached for her, and Casey let his former commander draw her away. "John, Watson's going to make his move soon."

He was torn: duty or Riah's safety. He leaned toward the second, especially since he'd failed her once before, had nearly let Kellett kill her. He realized just how compromised that made him. He thought he could justify the unwarranted interference through her father's insistence that she not be put at undue risk. Riah gently removed the General's hand from her arm and said something softly to him that Casey couldn't quite catch. Whatever it was, the other man shrugged and walked away. Casey was left standing in front of her. "You have to go," she said softly. "He's unlikely to approach me with you here."

Casey knew how true that was, but it didn't make him feel any more inclined to do as she said. "Riah, you're in danger, and you are not going to do this."

He hadn't meant to put it anywhere near that bluntly, but he didn't regret it. She gave him a look that told him she knew that, and he felt like twenty kinds of idiot. Of course she knew that. She was the one who had told him about Watson in the first place. "John, it's part of the job." She ran her hands up his chest, smoothed the lapels of his suit. "It's what we do so no one else has to." She leaned up and kissed him. "Better me than some other woman," she whispered. She kissed him once more, and there was a promise there, one Casey had an urge to exploit even as he wanted to contradict her. Before he could, she stepped away from him. "Now go away." She said distinctly, "Agent Walker, restrain him if you have to."

He started after her, furious, but she had turned and walked back to General Patterson. Walker was in his ear: "Well?"

Casey fumed, refused to answer. He was not going back to the van, and just as he was about to tell Walker so, Patterson bent and asked, "Everything okay?" She gave the other man a slight smile and a nod, and then he stepped away, headed toward the bar. Casey kept his eyes on Riah. Within seconds, Watson had sidled up to her once more.

When he approached her before, Watson had kept the conversation on social pleasantries. This time was different. "So which one is it?" he asked Riah, "Major Casey or General Patterson?"

"I beg your pardon?" Casey recognized a dead-on impression of Ariel when she decided to be coldly polite.

"Or do you sleep with both of them?" Watson asked. Casey didn't like the man's tone, let alone the accusation, and he almost went out to pound him to the pulp he deserved to be.

Riah continued to channel her mother. "I fail to see that that's any of your business, Captain."

"I like to know who the competition is."

He watched Riah step back from Watson, and Casey had a brief moment of satisfaction. "You have no competition," Riah said, "primarily because you aren't in the race."

Casey initially thought she should have been a bit more friendly, but then rape was about violence and violation. She wouldn't be an attractive target if she was willing.

"If you'll excuse me," Riah added, and Casey forced himself to remain still when Watson grabbed her by the arm as she began to move away. The bruises he had left on her the month before had taken a while to fade. Casey decided to make sure he was the one who took the man down, and he'd take him down as hard as he possibly could.

"No, I won't excuse you," Watson told her. "You gave me a black eye and a concussion."

Riah stiffened. "I don't take kindly to men who assault me."

Watson jerked her closer. "I didn't assault you . . . yet."

Casey could hear the choked breath Riah sucked in. "And you won't," she replied. He could hear what sounded like genuine fear under her bravado. She tried to remove his hand from her arm, but Watson clamped harder. Even from where Casey stood across the room, he could see the other man's fingers dig into her flesh.

"You won't have the freedom of movement in that dress that you did in the other," Watson told her. "I think I can take the risk. Can you?"

Casey's eyes dropped to the skirt of Riah's dress. It was form-fitting with no slits other than the one in back that barely reached her knees. What she had worn that other night had full skirts that gave her some room to move. Watson was right—unless she chose to ruin the dress.

"May I ask a question?" Riah's voice sounded more normal. Watson nodded. "Would you find me attractive were it not for John's—or Paul's—interest?"

The Captain gave a snorting laugh. "Who said I find you attractive?"

That sent a chill down Casey's spine. Riah paled.

Watson made a disappointed sound. "Look at that," he said. "The General's busy, and he sent the Major away." The man leaned closer to her. "Who'll save you when you can't save yourself?"

Riah sucked in a deep breath. "Who says I can't save myself? I managed before."

The Captain laughed, an unpleasant sound. He dragged Riah toward the ballroom doors, and Casey kept an eye on them.

"Walker, he's making his move," Casey said quietly, moved only when Watson turned his back fully on the corner where he still stood. His partner told him she had them, that Watson was taking Riah to an elevator. Casey motioned for one of the agents Beckman had planted and wondered if Watson had learned nothing. Riah had freely admitted that the confined space of the elevator car had helped her disable him before.

"Floor?" he asked as he raced for the elevator bank, watched the doors close. He sent the other agent to the stairs.

"Twelfth," Walker told him. "I'm leaving Chuck here and coming in."

Casey pushed a couple out of the way to take the open elevator, prevented them from following him inside by holding out his badge and curtly telling them it was government business before he told Walker, "Stay where you are." He punched the button for twelve.

He heard Chuck in his ear next: "He's in room 1225." The kid had obviously hacked the hotel registration system. Casey didn't tell him he already knew that. He'd only asked Walker for the floor in case Watson had another room he intended to use.

"They've arrived," Walker said, and Casey eyed the panel to the right of the elevator doors. He'd heard nothing through Riah's wire, and that worried him. Either Watson was being quiet—and he figured Riah would talk if for no other reason than to let him know she was still alright—or the other man had done something to her already or taken the wire. There was surveillance in Watson's room, but Walker would be blind until they got there.

As a result, Casey stepped right out of the elevator when the doors opened, and he quickly checked the hall both ways. Seeing no one, he headed rapidly toward the room. He kept his eyes on the door plaques that numbered the rooms. He didn't think Watson would waste any time, so Casey picked up the pace, unwilling to have to tell Adderly he'd failed to keep Riah safe, unwilling to accept that he had failed her if it came to that. It didn't help to hear Walker's useless, "Casey, hurry."

He reached the door and breathed in deeply before breaking it in. Casey had no order to kill Watson, and that was the only thing that kept him from doing what he'd done to Larkin at the beginning of his assignment with the Intersect: shoot first and order him to not move second. When he saw Riah flung across the bed, though, the bodice of her dress torn, he almost went with his instinct to kill the other man.

For his part, Watson grinned. Casey's trigger finger twitched, and he barely kept it from squeezing the trigger enough to blast the grin off the man's face. "Step away from her," he said coldly. Riah made a sound, but Casey didn't spare her a glance, kept his eyes glued to Watson. He knew any distraction could be fatal, so he stayed locked on the other man. If anyone was going to die here, Casey intended to make sure it was Watson.

The Captain wiped the smile off his face. "You really don't know what you've gotten yourself into here."

Casey kept his cold mask in place, resisted looking at Riah. "Actually, Watson, you're the one in the dark here. You've been a bad boy, and I'm your punishment."

Watson eyed him. "Your girlfriend's the one who's been bad, Casey," he said. "Pity you don't know who you're fucking."

Casey really wished the bad guys would find a new line of taunt. Watson wasn't the first one who had decided to tell him he didn't know Riah and what she was up to. He didn't dignify Watson's comment, simply continued to stare intently at the man and hold his weapon steady. Like a thousand bad guys before him, the idiot couldn't keep his mouth shut, so Casey's silence paid off.

"I never would have thought you'd fall for a pretty face," the man continued, "though I plan to make it considerably less pretty before I'm finished with her." He lowered his hands. "Like all women, she's a whore, pure and simple, and there's only one way to deal with a whore."

Fury spiked through him, coursed through his veins, but Casey pushed it down, continued to watch Watson and train his weapon on him. He wouldn't engage, he told himself, wouldn't give Watson an opening. According to Bartowski, the man not only worked for Fulcrum but was believed to be responsible for a series of murders that made Jack the Ripper look downright benevolent. Looking at the asshole, he considered putting him down a favor to humanity.

For the most part, Watson apparently only killed women he was paid to kill—the two officers had been exceptions. Casey wondered who had paid the fee for Riah. Watson grinned like the maniac he was. "Okay, we can do this the hard way," he told Casey. "Your whore got down to business last time, which is why I didn't waste any time this go around." He shrugged. "They're less fun this way, but it seemed prudent."

The bullet hit Watson in the knee, where it would put him down but not kill him. Casey was tired of being lectured for killing bastards like Watson. When he was down, Casey followed up with a chest wound that would do enough damage to keep the man from moving much but not kill him outright. When the Captain was still but far from quiet, the other agent finally turned up. Casey told him to search Watson. Casey knelt on the bed beside Riah. She was out cold, and he decided that was a small mercy.

Walker and Bartowski stormed through the door. He let Walker deal with the cleanup while he smoothed Riah's torn bodice over her chest, hiding the black corset thing that hiked up her breasts. He felt for a pulse, watched her, and then rummaged in his pocket for the phone that buzzed there. Patterson was on the other end, and Casey curtly told him they had Watson and provided the room number when the General asked.

A medic entered. The man had been standing by, and Casey watched the man check Riah and then begin searching the room for whatever Watson had given her. The other agent found a slim aerosol canister in one of Watson's pockets. Casey took it, realized the asshole had used a knockout spray, probably as soon as the elevator doors closed. The medic found an empty syringe in the trash and vial of a well-known sedative. The agent finished his search of Watson's pockets, but he found no poisons or other drugs. After the medic checked the syringe, Casey was assured she'd be fine when she woke up. He thanked the man.

The cleaners arrived about the same time Patterson did. "Your pretty little girl okay?" Patterson asked as he watched them lift Watson onto a gurney. Casey was glad to see that they didn't bother being even remotely gentle. He gave Patterson an affirmative nod.

When they removed Watson, Walker took Bartowski and told Casey they'd meet him at Castle. He shed his jacket, lifted Riah to wrap it around her. Paul Patterson watched. "So what happened?"

"He dragged her out and drugged her," Casey said tersely.

"I want him," Patterson said. "He's going before a court-martial for the rapes and murders."

"You'll have to get in line," Casey told him.

Patterson snorted. "National security."

"Dark hole, no exit—and he's going to tell us about his other bosses," Casey promised.

He gathered Riah up and carried her down. Patterson went with them, and in the elevator, he asked Casey, "Would you like me to take her home, keep an eye on her, while you're debriefed?"

Casey shook his head.


At Castle, he put Riah in one of the bunks and joined Walker and Bartowski. Watson, Walker told him, was in a hospital prison unit. Casey wished they'd skipped the hospital part. It didn't take them long to report, and he was grimly amused that Beckman failed to reprimand him for shooting Watson. He let Walker and Bartowski go, and then he called Adderly.

"She's fine," he told her father before the man could start.

"Then where is she?"

Under other circumstances, Casey might have taken the opportunity yawning before him. Instead, he told V. H., "She's sleeping off the sedative Watson gave her." He ran through the evening's events for the other man. "I'll have her call you tomorrow," Casey finished.

"See that you do," V. H. said before he hung up.

Instead of moving her again, Casey decided to leave her where she was. He took his suit jacket from her, hung it up. He slipped her shoes off and then removed her necklace and the matching earrings before he unzipped her ruined dress and slid it off her. The leather corset thing underneath molded her from her breasts to the tops of her thighs. Her breasts were clearly visible though the black lace cups. He considered leaving it on her until she could enjoy letting him remove it, but it didn't look particularly comfortable, so he undid whatever the silver things were that held it closed in front—they weren't snaps, nor were they hooks and eyes, exactly. They looked a little like shirt studs gone wrong. He found a clean t-shirt in his locker and put it on her before he removed her stockings and put her beneath the sheet and blanket. He returned to his locker, found a pair of sweat pants and another t-shirt, changed, and considered whether the narrow cot would hold both of them. In the end, he pushed a second cot next to hers.

In the morning, he thought, he'd have to have Walker go get her some clothes.


Other than the bruises on her arm, Riah was none the worse for wear when the sedative wore off. She was nauseous, though, told him certain sedatives tended to do that to her. She rolled over, put her head on his shoulder, and asked what happened to Watson. When he told her he'd shot him, she kissed him thoroughly. "Good."

Casey considered shooting him again just to see how she might reward him.

He ran a hand over her waist. "What happened after you left the ballroom?"

She shuddered, moved a little closer to him. "The second the elevator doors closed, he sprayed something in my face." Riah shrugged. "I really don't remember anything after that."

He held her, considered carefully what he wanted to say. In the end, he should have held his peace or considered different words: "You're never doing that again."

Riah pushed back so she could see his face. "Of course I am," she said, and he heard a slightly angry note underneath. "Not exactly that, maybe, but it's my job, John."

"You could have been killed," he said tersely, and he watched her eyes sharpen.

"As I told my mother once, I could be killed walking to my car. For that matter, I could be killed getting the mail, shopping, or even eating."

All of those were true, he knew, but it didn't change how he felt. "Alright, you could be murdered." Before she could respond, he reminded her, "Watson had rape in mind before he killed you, Riah. You are not taking that kind of risk ever again."

Her jaw was tightly clenched, and her eyes sparked. "You and I both know I will, John," she said, and while she tried a conciliatory tone, it just didn't come out that way. "Women face greater risk in this work, true," she conceded tightly, "but that's no reason to simply fold, take a nice, safe desk job."

He began to have a lot of sympathy for her father's point of view in that moment. V. H. wanted her safe, and so did Casey. He wasn't always going to be there to make sure she survived, and he wasn't stupid enough to believe he'd always be able to save her if he was there. "You don't have to do this."

"I'll remind you of that when it's your turn," she bit out. She slapped her hand against his chest before he could tell her not to be a moron. "One of these days, John," she said between her teeth, "you'll come home, back from an assignment or a deployment, shot to hell, and I reserve the right to tell you that you don't have to do this."

Casey was about to tell her he did have to do it, but he stopped cold. He felt something strange as he returned her angry look.

He didn't come home to her—he came home. Period. This wasn't permanent. It couldn't be permanent. Permanent didn't work in their world.

Hell, home wasn't even in Los Angeles.

This was a job. She was an assignment, and he needed to remember that.

Something shifted in her face, and she paled. She pushed against him, slid off her cot and rushed away.

Casey should go after her, he knew. Instead, he lay there and thought about all the many reasons he should never talk to women.

By the time Walker turned up with breakfast and clean clothes for Riah, the two of them sat at opposite ends of the conference table doing their best to ignore one another. Casey wrote his report and answered e-mail. Riah, after calling her father and reassuring him she was none the worse for wear, did the same using her BlackBerry. He could have offered her a laptop, but that would entail talking to her.

She disappeared to shower and get dressed after eating the breakfast sandwich his partner brought.

Walker slid into a chair, and Casey finally looked up. "You two seemed a little tense."

Casey grunted, had no intention of discussing this with Walker, especially when she seemed determined to channel Bartowski.

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine," he told her, though it irritated him to say even that much. Still, despite the fact Walker was almost as bad about prying as Bartowski sometimes, she often stood down with less information.

Walker eyed him speculatively. "You fought."

Casey's jaw went rigid, and he dropped his eyes to his laptop.

"A little advice, Major."

He gave her a hard look. Given the state of Walker's personal life, he wasn't sure what advice she could offer that would be worth the effort.

"Never tell a woman with the training to kill you that she isn't capable of doing the job."

For a guess, it was a damned good one—unless she'd run the surveillance feeds before coming downstairs. Then he remembered what he'd told Riah before she left him in the dark corner of the ballroom. "I didn't say she wasn't capable."

And that's another reason I should never talk to women, he thought, as amusement slid into Walker's eyes. It irritated him that he had essentially confirmed the gist of what she said.

"You implied it," she told him. She leaned forward, crossed her arms on the cold, steel table. "Or did you say something worse to her this morning?"

Casey attempted deflection by asking if she'd checked on Watson. It didn't matter what Walker answered since he'd already done so, but it got her off his personal life.


He spent most of the day wondering if the silent treatment would hold when he and Riah went home. By the end of the day, he was irritated to realize he really had questioned her ability. Objectively, she didn't have the best track record, but she had undeniable skills. Watson had cheated, true, but she had taken the man down once. There was a good chance she could have done so a second time.

As a result, he had apologizing to do.

Most people thought he never did. It wasn't true, but it was true he didn't do it well. He wasn't often all that sincere when he had to do it, but this time he needed to be sincere. It didn't help that a florist delivered pink roses to Riah in the early afternoon. Casey was certain they'd come from Paul Patterson when that amused little smile curled her lips as she read the card.

Long after she went back upstairs, he snagged it, read the message: I'm pleased you're fine. Thank you for what you did. He gritted his teeth over the next line, felt the card crumple as he tried to find his calm: Ditch young John and run away with me.

"I won't, you know," he heard her say.

She stood on the landing when he shot a look at her. He watched her come slowly down the stairs. She smiled slightly and tugged the card from his fingers. She read it again, and then she met his eyes. "I suspect he knew you'd read that."

"He likes you," he said gruffly.

"And I like him." She returned his gaze. "I do my job, John, just as you do yours. You know as well as I do that as long as it is my job, I'll do what's asked of me. Neither you nor my father get to decide where the lines of duty are."

He nearly retorted that as the director general, her father certainly did get to determine the boundaries of her job, but since she was giving him an out of sorts, he remained silent. She rewarded him by rising up to kiss him. He slid his arms around her, and then, purely in the interests of maintaining friendly relations, he gave her a soft, "Understood."

It was gratifying that she recognized the I'm sorry he really meant and pulled him down for a more thorough kiss. He momentarily weighed the merits of the couch or the bedroom for the make-up sex he was pretty sure she was about to give him. As her kiss shifted, though, he revised that. Her hands worked at his clothes, and she apparently was more dexterous since she was making better progress than he.

A thought occurred to him, and he ground against her.

"If you're going to drive," he growled in her ear, "put that black thing you were wearing last night back on." As an added incentive, he ran a hand under her shirt hem and down inside the waistband of her jeans.

Her breath caught next to his ear, and she breathed, "Your t-shirt?"

Casey couldn't stop the amused snort. He undid the button of her jeans. "Yeah, because you swimming in cotton is all kinds of sexy," he deadpanned with a sarcastic edge before he caught her mouth.

"Oh," she moaned as he broke the kiss and his fingers found her. "You mean the Gaultier."

Casey chose to deliberately misunderstand her. "Not interested in goats," he told her, running one of his hands up to cup her breast, "but that black leather with the scraps of lace is certainly inspiring."

Riah slid her hands slowly off him and stepped back. He let her go. Her smile was his only warning. "I bought the leather and lace panties that go with it."

She hadn't been wearing those the night before. He knew she'd only worn black lace. "What do those look like?" he asked, and he realized he sounded like he'd run ten miles flat-out.

Her smile was pure invitation. "Come find out." She headed back toward the stairs, looked over her shoulder. "Maybe you should give me a few minutes."

"One," he agreed. One of her brows shot up. "Two maximum."

Delayed gratification, he reminded himself, pictured that corset and wondered where she got it. He'd paid a visit to La Perla, intent on replacing the panties he'd destroyed, and while he'd seen a number of bustiers and things similar to what she'd worn the night before, he hadn't seen that. He shot a look at his watch, decided to split the difference at a minute and a half.

When he stepped inside their bedroom, she looked like she couldn't decide whether to cover herself or run. "Just don't expect whips and chains," she said. The combination of that suggestion and the sight of her in that corset above what she had claimed were panties had him considering a number of possibilities. Fortunately, he checked the impulse to tell her he could supply the chains when he caught the edge of nervous fear on her face.

Edmonton, he thought. Whips and chains had been involved there, and not in a pleasant way. He wondered that she had the starch to even make that crack.

Casey walked toward her, slid his hands over the leather encasing her waist. It looked sleekly smooth, but there was a faint texture to it, and it was surprisingly cool under his fingers. He liked the way it looked on her, the way it pushed her breasts up and drew attention to the curve of hip despite covering most of that curve. He slid one of his hands up and over the lace that skimmed her breasts. "Where do you buy this stuff?" he asked. He hadn't meant to ask that out loud.

She went a becoming deep pink. "There's a place," and her breath hitched as he turned her a bit more, leaned her back into his chest, "Rodeo Drive."

"La Perla," he said softly next to her ear and then pressed his mouth below it. He licked at her skin, then bit very gently down. Her head fell back against him. She nodded, and Casey couldn't resist asking, "Have you always worn obscene underwear?" He nipped his way down her throat while he waited for her answer.

His hands slid down, found the thin strip of skin between the bottom of the corset and the top of the matching panties. His fingers slipped inside, noticed the material barely covered the first phalanges of his fingers before he found her.

"No," she breathed, and that breath hitched before she shuddered as Casey slid one long finger further, slipped it inside her.

"Take me shopping with you," he said against her shoulder.

That made her laugh, but it ended in a moan as he moved his finger and stroked his other hand back up to her breast. "Beautiful," he murmured against her cheek, "so beautiful."

To his surprise, she went rigid at his words. Casey was about to ask her what was wrong when he felt the tension go out of her. She turned her head and met his mouth. He kissed over her cheek toward her ear, pushed her ponytail over her shoulder and kissed around to her nape. She moaned. He'd discovered some time ago what his mouth on that part of her did to her, but he rarely exploited it.

He turned her again so that her right side was toward him. One hand toyed with one of the front closures, and the other fingered the knotted bow at her bottom. "Which way should I open it?" he asked, his mouth once more on her skin. When he had kissed to the ball of her shoulder, he made a deep, soft sort of growl and added, "Faster to open the front," and his teeth grazed her shoulder, "but might be more fun to unlace you."

Her breathing shallowed, and Casey kissed down her arm. He knelt and opened his mouth on the spot just below her hip where the leather ended. He dropped his hand from her stomach to her ankle and lightly traced the round of bone on its inside before he lightly ran his fingers up the inside of her leg. It trembled a second beneath his touch, and her hand slid into his hair. He kissed along the lower edge of the leather strap that held her panties in place.

"I hate to break it to you," he said softly against her skin, "but these don't exactly qualify as panties."

"They don't?" she breathed as his fingers stroked over the scrap of lace that covered her.

"No," he said and curled his fingers inside the top of them. "Riah, they don't even really cover you."

She sucked in a breath that didn't sound as though it was nearly as deep as it needed to be. "That's why I didn't wear them."

He turned her again, his still tangled in the laces in the back. He kissed along the line of the not-panties, and stroked his free hand toward her opposite hip as he went. He pushed his fingers under the waistband and then over her bottom and down her legs. The panties dropped to her ankles, and Casey's tongue ran over her.

After he raised one foot and then the other to remove them completely, he slid up her body and kissed her breathless. "I thought you were driving," he said against her mouth.

"I don't think I have a license for this," she breathed.

His fingers sorted through the corset's laces, learned the knot and untangled it while he considered his reply. "Practice," he assured her. "You just need a few trial laps."

"Show me," she whispered.

There were many things he could show her, he thought, but it might be more fun to let her discover them herself. He whispered for her to take his clothes off, and he kissed her while her hands moved to do so. His fingers slowly drew the ends of her laces free while she unfastened his clothes, and then her hands stalled. He lifted his mouth from hers and studied her. "Not finished," he told her and then leaned in and stole her breath.

Her fingers went back to work, pushed fabric from him and then started kissing over his exposed skin. Casey's eyes closed, and his fingers stilled as she licked and nipped at his skin. Her hands glided over him, and he considered taking control from her again when her hands hesitated and her mouth stilled. "I'd rather you drove," she said against his throat, and then she did as he had done, bit gently with her teeth a moment before she traced the bite with her tongue.

One of his hands came around and caught her chin, tipped her face so he could plunder her mouth. "Can't always be a passenger, Riah," he said against her lips.

"Need a learner's permit," she breathed.

He snorted. "Intermediate, maybe," he conceded, but she took no offense.

After a moment, she whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

There was a kind of license in that question, and he considered it carefully. She was a little skittish, and he didn't need to make her balk completely. He let his mouth trace down to where the edge of the corset's lace cups cradled her. "For now, Riah, just touch me."

Apparently, she found that easy, until his mouth closed over the lace covering her tight nipple. Her hands faltered then clutched at him. He sucked at her nipple and continued to draw the laces from their holes, but then one stuck. He released her breast and turned her. She'd gone stiff, and it belatedly occurred to him that when he turned her away from him she might think he didn't like what she had been doing. He bent and sucked at her nape, and when he felt her relax, he murmured, "The only problem with this thing is that it takes too damn long to get it off this way."

Riah made a kind of strangled giggle at that. "I knew you were impatient unwrapping your presents."

He grinned against her skin, remembered that morning in Chicago when she had first made that accusation. "And I told you I planned to take my time over unwrapping you." He hadn't planned to take this much time, though, so he tugged at the laces again. "The key," he told her softly, "is delayed gratification."

"When do I get the gratification part?" she breathed as he skated his knuckles on her exposed spine.

A laugh rumbled out of him. "Later." The lace cleared the last hole, and he put a hand on her stomach to hold the leather in place a moment longer. He used the same hand to pull her against him so that her skin warmed his, and then Casey slid the corset away from her body. He nearly amended his answer to now as he looked down at her.

"Beautiful," he repeated, and once again, Riah froze in his arms.

Her breathing rasped, and she pulled against his arms. Casey reflexively tightened them, and she struggled harder. "Riah?"

She didn't say a word, simply struggled while she fought for breath. He let her go, but before Casey could say anything, she hunched, wrapped her arms around her, and panted, "He said that." He stared at her back, at the scars that crossed her flesh. "He said I was beautiful, and he . . . touched me." The last was said so faintly Casey could barely hear her.

He was about to demand who, but it sank in. The bastard in Edmonton. He'd read the reports, had even been reminded of it when he entered their room.

Her face was pale when she glanced back at him. Her "sorry" was almost too soft to hear.

Looking at her profile, Casey decided he wasn't letting this into their bedroom. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

She blinked. She drew a deep breath as she studied him, and then she nodded.

Slowly, he reached out, drew her back where she had been and slowly slid his arms around her. He waited for her to relax, and then he said, "I won't hurt you, Riah." He leaned in to kiss her cheek. "I promise I won't hurt you."

"I know," she said. "I just . . . when you said . . . ."

"You are, you know," he told her, but he didn't use the word this time. He considered how jumpy she had been when she first moved in, how she did better if she knew what to expect. "You can tell me no," he told her, "and I'll respect that." He waited for her nod. "This is what I want," and he dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. "I want to bend you over the edge of the bed so that you lie on your stomach." She nodded. They had stayed primarily with positions that had them facing one another, he realized, though it hadn't been a conscious choice on his part. The closest they had come to this was that morning he'd learned how sensitive the back of her neck was. "I want to take you from behind," he told her. She tensed a little, but nothing like she had before. "Can you let me do that?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

He exploited her body's responses to him, opened his mouth on her nape and slid a hand down her stomach and fingers through the curls that covered her. "If you ask, I'll stop," he told her. "All you have to do is ask." She looked back at him, and he met her eyes. "Or say no now," he offered. "There are other things we can do instead."

"Okay," she breathed.

To be absolutely sure, he asked, "Okay what?"

They stood next to the bed, faced it, and she asked, "How does this work?"

Casey grinned. He told her what to do, and she bent forward, lay down and he moved behind her, pushed her feet a little further apart as he kissed slowly down her spine. She was tense at first, but she slowly relaxed as his hands ran over her. When he kissed back up, he put a little weight on her and slid an arm under and around her, lifted her a little. He stroked her with his other hand, and when she gasped, he asked, "Ready?"

She nodded, and he eased his hand out from under her and over her hip and then positioned himself. "You sure?"

"Yes," she breathed, and he slid inside.

Riah moaned as he moved, and he shifted his hips a little. Her back arched. Words tumbled out of her, and Casey got a shock. They didn't talk a lot during sex, but the suggestions coming out of her mouth stunned him. She told him what to do in some of the crudest terms he'd ever heard. "I knew you should drive," he told her as he thrust again, and she screamed his name. He was ready to scream hers a moment or so later when she shoved back into him, and he came harder than he could remember.

He knew he was crushing her, knew he should move, but damned if he could. He felt her raise her head and turn it toward him. Her mouth was at his ear. "What other ideas do you have," she breathed and then traced the ridges of his ear with the tip of her tongue.

"None I'll be able to do anything about for a while," he told her. "Maybe you could think of something."

She could, as it turned out, and Casey was happy to let her do the thinking—the doing, too.

He took her to dinner at the Italian place he'd taken her once before, and while they waited for their food, he pulled her closer on the bench and whispered in her ear, "The first time I brought you here and you tasted your pasta," he paused to kiss her throat, "you looked like you do after sex."

Riah turned her head, met his mouth, and he wondered how upset she would be if they just left without eating.

He was about to ask when a female voice said, "Hello, Johnny. New toy?"