Chapter 1

''I hear something!'' Jaime had insisted.

Steve was still holding her close, her body in direct contact with his as they stood in the surf. ''Birds?'' he suggested. ''Water...wind?'' There was no one around for many, many miles...except the two doctors on the other side of the private island. ''Maybe...Mark and Rudy grilling hot dogs?''

''Shhh!'' Jaime listened intently for a few more moments, then shook her head. ''Gone now. But I heard the word 'Goldman...and then something that sounded like 'tree-keepers' or 'beekeepers'...''

''Somehow, I don't think Oscar raises bees in his backyard for fun and profit, Sweetheart,'' Steve told her lightly. ''Which arm do you wanna slug?'' he asked (knowing it was coming, for a crack like that).

''Neither; I'd rather do this...'' Jaime tilted her head up, stared directly into her husband's smiling eyes and pressed her mouth fully against his. They were as close together as a man and a woman who were still clothed could be (however slight those clothes might have been). Their eyes remained open, gazing down into the depths of each other's souls and uniting there.

''Here...or in the house?'' Steve panted when they had to catch their breath.

''Both!''

Mark and Rudy were, in fact, not grilling hot dogs, but had made a beeline for the two biggest steaks in their kitchen - and their own grill outside the cabin. It was a 'working vacation' for both of them, but a vacation, nonetheless. Aside from meeting with Steve and Jaime every morning (just for 'fine tuning'), Mark would be working their cases and progress into his charts and reports on PTSD (being careful to leave out any identifying factors or mention of bionics, of course). Rudy's main 'assignment' was to be some rest and recuperation of his own. During the two months Grant Kingsley and Cobra had terrorized them all, the older doctor had experienced several 'cardiac incidents'; nothing that ventured into the realm of a full-fledged cardiac arrest and he had fully recovered now, but two weeks of sunshine, sand and relaxation would do wonders for his vigor...and his outlook. His 'job' while they were here was to check on Steve and Jaime once a day - Steve's newly-healed left arm and ribcage and Jaime's adjustment to two new legs - and spend the rest of the day doing as little as humanly possible and simply enjoying himself. Digging into a thick, juicy grilled steak was an excellent start.

Steve luxuriated in finally being able to wrap both of his arms around Jaime...and hold her the way he liked best, across his chest where his fingers could dance through her hair - and sometimes (like right now) they could feel each other's heartbeats. There were no words necessary...for either of them. They'd said all they needed to say - with their hands, lips and bodies. They laid close together, intertwined, catching their breath and scarcely daring to believe that (after two months of pure Hell) such perfect bliss was actually possible.

The sun was just beginning to paint the horizon over the water in glorious shades of pink, purple and fiery orange when Jaime emerged from the cabin with a platter of fish...and laughed at her husband. ''Do you mean to tell me I tossed a salad, sliced the fresh bread they left for us, made a lemon butter sauce and seasoned the fish...and the grill still isn't lit?''

''Rhythms are slower on the islands, Sweetheart...just going with the flow,'' Steve told her.

''Want me to light it for you? You...can hold the platter,'' she said, handing him the fish before he had a chance to even open his mouth to disagree. Within seconds, tiny wisps of smoke were coming from the coals and very soon they glowed almost the same bright orange color as the sky.

''I was just...saving myself for later,'' Steve chuckled. He held the platter back out to Jaime, but suddenly she was standing stock-still, listening with a finger to her lips. ''Jaime...?'' he asked, after several minutes.

Jaime shook her head...but clearly not in response to her husband. She was trying - and failing - to make sense of what she thought she'd heard. ''Probably nothing,'' she said, trying to pass it off. ''Just some weird series of words - or maybe names...I'm not sure.''

''Must be those Island spirits talking to you again,'' Steve joked. (He made a mental note to consult privately with the doctors in the morning.)

''And Kingsley's mind control devices were ground to dust,'' Russ summarized. ''I saw to it myself.''

''Oscar, are you sure - really 100 percent sure - there's no chance of further problems with this...this 'mind control' garbage?'' Hansen sputtered.

''Absolutely,'' Oscar promised. ''We can safely go ahead now with plans and arrangements for the Peacekeepers Conference.''