"Well, I'm impressed," Jack McCoy said to himself as he scanned the New York Ledger, via the internet.

After departing the 'sardine express' as McCoy had dubbed the night train that had taken them from Paris to the southern tip of France, he and his wife had collapsed in the first of the seven the spacious bedrooms that were housed in Le Villa de Hastings. After a nap and a long, hot shower McCoy had put on a pair swim trunks and a tee shirt before venturing towards the French doors leding to an Olympic pool over looking the Mediterranean Sea. The computer in the library he stumbled upon along the way caused him to make a quick detour.

"Looks like somebody got sidetracked," Brooke said as she peered over his shoulder at the screen. "Are you homesick all ready?"

"I just thought I'd see if Mike made it to the benefit last night. Image my surprise when I saw Connie's dance partnerTake a look at this."

Brooke did as she was told and immediately began to giggle.

"Maybe she was on a recruiting drive and she landed Randy. Gee Jack if I'm right, you could have Randall Dworkin, Esquire right down the hall from you. Just think about the fun you two could have all day, every day."

"Don't joke about something like that," he deadpanned. "Even Mike doesn't look too thrilled with this Dworkin business."

"Where?"

"There, in the corner."

Brooke leaned in as she squinted. After a moment she nodded in agreement as she studied a dismayed looking Cutter standing in the background. Brooke smiled knowingly at the obvious reason for the EADA's discomfort.

"When it happens, you know you can't say a word after all of the office romances you've had."

McCoy gave her a skeptical glance as he swiveled the chair around.

"Ever here the expression 'do as I say, not as I do'?"

"Ever hear the expression 'live and let live'?"

"Live and let die would be more fitting for a prosecutor," he muttered.

"When you're done, I should check the Islip Bulletin and see how Jake's doing with the Messer case."

"In a minute," he said as he slipped an arm around her and pulled her onto his lap. "First, I want to know what happened to the purple bikini."

Brooke looked down at the conservative blue one piece she'd pulled from her suitcase that morning and then challengingly back at her husband.

"Why? Does this one make me look fat?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he countered with a chuckle. "You know I like the purple."

"Too much skin in front of your ex-wife and daughter. That's why I didn't pack it."

"I knew you'd say that, so I packed it in my bag," he said with a triumphant smirk. "Besides, no one's here yet. Go change and we can take a walk on the beach, maybe get some sun before Liz and Don get here."

"It would serve you right if I went out and found you a Speedo to wear," she countered with a smirk before turning towards the door.

Not long afterwards the pair found themselves walking passed trendy shops and a variety of food and drink outlets on their way to the beach. After making a brief stop to acquire a few provisions for their afternoon excursion, the couple continued on their journey.

"Are you going to tell me what you found out about Charlie while I was upstairs or do I have to do my own Google search," Brooke asked.

McCoy looked at his wife with wide eyes as he began short lived protests that were silenced by Brooke's unwavering gaze.

"I found their marriage announcement in one of the local papers along with a picture of them from the day of the ceremony."

"And?"

Brooke listened intently as McCoy indifferently rattled off facts about his new son in law.

Charles Walter Henning was a graduate of Harvard's class of 1990, from which he'd immediately found a position with the New York Times that he stayed with for the next five years. After making a name for himself on the Times international desk, the young reporter was noticed by the managing editor for Reuter's foreign correspondence bureau. Henning spent the next several years as a roving correspondent who covered such hot beds as the Sudan and Afghanistan. Never married, McCoy found nothing about the other man's personal life and nothing of consequence in the criminal records section of his profile.

"Did you really expect to find anything in the criminal records data base," Brooke asked amusement as McCoy led her across the sand towards one of the less populated areas by the water."God Jack, I hope you remembered not to leave a trail on that computer. After all, I'm sure his parents use it when they use the villa."

"I don't know why everyone seems to think I'm a technological idiot," he shot back impatiently. "I've worked on enough cases involving computer fraud to know to delete any trace I'd even been on the machine and if you'd seen some of the characters my daughter brought home as a teenager, you'd have looked at the criminal records data base yourself."

"Fine. At least you put your mind at ease that Charlie's not a felon and he doesn't have a woman waiting for him in every port."

"He's a risk taker though," he said with sudden seriousness as he joined Brooke on the blanket. "When he was covering Beijing, Henning was expelled for writing about human rights violations by the Chinese government. In Iraq, he was jailed for five days on suspected terrorist charges."

"Jack, did you expect a daughter of yours would be happy with a safe little pencil pusher," Brooke asked as she handed him one of two sandwiches in her hands.

"After the hell Becky's given Liz and myself over the years for taking what she viewed as unnecessary chances, yes. I thought she'd end up with an accountant or a stock broker with a quiet life in the suburbs with 2.5 kids."

"I thought you knew women. I thought you at least knew your own child."

"Let me guess, it that 'bad boy' thing," McCoy said with a grimace as a long forgotten conversation with his former assistant Serna Southeryn jumped to the front of his consciousness. "I thought women out grew that kind of thing when they left school."

"Some women never out grow it," she remarked as she thoughtfully took another bit of her sandwich. "And Becky being your daughter…well…"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm sure Becky adored her tough talking, motorcycle riding Dad when she was little. Later, when she grew up and found out someone with such a 'bad boy' persona was equally hard headed about his principals, I'm sure she looked for those qualities in the men she got involved with."

"In other words; it's my fault she's chosen the men she has?"

"Exactly, "Brooke replied with a satisfied nod as she wiped her hands before fishing a bottle of sun tan lotion from one of the brown sacks.

"You sound like my ex-wife."

"I know Judge Donnelly by reputation, so I'll take that remark as a compliment. Now, make yourself useful and put some of this on my back."

"My pleasure," he replied as McCoy watched her remove the oversized cotton shirt that had covered her bikini.

McCoy slipped off his own shirt and squeezed some of the slick, sweet smelling liquid into his palms before running his hands over her slender shoulders.

Brooke smiled a catlike smile as she settled into the sandy mattress beneath the blanket. She felt an immediate sense of well being come over her as his hands continued down her back.

As his hands moved firmly, appreciatively over her, Brooke closed her eyes and let her mind focus on the warmth of the hands that quickly moved her thoughts to their love making the night before. Soon, she felt his breath on her neck as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Time for the other side," he said softly as he offered her his hand.

Brooke nodded as she reached up and pulled him to her. As his lips met hers, McCoy lay on his side. His limbs wrapped around hers as the last of his own cares disappeared, as well.

"Why don't you two just go get a room?"

The sound of her voice so surprised him that McCoy instinctively pulled back from his current wife.

"Liz."

The woman in the emerald one piece suit gave him the mocking scowl he knew so well. It was a look of disapproving superiority with the faintest hint of amusement.

Brooke observed the two with open amusement as McCoy reached for his shirt before standing.

"Well, don't get dressed on my account Jack. It's not like we're still married."

"You're in better spirits than I expected," McCoy shot back as he offered Brooke his hand."Given the fact three fourths of what you've collected in your hope chest for our daughter became obsolete over night."

"I won't say I'm thrilled Rebecca eloping, but bridal shower napkins and lace keepsakes are the least of my concerns."

Brooke smiled at the man in Bermuda shorts and a straw hat that stood beside Judge Elizabeth Donnelly.

"We didn't expect you two until early this evening," Brooke said. "Becky didn't think you'd be leaving Manhattan until sometime Friday night. She said you were waiting on a verdict?"

"Jury surprised everyone and came back before lunch," Donnelly explained. "Luckily, Don had already taken the whole day so he could run some last minutes errands before we left New York. We were able to push the reservation forward … What am I thinking? You two haven't met have you? Brooke McCoy, Don Cragen."

"I know Captain Cragen by reputation," Brooke said she silently recalled the roll the captain had played in helping McCoy and Mike Logan gather evidence against Brooke former brother in law nearly a year before.

After pleasantries were exchanged, Cragen mentioned his desire for a bottle of Perrier water. Brooke recognizing the request as a subtle way to give the two parents a chance to compare notes on their daughter, slipped on her cover up and walked with Cragen towards the row of concession stands in the distance.

McCoy motioned towards the blanket as he sat and shifted through the bags.

"I can offer you a can of Coke or a bottle of pink lemonade. If you want something stronger, we'll have to hike back up –"

"I drank enough on the plane so I could be civil to our child when she met us at the airport," Donnelly remarked as she reached for the lemonade. "God, do you believe it? Not only does she run off and get married, she does it in another country! We're we really such horrible parents that she couldn't have at least invited us to her wedding?"

"Come on Liz," McCoy said as he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You know it wasn't about us. She's young. She's in love and she was in Paris. What more-"

"Monte Carlo," Donnelly spat back after swallowing some lemonade. "He proposed to her in Monte Carlo. The least she could have done was to call us and ask us to meet them in Paris for the ceremony."

"Maybe she didn't want to go through all the hassle her parents did when they tried to tie the knot," he countered thoughtfully. "It took us three tries, remember? Even then, it was touch and go for a while."

"We didn't have a relative with the authority to marry us," Donnelly said with a smirk. "I'm a judge, Jack. I could have-"

"Liz, it's done. Now, I did ask Becky about a reception or even a second ceremony and she said if it meant that much to you, she and Charlie-"

"To me? No," Donnelly said softly. "If Rebecca's content with things as they are, I can't ask her to go through a ceremony in Manhattan just to pacify me."

"Meaning you're saving the guilt for something you want her to do more," McCoy said with a chuckle.

"Jack McCoy! How can you even think-," Donnelly began with feigned innocence.

"Because I was married to you for ten years; definitely long enough to know how you operate. Now, let me guess…you want her to convince her husband to move close to you when they come back to New York?"

"Well do you blame me," Donnelly answered defensively. "I mean, this will be our first grandchild. I'll be retiring in a few…" Donnelly voice trailed off as the color drained from McCoy's face.

Silently she chastised her only child. Donnelly knew her daughter had been apprehensive about telling both her father and new stepmother about her pregnancy; even more than one would naturally expect, given that her father and his wife had just lost a child of their own. At first Becky had wanted her mother to do it and Donnelly declined swiftly and firmly.

"He's your Father, Rebecca. I'm not doing your dirty work for you" Donnelly had told her daughter. "He deserves to hear it from you."

"Jack, I'm sorry," Donnelly said as she took off her sunglasses and searched his face as she tried to accurately assess the damage. "She was supposed to tell you before you left Paris."

McCoy abruptly stood and began gathering his belongings.

"Jack, what…where are you going," Donnelly demanded after standing and watching him scoop up the blanket before he began to swiftly stride towards the boardwalk. "Damn it Jack! I know you're upset, but-"

"Listen, when you see Brooke just tell her to head back to Manhattan and I'll call her after-"

"What," Donnelly snapped as she reached for his arm with both hands in an effort to slow him down. "Just stop and tell me where the hell you think you're going!"

"Can't involve another officer of the court in a homicide."