Author's note: As of Jan. 10, 2014, I edited Chapter 9, so you may wish to re-read it. There are various edits throughout the chapters, but none affect the storyline.

10.

The wind was roaring during a sudden fall thunderstorm which exploded in the skies over Austin, Texas. Small animals scurried to find cover, dogs howled at the cracking sound of thunder, and people driving home hurried through flooded streets, attempting to see through windshields blocked by sheets of pelting rain and hail.

It was late Saturday afternoon, already getting dark, and Teresa was in her apartment, safe from the rain. She hadn't gone out all day. Instead, she spent a couple of hours trying to decide what to wear that night on her date with Mark Johnson. The rain made it necessary to wear her rubber boots, which didn't look very chic, and a rain poncho with a hood, which was even worse.

The letter Jane had slipped under her door a few days earlier had left her unmoved. Remembering all the letters he'd written her from the island, letters she'd cherished and re-read dozens of times, she flung the letter down on the couch and for a moment she thought she would get all his letters and burn them. But something stopped her. She picked up the letter and put it in the box with the others. Then she turned her attention to the first date she'd had in years. I need to stop thinking about Jane. I'm going out tonight with someone who just might be better boyfriend material. Have to decide what to wear…She had planned to wear a short black sleeveless dress with a black cardigan sweater over it, but when she tried it on and saw herself in the mirror, she felt that it made her look old and washed out. I need something with color in it. If only I could wear jeans and a T shirt to this place we're going.

So she took out her one other article of non-work clothing: a dark gray form-fitting wool knee-length skirt, which showed off her slender waist and hips to good advantage. She had a collection of shirts and blouses, but none of them seemed quite right. She finally chose a peacock blue silk shirt that she sometimes wore to work. It looked better, but not the effect she was trying to achieve. She didn't know how to look alluring because she had never wanted to look alluring. She unbuttoned the shirt as low as she dared. The gold cross necklace she always wore seemed to be a reprimand for attempting to depart from her usual modest attire.

It wasn't from shyness or lack of interest that Teresa was so phobic about dressing to look attractive. She never really felt comfortable with men she dated (except one Walter Mashburn, who incited passion in her body but nothing else.) The reasons were complex: although Patrick had broken her heart for the last time and a relationship with him was hopeless, she still loved him and it was difficult to make herself attractive for anyone else. Her ambivalence about the success of long-term relationships also contributed to her unease.

Another reason was her lack of confidence in her beauty and sexuality. She was a remarkably striking woman, still radiating the glow of youth even though she was past forty. She looked at herself in the mirror and didn't see a beauty. Kim Fischer looked at her and saw a beauty, though, and was envious. And it was not only Mark who noticed her: half a dozen men in the office had crushes on her. Of course Patrick thought she was exquisite (though he never let on) and poor young Wiley was hopelessly smitten. Abbott observed her with approval. Even Cho acknowledged that in addition to being a brilliant agent she was also lovely to look at (although his interest was more fraternal than romantic.) Teresa was unaware of the power she wielded over others simply by being beautiful.

And then there was her hair, and the makeup…

She liked her hair to be natural and flowing in loose waves over her shoulders. This was the way it looked best. It was a simple style. She also liked to put her hair up, which made her look a little like a woman from the late nineteenth century. Maybe up was better in the rain-her hair tended to become wild with frizz when it got wet.

She put her hair up and subjected the result to a critical glance in the mirror. It was OK. And the red lipstick she applied made her face seem less pale. She didn't use much eye makeup because she instinctively knew that her eyes didn't need to be enhanced. They were large and framed with thick dark lashes and graceful brows. Their arresting color varied according to her mood and the light: from pale translucent leaf green to dark emerald.

She put on a gold bracelet that she rarely wore. It had been a present from Patrick several years ago; she had tried to refuse it politely but he insisted that she take it. Something in her needed a tangible reminder of him so she would not go too far on this first date with Mark.

At 7:30 pm he was standing at her front door, his coat still dripping from the rain, carrying a large umbrella.

Teresa felt a pounding in her chest. What if he tries to kiss me later? She hoped she wasn't sweating.

"Hey," Mark said smiling and carefully placing the wet umbrella in a corner of the foyer, "It's still bad out there.

Roads are flooded and it's going to rain all night. But our date must go on! We're not letting a little rain interfere with our plans."

She took a few hesitant steps toward him.

"Should we call the restaurant and say we'll be late?"

"I think we can make it before 8:00."

"OK." She put on her poncho and boots. She had no idea where her umbrella was.

"Look at you! You look like a first grader!" he teased her.

Teresa gave him the largest smile she could muster.

"The car's right outside. Here, share my umbrella." They huddled under it and hurried to the black SUV. He helped her get in, closed the door, then walked around to the driver's side and got in. Good manners, that's a plus. His car was similar to her own, and for a moment she had a painful flashback of the many conversations with Patrick in that vehicle. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Mark turned his head very slightly towards her as he began to drive. "Are you all right?" He could guess what was likely to be going through her mind.

"Oh, I'm fine! I just hate rain, that's all."

"Not crazy about it either. But you'll love this restaurant. It's new and it's already hard to get a reservation."

"What kind of food?" Teresa was glad she was able to make conversation.

"French. I hope that's OK? They make a particularly delicious duck confit and the wines are incredible."

Teresa rarely dined at expensive restaurants, and was not well versed in French food or wine.

"French food is perfect," she answered with a cheerfulness she didn't feel.

"Great! I hope you'll have dessert."

"If I'm not too full from dinner…"

"You have to have the crème brulée."

Teresa summoned another smile, saying, "Then I will. But you'll have to share it with me."

A few minutes later the SUV was at the door of a large white and chrome modern building with "Chérie" in Italic script on its tall glass doors. This was the most impressive restaurant Teresa had ever seen. Even Walter Mashburn hadn't taken her to a place like this. She was self-conscious about her rain gear, but at least she could remove the rain poncho.

They were greeted at the door by an obsequious maître d' who took their coats and umbrella. She was dazzled by the lavish lounge with its modern sofa and huge bouquets of flowers. They were led into an immense, dimly lit room with large and small tables and booths along the perimeter. Each table had a white tablecloth, a vase with a single red rose, and a tiny votive candle. Mark had chosen a table for two in a secluded corner. She noticed for the second time that he moved gracefully, like a dancer. She was beginning to like his looks.

"Madame et monsieur, s'il vous plaît." The maître d' gestured toward the table and pulled the chair out for Teresa. Mark pulled out his own chair and sat across from her. Better not make her even more nervous, he thought. She's never been in a place like this before. Like a fish out of water. He decided to take command and order for her.

Mark ordered in French as soon as a haughty waiter appeared.

"Teresa, I hope you don't mind if I order some of my favorites for you."

She was completely floored by the fact that he spoke French. When she recovered from that shock, she was grateful that he was ordering for them both to spare her embarrassment. Very considerate, she thought. And she liked the way he took command. Patrick had never taken her on a real date before, but in this situation he would also have taken command. Why do I even care about that in a man? Maybe because I was in command of a team for so many years that it feels good to have someone else take care of things. But commanding can lead to controlling…I don't want another Jane. I'm not allowing anyone to control me.

She spread the snowy linen napkin in her lap and answered,"I really appreciate that. I don't know French."

Might as well be honest. Start things off on the right foot.

"I spent some time in France when I was a kid. Whenever I have vacation time, I go to Paris or the Riviera. Have you ever been there?"

"No to both, I'm afraid. I've always wanted to go, though."

"I can picture you there," said Mark as he looked meaningfully into her eyes, but only for a second.

She blushed, and was angry with herself for not being able to control it. Damn! Now he knows he's got me hooked. He's practically promising to take me to France with him. Like Walter. But maybe this time I should go. Not too soon, though.

She changed the subject after they were both silent for a long moment.

"Do you enjoy working with us?"

"I'm out of my domain, I'll admit, but being a police consultant to this case is interesting. But let's not talk about work. Tell me about yourself."

This was the question Teresa was least equipped to answer.

"Mark, you should know that I don't talk much about my private life. I always felt it was unprofessional at work as a team leader. I'm not the confiding type. But I'll tell you a few things. I grew up in Chicago and lost my mother when I was twelve, raised three brothers, had an alcoholic father. I like basketball, I run, I read literature when I get the chance-I've had more time lately since I'm no longer chief or special agent anymore. The paperwork used to be endless."

"I'm glad you have time to read now. I have always enjoyed great novels and especially poetry."

At least we have something in common. "How about your background?"

"You sound like a cop! Old habit, I guess!" He laughed. "Not much to tell. Military family. Moved around a lot in the States and Europe. Decided to be a cop after finishing college. Married once, divorced, no kids. Oh, look, here's our salads." The haughty waiter had returned with a beautiful, artfully arranged plate of greens for them. Then the sommelier brought over two bottles of red wine and there was a brief discussion in French. Mark chose one of the bottles, tasted the wine, and pronounced it satisfactory. Even Walter couldn't do this. She admired the dark blood-red ruby color as she lifted her glass and sniffed.

"A toast! To more dates!"

She forced a smile (Mark wasn't fooled) and they clinked the glasses together.