CHAPTER EIGHT

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John stood at the window to watch the two of them, standing back far enough so neither could see him, even though he knew they fully expected him to be there.

Donovan kept his back to the cabin, and Juliet angled herself slightly away.

Oh yeah, they knew he was watching. But he wasn't actually concerned about their conversation. Juliet would tell him anything he needed to know, and Donovan expected that. And Donovan wouldn't say anything to her—probably—that he wouldn't say in front of John.

The point of making it 'private' was for a close-up eyes-on sussing out of the opposition with no other distractions (e.g., John) around. Juliet wouldn't have agreed to go out there if she hadn't wanted this as well.

What he was really thinking about, as he watched their body language, was Shawn Spencer.

Almost anyone else in their mutual sphere who might stumble upon Juliet together with her supposedly-long-dead partner wouldn't need much convincing to keep it quiet. Vick, Henry Spencer, fellow cops from the SBPD. Woody Strode wasn't even a problem: he was so squiffy most of the time that if he said he saw a hole in the middle of a glazed doughnut, no one would immediately believe him.

Burton Guster had the sense to grasp the subtle as well as the obvious. John recalled that he'd somehow kept his marriage to that whackaloon Mira secret from Spencer for years.

But Shawn Spencer...

Yes, he could keep secrets... like about being psychic. Secrets to protect himself.

But he also liked to let people know he had secrets. And his grasp of sublety was shaky on a good day—just like his grasp of being quiet in general.

Now, there was no reason to think that after five years he'd suddenly pop in for a visit, but then again, maybe Juliet hadn't stayed anywhere long enough for that before. If he figured out she was settling here, who could predict his whims?

They'd have to rely on Donovan and his people to warn him about incoming Spencers. It'd be one more way Donovan could stay annoyed—as if he needed one.

Then—and it was like a balm—he remembered Juliet's words from yesterday.

"There's chance, and then there's fate... or God... or... meant-to-be. Call it what you want."

He smiled, and relaxed. If the fates could put them together like this after five years of no hope, then surely no Spencer could possibly be allowed to... well, put them asunder.

So yes, he would call it meant-to-be.

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She could feel John's gaze, although if she were to turn and seek him out at either of the cabin windows, he wouldn't be there.

Donovan leaned against his black SUV, which was nearly as dusty and almost as gray as John's. Arms crossed against his chest, he studied her the way she was probably studying him: insect on a slide, exhibit in a case, evidence in a crime.

He was maybe fifty, maybe younger, and had probably always looked the way he looked right now: fit, imperious, cranky, and as if he might have eyes in the back of his head.

Yet he was also—deceptively—calm and still. If you didn't know anything about him or what he did for a living, you'd never guess he probably had at least seventeen ways to kill you scrolling through his head at any given moment.

Five kids, she mused, and wondered how his home life compared to the order he clearly desired—and probably got—in his job.

Or maybe they were all Junior Donovans, little soldiers patrolling the neighborhood keeping would-be bullies in line and making sure people cleaned up after their pets and—

"When did you know?" he asked abruptly, jerking her attention fully back to why they were standing out here in the Virginia pines.

"When did I know what?"

With a side-eye toward the cabin, he remained silent.

"Because it clearly pains you," she said sweetly, "I'm going to make you spell it out."

Donovan sighed. "When did you know he was your... precious little boopsy-bear?"

She rolled her eyes. "What difference does it make? And I'm not sixteen, you know."

"It makes a difference whether you decided on the day he died, or the day you spotted him here. It makes a difference in determining how deep your conviction runs." His tone was cool.

Juliet repeated, "I'm not sixteen. I know the difference between infatuation and love. Between being committed to a partnership and being committed to something deeper and stronger."

"Something never expressed, though," he said cynically. "Something never actually shared."

Oh, he thought he knew everything. "Have you ever had a partner? I mean, someone you—"

He cut her off. "Yes. You don't have to give me a dreamy lecture about how it works. You don't—"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped, "and stop talking to me like I'm some little lost flower with her head in the fairy clouds. Seriously, are you this much of an ass with all women in your line of work?"

No expression. "Stick to the script, Ms. O'Hara."

She went on icily, "What I denied to myself for too long, for all the reasons it was correct to deny it, smacked me right in the face when I almost lost him to a Serbian assassin. I knew then it wasn't going away, and after that I just procrastinated until it was too late—until you and that bungled operation made it too late. Okay? Satisfied?"

Still no expression... and then he relaxed, ever-so-slightly. "Yes. I am. I saw that movie, you know."

Juliet frowned. "What movie?"

"Spencer's Bigfoot-turned-murder-spree chronicle. Not exactly Criterion Collection, but it had its moments."

She stared at him. "Why would you have reason to see that?"

"I told you, we had him under surveillance, and trying to get a handle on his convoluted behavior meant doing a lot of background work." There was just a touch of smugness on his smooth face now, and she still wanted to smack it right off him. "The point is, the movie made it painfully obvious how you felt about your partner."

Juliet tamped down a wave of embarrassment and a stray did anyone else see it then thought. "Then what the hell was the point of asking me when I knew?"

Donovan smiled slightly. "I had to find out whether you knew when you knew."

She stilled herself. A foot-stomp wouldn't work on him a second time.

He smiled more broadly now. "Part of my job is to understand all the players. If I'm going back to the people who pay me to ask for the biggest exception in the history of exceptions, I have to be convinced—forget the people I'll be talking to—I have to be convinced you're not going to cut and run when it turns out the guy in the cabin's got all the same bad, annoying, tedious qualities the guy in Santa Barbara did." His gaze was shrewd. "Some of the reasons you denied those feelings so long were related to those qualities. And those qualities didn't vanish just because a bomb went off."

As if being profoundly annoyed by John now and again would be enough reason to walk away, ever.

Juliet looked at him steadily. "I would really like to talk to your wife."

Donovan laughed, which surprised her. "You're not the only adorable one around here. Now do you get my point?"

"I get you wasting time by insulting me and my intelligence, yes. I get that I'm a problem to you. I get that you'd much prefer John had a quiet little life out here in the woods without me." She took a step forward, and while he didn't step back, she got the satisfaction of seeing him tense up a little. "But I've spent too many years without him and I'm done with that. He's here, he's alive, and he's mine. Finally. So you can suck it, Mr. Sunshine."

His tension grew—she could see it. But she didn't care.

Turning away to head into the cabin, she tossed back, "I assume we're done sparring, so I'm heading in. If you need to come by soon to kill us, remember where he said the weapon is."

"No need," he drawled, "I always have a spare."

You can suck that too, she thought, and didn't give him the satisfaction of slamming the door behind her.

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Yes, John agreed as she paced, Donovan was arrogant and insufferable.

Yes, he thought he could figure everyone out in two seconds.

Yes, he was sometimes wrong.

But God forbid anyone tell him that.

Juliet stopped in the middle of the room and drew in a deep breath. "The thing is, he knows I'm pissed off right now, and that pisses me off even more. He's driving back to wherever he came from all Smuggy McSmugpants about me wanting to push his face right up against his own steering wheel."

"Don't be so sure he's not thinking the same thing about you." After years of working with the man, John knew he'd been slightly more rattled by this development than Juliet was capable of seeing right now. Donovan was always hardest on himself. On those rare occasions when he erred in some way, however minor, his unwillingness to cut himself any slack was always apparent.

She smirked, finally relaxing, and came over to sit in his lap, which was a very pleasant turn of events. "Thanks. I thought I might have genuinely irritated him a few times but it's nice to have independent confirmation."

"I confirm. And you did." He slid his hands up and down her back. "And it's done now."

She moved suggestively in his lap. "Can I be done now?"

John laughed. "Yes."

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It was difficult to go back to work on Monday, because every single thing about the world had changed over the weekend.

Juliet, while not well-known to her co-workers yet, did realize she couldn't exactly float in casting rose petals in her wake, beaming with giddiness. She had to be her normal self, whatever the hell that meant now.

But she wasn't going to put off talking to her commanding officer about staying on after the six months' temporary assignment. If the offer was still open, of course.

Gallico gave her a very reassuring smile. "It certainly is, O'Hara, and you'll be an asset to our permanent team. What sold you on us since we last talked?"

She could be honest, up to a point. "I already really liked it here, and I think maybe I've moved around more than enough the last few years. I hate to use the phrase 'settle down,' but it's time."

He knew her preference for short assignments, and she'd once told him briefly and without embellishment that after having lost her partner, she'd also lost both her taste for regular police work as well as her taste for the California coastline.

"Wandering days usually have to come to an end," he agreed. "Or at least a long pause. I'm pleased you're pausing here."

Pausing? she thought. Hell no. Stopping.

Staying.

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They heard nothing from Donovan.

Wednesday evening, sitting on the back porch with tin mugs full of wine as the sun set over the trees, John glanced over at Juliet. Her head was tilted back as she surveyed the sky, and the smooth column of her throat was tempting. He wanted to touch her.

That he was allowed to do that now was still a marvel. He had a feeling it would be a marvel for a very long time—or for as much time as Donovan would allow them to have.

He hadn't been as productive as usual the past three days, since it turned out pining for her was a deterrent to his concentration. But he worked steadily nonetheless—more dot-connecting on a profiling assignment—and no one measuring his output could point to any significant gaps in his system-use time beyond a slightly longer lunch break.

Of course it wasn't his fault Juliet had swung by in her NPS utility vehicle and seduced him on Monday.

And again on Tuesday.

Three whole days without word from Donovan, though, was starting to make him uneasy. What was going on over in Langley? Arguments about their fate, arguments about Donovan's fate for not being aware of—and preventing—Juliet's most recent move?

On the one hand, the more moments they had together before any axe fell, the better.

On the other... what was taking so long?

Juliet turned to him, faintly smiling. "The waiting is making me crazy. We should go to bed to take our minds off of it."

He extended his hand, and she wrapped her fingers around his warmly. "You've always been a clever woman."

"That's true. You know," she went on calmly, "if we got married I could change my name to Ellery, and that would make it even harder for anyone from our pasts to casually look me up."

John felt his heart sputtering.

"I'm willing to keep the marriage a secret. Even to keep you secret. I can still meet my family in other places, and while I'd prefer you to be there, I'd rather know I was coming back to you than risk exposure." Her fingers tightened their grasp, but he would never have pulled away.

He drew in a breath, mainly to be sure his lungs were still working. "There'd be a public record of the marriage license."

She shrugged. "So we make it a little harder, and don't do it here. I get days off, you know, and you probably do too. We could drive out of state, or over to some touristy place with wedding chapels. Virginia Beach?"

John made a valiant effort to compose himself. "So you're proposing we get married to make it harder for people like Spencer to find you?"

"Nope. I'm proposing we get married, and the rest is just a bonus."

He stared at her, into her dark blue eyes, feeling her love and lost in its rightness.

"You just met me," he pointed out, and she laughed. "And Virginia Beach is on the ocean." He hadn't forgotten what she said at the weekend: she hadn't been near the ocean since he 'died.'

Her smile was unwavering. "Seeing the ocean won't cause me any pain now, because you'll be right there with me."

Squeezing her hand, he mustered up the strength to get to his feet, pulling her with him. "Time for bed," he murmured, as she moved closer for a kiss. "And I will be right there with you, because I accept your proposal."

"I hoped you would," she murmured back.

There was no better person to go insane with, he thought, and took his future bride into the cabin.

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Two more days of silence from Donovan.

Juliet was uncertain what this meant.

From the moment Donovan laid eyes on her his instinct was to immediately separate them. It seemed unlikely that his superiors would need a full week to decide what to do.

Lying beside John in his bed Saturday morning, watching him sleep as dawn eased its way into the room, she took a moment to consider the alternative they'd deliberately agreed to not consider.

They really were expendable.

Both single, both childless. Not even any pets between them (though John said he'd like to have a dog, and she was in full agreement).

People disappeared in the woods all the time, even park rangers. People fell to their deaths down hills, ravines, cliffs.

... and even off of porches with rotting boards.

Letting her and John live out their lives here in peace may not have been exactly fraught with peril for Donovan's bosses, but it was risky. It was too many loose ends, and neither Donovan nor his bosses liked loose ends, because loose ends frayed and could lead to exposure they neither wanted nor could afford.

Two bullets, a shovel, and lots of mountain dirt... that was easy. Simple, quick, permanent.

John sighed in his sleep, but didn't stir.

Juliet resisted the urge to stroke his arm. If she woke him now he'd somehow know what was on her mind. Besides, he needed the rest. She'd been working him relentlessly all week long.

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Early lunch at Mandolin's, they agreed.

"The special—and it is special—is spaghetti," Steffie told them. "Noodles spun by angels and meat sauce handmade by the finest chef in a seventeen-county area. Your life will never be the same."

Juliet laughed, and John asked seriously, "What are the seventeen counties?"

Smirking, Steffie flipped her pad open. "You're having spaghetti or you're having chunky llama liver soup, cold, no spoon."

"Spaghetti," they said together, and she snickered as she went away.

Tack Sullivan passed her with a grin and stopped at their table for a minute, and John talked to him about porch repair.

Juliet knew Tack was curious about her being with John. Steffie had already made a comment about them having been in together twice this week.

"Trying something new?" Tack asked Juliet—whom he knew as Julie.

She smiled. "Well, since your wife seems attached to you, I figured I'd start my social life here with the second best."

He laughed uproariously and slapped John on the shoulder before moving on.

"Second best," John muttered, and then they both heard a faint *ting* from his shirt pocket. Pulling out his phone, he read the words on the screen before showing her the text.

I'll be by at 1:00. Don't make me wait.

She didn't have to ask who'd sent it.

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Donovan was already parked behind the cabin when they pulled up in Juliet's Jeep. "Not even half past noon," she muttered.

John looked at her. "Waiting for one o'clock would have been torture."

She sighed and got out, not arguing the point.

He lowered himself to the ground, cane in hand. Donovan watched them both from where he sat in a rocker on the porch, apparently in no hurry, and possibly slightly bored.

But John had seen that look before and knew it was a façade. A well-maintained, hard-to-shake façade to be sure, but still not the real Donovan.

They stood in front of him at the bottom of the steps. "Inside or out?" John asked, though Donovan certainly could have gotten inside without their help.

"Inside," was the answer, as Donovan stood up, and sure enough, he already had the door unlocked, standing aside so they could enter first. "How was the spaghetti?"

John could almost feel Juliet's silent question ("how did you know what we ate?"), but he answered for both of them. "As advertised."

"Steffie never lies," Donovan said, and gestured for them to sit.

But Juliet refused, standing with her arms folded, giving Donovan the same flat gaze he was casting at them.

John leaned against the arm of the sofa. "Well? What did they say?"

Donovan also folded his arms. "Haven't told them."

"It's been a week," Juliet sputtered. "You've kept us in limbo for a week!"

He rolled his eyes. "You lived, so settle down." Shifting his stance, he went on briskly, "After consulting my most trusted advisor, I decided that we stopped keeping tabs on your movements three and a half months ago, Ms. O'Hara. While we can look you up any time and find your location, there will be no further monitoring of your activities, unless you give us cause to resume." His tone was precise and cold. "Which you will not."

She sank down onto the sofa, her shoulder brushing John's leg. He felt her warmth along with her uncertainty.

"I will not," she finally said quietly.

John was studying Donovan, who was at his most inscrutable, feeling that somehow there was a clue to understanding this gift.

"You may now commence enjoying your extremely quiet, completely off-the-radar life, and I assume you will never piss me off again." He turned toward the door.

"What will this cost you?" Juliet asked abruptly. "If it comes to light?"

John already knew, and so did she, and Donovan wouldn't have spelled it out anyway. He asked his own question: "Exactly what did your 'most trusted advisor' say to change your mind?"

Because a week ago, Donovan was solidly on Team Break 'Em Up.

Donovan put his hand on the doorknob first, as if he intended to leave without answering. But then he stopped, and looked directly at John.

"She said three things. First, if there ever came an order to... neutralize this problem, I'd better be strong enough to do it myself. Second, if I stood between you two and the second chance seemingly handed to you by Fate, I would never be welcome in our home again. And finally, that I should take the garbage out already and then help her get the gum out of Katia's hair."

John let out a long, long breath, and beside him, Juliet took an unsteady breath of her own.

Donovan opened the door and looked back one more time. "I'll take my risks where the job is concerned, but don't you give me even one single reason to screw up my home life or I'll be back here in a heartbeat to cut both your throats."

And that would be fair, John thought, as well as quick.

The door closed behind him and for a few moments they sat in stunned silence.

He finally stood long enough so he could sit again, this time beside Juliet on the sofa.

There were tears in her lovely dark blue eyes. "Carlton," she whispered.

For this moment, he was.

"He gave us our... our life. Together."

"He did." John stroked her face. "I knew he had a heart. I just didn't expect so much of it would belong to his wife."

She leaned forward, smiling tremulously, and kissed him. "I love you. And I love her. I don't love him yet, but give me time."

"You don't need to love him," he assured her, kissing her back, feeling her laughter against his mouth. "Just me."

Juliet cupped his face, staring at him in sudden wonder.

"Five years. Five years."

He let her trace his lips with her warm fingertips, sighing.

"You survived a building blowing up around you. You survived a gunshot wound."

"I survived you beating me up, too," he pointed out.

She smiled again. "Barely. But five years passed where we both believed... the darkest of all things. Complete hopelessness."

He, at least, had the comfort of knowing she was out there somewhere, and the firm belief that happiness was either with her or within her reach.

But any hope of seeing her again? Touching her? Even being in the same room? None.

"So it makes sense, doesn't it," he mused, "that it would be someone Donovan loves who could get through to him."

"No," she countered, and kissed his face. "It doesn't make sense at all. But I'll take it, because I'm here with you now."

For long luxurious moments he returned her kiss, and they gradually entangled themselves on the sofa.

There were more words, more soft questions and answers, more kisses, and time stood still for them, at least for awhile.

Their second chance—really, their first chance—was blossoming out before them, and this peaceful life they were about to start, there in the woods of Virginia, was beginning to show its potential.

And soon enough, he would finally buy her that fried ice-cream.

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Donovan, driving home to his family, just kept shaking his head, hoping his wife was right about this. But she'd never been wrong before, except about painting the nursery pea green, and he'd go on trusting her judgment.

Besides, letting John finally have his heart's desire wasn't such a bad thing, was it? Donovan could only be fired once, after all, and he was pretty sure the agency wouldn't feel the need to eliminate him over this.

And that his wife had threatened to stomp on more than his foot had been an especially persuasive selling point.

"Here's to happy endings," he said out loud, "and may God have mercy on my soul, because I think I just wrote a damned Hallmark card."

He sped up a little. Somehow he knew John Ellery and Ms. O'Hara would be just fine, and the sooner he got home to put their annoying happiness out of his mind, the better.

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