Disclaimers in part I.

0150 Zulu/1550 Local
NCIS Office, Pearl Harbor Naval Station, Hawaii

Mac kicked herself for not asking the question in person earlier in the day, but the glaring omission had to be corrected before she could talk to her reluctant teens.  "Who were the Marines involved in the mentoring program, Captain?"

The voice on the other end chuckled.  "I figured you'd be calling back."  He gave her the six names, and each name made the air in her small cubicle colder.  du Lancie, Wander, Dillard, Reeves, Houston – and Waters.  "Which one matches the gun's itinerary?"

"Waters," she told him, "including a week's vacation to his hometown near Gulfport in May, 1998."

"It's a shame you can't get a civilian search warrant," Holcomb replied.  "I know a judge who would give you one over the phone."

Mac could have said she knew the Judge Advocate General himself and could use his authority in any military jurisdiction she needed to.  But Azizah Akilah Yassin didn't know the JAG and didn't have the authority to ask for a search warrant on her own.  "I can get one Monday from the lead judge at TSO Pearl," she said.  "He's already been briefed on this case."  Twenty minutes before, as a matter of fact, and he had been the one to point out that the missing link may in fact be found as easily as asking the question that had started this conversation.  But the judge was on his way out the door for a flight to the mainland for his oldest daughter's debut as Clara in her college's production of The Nutcracker.

"Well, that's good.  I'm sure the JAG officers to whom you hand this off will be pleased to have all the technicalities handled so efficiently.  That pair at JAG Headquarters who specialize in high profile cases like this – a pilot and a Marine, I think – will probably be in charge."

Mac bit her lip to keep from laughing before she replied in as neutral a voice as possible.  "Perhaps."  She thought the admiral might even prosecute the case himself since all of his best regular staff officers were witnesses for the prosecution.  If Waters were smart, he'd hire a civilian attorney.

=====

0410 Zulu/2010 Local
Rooms 3421 and 3423, Hilton Hotel, Honolulu, Hawaii

"This is utterly ridiculous, Harm," Sturgis growled to his friend when the other man appeared at the connecting door between the two hotel rooms.

"Why?  I told you Waters has pictures, so he's watching us, or at least me.  We can't possibly plan strategy together if I can't be seen at your house while you're home."  Harm leaned against the doorframe, looking relaxed and happy despite the way the case was shaping up.

Sturgis rolled his eyes, partly because he knew Harm's posture was a result of his changing relationship with the colonel of his dreams and partly because he knew the man was right.  "I know that," he said to emphasize his dislike of the facts.  "What's ridiculous is that you booked two rooms.  I figured I'd go back to the house and let you and Mac stay here, although I'm enjoying the show immensely."

The Marine lieutenant colonel chose that moment to appear behind Harm.  "Sturgis, as much entertainment as we're providing you with the Flyboy's obviousness, don't push it."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, but still with the grin as Harm started to object, only to be shushed by Mac's hand coming over his shoulder and landing against his mouth.  The sight was enough to make Sturgis close his eyes lest he laugh out loud.

Mac kept her hand in place, steeling herself against the delicate kisses Harm was laying in her palm as she talked.  "And I'd be tempted to agree with you, Sturgis, but if Waters is watching us, then you and I need to be seen together – hence the subterfuge getting Flyboy here into the hotel."  Harm was registered as himself.  "And the reason we're doing room service."  She dropped her hand from Harm's mouth and pushed him through the door into Sturgis' room.

The two men shook their heads; Mac and room service were a dangerous combination.  But over a beautiful meal an hour later, the three officers briefed each other on the latest events of the case and puzzled over the suspect colonel's order for Azaki to hostess the party.

"And the first thing I checked was whether there really is a party.  The invitations went out before we got here, and I got the sense from the others that the only good reasons not to be there are duty or death.  And if hubby's on duty, wife needs to be dead not to appear."  Harm had never heard of such mandatory social functions; highly suggested for political reasons, yes, but not required.

"So that means you're safe tomorrow, Mac," said Sturgis, relaxing a little.  "What do we do, though, if Waters decides to tell me anyway?"

"I go to the Admiral for an emergency search warrant for that gun we don't have, and we blow our covers to keep him from blowing the investigation," Mac decided, visions dancing through her head of a knock-down, drag-out fight between her favorite submariner and her beloved aviator for the sake of the case.  "After I talk with the kids tomorrow, I want to get back to the Chaplains, follow up with them on any further statements they may have taken since we've been here."

Harm nodded.  "That makes sense.  We know where Sturgis will be," he gestured with a smile.  "Suffering through 48 hours of duty with a unit out on exercise."

"Damn," the submariner answered.  "I have to spend the night in the field.  I knew there was something I should have said earlier."

"Observer?" Mac asked.

"Yeah.  Like I know what I'm doing."

She grinned back at him.  "You will."

=====

1715 Zulu/1215 Local/0715 Hawaii
Chaplain Isaiah Turner's Home, DC Metro Area – 14 December 2002

"Well, Isaiah," John O'Neill said from Hawaii, "Imam Rais tells me that the two officers who are here undercover have certainly stirred things up with his congregation."

"Really?"  Isaiah knew nothing about the case; Sturgis hadn't called but once since he and Mac had been in Hawaii, although he had e-mailed daily just to say hi.

"Oh, yes.  Arif says it's a shame they aren't Muslims because they'd be very good role models for others."

The elder Turner had to check the snort of disbelief that wanted to escape; Sturgis wasn't exactly a "model" Christian in many ways and neither, so far as he could tell, was Mac.  To be fair, though, they were probably better at the "love thy neighbor" part than many who occupied the pews of the churches at which he preached, so who was he to judge?  "That's good to hear – I will pass that along to their commanding officer.  What about your congregants?"

"I managed to get six of the men in the unit to give me written statements.  I'll have them for the investigating officers whenever they're ready for them.  What hurts is that the colonel in question covers himself with a thin veneer of truth – that war waits for no religious practice."

"The Israelis certainly learned that the hard way in 1973," the retired chaplain agreed.  "That has to be the worst part of being a military chaplain – other than the funerals, of course.  Trying to reconcile worship with battle."

"You said that back when I was in school," the Catholic priest reminded him.  "I have another serious question for you.  I have a new family in my congregation who just came from the Boston Archdiocese…"

Isaiah Turner sighed.  Churches would be so much better off if they weren't human institutions.

=====

1820 Zulu/0820 Local
Senior Enlisted Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Mac had been pleasantly surprised twenty minutes earlier when Derek Cody answered the door.  Her previous attempts had been forestalled by his mother, who insisted that she wanted him to talk but that he refused categorically.  Even her appointment today had been made reluctantly and without a promise of success by the young man's father, a career Marine holding the rate of Master Sergeant.  Mac's fear had been a confrontation with a rebellious, hard-bitten, cynical teen, but Derek turned out to be soft-spoken, polite, and optimistic about his chances at an ROTC scholarship and matriculation at Boston University.

"Derek, I can't make you talk, but you need to know that there is absolutely no evidence connecting you or Kerry Randolph to the hate crimes," she said as gently as she could after the initial pleasantries.  She explained for a minute or two.  "And if anyone is threatening you or someone you love with harm if you talk, then we can protect you."  She had to talk even more slowly than normal to make sure he could understand what she said around the Farsi accent; it might have been easier to do as Lt. Col. Mackenzie, but this was not the time to break cover.

The handsome young man nodded thoughtfully before he cleared his throat and began to speak.  "I was just really stupid," he admitted, picking up with how he came to be in the juvenile system to start.  "Instead of going right to the principal with the bag of weed, I put it in my locker so I'd be on time to class.  Wouldn't you know they picked that period to do a locker search."  He looked up at Mac and smiled, rueful and abashed.  "The only reason I got off as light as I did was the drug tests were negative.  At first I thought the mentor program would be kind of geeky, you know?  But then we met the men who worked with us and they were pretty hip for old guys."

Mac kept her groan to herself; four of the men involved were 6-8 years younger than she.

"We always met together – the six of us guys and the six of them.  We had two really good meetings, but then they started talking about the bad influence that different groups have on America – like that the drug culture is all the fault of African Americans and that the reason American schools look so bad is because Asians cheat to make themselves look good.  But they didn't say African American or Asian, you know," he clarified.

Mac didn't want to know what the men involved did say.  "I can imagine.  When was this?"

"It was summer of 2001," he replied.  "We started in May and were supposed to finish in February, but because of September 11, we couldn't get all the meetings in until late April."

"Did anything change after September 11?" she asked, fingering the embroidery of her grandmother's headscarf unconsciously.

Young Cody nodded.  "It got a lot worse – the name calling and the accusations.  One day John Ghory and I overheard a couple of the men talking about letters that they had mailed to some mosque with advice on what its members should do.  It wasn't nice."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"John started to tell Colonel Waters, but he just laughed and said it was a free country.  On the first night of Hanukkah, we had a meeting scheduled and all of us guys met at the rec center like we were supposed to.  The men came in with backpacks and stuff and told us that our meeting would be shorter than usual.  They had us help them load some boxes from a couple of their cars into some guy's Suburban – I think it was Sergeant du Lancie's – when we were done.  The next day we heard about the Nazi graffiti and the smoke bomb damage at the base synagogue, but we didn't think anything about it until we met with the men again for a Christmas party.  They were laughing about how someone had really given the – I won't say what they did – Jewish people a terrific present for Hanukkah."

"Did any of you try to quit the program or tell your parents or anything?"

The boy shook his head.  "I think we just wanted out quick, so it was better not to make waves, you know?"

Mac nodded.  "Okay, what else?"

"Well, we did a work day during Christmas vacation.  The guys told us we were working on a set for a Holy Week play at the Base Chapel – we made three really big crosses, braced and sanded and everything.  A few days later, crosses got burned on lawns where people had Kwanzaa displays out – I think it was either 5 or 6, but we wondered anyway.  We were just kids," he almost wailed.

"I know, Derek.  Go on."

"Well, then over that January holiday – is it Martin Luther or someone? – any way, we had a retreat that weekend and we made these really cool barbecue grill lighters with some kind of specially treated mesquite wood that we were going to sell at the BX as a fundraiser for the program.  That Monday, a house in the officer's part of the base burned down.  My father is a firefighter and all he said about the fire was that it smelled like a good old Southern barbeque gotten out of hand.  Well, then when we went to sell the firestarters, we were missing a dozen, but Col. Waters said he'd already sold them, so we didn't question."

"It's Martin Luther King, Jr., that the January holiday is named for," Mac felt the need to explain.  "That officer's house was lived in by an African American family, right?"

Derek nodded.  "Yes, ma'am.  Peter Oxford, a guy in my class at school.  He's like the best athlete in Hawaii and maybe third in the class – he got a perfect score on the PSATs."  The young man shook his head.  "I just don't understand how anybody can say the things that our mentors did.  I'm really ashamed that we didn't – that I didn't say something a lot sooner."

"I know, Derek.  But you're helping now.  What else can you tell me?"

"Have you ever heard of blood libel, ma'am?"

Mac shivered; she'd taken a class in college about the origins of the Holocaust that explained far more than she ever really wanted to know about the history of anti-Judaism in Western civilization.  "Yes, unfortunately, I have, Derek."

"Well, these men tried to convince us that it was real – that the Passover…well, you know what I'm trying to say.  They said they would have to stop it."

"The blood libel?"

"The whole Passover service, I think was what they meant.  I just knew that when the duplex around the corner from here blew up, they did it – and they were ones who threw the pig's blood on the synagogue and I bet they also shot up the Hebrew school windows.  The next time we all were together, they told us not to say anything to anybody about what we might or might not know concerning the incidents, or the police would wind up with a whole lot of evidence that incriminated us."

"Do you know if there were any suspects then?"

"I don't think so, ma'am.  It was about a week later when the man from Family Services got a whole bunch of us – not just us in the program but like five or six other kids and their parents, too – together 'unofficially' for a lecture about this kind of thing.  He said if anything else happened, we would be arrested and that federal charges could be brought against us."  For the first time, his voice broke and he looked at Mac with a horrified grimace.  "We didn't know, ma'am.  We were scared and selfish and ignorant – but we didn't do anything wrong!"

"It certainly doesn't seem that you did," Mac acknowledged.  "You got used."

The boy sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking about what he had told his visitor.  "How do we get them back, ma'am?"

Holding back a frown, she told him, "We don't get them back, Derek.  We do justice by telling the truth.  I'm going to meet with Kerry in a little while, then I have to check with the chaplains about a couple of things.  Assuming that everything checks out, then we'll draw up an arrest warrant for each man and go from there.  You can expect more police patrols in the neighborhood and there's some folks watching out for you as we speak."

The tension evident in the young man from the moment he entered the room drained all at once; he slumped against his chair and let his head drop to his chest.  "Thank you, Mrs. Yassin," he murmured.

"You're welcome."

=====

1935 Zulu/0935 Local
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

"Major, we've been delayed by nearly two hours," the Second Battalion commander complained.  "Air traffic control at Pearl NAS won't release my blue force choppers because some bigwig is due in at Honolulu at 1000."

Sturgis raised an eyebrow at the major.  "I'm afraid not even CINCPAC can override ATC, Connor."

"I know, Ibrahim."  The two men had taken a liking to each other early on.  "You know, if I have to have senior staff looking over my shoulder this weekend, I'm very glad it's you and Lt. Col. Rutter rather than anyone else."

"Rutter?"  That was in keeping with the tension between Yassin and Rutter, of course; he knew that Harm's innate goodness couldn't help but show through.  As for the real staff, he would have thought Dave Eisenstein, the logistics officer, would have fit the major's bill – but then Dave wouldn't have a reason to be out observing a field operation.

"Yes.  You two have…honor, I guess is the best way to say it.  Between you, me, and that coat rack over there, the only other person in the top echelon who I have respect for as a person and not just as an officer is Dave."

Sturgis withheld the sigh welling up within him; Connor Lukas was someone with whom he could be friends.  Depending on how the case broke, maybe he'd be able to make friends for real with both Eisenstein and Lukas.  "Yeah," he admitted, once again reminded of how lucky he was to serve at JAG, where only Lt. Singer was an unlikable human being – and not much more of an officer.

"This is gonna throw our time table off by a half day."

"That's bad," the JAG officer commiserated.  "Your entire Blue Team evolution depends on getting in position before nightfall."

Connor nodded, then smiled.  "Yeah, it does.  But combat sometimes doesn't go as planned…"  He'd think himself a prophet before the next sunrise.

=====

2030 Zulu/1030 Local
Chaplains' Office, Pearl Harbor Naval Station, Hawaii

Mac was pleased that young Kerry Randolph had a story very similar to Derek Cody's to tell – after she had assured the teen and his parents that there would be no criminal complaints, of course.  Kerry was anxiously awaiting word from The Citadel for early decision and, as a mid-year graduate, had enlisted in the Naval Reserves for a late winter trip to Great Lakes for boot camp.  He had also provided Mac with more information about the group's involvement with the chapel Holy Week play.

When she arrived at the Chaplains' Office at Pearl, Imam Rais greeted her effusively and introduced her to Father O'Neill, Rabbi Davidson, and Reverend Carlessen, the senior Protestant Chaplain on base.  She decided, there in the presence of four men of God, one of whom already knew she was undercover, to break cover and reveal her identity.  She took off the scarf and set it aside, earning a knowing chuckle from Arif Rais before they all sat down around the small conference table in Father O'Neill's office.

"Thank you for seeing me today, gentlemen," she began.  "I know that Saturdays are precious to you for many reasons, so I will make this as quick as I can.  I'm Lt. Col. Sarah Mackenzie, Chief of Staff for Admiral AJ Chegwidden, the Navy JAG."

Now the Muslim cleric smiled outright.  "Ma'am, I knew you outranked me."

She returned the smile, then focused on the task at hand.  "Rev. Carlessen, Kerry Randolph told me that you and Colonel Waters had a strident disagreement during last Christmas vacation while the mentoring group was working on the set for the Holy Week play."

Carlessen, a 40-something of classic Nordic physical appearance, grimaced and shifted in his chair.  "Yes, Colonel, you could say that."  He sat forward in his chair.  "He worships here regularly, you know.  He approached me about having the boys get involved in a project here at the Chapel, so I leapt at the chance and invited them to help with the set construction.  Everything was fine until the colonel found out that the program was an ecumenical service, not just for Protestants."

Mac scratched her chin in thought.  "Ecumenical means across Christian denominations, right?  It would be interfaith if it included Jewish and Islamic celebrants?"

"Right," Father O'Neill assured her.  "It's our tradition here at Pearl and in many other places now to use Holy Week as a time to bring the Christian communities together."  What he didn't have to say is that September 11 will forever more be a time when interfaith services are the norm.

"Okay, so, Rev. Carlessen, how did he find out?"  Mac went back to the pertinent story.

"He overheard Father O'Neill and I talking with the other Christian chaplains on staff about the rehearsal schedule."  When she didn't interrupt, he continued.  "He confronted me a few minutes later when I went out to the work area behind the chapel to offer the boys lunch.  I remember that Kerry went inside – probably to use the facilities – while the colonel and I were arguing."

All lawyer now, Mac asked what she thought she already knew.  "What was the end result of the argument?"

"Col. Waters decreed that he and the boys would finish the crosses but not come back to do any other work."

Not at all disappointed with that answer, she went a little further.  "What happened to the crosses after the boys finished them?"

The rabbi shrugged his shoulders and answered before any of his colleagues could.  "Our suspicion, Colonel Mackenzie, is that the crosses those men and boys made were some of the ones that got burned two or three nights later on several lawns.  Can we say for certain that the boys or the men were involved in the disappearance of the crosses?  No, because we didn't know they were missing until after the desecration."  He slumped a bit and gave Mac a small smile.  "I'm sorry, Colonel.  It's just that I've heard enough from the men in Third Marine to know that Colonel Waters has no business in uniform."

"It's alright, Rabbi Davidson.  So, just to finish up on the crosses, none of you knew that the ones the boys made were missing until after the cross burnings?"

"That's right, ma'am," Rais said.  He was the only one not of at least equal rank to her.  "If I remember correctly, the boys worked on the crosses on a Thursday – we had evening prayers and study here that night – and then the crosses were burned on Sunday night.  We wouldn't have anyone working out in the backyard on Fridays or the weekends."

Mac looked at her notes and nodded her concurrence.  "Okay, so Monday is when the crosses were discovered missing and then…?"

Father O'Neill looked up at the ceiling as he spoke.  "We called the Shore Patrol to report it.  I think NCIS locked onto the boys because we told the SPs that they had made them."

"That's exactly what they did, sir," Mac confirmed.  "But the lead investigator quickly got beyond that to Col. Waters and his men.  It was only because Waters had enough command influence to get the official investigation stopped that we're just getting to the bottom of it almost a year later."

The four men nodded in understanding; command influence happened in the Chaplain's Corps, too.  Rev. Carlessen caught a noise and looked over at the drip coffee maker on Father O'Neill's side table.  "Coffee's done.  Any takers?"

It must have been an inside joke; the other three men laughed as the Protestant minister rolled his chair over to the pot and began pouring coffee into mugs.  "Colonel?"

"Please, with cream or whatever passes for it," Mac replied.

"Ah, Colonel, we made deal with the Rabbi's wife to assure that our good friend Solomon has to eat a dairy lunch," O'Neill pointed out.  "We have cream."

Coffee went around the table before the conversation returned to the complaints from Third Marine regarding their commanding officer.  "How many do we have who are willing to testify to what they've experienced?" Mac asked after listening to the chaplains for 9 minutes and 49 seconds without comment.

"Eleven," the Roman Catholic chaplain declared.  "Two Jewish officers; a Muslim officer and two enlisted men; and three Roman Catholic officers and three enlisted men."

"You also," Rev. Carlessen added, "have three Protestant officers who witnessed incidents and are willing to testify."

That surprised Mac; suddenly, she had a clean, easy case to present to the prosecution with a neat bow on top.  And even more to her surprise, she wished that Loren Singer were available to prosecute with Admiral Chegwidden, simply because the younger woman, for all her flaws, would make sure that Colonel Eugene Waters got his due from his behavior.  "Well, gentlemen, you've certainly given me everything I need and more.  My colleagues are wrapping up another part of the case as we speak, so I think I can safely say that Col. Waters is enjoying his last weekend as CO of Third Marine."

He was, but it wouldn't be his last for the reason she – and they – thought.

=====

0020 Zulu/1420 Local
Headquarters, Third Marine Regiment, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

Connor Lukas finally called in from his training camp on the big island of Hawaii to say that he was ready to start his field exercise.  "Major, if Col. Rutter is available to come over with you tonight, I'd kind of like him to see how we've updated the battle plans based on the delay," the major said to the regimental S-2.

Sturgis cringed.  The plan was to have Harm with Mac at Colonel Water's party the entire time; if Harm in his role as XO needed to travel, he would have to leave the party about 2030.  "Well, Connor," he temporized, "I'll check with him and see.  Otherwise, I presume tomorrow as planned will be okay?"

"Sure.  No need to call me back; I'll just see who gets off the chopper.  See you tonight."

A few moments later, Sturgis was on the phone with Harm, careful to stay in character lest any of the other watch staff be within hearing range.  "Colonel, this is Major Yassin."

"Major," Harm replied, his tone conveying that he understood the need for circumspection.

"Major Lukas respectfully asks if you can come out to the exercises range this evening.  He has adapted his plans based on a four-hour delay necessitated by an inbound VIP and would like you to see them implemented."  Sturgis picked up a retractable pen and began to click it in and out as he waited for Harm to answer.

He heard Mac in the background, barely, and wondered if Harm had his hand over the transmitting end of his cell phone.  "Waters is by the book.  He would expect you to go."

Harm's answer to Mac came through a little more clearly.  "Is it a set up?"

Faint again:  "Lukas?  Not with the fact that he was 3 when his parent emigrated from Czechoslovakia in 1970."

Leave it to Mac to have read every officer's personnel file and to remember the pertinent details.  "Colonel?" he prompted.

"Sorry, Major.  I was just thinking about the regimental party tonight."

"You don't have a choice, Harm," Sturgis heard Mac say.  "We'll just make sure that he hears me say I'm drinking non-alcoholic beverages."

Harm's frustrated sigh came through clearly.  "I guess I really ought to go tonight with you, Major.  I'll drop my gear by once I've picked up the hostess for the party tonight."

Sturgis decided to play on.  "Who's the hostess?"

"Didn't you know, Major?  Your wife."

The watch staff really didn't know why the officer of the day was in such a bad mood after that phone call.

=====

0425 Zulu/1825 Local
Colonel Water's Quarters, Marine Corps Base Hawaii

If they had been even a day more ready for the consummation of their relationship, Mac would have seduced Harm just to tame the nervous, angry Naval aviator as the afternoon wore on.  He didn't like the idea of Mac being left alone with Waters at all; that neither he nor Sturgis would even be on the same island made it all the worse.

Alone in the official car the XO rated before the two got out at the CO's home, Mac took her sailor's hands and held them to her heart against the fitted brocade dress she wore.  "Harm, honey, listen to me," she pleaded one last time.

His green eyes continued to show his distress, but he met her gaze with a hint of a smile.  "I'm listening."

"I'll be careful tonight, I promise.  I have a lot to live for."  She let a little tease into her tone.

His eyebrow quirked almost in spite of his mood.  "Yeah?  Like what?"

"Like dinner at 1789 and Christmas morning at your place, complete with a stocking and a tree."  She picked his hands up and pressed kisses into each palm.

"That doesn't sound like much, in the long run.  Anything else?"  Now his voice took on a teasing tone of its own.

Her reply, however, was as serious as she could possibly make it.  "Halves."

Harm's expression changed; his eyes grew wide and dark with love and desire.  "Halves," he echoed in a hoarse, thick voice, pulling her into his arms for a long, sweet kiss before the two officers had to get themselves back to work.

Waters welcomed them into his home with what might have been genuine affection and set the two to work on the finishing touches.  As 1930 approached, the three set out drinks and the first of the appetizers and sweets in anticipation of guests arriving early, as one expected with Marines.

"Azaki can I get you a drink?" Waters asked while Harm was in the kitchen loading the oven.

"Thank you, Colonel.  Dr. Pepper would be delightful," Mac answered.

He looked disappointed.  "Nothing stronger?"

"No, thank you.  Not when I'm hostessing.  You never know who might need a ride home."

The colonel really couldn't argue with that logic, so he let it go and asked the same question of Harm a moment later.

"I'd love a whiskey sour," he replied, "but my presence has been requested on the exercise field for revised night maneuvers, so I'll have a Diet Coke."

Not even Harm, who expected it, could detect a flicker of excitement in the regimental commander's face as the man shook his head.  "That, my friend, is too bad," Waters commiserated, giving his XO a light tap on the shoulder.  "Especially since…" he jerked his head in Mac's direction and winked.

Harm, somewhat relieved, returned the wink.  "I had today."

That earned a chortle from the other man just as the doorbell rang to get the party underway.