By the time that I had brushed my hair, straightened my clothes, and made
my way down the hall to the dining room, Frank had already set the table
and was bringing the food in from the kitchen. I gestured to take the food
in myself, but he shook his head and insisted I sit down. Frank had set
two places across from each other at the end of the long mahogany table
furthest from the patio doors. Several short white pillar candles were lit
in the center of the table and the chandelier above had been dimmed. The
two fireplaces, the large on by the front entrance and the other in the
small sitting room, were both ablaze, making the amber colored walls appear
to glow in between the shadows.
Frank had already set out a large salad, a loaf of French bread, and a
bottle of wine on the table. I watched as he walked towards me with the
rest of the food, carefully balancing a hot baking dish in one hand and a
bowl of pasta in the other. He sat them both on the table and I could see
then that the baking dish held what looked to be Chicken Parmesan. As he
made his way to my side of the table and pulled out my chair, I suddenly
felt as though I were on some kind of date and I could feel each one of my
nerves begin to tense. I sat down softly in the ornate high-backed chair
and tried to relax against the cushioned velvet back. After Frank had
taken his seat, I took my napkin from the table, and taking my time to fold
it in half, placed it very deliberately in my lap, taking time to smooth
the creases against my leg. I tried my best not to make eye contact with
him as he poured us each a glass of red wine and offered to plate my salad.
I watched silently as he handed me the plate and then absentmindedly drizzled dressing over the plate, watching as it rolled into every nook and cranny it could find. I could feel the discomfort of the silence as though it was a physical being sitting at the same table, watching our every move. I stole quick glances up at Frank occasionally as I picked my way through the lettuce and every time he would be looking at me. His expression was somewhat inquisitive but serene. He did not seem concerned by my silence but I knew he longed for conversation. I felt the same but could not bring myself to say anything. Eventually we pushed our salad plates aside and Frank served the chicken on top of a bed of the angel hair pasta. The trouble he took placing the food on the plate surprised me. I could imagine from watching him that it was more a matter of art than food for him. But something about his movements, his gentleness, settled my nerves and I slowly began to let down the wall that I had so meticulously built between us. "I didn't know the FBI ran a cooking school." I said, trying to sound a little more playful than I felt. "Well, when you live alone and travel as much as I do, you have to learn to feed yourself," he said with a sly grin. "So you've moved around a lot with the Bureau?" I asked innocently. "Uh.no. Not with the Bureau," he said getting noticeably nervous and uncomfortable. "Oh, then you haven't always been an agent," I continued, wanting to know more but not wanting to push too far. No.no, I haven't," he answered, his eyes seemingly searching the table for some invisible object. He seemed to collect his thoughts a little as he finally picked up the wine bottle and asked, " Would you like some more to drink?" "Yes, of course. Thank you," I said as I raised my glass for him to take. I could sense his discomfort and after taking back the glass of wine, decided to allow him the opportunity to successfully change the topic. I did not have to wait long for him to do so. "So, tell me about you," he started with a renewed interest in conversation. "How did you get to where you are?" "You mean hiding out in some secret diplomatic conference hall and hotel from a psychotic organized crime boss? I think you know all about that," I said, grinning mischievously over the glass of wine before I took a sip. "That's not what I mean and you know it. Where did you grow up? What was your family like?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning in over the table. "I thought you'd know all of that already. Isn't that in a file somewhere," I retorted, somewhat more menacingly than I wanted. "Raw data," he said, ignoring the discrepancy of character, "It doesn't give me any details. I may know where you were born and your parents' names, but it's not enough. I want to know what in your past has made you so resilient, headstrong, and." "Stubborn?" He smiled a little. "Well, yes. To get through what you have lately, you'd have to be a little stubborn." "I suppose you're right." "You always seem to have things under some kind of control. Especially your emotions." "I guess it's just human nature. Don't we all try to find some kind of order in the midst of all the chaos in our lives? I just happen to live a life that's currently a degree more chaotic than most," I said flippantly.
"It can also be natural for someone to give in to the chaos," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Most people in your situation would be hiding in a corner somewhere, too afraid to do anything. Many might even welcome death as a way of getting away from it. I mean, what you're facing is." "Don't," I said, holding up my hand as I turned my head and closed my eyes, physically trying to stop the panic that I felt rising inside of me. "Don't what?" "Don't remind me what I should be afraid of. Don't talk about it. I just want one evening that I don't have to think about it." "I'm sorry. Of course you're right," he said, instinctively reaching for the hand resting on the table. He laid his hand over it gently as he said," I promise, I won't mention it again." I opened my eyes slowly, and was a little surprised by the sight of his hand over my own, his thumb, gently rubbing the back of it. This feeling, however, soon vanished when I realized that this sudden show of tenderness was sincere and I would not have to worry about reliving the horrors of the past weeks for that one night. "Well," Frank began his voice uneasy as he took another sip of wine, "You still haven't told me about yourself. Are you going to make me guess?" "I don't know what to tell you," I said as I propped my elbow up on the table and rested my head against my hand. "Tell me about your parents. What were they like?" "Well, my father died when I was three, so I didn't know him really, just stories." "How did he die?" "He was a cop - street beat. Responded to a robbery call one night at some convenient store, guy was still there when he arrived and opened fire before Dad even got near the door. One of the bullets caught him in the skull. He was in a coma for three weeks before he finally died. After that we were pretty much on our own." "We?" Frank asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "My mother, myself, and my little brother, John. He was barely a year old when it happened." "What did you do?" "What we had to. Mom worked three jobs until I was seven." "Why so many? Didn't she get any benefits? Your dad was a cop after all." "Yeah, but it wasn't enough. See John had Leukemia. He was diagnosed when he was four and had been sick for along time before that. Every penny went to doctors and hospitals. Mom worked so much to make sure we kids were never without. We had everything we could ever want, especially John." "What happened to him?" "He died when he was eight. They fought it off the best they could. It looked like he might go into remission, but then a coupled of months after his third birthday, he got sick and they found that the cancer had returned worse than ever. The next year was hell. I still don't know how he made it that long. When he died, my mother grieved but not like how you might expect." "What do you mean?" Frank asked, leaning in over the table again, arms still crossed. "She felt the pain of losing her son terribly, but at the same time she was relieved. His pain was gone, as was her torment. A few months later, she quit one of her jobs and the mood of the house changed. She was around more, she actually played with me and made special meals just for me, and she even managed to start going out with friends. She smiled more, too. I don't ever remember seeing her smile before then." "Well, now I know where you get your strength from," Frank said with a smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure it's strength so much as stubbornness." "Whatever it is, it works," he said, taking another sip of wine thoughtfully. "So your mother never remarried?" "No," I said, shaking my head, smiling somberly as I remembered, "She said she didn't think she could stand losing another man in her life. I guess I can understand." "Is that why you've stayed away from relationships your whole life?" he asked, already showing his awareness of my oncoming surprise. I looked at him, my face obviously showing my shock. "Now don't look at me like that. It's my job to know these things." I shot him a challenging glare and he smiled. "Okay, so I talked to your mother. When you ask a mother a simple question like 'Is there anyone else in her life that should know about her situation?' they tend to go off on a tangent if there isn't." "Well, I'm not surprised she said something. She thinks I'm still single because of her." "That you stay with her because you feel guilty?" "Yes. To tell you the truth I don't feel guilty. I do, however, feel responsible for her. She had to deal with a lot of crap in her life in order to take care of my brother and me and I do feel that I owe her for all of it. She worked so hard for so long and nothing for it in return. I'd say she deserved to have someone look out for her for a change." "Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say she got nothing in return. She got a daughter that cares for and loves her. I would guess she's happy just knowing you turned out as wonderful as you did." "Wow, you must have talked to her for a long time to get her to say I was 'wonderful'," I said smiling, looking down into my glass. "She wasn't the one who said it," I heard him say quietly. "Then who." I started to ask but when I looked up I caught his stare and I could see the answer before I finished the question. We held each other's gaze for a few moments before I began to feel like a silly schoolgirl - my heart beating erratically in my chest. After a few minutes Frank broke the uncomfortable silence by suggesting we move over to the couch by the fire. Picking up my wineglass I followed and took a seat next to him on the large brown leather sofa. Frank sat a little apart from me but close enough that I could tell the difference between the heat from the fire and the heat from his body. He was turned towards me; his arm propped up on the back of the couch, his head resting on the knuckles of a light fist. He had one foot on the coffee table and the other leg stretched out beneath it. It was the most relaxed I had ever seen him - and possibly the sexiest. Part of me wanted to burst with laughter at that thought. I felt so childish and unsure of myself with Frank. His presence was so intimidating and comforting at the same time that it confused me. I could not tell where I stood with him, even after he told me. It took a moment, but eventually it was Frank that broke the silence between us. "So what made you go into the sciences?" "I don't know, a little bit of everything I guess," I said as I curled up into the corner of the couch and rested the side of my head against the back. "I always loved animals as a child and as I got older I started learning more about medicine and research, and by the time I got to college I realized that I wanted to work with all of it. That's when I decided I wanted to become a professor. I took the job as a lab instructor after I graduated so I could take a break from school and log some 'real life experience.' I was planning on applying to graduate school for next fall, but, well, we'll see." "What do you mean? Why don't you do it?" "With everything's that's happened? There's no guarantee that this thing will be over by the end of this year, let alone over with enough time to apply in the spring. It'll just have to wait," I said, trying not to sound as disappointed as I was. Frank sat for moment; his brow knitted intensely, his eyes dark and a little sad. "I hate the thought that all of this may prevent you from doing something important." "Not preventing," I said, touching his knee softly, "Just delaying." I smiled as he relaxed a little. It was an odd feeling to be comforting him, but at the same time I did not want him to blame himself for my situation. "But there's still a chance Kate, that this may not end so easily," he continued, the seriousness sneaking back into his expression. "What are you talking about?" I asked, feeling the conversation change directions, feeling more and more like a downward spiral. "Carter's a hard man to track and if we do find him and manage to get him into custody, then we have to deal with all of the legalities." "What legalities?" "Well, we have plenty of evidence that links Carter to dozens of incidents with weapons rings, drug cartels, even child slavery. But we have nothing that implicates him as ringleader and none of his men that we have ever had in custody will speak out against him. They all swear he doesn't know anything, wasn't present at this meeting or another, or has never fired a weapon in their presence." "I don't understand, why would they lie like that? They're going down, why not take him down with them? He's the reason they're there. Why not punish him too? I know I would." "Well, it could be that they're not lying, that he has managed his dealings that well. Puppets, his men acting on his behalf, could run his entire operation. Many of the outfits he's dealt with claim that they have never actually met him." "But we know he was at the college. He was the one that tortured me. I saw him. I identified him for you. And you said that he was at the deal when his wife was killed." "Yes, that's true, but those were very specific cases. Carter's behavior in both incidents was unusual for him. His wife never knew what Carter did for a living. For all she knew he was just another white-collar businessman. It could be that the reason he was able to fool his own wife for so long wasn't because of her infinite trust or naivete, but instead was because he did run a normal everyday business. So, if he really did stay away from all the particulars, and allowed his men to do the leg work, then she would never have had a reason to question him." "But why was she there that day?" "The deal wasn't supposed to go down that day. It was supposed to be a preliminary meeting between his men, including one of my agents, and the supplier. But one of Carter's men got greedy and had set up the exchange ahead of schedule, planning on taking part of the shipment to sell for himself." "One of the hazards of not doing your own dirty work I assume?" "More common than you might think," Frank said matter-of-factly, "Anyone who is in this business long enough and learns how to make the right contacts, eventually wants to break off on their own. Unfortunately, Carter found out and decided to surprise his men. He didn't know we were watching, he thought he'd just run in, oversee the meeting, and walk out. One of our shooters on the roof spotted him and we sprang into action. He surfaced so rarely and stayed away from the dealings so often that his appearance was like a gift. So, long story short, we surprised them, the bullets flew for about half an hour and unfortunately, Mrs. Carter's concern for her husband put her the path of fire. It was a horrible accident." Frank stopped talking and looked down at the couch, obviously reliving that day. "But what about me," I said, breaking him away from his silent revelry, "He was at the college. Why was that different?" "Kate, you're the first person that we've ever had that's seen him, that's watched him give orders and saw his layout of the attack. He confided in you that he was the one in charge and that he had put a man inside the school to watch for agents. He told you those things because he thought you were going to die. He had it planned that he was going to kill you. But you got away. And now you're the only person that stands between him and us. Your testimony would put him away for life, regardless of what else he has done." "But you talked to him on the radio. He identified himself to you." "It could have been any one of his men pretending to be him. We can't prove that it was he. Again, it's just another circumstantial implication." "So what does this all mean to me? Are you suggesting that I'll have to go into the Witness Relocation Program?" "It's a possibility. It's a strong possibility; I won't lie to you. No one could ever force you into it, but we could never guarantee your safety outside of it." "So that's it. My future. If I don't testify, Carter will try to kill me out of fear that one day I might, and if I do, he'll kill me because I did. Either way I lose. It's all over. I thought all this time that there was a way that maybe someday my life would go back to normal. But that's not possible is it?" "Anything is possible, Kate," Frank said, stretching his arm across the back of the couch and then laying his hand upon my head, softly stroking my hair. "You could do whatever you wanted, within reason. Just maybe in another city under another name. Maybe you won't have to miss any opportunities after all." "And then, maybe I should take them as they come along," I said catching his gaze and holding it. I could see a little bit of surprise in his eyes as they watched me, waiting for something to happen. Slowly, I leaned in toward him, resting one arm on the back of the couch, across his own, and placing the hand of the other on his thigh. I held his gaze as I reached out for his mouth with my own and then as our lips finally touched, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the impulse that had pushed me towards him. The first kiss was light and gentle, but then as the warmth of our bodies began to overcome the heat from the fire before us, we settled into a deeper, more sensual rhythm, his tongue beginning to softly massage my own. He brought both of his arms around as I moved my hand from his thigh up to his shoulder and looped the other around the back of his neck. He cradled me for some time, the kisses more intense, our breaths catching, and the pressure of our caresses increasing as our desire unfolded. I wanted to stop as much as I wanted to continue. My need for him that night was something that I had never experienced before. The feelings I had could never be expressed, but as we made our way to the bedroom that night I knew that for one evening, I had everything I had ever dreamed of.
I watched silently as he handed me the plate and then absentmindedly drizzled dressing over the plate, watching as it rolled into every nook and cranny it could find. I could feel the discomfort of the silence as though it was a physical being sitting at the same table, watching our every move. I stole quick glances up at Frank occasionally as I picked my way through the lettuce and every time he would be looking at me. His expression was somewhat inquisitive but serene. He did not seem concerned by my silence but I knew he longed for conversation. I felt the same but could not bring myself to say anything. Eventually we pushed our salad plates aside and Frank served the chicken on top of a bed of the angel hair pasta. The trouble he took placing the food on the plate surprised me. I could imagine from watching him that it was more a matter of art than food for him. But something about his movements, his gentleness, settled my nerves and I slowly began to let down the wall that I had so meticulously built between us. "I didn't know the FBI ran a cooking school." I said, trying to sound a little more playful than I felt. "Well, when you live alone and travel as much as I do, you have to learn to feed yourself," he said with a sly grin. "So you've moved around a lot with the Bureau?" I asked innocently. "Uh.no. Not with the Bureau," he said getting noticeably nervous and uncomfortable. "Oh, then you haven't always been an agent," I continued, wanting to know more but not wanting to push too far. No.no, I haven't," he answered, his eyes seemingly searching the table for some invisible object. He seemed to collect his thoughts a little as he finally picked up the wine bottle and asked, " Would you like some more to drink?" "Yes, of course. Thank you," I said as I raised my glass for him to take. I could sense his discomfort and after taking back the glass of wine, decided to allow him the opportunity to successfully change the topic. I did not have to wait long for him to do so. "So, tell me about you," he started with a renewed interest in conversation. "How did you get to where you are?" "You mean hiding out in some secret diplomatic conference hall and hotel from a psychotic organized crime boss? I think you know all about that," I said, grinning mischievously over the glass of wine before I took a sip. "That's not what I mean and you know it. Where did you grow up? What was your family like?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning in over the table. "I thought you'd know all of that already. Isn't that in a file somewhere," I retorted, somewhat more menacingly than I wanted. "Raw data," he said, ignoring the discrepancy of character, "It doesn't give me any details. I may know where you were born and your parents' names, but it's not enough. I want to know what in your past has made you so resilient, headstrong, and." "Stubborn?" He smiled a little. "Well, yes. To get through what you have lately, you'd have to be a little stubborn." "I suppose you're right." "You always seem to have things under some kind of control. Especially your emotions." "I guess it's just human nature. Don't we all try to find some kind of order in the midst of all the chaos in our lives? I just happen to live a life that's currently a degree more chaotic than most," I said flippantly.
"It can also be natural for someone to give in to the chaos," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Most people in your situation would be hiding in a corner somewhere, too afraid to do anything. Many might even welcome death as a way of getting away from it. I mean, what you're facing is." "Don't," I said, holding up my hand as I turned my head and closed my eyes, physically trying to stop the panic that I felt rising inside of me. "Don't what?" "Don't remind me what I should be afraid of. Don't talk about it. I just want one evening that I don't have to think about it." "I'm sorry. Of course you're right," he said, instinctively reaching for the hand resting on the table. He laid his hand over it gently as he said," I promise, I won't mention it again." I opened my eyes slowly, and was a little surprised by the sight of his hand over my own, his thumb, gently rubbing the back of it. This feeling, however, soon vanished when I realized that this sudden show of tenderness was sincere and I would not have to worry about reliving the horrors of the past weeks for that one night. "Well," Frank began his voice uneasy as he took another sip of wine, "You still haven't told me about yourself. Are you going to make me guess?" "I don't know what to tell you," I said as I propped my elbow up on the table and rested my head against my hand. "Tell me about your parents. What were they like?" "Well, my father died when I was three, so I didn't know him really, just stories." "How did he die?" "He was a cop - street beat. Responded to a robbery call one night at some convenient store, guy was still there when he arrived and opened fire before Dad even got near the door. One of the bullets caught him in the skull. He was in a coma for three weeks before he finally died. After that we were pretty much on our own." "We?" Frank asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "My mother, myself, and my little brother, John. He was barely a year old when it happened." "What did you do?" "What we had to. Mom worked three jobs until I was seven." "Why so many? Didn't she get any benefits? Your dad was a cop after all." "Yeah, but it wasn't enough. See John had Leukemia. He was diagnosed when he was four and had been sick for along time before that. Every penny went to doctors and hospitals. Mom worked so much to make sure we kids were never without. We had everything we could ever want, especially John." "What happened to him?" "He died when he was eight. They fought it off the best they could. It looked like he might go into remission, but then a coupled of months after his third birthday, he got sick and they found that the cancer had returned worse than ever. The next year was hell. I still don't know how he made it that long. When he died, my mother grieved but not like how you might expect." "What do you mean?" Frank asked, leaning in over the table again, arms still crossed. "She felt the pain of losing her son terribly, but at the same time she was relieved. His pain was gone, as was her torment. A few months later, she quit one of her jobs and the mood of the house changed. She was around more, she actually played with me and made special meals just for me, and she even managed to start going out with friends. She smiled more, too. I don't ever remember seeing her smile before then." "Well, now I know where you get your strength from," Frank said with a smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure it's strength so much as stubbornness." "Whatever it is, it works," he said, taking another sip of wine thoughtfully. "So your mother never remarried?" "No," I said, shaking my head, smiling somberly as I remembered, "She said she didn't think she could stand losing another man in her life. I guess I can understand." "Is that why you've stayed away from relationships your whole life?" he asked, already showing his awareness of my oncoming surprise. I looked at him, my face obviously showing my shock. "Now don't look at me like that. It's my job to know these things." I shot him a challenging glare and he smiled. "Okay, so I talked to your mother. When you ask a mother a simple question like 'Is there anyone else in her life that should know about her situation?' they tend to go off on a tangent if there isn't." "Well, I'm not surprised she said something. She thinks I'm still single because of her." "That you stay with her because you feel guilty?" "Yes. To tell you the truth I don't feel guilty. I do, however, feel responsible for her. She had to deal with a lot of crap in her life in order to take care of my brother and me and I do feel that I owe her for all of it. She worked so hard for so long and nothing for it in return. I'd say she deserved to have someone look out for her for a change." "Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say she got nothing in return. She got a daughter that cares for and loves her. I would guess she's happy just knowing you turned out as wonderful as you did." "Wow, you must have talked to her for a long time to get her to say I was 'wonderful'," I said smiling, looking down into my glass. "She wasn't the one who said it," I heard him say quietly. "Then who." I started to ask but when I looked up I caught his stare and I could see the answer before I finished the question. We held each other's gaze for a few moments before I began to feel like a silly schoolgirl - my heart beating erratically in my chest. After a few minutes Frank broke the uncomfortable silence by suggesting we move over to the couch by the fire. Picking up my wineglass I followed and took a seat next to him on the large brown leather sofa. Frank sat a little apart from me but close enough that I could tell the difference between the heat from the fire and the heat from his body. He was turned towards me; his arm propped up on the back of the couch, his head resting on the knuckles of a light fist. He had one foot on the coffee table and the other leg stretched out beneath it. It was the most relaxed I had ever seen him - and possibly the sexiest. Part of me wanted to burst with laughter at that thought. I felt so childish and unsure of myself with Frank. His presence was so intimidating and comforting at the same time that it confused me. I could not tell where I stood with him, even after he told me. It took a moment, but eventually it was Frank that broke the silence between us. "So what made you go into the sciences?" "I don't know, a little bit of everything I guess," I said as I curled up into the corner of the couch and rested the side of my head against the back. "I always loved animals as a child and as I got older I started learning more about medicine and research, and by the time I got to college I realized that I wanted to work with all of it. That's when I decided I wanted to become a professor. I took the job as a lab instructor after I graduated so I could take a break from school and log some 'real life experience.' I was planning on applying to graduate school for next fall, but, well, we'll see." "What do you mean? Why don't you do it?" "With everything's that's happened? There's no guarantee that this thing will be over by the end of this year, let alone over with enough time to apply in the spring. It'll just have to wait," I said, trying not to sound as disappointed as I was. Frank sat for moment; his brow knitted intensely, his eyes dark and a little sad. "I hate the thought that all of this may prevent you from doing something important." "Not preventing," I said, touching his knee softly, "Just delaying." I smiled as he relaxed a little. It was an odd feeling to be comforting him, but at the same time I did not want him to blame himself for my situation. "But there's still a chance Kate, that this may not end so easily," he continued, the seriousness sneaking back into his expression. "What are you talking about?" I asked, feeling the conversation change directions, feeling more and more like a downward spiral. "Carter's a hard man to track and if we do find him and manage to get him into custody, then we have to deal with all of the legalities." "What legalities?" "Well, we have plenty of evidence that links Carter to dozens of incidents with weapons rings, drug cartels, even child slavery. But we have nothing that implicates him as ringleader and none of his men that we have ever had in custody will speak out against him. They all swear he doesn't know anything, wasn't present at this meeting or another, or has never fired a weapon in their presence." "I don't understand, why would they lie like that? They're going down, why not take him down with them? He's the reason they're there. Why not punish him too? I know I would." "Well, it could be that they're not lying, that he has managed his dealings that well. Puppets, his men acting on his behalf, could run his entire operation. Many of the outfits he's dealt with claim that they have never actually met him." "But we know he was at the college. He was the one that tortured me. I saw him. I identified him for you. And you said that he was at the deal when his wife was killed." "Yes, that's true, but those were very specific cases. Carter's behavior in both incidents was unusual for him. His wife never knew what Carter did for a living. For all she knew he was just another white-collar businessman. It could be that the reason he was able to fool his own wife for so long wasn't because of her infinite trust or naivete, but instead was because he did run a normal everyday business. So, if he really did stay away from all the particulars, and allowed his men to do the leg work, then she would never have had a reason to question him." "But why was she there that day?" "The deal wasn't supposed to go down that day. It was supposed to be a preliminary meeting between his men, including one of my agents, and the supplier. But one of Carter's men got greedy and had set up the exchange ahead of schedule, planning on taking part of the shipment to sell for himself." "One of the hazards of not doing your own dirty work I assume?" "More common than you might think," Frank said matter-of-factly, "Anyone who is in this business long enough and learns how to make the right contacts, eventually wants to break off on their own. Unfortunately, Carter found out and decided to surprise his men. He didn't know we were watching, he thought he'd just run in, oversee the meeting, and walk out. One of our shooters on the roof spotted him and we sprang into action. He surfaced so rarely and stayed away from the dealings so often that his appearance was like a gift. So, long story short, we surprised them, the bullets flew for about half an hour and unfortunately, Mrs. Carter's concern for her husband put her the path of fire. It was a horrible accident." Frank stopped talking and looked down at the couch, obviously reliving that day. "But what about me," I said, breaking him away from his silent revelry, "He was at the college. Why was that different?" "Kate, you're the first person that we've ever had that's seen him, that's watched him give orders and saw his layout of the attack. He confided in you that he was the one in charge and that he had put a man inside the school to watch for agents. He told you those things because he thought you were going to die. He had it planned that he was going to kill you. But you got away. And now you're the only person that stands between him and us. Your testimony would put him away for life, regardless of what else he has done." "But you talked to him on the radio. He identified himself to you." "It could have been any one of his men pretending to be him. We can't prove that it was he. Again, it's just another circumstantial implication." "So what does this all mean to me? Are you suggesting that I'll have to go into the Witness Relocation Program?" "It's a possibility. It's a strong possibility; I won't lie to you. No one could ever force you into it, but we could never guarantee your safety outside of it." "So that's it. My future. If I don't testify, Carter will try to kill me out of fear that one day I might, and if I do, he'll kill me because I did. Either way I lose. It's all over. I thought all this time that there was a way that maybe someday my life would go back to normal. But that's not possible is it?" "Anything is possible, Kate," Frank said, stretching his arm across the back of the couch and then laying his hand upon my head, softly stroking my hair. "You could do whatever you wanted, within reason. Just maybe in another city under another name. Maybe you won't have to miss any opportunities after all." "And then, maybe I should take them as they come along," I said catching his gaze and holding it. I could see a little bit of surprise in his eyes as they watched me, waiting for something to happen. Slowly, I leaned in toward him, resting one arm on the back of the couch, across his own, and placing the hand of the other on his thigh. I held his gaze as I reached out for his mouth with my own and then as our lips finally touched, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the impulse that had pushed me towards him. The first kiss was light and gentle, but then as the warmth of our bodies began to overcome the heat from the fire before us, we settled into a deeper, more sensual rhythm, his tongue beginning to softly massage my own. He brought both of his arms around as I moved my hand from his thigh up to his shoulder and looped the other around the back of his neck. He cradled me for some time, the kisses more intense, our breaths catching, and the pressure of our caresses increasing as our desire unfolded. I wanted to stop as much as I wanted to continue. My need for him that night was something that I had never experienced before. The feelings I had could never be expressed, but as we made our way to the bedroom that night I knew that for one evening, I had everything I had ever dreamed of.