Disclaimer: Threat Matrix and the associated characters do not belong to me. Unfortunately. If they did, I wouldn't have bowed to the critics and the show would still be running.

2/6

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

The purr of the militarized Gulfstream III punctuated the silence in the cabin. The C-20H usually reserved for high-ranking government and DoD officials had been commandeered by Homeland Security for use in transporting their agents. Five hours into the roughly 15 hour flight, John Kilmer sat with his eyes closed, trying to determine the likely target of the terrorists. After a moment of further contemplation, he said, "OK so we're looking at a possible attack on the American embassy in Moscow."

To his left, Frankie shook her head and pointed to the data stream on her PPX. "That doesn't feel right, Kilmer. The Chechens have become bolder with each attack. Bombing an embassy is still much removed from the daily life of the average American. If they're as angry as it seems, they'll be looking for something with a deeper impact. They'll hit closer to home."

Kilmer tipped his head, acknowledging her logical assessment. "Any ideas?"

"If I had any," Frankie retorted with an irritated glance toward her ex, "I wouldn't be poring over these files."

Kilmer watched her in silence as she skimmed the pages of documentation on her PPX. He had always admired the speed and agility of her mind. That skill had caught his eye when they had first teamed up to work a serial killer case for the Bureau. Well, that and her incredible legs.

"Stop watching me, Kilmer," she warned, not lifting her eyes from the text before her.

Kilmer smiled. "I like watching you think."

"You like watching me cross my legs more," she parried with a soft snort.

"Well," he answered, "they are one of your finest attributes." His smile deepened at the thought.

Frankie, unnerved by the sudden personal bent to the conversation, turned off her PPX and glanced over at him. Seeing the gleam of interest in his gaze, she quickly focused on securing the PPX in her bag. "Look, Kilmer, we're both exhausted. Let's just get some sleep so we'll be functional once we land."

Hating to end the conversation, John nonetheless was pragmatic enough to recognize the good sense in her recommendation. He was tired and as much fun as it was to pick at her, he knew that making her uncomfortable would not serve his purpose. Nodding his agreement, Kilmer reached up and killed the overhead light. He leaned back his chair and with a whispered, "Good night, Mrs. Kilmer," he shut eyes.

Kilmer woke a few hours later to the smell of peaches and the accompanying soft weight of Frankie's head and smiled. While they slept, she had shifted. Her arm now slung across his chest while she used his shoulder for a pillow. Breathing in the heady and familiar scent of her shampoo, he raised a hand to gently encircle her arm and closed his eyes allowing himself to dream of their past, and hope for their future.

Kilmer was awake and talking with the pilots when Frankie finally dragged herself up from the depths of dreamland. God, she had been tired. She couldn't remember sleeping that well in a long time. With a huge stretch and yawn, she took a sniff. It was an old habit, a throwback to married life. When she would wake up in the morning, John would have already started the coffee pot. She hadn't awakened to the smell of freshly brewed coffee for months now.

At least not until this morning.

Before she could say a word, Kilmer handed her a cup of steaming java, grinning at her obvious surprise. "You didn't think I'd forgotten how much you enjoy that first cup, did you?"

If she were going to admit the truth, Frankie had actually half-hoped that he had forgotten. It would have been one more supporting detail to lend weight to her gut feeling about them. But he hadn't. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

It was a good thing she decided a moment later as the first taste of caffeine slipped over her tongue. Definitely a good thing.

"So, how did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in a long time. You?"

"Same here." He smiled as he took a sip of his own mug of coffee. He was sure she didn't know what had happened last night: how she had slept so trustingly in his arms. He wasn't about to tell her. If he voiced it, she would be bound to say something disparaging, thus shattering a moment he would treasure.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Frankie took another sip then put the cup aside in favor of her PPX. "Anything more come in last night?"

Kilmer sobered and shook his head. "Not much. Mia and Mo are back-tracking the CG. Anders has discovered that a single shoulder-fired missile was stolen from the Russian military armory late yesterday."

"Brilnikov?"

"As of last report, he's still in lock-up. We'll be landing in roughly twenty minutes and members of the Russian police force are to escort us to the prison."

Frankie nodded and nursed her coffee for a long moment, her mind still more than a little hazy. After she had downed half of the cup, she looked up and murmured, "Kilmer? Thanks."

With a grin, he winked at her and replied, "Don't mention it."

Twenty minutes later, the wheels of the plane thumped to the ground, the engines whined their protest as the brakes and wing flaps worked to harness the power to a safer speed. Frankie glanced out the window and stifled a curse.

"What is it?"

She pointed to the men standing on the tarmac by a car. "That can't be good."

Kilmer leaned over the seat, savoring the accidental contact with her breasts. "Our Russian escort looks pretty antsy if everything is fine. Damn. Wonder what happened."

"We'll find out soon enough."

...to be continued...