Chapter 5

I shouldn't be here. I. Shouldn't. Be. Here. Which was why, when I poised my fist to knock I let my arm drop down to the side. My forehead rests on the wall next to her door - apartment 201 - as I try to make myself turn away and run.

Yeah, run. It's what I should do.

Run away from this city, cross the border and just keep running. Run and never look back. I'm a fugitive now - a word I'd never thought would be associated with me but, here I am. A fugitive for a crime I never comited - murder. In the eyes of the law, until proven otherwise, I'm a murderer.

It all began when information appeared on my desk one morning and not a soul knew where it came from. A lead about my father's whereabouts and a man named Stephen Conaplanic that claimed to have a dossier which pointed right to my father.

I met the man at a warehouse - alone because that was his request. In retrospect my need to find my dad blinded me from seeing the obvious set up in which I would take the fall for a murder I did not comit. The trigger was pulled, yes, but not by me. The shooter? A Colonel Mikhail Parlovksy.

To my dismay, I was arrested almost immediately and stripped of the documents I'd emptied my savings account for. It was only through Webb that I recovered them and escaped with a hair brained scheme that actually worked. And maybe it worked too damned well because instinctively I know this is a trap. I know I'm a pawn in some sort of government chess game. I realized it too late.

And here I am needing help from the woman I once considered a close friend, my best friend. A woman that wanted nothing to do with me and had been avoiding me at all costs. I've tried to get a hold of her at that pretentious law firm but she was either not there or always in a meeting.

So what if I parked outside the building and followed her home one day to find that she - surprisingly - still had her apartment. Clearly Mac subleased but by the way that.. .Dayton? Darren? Damon? (I know it's not David, that sounds too pedestrian for that dick.)...by the way in which that guy was wrapped around her I half expected them to be moved in together with matching bathrobes and 'His' and 'Hers' towels.

Clown? Doesn't his last name rhyme with that? Lowne the Clown. Heh. I laugh. Apparently there was trouble in paradise. As I skulked around in the darkness I saw the sleek, black limo that dropped Mac off. Caught the tail end of an argument where the prick had told her he was sorry.

Mac's reply was to slam the door and hurry into the building without one glance back.

Secrerly I was pleased to hear them squabblr and prayed Mac came to her senses against a guy kike that who probably only wanted her as arm candy. The fact that they aren't cohabitating is a testament to their relationship but then Mac isn't one of those needy, clingy women. She's independent, a fact that has thrown me for so many loops.

I find myself knocking and just as quickly I pray she doesn't open. Mac doesn't need this in her licr - a man she was trying to rid herself off only to find him.at her doorstep - in an enlisted Marine's uniform to boot. I could have found someone else to translate the documents on my father, forced them even because I am currently carrying a pistol.

Oh who am I kidding? I have no one. Nowhere to run other than away and that would further complicate things.

Mac eyes me through the peephole and once she cracks open the door her eyes immediately scan my body clearly confused as to my attire. That in and out of itself she should have questioned me on. Instead, her door opens a little wider. "You never call, you never write."

She teases but there is a scantily hidden apprehension in her eyes. "I called. Each time your secretary said you were busy." Please Mac, send me away...tell me to run. "If you let me in you're harboring a fugitive."

Mac's eyes darken, any levity disappearing. Surely she knows what has happened, it's a cinch that at least three people have contacted her one of which was my lawyer Carolyn Imes who I am convinced was paid to take my case and slam me to the ground. "Did you do it?"

I should be offended that she asked but I'm not. She knows how important my father is to me. She knows I would stop at nothing for the truth. She swings the door open wider and motions for me to follow. "How's your Russian?" I ask and she responds back to me saying words I'm not familiar with.

I explain everything to her throughout the night and a time or two I'm sure she wants to grab the dossier and whack me over the h3af with it. Not that I can blame her. It's all cyrillic and for every word that comes easy to her there are at least five that she needs a Russian/English dictionary to find.

I watch her from my spot on the armchair smiling gently at how studious she looks. Her eyes are scanning the dossier and she takes notes on a legal pad each time something makes sense. The tip of her tongue darts out ever so

often especially when she's concentrating. It's so cute, adorable.

"Harm, you could have been killed." She finally says tossing her pen onto the legal pad as she levels me with a look that could kill. Mac stands, placing her hands on her hips as she proceeds to tell me how stupid I am, how reckless and inconsiderate. I have a mother, a grandmother, a step-father and many other people who love me. I find myself wondering if she loves me. As a friend, there's no doubt. As something else. "You could have been killed."

"I know." I do know how stupid it at all was but I was desperate. This was the first concrete lead that tied Vietnamese POWs to Russia. "I can't just let it go."

We're standing in her kitchen splitting a french bread pizza and waiting for the coffee machine to do its thing. "I know you can't but you can't let your emotions get in the way of rational thought. What good are you to him if you're dead?"

I swallow hard. I hadn't thought about that, not really. If I die, who searches for him? If I die what if he does too because of my own recklessness. "I should go...run...disappear. None of this will end well."

Her hand covers mine, a gentle touch followed by an equally gentle sweep of her thumb over my knuckles. They are slightly bruised from having knocked out one guard in my escape. "Don't run. You're safe here, for now. We haven't worked together in months. I won't say this is the last place they'd look but, you're safe."

Safe. I never realized up until this moment how safe I really feel with her. Mac grounds me, always has from the moment we met. She's a steady constant - impassioned but not recklessly so. The other half of me. "Thank you."

"Yeah well, you're gonna owe me to the moon and back. Grab two mugs." She says, sauntering back to the living room with the freshly brewed pot.

Mac sighs and flips past various pages of the dictionary. "Oh, I've been pronouncing it wrong." She states and then breaks down the word by syllables until it flows from her lips as if she'd always spoken it.

I never much cared for languages and find it fascinating that she could manipulate quite a few. She learned this one in college, one semester and while not fluent Mac could hold her own. I find that sexy and cover a blush with the dossier when she tells me that I look good in this current uniform. "You could have been a Marine. We have jets too."

I scoff at the thought. Marines flew bugs, Hornets and a few were lucky enough to fly what we affectionately call 'WidowMakers' the Harrier - a complex plane that could take off vertically and had more problems than I could count. "But they don't fly Tomcats."

"There's that. As much as I hate planes, I must admit that the F-14 is...sexy." And I find my ego takes a boost from the thought of her finding anything I do sexy.

I stretch, working out the various kinks in my body sitting in the arm chair brings. Mac is now seated on the floor, a much better spot for her to do research from - she claims. She moves her neck side to side and I catch a faint groan from muscles that surely must be aching.

One hand grasps her neck, trying to work out a tight spot. "Hey let me." I directly behind Mac on the sofa, replacing her hand with both of mine diligently massage each bundle of tight muscle I find. "Oh, that feels good." She says in a voice so soft and breathy I'd be hard pressed to find that's her bedroom voice.

"Yeah, about right here?" My fingers find a tighter knot and dig in and Mac practically moans at my touch. I really wish she would stop making those sounds, they muddle my already foggy brain and make me think things I shouldn't about her.

"Oh yeah. Don't stop." Christ. I'm grinning like an idiot from each throaty moan of pleasure which escapes her lips. Was this what Mac sounds like when she makes love? Now I really want to murder Dorion…

My hands slow down involuntarily, the vigorous massage becoming something of a lover's touch as I close my eyes and simply feel. Somehow my palms slipped against the collar of the sweater she's wearing and the sensation of skin on skin was so much better than anything I could have dreamt up.

Mac's skin is just like silk, soft and smooth, wonderfully caressable. I dare to slip my fingers beneath the straps of her bra and trace each delicate collar bone before I slowly knead her shoulders. She sighs and then rests her back against my shins, the motion causing my hands to slip over her chest.

I don't notice at first that the taught muscles were now replaced by soft, pillowy skin. I didn't intend to slip my hands into the fabric that covered her breasts. I certainly never meant to pull it down or gently massage each orb. It was her gasp that snapped me back into reality and I pull away from her like I've been burnt.

I imagine her kicking me out now after yelling a slew of curses that I surely deserved. "I'm sorry, Mac."

With a heavy sigh she heaves herself off the floor and sits next to me. She's gonna slap me. She has to slap me because that touch was beyond inappropriate and I…"I liked having your hands on me."

There was a boldness to her words, a divide she was crossing with me. She's smiling and I'm mesmerized when the tip of her tongue darts out again to moisten her lips. Mac's been a trial on my feelings from day one and I feel the air around us shift. It's electric, you could practically see the sparks.

Her small hand reaches for mine, bringing it beneath her sweater to cup one bare breast. There are likely a zillion reasons why this was wrong but I don't care. We're not bound by the chains of command...we're not anything. "I want you."

Her words make me come undone.