Last Lodging.

December of 1992.

British Columbia.

Spies rarely have friends. Our trust only stretches so far. We keep secrets, lie about where we've been and where we're going, and the things we've done. We're always waiting for betrayal, always on edge. Allies can become enemies at the drop of a hat, at the issue of an order. A guy you had coffee with one morning might be trying to kill you by nightfall.

I had gotten used to it before I met Sam Axe.

He was not a spy. He was the opposite, somehow. He was warm and friendly, an open book. And he was already privy to top secret information. He already had a pretty good idea of what I did, without me ever divulging anything. He was a soldier – he was a friend.

It was still relatively new to me.

I had grown up and become too different, so the friends from my past seemed to stay there. Andre was somewhere else, doing something else, with someone else. I had only made one real friend in training, and he had died in the desert. Card was my boss, my handler, and Larry was not my friend – he was not anyone's friend.

But as cliché as it was, the world was brighter and full of possibilities when Sam was around.

"You're broody again."

I glanced over at him. He was stretched out on a lawn chair, shirtless, showing off a significant mass of knotted muscle on his chest and arms. SEALS. Every one of them could probably pick up an anvil and toss it in the air. In contrast to his tough upper half, he was wearing swim trunks with palm trees on them and bright pink sandals – and he had a mojito in one hand.

"How can you possibly be broody in a place like this?" He gestured around, smiling encouragingly, "Hop in the pool. Go sit in the sauna. Get a back massage."

We were at a premier luxury resort wedged in the mountains of British Columbia. It was hovering around 40 degrees outside (when the sun was out). But they had a large indoor heated pool in a building that never dipped below 70 degrees. We were some of the only people here, so the pool was deserted. The waitstaff appeared every now and then to give Sam another drink, but for the most part, we were alone.

Sam had a buddy who was the co-owner of the place.

He had a lot of useful buddies.

"I'm not brooding," I responded, trying to appear as relaxed as he was. It was hard for me. "I'm just… I could be doing something right now."

"Yeah, but you're not. You're on vacation. I can't believe somebody had to make you take a break. Never been a problem for me."

Card had banished me from the agency until I had taken a few weeks off. I originally planned to spend it with my family – "Go and see your mom, Michael" – but that didn't pan out. Sam must have heard the stress in my voice when I called on Christmas, because we were on the way to Canada a day later. I still had ten days to kill out here.

"Order a drink, Mike. Better yet, I got it." He sat up, beckoning to the waiter hanging around by the door. "Hey, can I get a mojito for my buddy here?"

"I don't really drink."

"One drink won't kill you." Sam sat back, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. "I used to come up here every spring. Oh, boy, the college girls. I don't remember most of it." He winked. "I could ski with the best of them. Probably still can. Hey, we should hit the slopes!"

"I've never skied before," I admitted.

"Perfect. I'll set it up."

"How was Cancun?"

Sam snorted, "Train wreck. How was El Salvador?"

I met his eyes, wondering how he knew where I was. He always seemed to know things he shouldn't know. "Same."

"Then that squares it – we both needed this. So stop pouting and enjoy yourself."

"I'm doing my best."

"I'm gonna need another fifty percent, at least, soldier."

I smiled.

I drank the mojito they brought me, not enjoying the tartness, and then stretched as hard as I could and tried to force myself to relax – I tried harder this time. The alcohol buzzed at the edge of my mind, chipping away at the protective walls I had built.

Sam sighed, mimicking my stretch and settling deeply into his chair. "You heard what's been going on in Ireland lately?"

Bombings. Riots. Rebellions. "No, not really."

"Nasty situation. Surprised neither of us have made it up there. Over there? The direction isn't important."

"Doesn't have anything to do with us, I guess."

"We'll see."

"Do you want to go to Ireland?"

"Well, no. But I hear the babes up there are just… incredible."

"Is that all you ever think about, Sam?"

"That and a solid American apple pie."

We lay there for a long, long time, and as the hours dragged on, I started to really feel the relaxation he was talking about. It felt like I was finally allowed to stop looking over my shoulder, at least for the moment. It was safe here, and quiet, and warm. I even found myself flirting with the pretty lady who started bringing out the drinks. She started lingering, sitting in the chair beside mine, sometimes touching my arm when she talked to me.

It was nighttime when Sam finally rolled off his chair and headed up to his room. "See you in the morning, Mike. I'll talk to Dean about getting us on the slopes tomorrow."

When he was gone, the waitress returned, sitting tentatively where he had been. "Your friend comes here a lot, but I've never seen you before."

She was younger than me, but not by much. She had pretty eyes and long brown hair. Her accent was American. And she was smiling at me.

"I'm Michael," I said.

"Breanna," the girl responded.

"Do you live out here? It seems kind of far away from any towns."

"I stay here when I'm working, and then drive back home. It's not too far." She lay back in the chair, like Sam had, and said, "So, what brought you here on Christmas, Michael?"

"You first."

"The resort runs year-round, in case big clients want to have a getaway."

"I meant you, specifically. Don't you have family?"

"I do, but this time of year pays very well."

"Ahh." She was beautiful, really. I laid my head on the chair, watching her, letting the three or four mojitos Sam had plied me with take control. "I had a bad holiday. Needed to get away."

"Well, this is definitely away."

I wondered if she got bored up here, with only two people around. I wondered if boredom was the reason she was talking to me – or if there was something else she wanted out of it. I was starting to want something out of it.

I had little opportunity, with my job, to be with women.

My drunken mouth was terrible at talking to them, "I think you're beautiful."

Breanna laughed. "Thank you. I think I should probably stop bringing you drinks."

"Probably for the best," I agreed.

Her eyes glowed when she looked at me. "It's just… we don't get a lot of young people out here. I kind of forget that there are people my age in the world. I live with my dad – he's pretty old. And then I come here, and the clients are usually ancient."

"Ahh, well, you're welcome for the eye candy."

She snorted, her eyes sliding down my chest, "I wasn't…" she flushed. "I just meant…"

"I was kidding. Sorry. I'm not used to drinking. It's making me stupid."

Breanna stood up, holding her hand out to me. "Come on. I'll get you to the elevator."

"I appreciate that."

She helped me balance all the way out of the pool room and into the main hotel, which was stunningly decorated. I looked a little ridiculous in my swim trunks – Sam had got me the ones with the cartoon sharks on them.

While we waited for the elevator to come back down, she said, "Are you a soldier?"

I felt a little jolt of adrenaline, my natural wariness responding, but the alcohol dimmed it. I just said, "Yeah. How'd you know that?"

"You just looked… a little haunted when you came in this morning. My dad's a veteran. He gets that look every time something spooks him."

I laughed at the use of 'spook,' but the sound died in my throat. Did I really look like that to other people?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to… be rude." Breanna hit the button again, willing the elevator to come faster.

I leaned against the wall. "You're not. It's not. I just didn't know people could see… that."

I was saying too much, but my mouth wouldn't stop. Whatever I was thinking just spilled out.

"It's gone now. I think Mr. Axe has that effect on people. He's always been nice to me."

"Yeah, me too."

She smiled shyly. "It was nice meeting you, anyway, Michael. I hope I see you again."

"I'm sure you will. It's not that big of a resort." I stepped onto the elevator. "I got ten days. How long are you here?"

"Twelve." She smiled as the doors closed.

I stumbled off the elevator with a big, goofy smile on my face, and no sense of danger or dread as I found my way to my room. Sam popped out to help me when the card wouldn't go into the slot. He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

"Night, Mike."

"Night."

I crawled into bed, curled the covers around myself like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and fell asleep thinking about Breanna and her pretty smile.