Samantha opened her eyes to a world of half-light. Somehow, during the night, the sheets and comforter ended up over her head. She was warm, and she sighed as she detected the smell of her husband. She reached out to touch him and felt nothing. She pulled the covers off and squinted. From the bathroom, he started singing some song - if you could even call it singing. Gregory had a terrible voice. She got out of bed and headed for the shower.
He was in the tub amidst a mountain of suds - he was almost as talented as measuring soap as he was at crooning - rubbing shampoo into his hair. "Good morning, Sam! You're just in time - come on in!"
"I'm going to take a shower this morning, but thanks. Singing sounded great, by the way," she added with more than a touch of sarcasm.
Greg ignored the jab. "Hey, what was all that 'how about we take a bath' stuff last night? Come on..."
"A shower, Gregory, and then I need to call the front desk and order another bottle of soap."
Her husband pouted for a moment and said, "Alright, but at least come over and give me a good-morning kiss."
Samantha walked over, bent down and kissed her husband, running her hands over his chest. He reached up to put his arms around her - then grabbed her. She let out a yelp as he easily lifted her and pulled her headfirst into the tub. A minor tidal wave left part of the floor swimming in water and suds. When she came back up, Greg smiled. "Thanks for changing your mind and taking a bath with me."
Samantha wiped the water from her face. "Gregory Allen! You're very fortunate that I'm in a good mood." She looked at the floor, and added, "This little stunt means you're pulling clean-up duty in here when we're done. And you're doing laundry at some point today because this was the only nightshirt I packed."
Greg turned on the hot water to replace what was now on the floor and squeezed even more soap into the flow. Then she moved over to him, put her arms around his neck and ran her tongue around his ear. She whispered, "Since my shirt is soaked..."
She reached under the water and tugged at her shirt, pulling it up and over her head and causally tossing it behind her, where it landed on the wet floor with a soggy splat. She hugged him again, then lightly ran her hands over his biceps, trying to speak in a sexy voice, "If anything still hurts from skiing, I'd be happy to rub it for you."
Greg smiled. "I've been good since the masseuse worked me over yesterday at the spa."
Samantha pulled away and looked hard at her husband. "Really...the lady at the spa..." She promptly dunked him, holding his head under water for several seconds before letting him back up with a chuckle. "You want to rephrase that answer?"
"She had great hands..." and down he went again, this time for a little longer.
"If you want to play with me in this tub again, I highly suggest you rephrase."
Greg pulled her close through the pile of suds, laughing and holding her head against his shoulder while rubbing her back. "What I meant to say was that I feel fine, and I love you and only you. And let me be honest, I crave your body!"
She started kissing his neck and ears while running her hands over his chest. "Much better. You win the prize..."
An hour later the phone rang and Samantha answered and listened. She put her hand over the receiver and whispered, "Wow...Richard Jenkins from Maine Medical is here in Jackson." Looking at her husband, she replied to the phone, "Yeah, I think we're free for a late breakfast..." She looked at Greg with a questioning look and he nodded. "Greg says yeah, we are free. You name the place and we'll be there." She hesitated before responding. "That sounds great, ten-thirty. See you then," and hung up.
Greg thought for a moment before asking, "Would I rather be free for a late breakfast, or late for a free breakfast? Hmmm..."
Samantha rolled her eyes. "I would rather my husband just not talk sometimes."
The Stones were sitting at a table in the corner of the restaurant where Richard, who was in charge of Patient Services and was effectively their boss, joined them. As Captain Hudson sat down, Rita laughed to herself. He actually looked like an administrator, even more than she and Chris looked like doctors.
"Ok, you two, first off, how are things going?"
They gave Hudson a high-level rundown of their activities, avoiding the unnecessary details. Rita summarized it by saying, "We have tried to look like any other couple out here vacationing, and we've not been shy to make mention of the adoption."
"Good. You're sticking to your cover all the time, right?"
When they nodded, he smiled, "Good again. It's possible that our Hearts of Love friends have made quiet inquiries about you and know where you're staying. They may be checking up on you - phone logs, tails, you know the drill."
"We were very careful when we came to meet you - making sure no one was following us." Chris continued, "But yeah, we've been working under the assumption that we are being watched or monitored at all times." He looked at Rita, who nodded and then looked down at the table to hide her smile.
"Excellent plan."
When the waitress brought their plates, Jenkins was discussing hospital policy on overtime hours with first-year residents.
When she left, he leaned back in. "So here's the deal. In the last two days, the FBI has contracted a bad case of 'ants-in-the-pants.' They're getting jumpy because two more phony adoption cases have surfaced, one in Missouri and another in Oklahoma. The one in Missouri has legs - the family involved includes a young, up-and-coming state Senator. In January, he announced he was running for the US Senate this fall, and he'll have a tough race against the incumbent."
The Captain took a swig of his coffee. "He and his wife adopted two months ago and have started yelling - so far, in private - about resolving this case. We've been able to hold a lid on him so far, but he's a politician and this story is probably worth ten sympathy points to him in the polls. If he blows the lid off, Hearts of Love will disappear underground and it will be a year before we can track them down and set up another sting."
As he took a deep breath, Rita chimed in. "So, the FBI wants this buttoned up before it gets screwed up."
"Yes. They are itching to send in the posse now, but I keep telling them we're just a few days from busting this, so..." he sighed, "...what is your confidence level right now?"
Chris spoke up, a little frustrated. "Cap, we've done exactly what we were expected to do - build a cover as a married couple, but we haven't even met with them yet - not until tomorrow morning..."
"Nine-thirty AM sharp, Lorenzo."
"Right, nine-thirty. So for us to say anything now about 'confidence' is almost impossible. We know nothing about the process - how it works, how long it takes once initial backgrounds are done - nothing. We are somewhat flying blind, and we're going to have to let the Hearts of Love people drive this. I do not want to push them to move more quickly. They will probably smell a rat, and I have zero interest in wearing a necklace of AK-47 slugs. So I vote we play it cool. Unless the FBI wants to go running in like John Wayne and risk the whole enterprise, they have to be cool, too."
Rita nodded in agreement. "Exactly. I would like to think we can set everything up for the FBI by week's end, but until we know more...yeah, they should wait on the sidelines until we send out the signal."
The Captain looked at them, thinking things over. "You both know I'm with you on this. I think the pace is good," he paused, "but most of all, I want you both safe, and truthfully, the Feds want that as well. But they want to close this, so they're pushing a little."
"I'll tell them you're on-schedule, with a tentative target of week's end - and an order to let you do your jobs. If you need me, I'm in the Wort Hotel downtown - Dr. Richard Jenkins. It's a pretty nice place, actually. I would like daily updates starting tomorrow, but I won't demand it, because I don't know what you're going to face. Keep me in the loop as necessary, and you already know this, but don't call me from your hotel phone. When you feel everything is set up, we will meet with the guys with guns and walk through the take-down. Watch your backs," he paused for a moment before smiling, "and I hope your baby is healthy and beautiful. You'll make good parents."
Yellowstone. Few words in the English language are as recognizable as that one, and few words can conjure up the mental imagery that 'Yellowstone' can. A person might try to describe the place, but the English language simply isn't rich enough to adequately do so. The best way to learn about it is just to see it. Sure, America's first National Park is little more than a giant volcanic caldera, two-plus million acres of trees and animals and soil and rock that are layered over a massive reservoir of magma. But to call it an 'old volcano' is to call the Grand Canyon 'a big hole' or Carlsbad Caverns 'a cave with some bats'.
The beauty is staggering. The grandeur is indescribable. Every mile through the park can cause breathing problems, and they have little to do with the altitude. Even in late winter, under a covering of snow and with some of the roads still closed, there is plenty of beauty, as Greg and Samantha discovered in their trip through the park. He was glad for the all-wheel-drive power of the car, because many of the roads, while plowed, still had a coating of snow and ice, the remnants of Thursday's snowfall.
They made their way to Old Faithful and watched an eruption before stopping at one of the restaurants there, just having dessert and cocoa. While they sat, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, creating a glittering, blinding white landscape that caused Greg to repeat his promise to Sam that one day they would live here. They visited briefly with some tourists at the next table who said the weather called for snow to move in during the evening, and Greg made the wise decision - based on his lack of winter driving skills - to start making their way back to the hotel.
Flurries were actually starting to fall as they walked back to their car. The flakes got progressively heavier as they headed south toward the park entrance and, by the time they reached Teton Village, it was snowing steadily. They ran through the entrance of the hotel, stopping to stomp the snow off their shoes and brush their shoulders and heads before heading up.
"Wow! That snow kind of came out of nowhere. You think we'll have trouble getting to the adoption agency tomorrow? Will the roads be closed?"
Greg thought for a minute before answering. "There's more than one way to Idaho Falls. For us, there are two basic options - the high road over Teton Pass or the lower road. The lower road should be clear, but is longer by fifteen or twenty minutes. Either way is roughly two hours. You hungry?"
"Yeah, a little. But..." Samantha hesitated, afraid he might be upset, "...would you mind if we just stayed in tonight? Maybe room service or the hotel restaurant?"
"Absolutely. Are you alright?"
Samantha shook her head. "I think I'm just tired and a touch queasy. We've been going full-on the last three days and it might be catching up to me. You're keeping me up too late," she added with a smile.
In the end, the Stones went out for dinner, but they stayed in Teton Village, finding a good Thai place just a short walk from the hotel. Samantha ordered the traditional Pad Thai, but only picked at it, and Greg helped her finish it, beginning to wonder if she was ill. When they left the restaurant, it was cold and dark, but the snow had mostly stopped and their feet crunched through what looked to be about four inches of fresh powder. They entered the lobby of their hotel and he helped her out of her coat.
"Sam, it's 7:30. What would you like? A drink? A swim? A soak? I'd like to have a dessert of some kind - you know how I am."
"You go ahead. I think I will go up to the room. I'll see you in a bit." She kissed his cheek and gave him a little squeeze on his backside. Greg watched her go, convinced she wasn't feeling well and having already made the decision to simply get his dessert from the hotel restaurant and go to the room as well. The Apple Profiterole he ordered looked splendid and he hoped Sam would at least try a bite.
Samantha was already lying down when he walked through the door. He felt her forehead and she was a little warm, but didn't seem feverish. He sat down on the bed next to her. "Would you like to try this? It's delicious!"
She sat up, propped herself against the headboard, and shook her head. "It looks really good, but I can't eat it. I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach. Would you mind bringing me a cold washcloth?"
He brought one to her and she put it on her forehead with a sigh. "That feels so good. Thanks."
"Can I rub your shoulders or neck or..."
"I think I just want to rest."
"Crackers? 7-Up?"
She made a face. "Nothing sounds even remotely good right now."
Fifteen minutes later, Greg was done with his dessert and she asked for another cold cloth. He sat next to her on the bed, hoping not to bother her and wanting to be close by if she needed him. She drifted off to sleep and he checked the time - 8:15. He watched a bit of TV, but having the volume almost completely muted made it a pointless endeavor, so he shut if off along with the lights, got out of his clothes, and crawled into bed. He didn't realize how tired he was, but fell asleep almost as quickly as his wife had.
Three hours later, Samantha Stone stirred and then opened her eyes, immediately assaulted with waves of nausea. She was sweating profusely and an awful thought entered her mind - food poisoning. She lay in agony for a while, praying for death and moving around, trying to find a position that eased the pain in her guts while not waking her husband. But that feeling of impending doom was growing, and she knew it was time to make a break for the bathroom. She got up and quietly raced through the bedroom, just making it across the bathroom threshold before her guts lurched and she retched. She put her hands to her mouth in a futile attempt to hold back the contents of her stomach, but her body was operating on instinct and the stool was too far away. She threw up on the floor.
Greg came up behind her a few moments later. Her quick exit from the bed had caused him to wake up. "Are you alri..." She turned around with a helpless look, her hands dripping with goo that was also hanging from her chin and splattered on the clothes she was still wearing. He thought she looked sickly green.
"Oh Samantha Lynn, you look awful! Let me help..."
Samantha tried to speak, but her eyes bulged and her stomach convulsed again. Greg heard the gurgling sound and grabbed her hair as she turned away and threw up a second time, the force of her expulsion causing her to drop to her knees. She gagged and heaved several more times until there was nothing left in her stomach.
On her hands and knees, Samantha gasped, her body limp and exhausted by its exertions. Greg knelt behind her, rubbing her back and whispering, trying to comfort her.
"Alright Sam, let's get you cleaned up. Don't worry about the floor - I'll take care of it." He helped her to the shower and turned on the water for her. Leaving her to undress and rinse off, he called the front desk, explained the situation, and asked for some cleaning supplies.
Samantha took a little extra time in the shower, and Greg couldn't fault her for it. She actually suffered dry heaves twice more under the spray, but then her body started to relax. The nausea was easing up - her body had expunged what was poisoning her and recovery had already begun.
Greg got a mop and bucket from the concierge, along with some soap, disinfectant, and spray. He cleaned up the floor - working hard not to throw up himself - scrubbing the tiles and trying to get everything back to normal before she was done showering. He had just finished drying the floor when she walked up behind him.
Samantha actually felt human again, having showered, rinsed her mouth, brushed her teeth, and gargled some mouthwash. She had thrown on a bathrobe and her wet hair was clinging to her cheeks and neck. She was still pale, but the worst was past.
"I'm so sorry you had to see that," she said, her voice still a bit shaky, "and then have to clean everything up. I'm really embarrassed - that must have been awful. Thank you so much."
"Yeah, it wasn't so nice, but I've seen a lot worse," he said with as much of a smile as he could muster. "I'm a doctor that works with kids, remember?" He hugged her carefully, not wanting to squeeze too hard and risk another eruption, then checked her over. "You still look pretty pale, but at least there's nothing in your hair anymore."
"I'm feeling a little better. I don't think it was food poisoning, or I'd still be heaving - and it would be coming out both ends of me. I know that sounds awful. I'm sorry," she caught him making a face at her description. "There must have been something spoiled in what I ate in the park. If that's the case, I'm really glad you didn't have the crème brulee."
"No kidding! Look, you emptied your stomach, so you might be a little dehydrated. There are some saltine crackers in the welcome basket on the counter and I'll run down to the machine and get you some 7-Up. Hopefully that will help settle your stomach."
He looked at the clock on the way out - 11:38pm. She needed to get some rest before tomorrow - the first of several big days. If it was truly just the dessert and nothing more serious, she still had time to get back to sleep and rest for tomorrow.
He purchased two cans of soda - there was no 7-Up but some Sprite would do - and when he got back to the room, his wife was still in her bathrobe, but was propped up in bed, nibbling at the crackers and chewing slowly. Twenty minutes later, she had downed three crackers and half a can of soda with no ill effects.
Greg cleaned himself up a bit, washing his hands and face with soap to get rid of the vomit he kept imagining he smelled, and changing his tank and shorts. He laid back down, pushing her still-wet hair away from her face and kissing her forehead. "Well...?"
"I'm getting better. Thank you again for cleaning up after me - that was terrible." She smiled and took another small bite, then put the cracker between her lips and moved to him, trying to touch the cracker to his lips.
Greg smiled and closed in, taking the offering...and taking a kiss as a bonus. He looked at her green eyes and gave her a sly smile. "I love you, Samantha Stone, even when you're blowing chow on our bathroom floor."
"Mmm...you're such a romantic. It's midnight and we have to be up early in the morning." She kissed him one last time before lying down and rolling to her left side. Greg pulled the covers over his wife and scooted to her, putting his arm around her and snaking his hand inside her bathrobe. She whispered, "Gently, Gregory, I still ache..." as he put his hand on her belly, applying just enough pressure to maintain contact with her smooth skin.
Chris Lorenzo lay next to his partner, his hand on her belly. A part of him really wanted that hand to roam - the robe was all she had on - and after all, they were married, if only for this case. But he had really blown it the night before and Rita had extended him grace. That probably would not happen a second time. She would push him away and maybe get angry with him and that would be awkward. It was all very confusing. Separating make-believe from real life was sometimes incredibly complicated. They were play-acting for the sake of whatever eyes and ears were watching, but it also seemed so perfectly natural. There was no forced intimacy, no struggle to maintain conversation, no awkward gestures or hesitation. It felt completely real. It was real.
Chris caught himself in mid-thought. Real? Was Rita somehow communicating through this job that she truly loved him without realizing it? Was he unconsciously doing the same thing? Or was it not subconscious at all? Maybe they were truly in love with each other and what they thought was acting was, in reality, the natural outflow of their emotions and feelings. Chris squeezed his eyes - it was too early in the morning to analyze things this deeply. For now, he had promised to be a gentleman and he needed to stick with it. They needed to go into tomorrow with no clouds or conflicts hanging over them. So with all his might, he resisted his urges because she was precious to him. He smiled, content for the moment to be next to her, his hand on her skin, her beautiful, warm body snuggled against him, the wonderful, freshly-washed scent of her wafting over them. Now was the time for sleep.
Rita felt her heart beginning to beat faster. Chris' hand was right there and she wanted him to explore. But he said he wanted to behave himself, and if she encouraged him, she would be responsible for him breaking his promise. She put the brakes on last night and he had stopped immediately, but tonight was different. She had been sick and still wasn't back to normal, so touching would be all she could handle. There was nothing wrong with that, right? Just a few caresses for a nightcap. A little pleasure here and there? Maybe she would reciprocate. They had done a lot more than that in the other life that was this undercover business. They were experts at play-acting a couple - maybe a little too good.
Rita wondered what Chris was thinking. Was he even awake? She wanted to talk to him; she needed to talk to him. As a professional, she knew it was her duty to tell him she was failing. This false life as Samantha Stone was beginning to melt and blend with reality. She sounded all business-like when this case was presented to them, but the time out here - in his presence, in his arms, in his bed - had made the line of separation fuzzy to the point of being almost invisible. Last night, she almost told Chris she was madly in love with him, right after nearly going over the line physically...and tonight? He cleaned her puke off the floor. What guy would ever...? She was falling hard and still accelerating.
But if she told Chris about her feelings, he might back off. He would probably pull away from her. The case was paramount and he might go so far as to call Captain Hudson, requesting an extraction. She couldn't live with the humiliation of failure, and she wouldn't be able to look Chris in the eye, even as a partner. They would separate and she would lose him - in every way. Rita squeezed her eyes - she absolutely hated the way her mind ran to extreme conclusions with things that were complicated.
Chris stirred behind her in his sleep and his right hand moved across her belly. She held her breath, anticipating where it would stop. She tried willing it to move in a particular direction, but it landed and rested on the ridge of her scar. He was ever the gentleman with her. It was fading nicely and would soon be an almost-invisible ridge of tissue, but his touch took her mind back to that terrible evening. She remembered opening her eyes. The horrific pain she had initially felt was nearly gone - it was fading away almost as quickly as her life. Even her vision was limited, completely black on the edges and fuzzy-gray everywhere except for the object of her attention. There he was, crying as he pressed on her abdomen to keep her from bleeding to death, telling God to switch their places. Almost everything she knew about what happened after the stabbing came from her partner's descriptions, but that was the one image she could remember with clarity like crystal. No man loved her like Christopher Lorenzo did...or could...or would...
Samantha Stone adored her husband, and she smiled in the dark as she closed her eyes.