Chapter 7

What a stupid idiot I am! What was I thinking? He was playing me for a fool, and he was successful! It was payback for what I did to him in that room! Grace silently berated herself as she undressed, carefully did what she could to clean her dress, and changed into her nightgown. When she closed her eyes she saw him, so she couldn't sleep. Beating her fist into the pillow beside her, pretending it was Sam, didn't help. Her hand opened up and caressed the linen, feeling the indentation from her fist and wishing it was a result of his head lying there. With a sigh that bounced off the headboard, she got up. Grace went out on the balcony and peered out at the dark ocean as it rushed to the beach, singing a sad song just for her. The street below was nearly empty. It was no wonder, when she saw the clock on the night stand read 3:35. There would be no sleep for her tonight. I wonder if he feels guilty, or justified. Did he have a good laugh at my expense? Or did he really have feelings for me, and for some reason he couldn't act on them? I'm wasting my time, when I should be getting some rest! I can't let him do this to me! She went back to bed, hoping sleep would take her.

If she'd seen Sam, Grace would have felt some vindication. He drove home, and although he was tired, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt her lips on his. It was good. It had been awhile since he tasted such sweetness. It was completely illogical for him to feel anything but hostility toward her, after what happened nearly two days before. They were from opposite sides of the border. He could probably think of a million other reasons not to let this go any further, but they were all moot when he thought about how good she felt in his arms. It almost hurt to think about it. But he couldn't stop himself.

Sam flopped over onto his stomach and looked at the clock. It was 3:35 in the morning. She was probably fast asleep, dreaming beautiful dreams while he lay awake with a tortured mind. He buried his head in the pillow until he couldn't breathe. Then he raised it again, dropped it so he looked to his left, and closed his eyes, hoping he could get a shred of sleep before the morning came.

There was no time for a breakfast meeting that morning. Fiona, Grace, and Inspector Meg Thatcher met at the hotel, and thanks to a favor cashed in, the three ladies were given a job for the day cleaning and straightening rooms. Considering how tired she was, Grace figured this would be the hardest she worked in a long time. Hopefully she would be alert enough if she came upon Finley's room. She also secretly hoped that she would find him soon, because she quickly learned that cleaning rooms was not her cup of tea.

"Morning."

She came out of a room and looked toward the source of the voice. Her own caught in her throat when she saw Sam...only it wasn't Sam...walking toward her. There was something about the set of his mouth and the curve of his cheekbones that made it obvious he wasn't the same man.

"Morning, Sir." Grace restrained herself from getting excited as he passed. He stopped at a room across the hall, stuck his key card into the door, and entered.

When it closed behind him, she spoke into the commlink that tied her to the rest of the team. "It's Grace. Finley just entered room 559."

Fraser answered. "Perfect. We'll be right there."

Grace stayed in the hallway, pretending to organize things on her cart while waiting to see if the door opened again. The door opened and the woman came out first. In the daylight, it was easier to see her. She was slim, dark blonde with fake highlights, and wore far too much makeup. She wore a short skirt and tank top with comfortable walking shoes. Finley followed her out of the room also wearing casual clothing and locked it behind him. Then they moved toward the elevators.

Fraser came out of the elevator as they approached it, and Meg stopped at Grace's elbow. "Fraser, be careful. We don't know who that woman is."

Ray came out of the stairwell into the elevator lobby just as Finley and the woman approached Fraser. Finley nodded to them, hit the button to go down, and waited for the elevator.

"Fraser, Ray, Agent Chatham and I are ready to back you up," Meg said as she pulled at Grace's elbow.

Grace abandoned her cart and followed her, pulling out a firearm from inside as she passed. Fraser and Meg may not have been allowed to carry while they were in the States, but her agency had no such regulation. She was glad, because she would have hated to see Ray be the only one prepared. They closed in on the couple just as the elevator doors opened.

"Freeze, Finley," Ray said.

"Try to stop me," Finley said as he pulled out a gun with one hand and pushed the woman toward the open doors with the other.

Sam stepped out of the elevator with his own gun raised, and he caught the woman as she stumbled toward him. He held her in a tight grip as he said, "I'd rethink that strategy, Chuck."

Finley turned and gazed at Sam. He looked more like Finley again with the temporary hair dye washed out, although he wore a slight scruff that Grace had learned was normal for him. Finley kept himself shaved smooth. It was strange to look at the two, and Finley himself even hesitated at the sight of his doppelganger.

He grinned and chuckled. "I knew you kind of looked like me, but wow."

"Up against the wall, Finley." Ray was all business. "Drop the gun and both of you, up against the wall."

Finley raised his gun in a surrender gesture and turned toward the wall, but at the last moment, he swung and hit Ray in the jaw with the weapon. Startled, Ray's head snapped back but he didn't go down. Sam pushed the woman toward Meg, who grabbed her and held her against the opposite wall to restrain her. Grace moved in with the handcuffs. Sam grabbed for Finley's gun hand. Another elevator door opened and a couple of women stepped off, right into the middle of the chaos. They screamed, Finley punched Sam, and he loosened his hold just enough for Finley to evade him and run down the hall.

"I got him!" Ray exclaimed and ran after him. The men disappeared, but Ray's voice soon came over the commlink. "Fraser, he's going for the south stairs. I think he's heading for the roof."

"I'm on my way."

Michael spoke. "Fi and I are covering two of the emergency exits downstairs, and the police are surrounding the place. He's got nowhere to go."

Sam recovered from the blow and approached the stairs near the elevators. "I'm taking the central stairs."

Grace left Meg with their prisoner. "I'm going with you, Sam."

"We're definitely going up," Ray huffed into the commlink.

Sam spoke. "Okay, let's follow them. Hear that Mike, he's going for the roof."

"Copy. We'll hold our positions, just in case."

"This is Meg. I'm bringing down Finley's companion."

Michael answered her. "There's a squad car waiting for her."

The hotel was twelve stories tall, and Finley ran to the top from the fifth floor. He was tired out and breathing heavily by the time he came out onto the roof. Fraser beat Ray to the top and stood near the door, analyzing the situation.

"Finley, you've got no place to go. The police have the building surrounded. My team members are coming up. Your best option is to surrender."

"Surrender is never an option. It's a cop-out. Nobody is taking me in."

Ray burst out of the door onto the roof, gasping for air. A couple hundred yards to the north, Sam and Grace came out of another door. "You're surrounded, Finley."

Finley turned and saw Sam and Grace slowly closing in. He held his gun up and threatened them with it. "No closer!"

The couple stopped their forward advance, but they kept their weapons trained on him. "Drop it, Finley," Sam said. "You're just getting yourself in deeper by holding that gun on us."

Fraser took the opportunity that Sam gave him by distracting Finley. He sprinted across the gravel rooftop and leaped at Finley, hoping to take him down and dislodge the gun from his hand. It went off, the shot wild, and the two rolled on the surface. The small stones cut into their skin as they struggled, and they rolled precariously close to the edge.

"Fraser!" Ray holstered his gun and ran for the two, but he was too late.

Both men went over the edge. Grace screamed even as she and Sam ran to the edge. But they were surprised to see two pairs of hands gripping the edge.

"Fraser! Grab my hand," Ray said as he got into a position to help pull him up.

Sam and Grace did the same to Finley. He wouldn't let go, however, and he jostled himself, attempting to throw the two over the side, sending them plummeting to their deaths. Grace slipped, and she sucked in a breath in alarm as her head went over the side. She felt herself falling, but suddenly, two hands grabbed at her clothing. One repositioned with lightning speed and grabbed her shoulder. It slipped around her upper body and pulled her back. She flipped and suddenly found herself solidly on the roof, wrapped in Sam's arms. He sat on the gravel, holding her close, his breath coming in short gasps like the night before, only this time it was from the fright of nearly losing her. She clung to his shirt, unable to believe at first that she wasn't falling.

"Finley..."

"Shh, don't worry about him. He's being taken care of."

Grace looked over her shoulder and saw Finley being hauled up to the roof by two cops. Seeing Fraser safely on his two feet, watching the arrest with Ray, feeling the warmth of Sam's chest seeping into her, she did the only thing she could at that moment. She burrowed deeper into his safe arms and her body shook.

"I-I've never come that close to dying before," she whispered to him.

"I'd like to say you get used to it after awhile, but that'd be a lie," he replied and pulled her to her feet along with himself. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Your arm is bleeding."

"It is?" She looked at her left arm, and the sleeve of her maid's uniform was stained. "When did that happen?"

"Probably when Finley had that wild shot before he went over the side." Sam made sure she was steady on her feet before pulling the fabric back to examine it. "It's just a graze. I can stitch that up for you, and you'll be good as new in no time."

She smiled up at him. "Thanks, Sam."

"No problem. Let's go meet the rest of the team and get out of here." He slipped his arm around her waist and they went down to the floor where they could catch an elevator with Ray and Fraser.

Michael and Fiona were in the lobby with Meg talking with detectives when the four arrived. They had a lot of explaining to do to the police, but Sam and Grace were able to slip away quickly with promises to show up at the station later and tell their side of the story. He took her to his apartment to clean and stitch up that wound. He unlocked the door and guided her by the elbow inside.

"It's nothing like your digs, but..."

"It's kind of cute." She looked around the room. "It won't win any design awards, but it's not bad."

"It's just a place to lay my head. I spend most of my time out working on cases or hanging out somewhere else." He locked the door behind them and escorted her to the bed. "Uh, why don't you just sit on the bed there, and I'll get my kit. I'll be right back."

Grace sat on the bed and Sam retrieved his kit from the space under the bathroom sink. She watched him work as if he'd done this a hundred times before. But she noticed that he seemed a little nervous. The bleeding had stopped, thanks to his binding it with a clean handkerchief at the scene. He untied it, tossed it aside, and cleaned the wound.

"This is going to sting a little."

She winced and tried to shrink away, but he held her arm in place.

"Okay, maybe a lot." He smiled at her. "Just hold still, I'll try to do this as quickly as I can."

Once he saw where the gash was, he pulled out a syringe and a small vial.

"What's that for?" She glanced at the needle, then at him with wariness in her eyes.

"What, would you rather have me slip something into a drink so you can be out for this?" He asked with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

Grace laughed. "Oh, I set myself up for that one, didn't I!" She looked away. "No, just go ahead and do what you're gonna do. Let's get this over with."

Sam carefully injected the skin around the wound. "I'm just numbing this up a little for you. This is probably going to take a dozen stitches, and that won't be fun."

She watched the intense look of concentration on his face as he poked the area with the needle, then stitched the jagged edges together. It still stung, but not as badly as if he hadn't prepared it first. As he focused on caring for her, she felt a wave of emotion roll up from her toes to her head, making her feel dizzy. Surely he could hear her heart racing! She put out her free hand to steady herself on the bed. He noticed, stopped mid-stitch, and looked deeply into her eyes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just feeling kind of funny." She tried to smile it away.

"Okay, hang on, I'm almost done." He picked up the pace a little and finished off the last two stitches, tied off the thread, and cut it. "Alright, I just want to bandage this up, make sure nothing rubs on these or pulls at them. I'm sure Fiona can tell you the joys of having to be restitched." The corner of his mouth tipped up.

"I'd rather not deal with that, thanks." She glanced down as he placed a gauze pad over the injury and taped it in place. Emotion again threatened to take over, and she swallowed hard. "Sam, thank you. You didn't have to do this, I could have gone to the hospital..."

"It's no problem." He whisked away the debris from his doctoring and tossed it into the trash, then placed the kit on the credenza and sat beside her on the bed. "Just think of how much money I saved the Canadian taxpayers by stitching you up here." He grinned.

"And I'm sure the care was a lot better, too." She grinned back at him.

With a gentle hand, Sam brought her to her feet. She felt something, an unseen force vibrating between them, as he placed his hands at her waist. Her breath caught and her lips parted in anticipation. Then he turned her and led her to the side of the bed.

"Here, why don't you lay down for awhile. You didn't get a lot of sleep last night, did you?" He pulled back the spread. "Go on, rest awhile."

She let him pull her down to the bed and dutifully lay down. He pulled her shoes off before tucking her legs under the covers, and he smoothed them over her. "You need anything? Aspirin for the pain?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

"Okay. Try to get some sleep."

He was so close, he could have kissed her. Even just a light touch of his lips on her temple would have been enough, but he restrained himself. She could see this was just as difficult for him as it was for her.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to run to the market and let Mike know we're here and safe. Okay?"

"Sure. I'll be fine." She gave him a smile.

The door slammed and locked behind him, and again she felt like an idiot for falling for him. But at least this time there was evidence that she wasn't the only one. He was probably regretting it as much as she, but the magnetic pull was too enticing to resist. She silently thanked him for his retreat. Maybe by the time he returned she would have her head on straight again. Now that Finley was caught, no doubt she would be on an airplane that very day back to Chicago. They would never see one another again, and that would be that. It was better this way. They were too different. He was an American, she a Canadian. Except for being a guest in his country, she didn't belong here. She had a job, a satisfying one at that. Although, at the moment, going back to the freezing cold of Chicago held little appeal.

Grace felt warm with the covers on. She pushed them off and went to the window. The pool in the courtyard sparkled in the sun as the maintenance man skimmed the water for debris. Birds twittered outside as the palms swayed in the breeze. She unlocked the window and slid it open so she could hear the sounds and take in the fresh air. It was so relaxing, she went back to bed and fell asleep easily.

"Sam, how's Grace?"

As he walked back to the apartment, Sam talked on the phone with Michael. "She's okay, just ten stitches to clean up that gash."

"Ouch! She's got Fi beat."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. She was a real trouper, put up with it and didn't give me any crap. She should be resting now."

"Okay, I'll let the Canadians know. Inspector Thatcher wanted to know how she was so she could report back to the CSIS."

"Ah, I see. Well, you can tell her she's safe and sound at my place."

"Some people would debate that." Michael joked.

"Ha ha." He unlocked the door and entered. When he saw her sleeping, he toned down his voice. "She's asleep now, Mike, so I'm gonna hang up. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, Sam. Don't forget the cops want to talk to you two."

"Yeah, no problem. We'll go over to the precinct later. I know Grace didn't sleep well last night, and with this injury, she just needs some time." He passed the bed and went into the kitchenette. "Later, Mike."

He made her a late breakfast. When she didn't rouse from the scent of cooking, he knew she really needed her rest, so he ate alone and cleaned up the meal as quietly as he could. He went outside and sat in a chair near the door, reading his book while he waited for her to wake up. His own eyes started to droop, the lack of sleep catching up to him. Finally, unable to fight it anymore, he went inside and lay on the opposite side of the bed, on top of the spread, and went to sleep.

She felt his weight on the bed when she woke and turned, not sure if it was him or not. He faced her, his head half buried in his bent arm. She rolled over to her other side, being careful not to aggravate her injury, and she dared to reach out and caress his arm. He flinched at the touch of her hand on his bare forearm, but he didn't awaken. Her hand slipped to the side of his face, and his head moved into it. His eyes opened slowly, deep with desire.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

"What time is it?"

"I don't care." If she hadn't been held captive by the covers, she would have crossed the space between them and dove into his lips.

"We have to go to the station."

"Yeah. I was hoping that could wait."

He smiled at her, and she knew that he knew what she was thinking. His hand reached out and caressed her face. "Duty calls, Agent Chatham."

I wish he hadn't called me that! His words were as effective as a bucket of ice cold water thrown on her desire. She grumbled under her breath and rolled off the bed. "Fine, let's get this done. And then, can you take me to my hotel? I'm sure that my superiors can't wait for me to return to Chicago. The hotel, the meals, the clothes, everything is costing them." She slipped into her shoes and turned. "Well? Let's go!"

Sam got off the bed, straightened his clothes, and wordlessly escorted her out of the apartment. He helped her into the car and still didn't say anything. Grace chalked it up to his being a man of experience, knowing that when a woman was in her state, he was better off not saying anything, rather than risk opening his mouth and getting chewed out in response.

After the interview at the station, he took her by the arm and led her down the street. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to a late lunch, since you missed both breakfast and lunch. You've gotta be starving."

"I am." She couldn't help but remember how she deprived him of food while he was held by her agency. It shamed her that she'd been so cruel to him. "So where are we going?"

"There's this nice little Cuban cafe just up the street. If you're going to leave Miami soon, I figured you needed something to remind you of your stay here. Something more pleasant than rounding up bad guys and getting shot at." His smile was back.

"That's very kind of you, Sam."

While they ate, they talked very little. He just let her soak in the atmosphere around them. People spoke Spanish, a language she never learned, but its lyrical quality drew her in to the beauty of the people. Some of the buildings were a bit run down, but the shop keepers and patrons were colorful and happy. An artist worked on a mural across the street, and she watched, fascinated by the graceful brush strokes.

Sam paid for their meal and asked, "Are you ready to go?" She didn't respond. "Gracie, are you ready to go?" He covered her hand with his, and she turned hers to squeeze it.

"Oh Sam, how will I ever be able to go back to Chicago? It's so drab compared to this!"

"Duty. You're a slave to duty, just like I was at one time."

She sighed. "You're right. Duty calls."