He awoke in a state of absolute bliss. His arm was draped proprietorially across Kim's warm body and muscles he hadn't realized had been tense had completely relaxed. He'd forgotten that that was even possible.

For a few confused moments, he reveled in the feeling of waking from a nightmare. Kimberly was close beside him, as she always ought to have been, so that meant that nothing had happened. No Jericho, no kidnapping, no explosion, no amnesia, no Rebecca, no fear that he was a killer, no untreated gunshot wounds, no running for his life, no constant hunger, no returning home to find another man in his bed, no pervasive loneliness when the woman he loved with every fragment of his soul moved a thousand miles away with barely a word of goodbye, no divorce papers in the mail.

Then reality intruded and, quite unwillingly, it occurred to him that all of that had very much happened.

And one more thing had happened: he'd cheated on Kayla. He'd cheated on Kayla with Kimberly.

There was enough ambient light in the room for him to see Kim properly. She had clearly cleaned herself up after their liaison— her face was freshly washed and she was wearing a nightgown— but she had climbed back into bed with him as if there was nothing wrong about what they'd done.

He felt a flash of anger. In its way, sleeping together was far more intimate in the literal sense than in the euphemistic sense. She had knowingly…

She had knowingly gotten into her own bed with the man she claimed to love after he'd made love to her.

His anger wasn't really directed at Kim. It was directed at himself.

He'd hurt Kayla terribly. Shawn Brady had always been open about his preference for his older daughter over his younger daughter. From the first, that rejection had colored Kayla's life in multiple ways, large and small. Kayla hadn't even been comfortable with the idea of Shane accompanying Kim to the training center, and it was more than clear that she had been right.

He'd hurt Kimberly, too. For all the things that Kim would do, one thing she wouldn't do was be the mistress to a married man. (Not that he was married, but he was committed, and that mattered, too.) For Kim to tell him she loved him— and whether it was true or not, she seemed to believe that it was— and for him to make love to her and then return to her sister… well, that would devastate her.

Perhaps it was the coward's way out, but they weren't going to have that conversation right now. They would have it at a more sensible time in a more sensible place.

Kim was deeply asleep; she had every right to be, considering how tiring the training program was for even the most robust recruits. She didn't move when he shifted away from her and slid himself off the foot of the bed. He put on his pants and shirt and shoes, not bothering with the tie or the jacket. He thanked his lucky stars that he had long since memorized the layout of the training center. He ought to be avoid seeing anyone. And as for the cameras, if whoever was manning them chose not to be discreet, well, Shane had ways of making certain that that person did not make the same mistake twice.

Stepping into the corridor and closing the door behind him ought to have brought him some relief from the sensory overload of Kim's tiny room. He could no longer hear her breathing or smell her shampoo or see the curves of her body amongst the tangled sheets or feel the heat of her skin against his own.

Instead, the memory of pulling her into his arms the night before rocked him so hard that some animal part of him wanted to pound on her door and demand entry so they could do it all again.

He hastened to his own room. He had a class to teach in a few hours, and he was not going to teach it while looking as if he'd stayed up all night at some tawdry university party.

He tossed his clothes onto his unused bed and stepped into the shower. He let the water wash away the traces of Kim's kisses, her sweat, her…

His hand dropped between his legs.

No.

He wasn't hard.

Or if he was, it happened to be early in the morning.

He certainly wasn't thinking about Kim wrapping her legs around his waist, whispering enticing suggestions in his ear, making the world catch fire around them.

"No, Kim," he whispered, as if she were there, as if he hadn't left her in her sterile little room without saying goodbye, as if he hadn't done everything short of throwing a wad of bills at her on his way out the door.

(He'd done that, once, during her dangerous and ill-advised and also somewhat clever and effective scheme to catch the Riverfront Knifer. He'd been so angry and disappointed and confused and hurt… and the sex had been great that time, too.)

The Kim in his mind wasn't interested in hearing the word "no." The Kim in his mind had her hands twined in his hair and her lips crushed against his. And he couldn't make her leave, and he couldn't stop moving his own hand faster and faster along his cock, because he couldn't stop wanting one more taste of fire.

It took all of his strength to turn the cold water on full blast.

Kayla, he reminded himself.

Not Kimberly.

Kayla.

As per usual, the results of the contest were posted in the dining hall. Gary Rogers, the American police officer, had been victorious. Shane wasn't surprised. Rogers rather reminded him of Roman. The runner-up had been Kim's friend Jaren Stroud.

How had Stroud morphed from the promising agent about whom Shane had heard so much gossip to "Kim's friend" in his mind? The world did not revolve around Kim.

His eyes automatically sought his own name. It was midway down the list, forever linked with Kim's name by a parenthetical notation: "tie." They were considered to have tied because they had both conceded after the first round. That made sense, but it offended Shane nonetheless. Other than Andrew, there was no tie between them. They were divorced, and while their marriage had not lasted forever, their divorce would. No one knew what had happened last night, and no one would ever know, because it would never happen again.

"Captain Donovan," greeted Dai Brown far too cheerfully. "I'll bet you were just up all night."

Shane's shock must have shown on his face, because Dai hastened to elaborate. "Martial arts today? You're going to fight your brother after the class, aren't you?"

Shane wasn't sure when he'd agreed to that, but it seemed prudent to pretend that he had. "Yes," he said. "Yes, of course," he repeated, shaking his head as if to clear it.

That was when he finally saw Kim. She smiled radiantly, and his heart sank. He truly didn't want to crush her even though he knew it would be for the best. He had told her before that she needed to move on, and it was still true.

She, like almost everyone else in the room, was dressed for the morning's martial arts class. It did not help matters that seeing her dressed like that made him want to throw her on her back, and not in a martial arts sort of way.

She read the expression on his face, and from across the room, he could see her whisper "uh-oh." He beckoned her to come toward him, and she obeyed, tossing a smile at the other agents at her table.

They walked in silence, both aware of the cameras, and listening devices, until they reached a door to the outside. He led her along the wooded path to the bridge, which was, he knew, the dividing line between the monitored and unmonitored areas of the campus. It also gave him a good enough view of the surrounding area to know whether anyone else was approaching. But he doubted that after the events of the previous night anyone had gotten up for an early morning jog in the summer heat.

"About last night," he began. "I'm sorry."

She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the face. "I'm not," she said.

He felt it in his chest. He ignored the feeling his chest. "Kim," he whispered. "Kim, we've discussed this. It is time to move on. No relationship should be as hard as ours was. It was one crisis after another. And you were the one who was brave enough to end it because that was best for both of us."

She refused to lower her eyes. "It wasn't brave. It was cowardly. I should never have mailed you those divorce papers and I will regret it for the rest of my life."

"Our marriage was over by the time you sent those papers. It was just a formality. Our marriage was over when you decided that you couldn't trust me to raise Jeannie even after everything that happened with Andrew. Our marriage was over when you left. It was horrible for me at the time. I hadn't felt so isolated and so alone since I lost Emma so soon after I lost my parents. After the kidnapping, after the amnesia, knowing that the woman that I loved with my whole heart couldn't trust me and had to leave me—"

"Shane—"

"No. Don't say anything about that. Don't say anything about that, please. When I moved on with Kayla, it wasn't because Kayla was your sister. It wasn't because I was trying to humiliate you. It wasn't because I was trying to make things harder. It wasn't even because I was trying to stay close to your family when I didn't have anyone else. It was because Kayla was there, and she was kind, and she understood what I was going through. She was supportive of you, too. You should know that."

"So she tells me." Kim smiled thinly. "The very first day I came back to Salem— when I saw the two of you kissing— I asked her to step back for my sake, and for Andrew's, unless she really loved you. She refused. So she loves you and you're right, I can't interfere with that."

"Thank you," he said, but he didn't get the impression that she heard him. There were tears in her eyes now, and he hated that. He thought that the conversation was over, but then she spoke again.

"You've always been the first one to say I love you. Did you know that that was how I knew there was something wrong when you went on the Jericho mission? The ISA had an impersonator call me. He pretended to be you and told me everything was fine. I knew it wasn't— I knew it wasn't you for a lot of reasons, but one of the reasons was that the impersonator tried to hang up without telling me he loved me. He let me say it first."

He watched her, carefully, but he didn't say anything.

"I remember when you and I first started. All that push and pull, all that back and forth. Bo was sick of it. Tired of watching me pine over you. He told me that one of us had to make the next move, admit that we had feelings that weren't some kind of temporary friendship. And you know what I said to Bo?"

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice hoarse and faraway.

"I said 'Shane should do it, he's the man.'"

Shane almost smiled. "There's a little bit of truth in that, as far as I'm concerned."

"I know. You told me— when I finally chased you to England— when we were in the bedroom—"

He held up his hand. "Stop. This isn't appropriate, Kimberly. I've moved on and so should you."

"That's the thing, isn't it? I've never been good at moving on. Not when my past was really bad, and not now when my past with you is— is something remarkably special. You couldn't will me to move on then, when I kept insisting that you had a hangup about my past that you just didn't have. And you can't order me to move on now, no matter how special and wonderful your fiancee is."

Shane started. He had never thought of Kayla as his fiancee— they'd never discussed long-term plans or even made love— but he couldn't deny that anyone who saw his heirloom ring on Kayla's left ring finger was going to draw the same conclusion that Kim had. The general assumption would be that they were waiting until sufficient time had passed since Steve's death to formalize their arrangement. And perhaps that was what they were doing, as much as they'd never discussed it.

Kim seemed to be waiting for him to confirm or deny that Kayla was now his fiancee. He didn't. He couldn't tell Kim that he was engaged to her sister; that would be a lie. He couldn't tell Kim that he wasn't engaged to her sister; that would give Kim false hope and prolong this already brutally painful conversation.

Kim gave up waiting and spoke again. "You always said it first. Always. So since it really has come to that, Shane, I'm going to be the one who takes that risk to say it last. I love you. I always have, I always will. I know you have the perfect woman in your life. I want that for you, I do. And I know I was about as far from perfect as it's possible to be. I won't interfere, because I love you, and as fate would have it, I love her, too. But wherever you go, whenever you and Kayla and Stephanie and all the other beautiful perfect children you're going to have are out in the garden playing cricket, I will still love you."

"Kim…" His voice trailed off.

"You don't have to say anything. There's nothing left to say. Just don't forget that I love you."

And she left.

As if he could forget.

As if he didn't love her, too.

But he was going to make decisions with his head. He wasn't going to make decisions with his heart, and he certainly wasn't going to make decisions with any other body parts.

All of the senior agents present were expected to help with the self-defense class. Shane maneuvered Agent Odran into thinking it had been his own idea to be Kim's particular tutor; he didn't want to put his hands on Kim himself under the circumstances, and he didn't want Drew or Gabrielle anywhere near her either. Shane would have preferred to have Bert Kalervo do it, but he didn't want to put up with Bert wondering why Shane didn't handle Kim himself. Ardal Odran wouldn't notice anything odd.

It wasn't until Odran had trotted off to Kim's section of the room that he noticed Drew leaning against the wall, quietly watching him. Odran hadn't noticed that Shane had manipulated him, but Drew certainly had.

"Don't say anything," Shane muttered under his breath, not sure whether it was a plea or a threat.

"I would never," whispered Drew with a straight face.

Well, perhaps Drew would never. Drew was saving his commentary for a well-timed taunt during their fight later that day. The fight hadn't been Shane's idea, so it must have been Drew's.

But as the class wore on, Shane warmed to the idea. The trainees put up no more resistance than one of Stephanie's dolls would have, and Shane was spoiling for a real fight.

Peach was dying.

Bo was dying.

He'd hurt Kayla.

He'd hurt Kim.

Andrew resented him.

Eve was in Africa.

Cal Winters was Jeannie's father.

Lawrence Alamain would never truly pay for the harm he had caused.

His head hurt again. His head always hurt.

He was furious with the world, and if he had the opportunity to take it out on Drew—whatever their disagreements, at least Drew knew how to hit, unlike the snot-nosed trainees— well, that was a kind of blessing.

And unless he missed his guess about where Drew was going to go when they left the training center, this might well be the last time he ever saw his twin brother. It would be fitting enough if they said goodbye with their fists instead of their words.

As the class wrapped up, Shane felt a ripple of excitement wash over the room. Everyone wanted a show, and as far as Shane was concerned, they were going to get it.

"Good work this morning, everyone," bellowed the head trainer after the final whistle blew. "I believe that we are going to wrap up with a demonstration by a few of our senior agents."

There was a spontaneous round of applause. Drew waved obligingly to his public. Shane nodded his own acknowledgement as a circle of interested agents formed a wide makeshift ring around them.

"Are you both ready?"

"Yes," said Shane and Drew in unison. They might as well have been children home from school for the summer.

They began.

Drew made the first move, attacking quickly, because that was what Drew always did. Shane knew that Drew's fundamentals were sound, though, and that the flurry of aggressive punches wasn't nearly as reckless as it looked. Drew knew not to get close enough to give Shane the angle he needed to make the move that rendered him virtually unbeatable: a quick wristlock followed by a quicker flip that left his opponent on his back.

Shane dodged. If Drew didn't want to come close enough to find himself upside down, he also wasn't going to come close enough to get a solid hit.

Shane took the opportunity to become the aggressor. His punches didn't land any better than Drew's had. They knew each other too well, and they were both fighting as if they had learned from the same elite instructors— which, of course, they had. Drew's leg jutted out in an attempt to trip Shane; Shane jumped out of the way, tossing a kick of his own at Drew for good measure.

Drew hit the ground, but just briefly, and recovered before Shane could press his advantage.

After another exchange of punches, Shane managed to grab Drew by the wrist, but couldn't quite complete the wristlock. Drew punched Shane hard in the stomach with his other hand. Shane stumbled as the breath left his body, but if he was going to fall, he was going to take Drew down with him.

For a moment, they were too entangled on the ground for either one of them to move properly. "You know," panted Drew, "you should have sent Kimberly flowers after getting her drunk and taking advantage of her last night."

Shane knew Drew. He had known all along the Drew would say something to distract him, to anger him, to make him break his concentration. It was one of Drew's greatest strengths.

(It wasn't cheating, either; Shane had made many a remark to many an opponent over the years. Your average unpleasant fellow, a hired gun with no real stake in anything, often started to make stupid mistakes as soon as you called him a gutless coward.)

And for all Shane had seen it coming, he fell into the trap. With a cry of rage, he shoved Drew off of him. His punch landed squarely on Drew's jaw, but that left him open for Drew to kick him in the ribs and grab him around the neck.

Shane twisted, trying to escape the chokehold, but he misjudged the angle and he knew a second too late that Drew was going to pull his neck in and that he was done for.

Everything went black.

To be continued.