ULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

JUNE 20, 2005

PRESENT DAY

Jules drove Max to the airport.

A surprisingly lively discussion on alternatives to fossil fuel was being broadcast on NPR and that plus the wipers, slapping in rhythm as they cleared the early evening rain from the windshield, had kept them from having to speak more than necessary.

But now Max cleared his throat. “Did you call the hotel in Hamburg?”

Jules turned down the radio’s volume. “The one where Gina was—”

“Yes.”

Staying. “Yes. They haven’t touched her room,” Jules reported. “As long as you’re willing to pay for the extra nights—”

“I said I was.”

“Yes, sir, I told them that. The hotel manager said he’d put a do-not-disturb sign on the door,” Jules told him. “The room’ll be exactly as she left it.”

Max nodded grimly. “Good.” He turned the radio back up.

Jules felt compelled to turn it back down. “Her room’s not a crime scene,” he gently reminded his boss. “She wasn’t—”

Max cut him off. “I know,” he said, but Jules had to wonder.

“It was random,” he reminded Max. “Gina’s death. It had nothing to do with you. You can’t blame yourself because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Max reached over and turned up the volume on the radio again. “Just drive,” he ordered.

So Jules drove as Teri Gross interviewed Willie Nelson—of all people—about fuel made from vegetable oil.

He glanced again at Max.

His carry-on bag wasn’t much larger than an oversized briefcase. Jules took that as a good sign, that his boss truly was going to arrive in Hamburg, identify Gina, pack up her things from her hotel, and then return with her body—oh, God—on the next available flight home.

Gina’s brother Victor was planning to meet them at the airport in New York. Jules was to call him with information about their return flight. Jules had spoken to Vic on the phone several times already today—to let the Vitagliano family know that Max was going to bring Gina home.

The usually abrasive and tough talking New Yawker’s expression of gratitude had been heartbreakingly eloquent in its simplicity. Vic had told Jules that Max’s generosity would allow him and his brothers to comfort their parents during this time of sorrow.

They deserved to have Gina’s body returned to them as quickly as possible.

Jules glanced at Max again. Surely, if he were intending to do some serious terrorist hunting, he wouldn’t’ve packed quite so lightly.

Still, Jules would never dare to hazard a guess about exactly what might be in Max’s bag. It was too small for a bazooka or a sawed off shotgun. Although, a dismantled semiautomatic would fit, no problem. Along with a small arsenal of handguns.

It would be interesting to see if the mighty and powerful Max Bhagat would be required to run his bag through the X-ray machines at the entrance to the airport gate, or if he’d simply get waved through.

The rain got lighter but the traffic much heavier as they entered the airport loop. Jules followed the signs to the garage, and Max finally spoke.

“Just drop me at departures.”

It was the moment of truth.

For most of the trip, Jules had purposely focused on learning about fuel made from soybeans to keep himself from obsessing over exactly how he was going to tell Max when the time came.

“Don’t be mad,” he started, then inwardly rolled his eyes. Don’t be mad? Of course Max was going to be mad. The man was running on rage. Sure, he was keeping it locked inside, but Jules knew it was there. Because he was feeling it, too.

There was a reason for all those clichéd movies where the FBI agent went on a vengeful rampage after a loved one was murdered. The same qualities that made both Max and Jules good candidates for a long-term career in law enforcement naturally made it hard for them to sit back and let someone else’s team find the terrorists responsible for Gina’s death.

Jules cleared his throat and started over. “Sir, I know you’re not going to like this—”

As they rolled past, Max gazed with undisguised longing at the ramp that led to the drop-off for people taking departing flights. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, sir,” Jules agreed. “You don’t. You do, however, need a friend.”

Max snorted his disgust. “We’re not friends, Cassidy.”

Jules pulled up to the garage’s automated machine, and he reached out through his window to punch the button and take a ticket as Max continued, “And if you really think I want your company—”

“I think you want Gina,” Jules said quietly. “And I think everyone else in the world is going to fall way short.”

Max wasn’t done. He gave Jules his most terrifyingly disdainful stare. “You must really want that promotion.”

Ouch.

“You know I do,” Jules answered, as the gate opened and he pulled through, leaning forward to peer through the still wet windshield, searching for the sign to long-term parking. There it was. Dead ahead. He kept his eyes on it, because Max’s scary face was known to make underlings crap their pants, and the overnight bag Jules kept in his car trunk contained only clean shirts and one neatly rolled pair of jeans.

He could feel Max’s melt-solid-rock stare as he passed a sign saying “Lot Full,” and went up a ramp to the next level.

“Although, you know, I think manhandling and shouting at Peggy Ryan already did the trick,” Jules told his boss. “Impressed the shit out of her, don’t you think? I’m in. Big time. This paying out of pocket for a last-minute airline ticket to Hamburg—this is just insurance. Because I figured, you know, that you probably wouldn’t want sexual favors.”

Max made that almost-laughter sound again, but Jules couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad sign. “I should fire you.”

“You could go that way,” Jules agreed. “But you know, Peggy would probably walk out, too. In solidarity, because she just likes me so much. And I’m still going to Hamburg with you, fired or not, so really what good does it do you?”

Jules found what might well have been the very last parking spot in the entire garage. It was about as far as possible from the walkway to the terminal. Still, as he pulled in he said a prayer of thanks to the patron saint of parking garages, along with his knighted brother—the hero who’d invented luggage with wheels.

Max had gone back to being silent. But now he gave it one last try as Jules took the key out of the ignition. “We’re not friends.”

Jules braced himself and met Max’s extremely evil eye. “You may not think of me as a friend,” he said, “but I think of you as one. You’ve always treated me with kindness and respect so I’m going to return the favor, whether you like it or not. I’m not going to pretend to know what you must be feeling right now, but Gina was my friend, too, and I do know how badly I’m hurting. So, go ahead, sweetie. Have at me. Be as rude to me as you need to be. Or you don’t even have to talk to me—I won’t take it personally. I’ll just sit next to you on the flight. I’ll handle all the arrangements. I’ll take care of the details about where we need to go and what we need to do, so you won’t have to. And whether you like it or not, I’m going with you to that morgue. Because no one should ever have to do something like that alone, especially when a friend who loves them is standing by.”

Max didn’t say a word for a very, very long time. He just sat there, trying to incinerate Jules with his eyes. “I should just kill you and stuff you into the trunk,” he said, when he finally spoke.

Shit. Jules worked hard not to react. He just nodded, and even managed to shrug nonchalantly. “Well, I guess you could certainly try...”

Max just sat there, glaring. But then he shook his head. He got out of the car and started the trek toward the terminal, not bothering to wait for Jules.

Who grabbed his raincoat and his bag and followed.

SHEFFIELD PHYSICAL REHAB CENTER, MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

NOVEMBER 11, 2003

NINETEEN MONTHS AGO

“Don’t,” Max said, closing his eyes to keep Gina from taking another picture with her new digital camera, recording for posterity just how much of a wimp he was—dressed in his jammies and tucked in his bed here at the Sheffield Physical Rehab Center at four in the afternoon, ready for a nap.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“It was fine,” he lied. In truth, the session had hurt. Like hell. He’d been discouraged, too, by how weak he was, how quickly he’d tired. How exhausted it had made him.

Gina crossed to the desk that was built into the wall beside his bed, and carefully put down her camera. She’d gotten the damn thing for her trip to Kenya. Max hoped the fact that she’d taken it out of the box and was learning how to use it didn’t mean she’d rescheduled her flight.

Kenya. God.

He’d been trying to talk her into embracing the excitement and adventure of law school. He had an in at NYU. Gina would be accepted there, based on Max’s recommendation, in a heartbeat.

“Kevin said he thought you were in some serious pain but that you just wouldn’t quit,” she told him as she nudged his legs over and sat down on the bed. “He was very impressed.”

Kevin was one of those touchy-feely physical therapists who had his cheerleading pompoms ready to wave for even the most insignificant events. Old Mrs. Klinger, recovering from a stroke, had lifted the index finger on her right hand a whole half an inch! Rah-rah-rah! Ajay Moseley held a pencil and wrote a note to his grandmother for the first time since the car accident! Whoo-hoo! Forget about the fact that the kid would never walk again. Forget about the fact that he’d suffered so much damage to his skinny little body that he needed a new kidney, that he was on dialysis just to stay alive.

Max gazed impassively at Gina. “If you already asked Kevin how it went, why bother asking me?”

“Because I love it when you do that stoic he-man thing,” she said, leaning toward him, her mouth now dangerously close to his, her hand burning his thigh. “It makes me really hot.”

She was kidding. It was supposed to be funny. A joke. He knew that, but his mouth went dry anyway.

He found himself gazing into her eyes at a very close proximity.

And wanting her. Badly. Yup, Doctor Yao was right. He was definitely starting to feel far more like his old self again.

He had to use every ounce of self-control that he owned to keep himself from reaching for her.

Every ounce.

The good news was that she was as rattled as he was by the sudden, nearly palpable sexual energy that surrounded them.

She turned away. Stood up, moving to look out of the window.

Rattled and vulnerable.

They hadn’t so much as kissed since that night before he’d been shot, that night that he’d... that they’d...

Correction—Gina had kissed him frequently, back in the hospital, both in Florida and after he’d been moved up to D.C. But they were all “see you later” kisses. Nothing like the way they’d kissed that night.

Not that they’d had the opportunity to soul-kiss while he was hooked up to all those tubes and machines. Not with the high volume of traffic in and out of his hospital room, day and night.

Now, as he watched, she leaned her head against the windowpane. His room here—a single—was small, but the view of the surrounding countryside was nice. Nicer than that grungy back-alley dumpster that he could see from the bedroom window in his D.C. apartment.

“My brother called. Victor. Just out of the blue.” Gina glanced over her shoulder at Max. “He’s flying in this evening. He’s never been to Washington—he missed his seventh-grade class trip. Strep throat.”

“Make sure you take him to the World War Two Memorial,” Max said, glad that she’d changed the subject. He’d half expected her to go the other way. Confront. Ask, Were you thinking about kissing me just then, because I had the sense that you really wanted to.

And then what was he supposed to say? Honey, not a moment of the day goes by that I don’t think about kissing you... Yeah, that would help.

“It’s on the list,” Gina said, finally turning to face him, sitting on the windowsill, her skirt blowing in the breeze from the air conditioner’s fan. She had to hold it down. “We’ve got a whole day of sightseeing lined up. Vietnam Wall, Holocaust Museum, Korean War, Lincoln Memorial...” She ticked them off on her fingers. “But I’m pretty sure the real reason he’s coming is to check up on me. I think my entire family’s a little freaked. You know, because I’m staying with Jules.”

Imagine how freaked they would have been if Max had opted for outpatient therapy, if he’d moved back into his apartment instead of coming to live here. If he’d done that, Gina would have come along to make sure he had everything he needed, and ten minutes after they were alone together, they would have been back in bed. Ten minutes after that, she would’ve been unpacking her suitcase, hanging her clothes in his closet.

Because the truth was, Max had enough will power to keep his distance from her for only a very short time. If she’d persisted and tried to turn her “stoic men make me hot” thing into more than just a joke, he would have been cooked. He had zero resistance to her. He prayed she’d never figure that out. If she did...

Although, okay. This place wasn’t as public as the hospital, but he still had people knocking on his door at random times of the day. She wasn’t going to jump him here. She just wasn’t.

Which was the second reason he’d chosen inpatient physical rehab.

And so, instead of moving in with Max, Gina had gone to stay with Jules Cassidy. The younger agent’s condo was relatively close to this facility. Besides, there was no way Max would’ve ever agreed to let Gina stay in his place by herself. His neighborhood wasn’t safe. Not for a young woman living alone.

He’d been burgled twice in the past ten months.

Not that he had anything worth stealing.

“I don’t think they really believe that Jules is gay,” Gina continued now, coming back toward him. “Or maybe they’re afraid I’m so irresistible, I’ll turn him straight.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Vic isn’t exactly Mr. Politically Correct—I don’t even think he knows anyone who’s gay. Jules and I have a bet going—I give Vic twelve hours, tops, before he makes up some excuse and runs back home. Jules thinks he’ll stay longer.” She stopped at the end of his bed. “The nurse said you just had a massage, but you don’t look very relaxed.”

Man, she was beautiful. There was a Van Morrison song, “Brown-Eyed Girl.” It played in Max’s head whenever Gina smiled at him the way she was smiling now.

“You know what you need?” she asked. He braced himself because he knew that the words about to come out of her mouth could be damn near anything.

“I need a lot of things,” he said evenly. “World peace. A nonviolent society. The extinction of religious fanaticism—”

“A happy ending. You should have asked for one,” Gina cut him off, mischief and laughter in her eyes.

For about a half a second he didn’t get it. And then he did. And he laughed, too. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s on the massage menu here. Besides, the masseur—big guy, name of Pete?—not my type.”

“I’m your type,” she pointed out, and he stopped laughing.

Oh, hell.

And okay. Yeah. Max had had his share of healthy sexual fantasies, starting when he was around ten years old and saw Ann-Margret for the first time, when Viva Las Vegas played on channel eleven’s Million Dollar Movie. Then, as now, his fantasy usually involved a well-endowed, unbelievably gorgeous young woman locking the door to the—fill in the blank. Office, classroom, bathroom, conference room, bedroom—and approaching him with a knowing smile, as she stripped down to her unbelievably sexy underwear.

“Hey,” he said as Gina’s skirt hit the floor, but he sounded decidedly less than enthusiastic in his attempt to make her stop. “This isn’t—”

“Shhh,” she admonished, finger to her lips. “Don’t talk.”

Gina, apparently, still shopped at Victoria’s Secret. Today, as it turned out, she was wearing an extremely attractive sheer black bra and panties that were remarkably miniscule and... Thong. Yes. God. The late afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window made her belly-button ring sparkle and her bare skin glow.

She had such beautiful skin. Max knew for a fact just how soft she would feel beneath his hands, his mouth...

“Gina,” he said, but it came out sounding like a sigh.

She smiled as she joined him on the bed, on her knees this time, and she leaned toward him again. This time, however, she didn’t stop.

This time, she kissed him.

First on the mouth, as she worked the bed controls, lowering him down into more of a prone position, as all that skin slid beneath his fingers.

“Gina,” he tried again, but she silenced him with another deep, searingly sweet kiss.

As she kept on kissing him, she pulled back the blankets, unfastened his pajamas, and then... She kissed him yet again.

Hoh yeah.

This was where—since his mouth was now free—he was supposed to tell her to stop, to put her clothes back on. They were friends.

Remember how they’d had that discussion—all two sentences of it—while he was in the hospital? He’d said, “I don’t want to mislead you. What happened between us that night—” and she’d cut him off, saying, “I’m here as a friend.”

But his “friend” was now...

Oh, man.

“Gina,” he managed again, but couldn’t quite find the air needed to tell her that he loved her dearly, he truly did, but this wasn’t the kind of relationship he wanted from her.

Liar. In truth he wanted her to live beneath his desk, so she could do exactly what she was doing, six, seven times a day and... Gohhhd...

Her underwear joined her other clothes on the floor. She’d covered him with a condom that she’d conjured out of nowhere and she straddled him now, the most beautiful, vibrant, magnificent, courageous, smart, funny, exciting woman he’d ever known—naked and gasping with pleasure because he was inside of her.

It was an unbelievable turn on.

She moved slowly on top of him, her eyes closed, face upturned, hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and Max felt himself start to sweat as he tried to hang on, as he watched her, memorized her, burning an indelible picture of this moment, this woman, into his brain. This woman that he lusted after with every cell in his body, with every single breath he took...

Her mouth, slightly open, lips soft and moist. Her throat, so elegantly, gracefully long. Her eyelashes dark against the smoothness of her cheeks. Her breasts so full, her body taut with desire, smooth and soft and welcoming. And his.

All his.

He came with a rush that caught him off-guard, ripping through him with an intensity and power that made him shout nonsense.

Yes.

Yes?

Yes, what? Yes, he was coming. Yes, it felt unbelievably great.

No fucking kidding.

He felt her release, too, and he opened his eyes and made himself focus as his heart tried to pound its way out of his chest. He wanted to watch her, wanted to take the most from this stupidly bad mistake that he possibly could.

It was a mistake he couldn’t let happen again.

After she finished, she didn’t collapse against him, still considerately careful of the new scars on his chest, of the tenderness from his barely healed collarbone. She just sat atop him, arms wrapped around herself, clasping him tightly with her thighs, eyes still closed, face still upturned, as she struggled to regain her breath.

With the sunlight streaming in behind her, she looked like some pagan celebrant at worship.

And then she opened her eyes and looked down at him, frowning slightly. “Is that Spy Museum exhibit still open? I bet Vic would really like to go there.”

What?

“No, I think it closed,” she answered herself. “It was only a limited run exhibition. Right?”

“I don’t, um...” Max shook his head. “Remember.” One part of him was amazed that they were just continuing their conversation about her brother’s visit, as if they hadn’t just had sex, as if he wasn’t still inside of her. Another part of him—the part that always waited with amused excitement to see just what she’d say or do next, was already starting to get turned on again.

Naked women did that to him, and Gina was one of those women who managed to be naked with a capital N.

She was unbelievably beautiful.

“You mind if I use your laptop to Google it?” she asked.

As long as you don’t put on your clothes first. Max clenched his teeth over the words. Lighthearted banter would turn what they’d just done from a crazy mistake into the beginning of a real relationship.

Happy ending, his ass. Gina wasn’t looking for an end to anything.

And he opened his mouth to tell her that he couldn’t do this, that he wasn’t ready yet—that he might never be ready for what she wanted, when someone knocked loudly on his door.

“Blood pressure check!” The doorknob rattled, as if the nurse were intending just to walk in, but the lock held, thank God. The nurse knocked again.

“Oh, shit,” Gina breathed, laughing as she scrambled off of him. She reached to remove the condom they’d just used, encountered... him, and met his eyes. But then she scooped her clothes off the floor and ran into the bathroom.

“Mr. Bhagat?” The nurse knocked on the door again. Even louder this time. “Are you all right?”

Oh, shit, indeed. “Come in,” Max called as he pulled up the blanket and leaned on the button that put his bed back up into a sitting position. The same control device had a “call nurse” button as well as the clearly marked one that would unlock the door.

“It’s locked,” the nurse called back, as well he knew.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, as he wiped off his face with the edge of the sheet. Sweat much in bed, all alone, Mr. Bhagat? “I must’ve... Here, let me figure out how to...” He took an extra second to smooth his hair, his pajama top, and then, praying that the nurse had a cold and couldn’t smell the scent of sex that lingered in the air, he hit the release.

“Please don’t lock your door during the day,” the woman scolded him as she came into the room, around to the side of his bed. It was Debra Forsythe, a woman around his age, whom Max had met briefly at his check-in. She had been on her way home to deal with some crisis with her kids, and hadn’t been happy then, either. “And not at night either,” she added, “until you’ve been here a few days.”

“Sorry.” He gave her an apologetic smile, hanging on to it as the woman gazed at him through narrowed eyes.

She didn’t say anything, she just wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm, and pumped it a little too full of air—ow—as Gina opened the bathroom door. “Did I hear someone at the door?” she asked brightly. “Oh, hi. Debbie, right?”

“Debra.” She glanced at Gina, and then back, her disgust for Max apparent in the tightness of her lips. But then she focused on the gauge, stethoscope to his arm.

Gina came out into the room, crossing around behind the nurse, making a face at him that meant...?

Max sent her a questioning look, and she flashed him. She just lifted her skirt and gave him a quick but total eyeful. Which meant... Ah, Christ.

The nurse turned to glare at Gina, who quickly straightened up from searching the floor.

What was it with him and missing underwear?

Gina smiled sweetly. “His blood pressure should be nice and low. He’s very relaxed—he just had a massage.”

“You know, I didn’t peg you for a troublemaker when you checked in yesterday,” Debra said to Max, as she wrote his numbers on the chart.

Gina was back to scanning the floor, but again, she straightened up innocently when the nurse turned toward her.

“I think you’re probably looking for this.” Debra leaned over and...

Gina’s panties dangled off the edge of her pen. They’d been on the floor, right at the woman’s sensibly clad feet.

“Oops,” Gina said. Max could tell that she was mortified, but only because he knew her so well. She forced an even sunnier smile, and attempted to explain. “It was just... he was in the hospital for so long and...”

“And men have needs,” Debra droned, clearly unmoved. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”

“No, actually,” Gina said, still trying to turn this into something they could all laugh about, “I have needs.”

But it was obvious that this nurse hadn’t laughed since 1985. “Then maybe you should find someone your own age to play with. A professional hockey player just arrived. He’s in the east wing. Second floor.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Lots of money. Just your type, I’m sure.”

“Excuse me?” Gina wasn’t going to let that one go past. She may not have been wearing any panties, but her Long Island attitude now waved around her like a superhero’s cape. She even assumed the battle position, hands on her hips.

Debra pointed her pursed lips in Max’s direction. “Overnight guests are forbidden. No exceptions.”

“Did you just have the audacity to judge me?” Gina blocked the nurse’s route to the door. “Without knowing the least little thing about me?”

Debra lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I have seen your underwear, dear.”

“Exactly,” Gina said. “You’ve seen my underwear—not my personality profile, or my resume, or my college transcript, or—”

“If you think for one second,” the nurse countered, “that anything about this situation is even remotely unique—”

“That’s enough,” Max said.

Gina, of course, ignored him. “I don’t just think it, I know it,” she said. “It’s unique because I’m unique, because Max is unique, because—”

Debra finally laughed. “Oh, honey, you are so... young. Here’s a tip I don’t usually bother to tell girls like you: If I find one pair of panties on the floor, it’s only a matter of time before I find another. And I hate to break it to you, hon, but the girl who comes out of the bathroom next time, well... She isn’t going to be you.”

“First of all,” Gina said grimly, “I’m a woman, not a girl. And second, Grandma... You want to bet it’s not going to be me?”

“I said, that’s enough,” Max repeated, and they both turned to look at him. About time. He was used to clearing his throat and having an entire room jump to full attention. “Ms. Forsythe, you took my blood pressure—you have the information you needed, good day to you, ma’am. Gina...” He wanted to tell her to untwist her panties and put them back on, but he didn’t dare. “Sit,” he ordered instead, motioning to the desk chair that could be pulled beside the bed. “Please,” he added when Nurse Evil smirked on her way out the door.

“I can’t stay. Vic’s flight comes in just after seven. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.” Gina swooped in to kiss him, full on the mouth. “Mmmm,” she said, and kissed him again, longer this time, lingering, now that they were once again alone. She smoothed back his hair. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon.”

Yeah. About that... “We need to—,” Max started.

But she grabbed her camera and waved as she sailed out the door.

Leaving him holding...

Yes, she’d tucked them into his hand during that last kiss.

Her panties.

Of course.

Her intention was obvious. She wanted him to spend the next few hours thinking about her walking around the Baltimore-Washington Airport terminal without them.

Yeah.

So much for his nap.