Author’s Note: Thanks Redwriter for a wonder beta throughout. Also, a sly nod to the ‘mother of us all,’ the wonderful Mojo who turned so many of us into Webb fanatics. Can you spot the reference (used by permission)?
Clayton Webb sat in first class, trying hard to concentrate on the aria playing on his headset, but he was too jumpy; so nervous that he didn’t even try to recognize the artist. He refused to resort to plea-bargaining with God. «Just please, let me get there in time. She’ll kill me if I’m late.» For what could’ve been the fifth or fiftieth time, he checked his watch and sighed petulantly.
Looking out over the landscape, he began rehashing the events that had brought him to this point in his life. Three years ago, if someone had told him he’d be rushing home on the Eurostar, not from a dirty little mission in a dirty little part of the world, but from a security trade show in Geneva, where he’d actually paid close attention to the latest innovations being offered, he would’ve told the person to stop drinking. If someone had told him he’d be rushing home from said trade show to celebrate his second wedding anniversary with Sarah MacKenzie, he would’ve rolled over and continued his dream.
He’d only been gone three days. «Am I whipped or what?» But he smiled at the thought. Sometimes, like now, he still felt a pang of anxiety.
He couldn’t remember when he fell in love with her. He’d always known that she was beautiful. The memory of her in that dress he’d bought her for the Sudanese embassy party could still tent his pants. But, as cocky and as sure of himself as he’d been back then, he’d been focused on his career, on rising through the ranks of the Central Intelligence Agency. And, he’d done a damned good job of sublimating his more decent feelings and tendencies. However, his continual exposure to the people at JAG had affected him more than he’d wanted to admit at the time.
Perhaps it was in Afghanistan that he’d allowed his feelings to surface beyond his wet dreams. Those dreams, before the Taliban prisoner held a knife to her throat, had been good old-fashioned sexual romps with scenes of mild bondage and other light-hearted perversities. Afterwards, once she was safe, he’d begun to have more serious dreams; dreams right out of the Leave it to Beaver reruns of his youth – real ‘Honey, I’m home,’ dreams. Those he’d fought for over a year. But when it came down to it, he’d known that he loved her. She just didn’t love him. She loved Harmon Rabb. That he’d known with an almost unshakable certainty. She probably still did, on some level. But if there was one thing that he knew with equal certainty, she was happily – most times – married to him. Although, until she’d actually said the words, ‘I do,’ before God, Reverend Turner and the entire JAG staff, including a scowling Harm, he’d feared that she’d change her mind. «Has she changed it now?»
It’d been a tumultuous courtship, one he couldn’t conceive of going through for anyone but her. Twice she’d sent him away.
The first time had been his fault. After the disaster in Paraguay, he’d thought that her acceptance of seeing him socially had been more out of gratitude than real passion, although, after that first embarrassing encounter, she’d come to crave his touch. "No one has ever made love to me like you, Clay." He’d never doubted her truthfulness. She’d certainly made no bones about how she’d felt about his job and the very personal effects of that job on their lives. He’d almost been relieved when she’d walked away.
He’d thrown himself into proving to the Agency that he was still the wunderkind. But Watts had made sure he’d gotten the credit for Webb’s successes. Watts had also made sure that Webb had known his superior’s trust would never return to pre-Angel Shark levels. More importantly, even without Sarah’s constant hammering, he’d begun to question every ethical choice he’d made. «Hell, I was turning into a liberal Democrat.»
Then came the misprint in the paper declaring that he, Clayton Webb, who even the publisher of the Post knew didn’t work for the State Department then, was marrying. When she’d called him, he’d clearly heard the jealousy in her voice. He’d considered calling her back, but selfishly reveled in her hurt, while grasping at the straw of possible reconciliation. When he’d so coolly called her the following day to see if she’d seen the correction, Chegwidden had informed him that she, along with Rabb, was in Iraq, out of reach. He’d considered trying to find a reason to check on some contacts, the few remaining after a year in South America and six months of rehabilitation, but he’d been unable to justify it to Kershaw.
But when he’d heard about the bombing of the hotel headquarters for the US military in Iraq, the phone call to AJ had been a formality. Even before AJ had given him the few additional details not yet known by the Agency, Clay had known she was there.
"I’m flying out of Andrews…" AJ had started to tell him.
Clay hadn’t let him finish. "I’ll meet you." He hadn’t even bothered to inform Kershaw until they’d been over the Atlantic.
After he’d literally moved heaven and earth to save her life, he’d been the one to walk away, only to return with karmic bad timing, his proposal of marriage dangled before her like a prize. Only she’d seen it as a red flag. But, when she’d sent him away again, it’d been with a glimmer of hope.
He’d been thoroughly confused by her need to make a pilgrimage of self-discovery — across America, instead of to Russia as Harm had done. But then he’d never understood Rabb’s obsession with finding his father. The three of them suffered from similar life losses, although his experiences were closer to Harm’s than to Sarah’s. They’d all lost - or been deserted by - a parent early, although neither he nor Harm had to deal with the abuse Sarah had lived through. They’d all suffered the death of young loves. He spared a sad thought to poor Solana, murdered so many years ago in Guatemala.
However, where Harm had needed to search for his father, and Sarah had needed to find out why her mother deserted her, Clay had accepted the fact that his father had died in the service of his country. End of conversation. Of course, when he finally could, he’d checked the agency records and he had a pretty good idea of what’d happened. But, dead was dead, the past belonged in the past. Even while he’d waited to see if Sarah would need/want/hate him in Missouri, he’d contemplated his future instead of dwelling on his past.
Fortunately, Sarah seemed to have buried, or at least have come to terms with, her past. He was almost glad that, since Anna Mae Williams had felt the overwhelming need to take her life, she’d done it when she did, instead of waiting until she’d worked her way further into Sarah’s expansive heart.
While Sarah had dealt with yet another blow to her emotion stability, he’d handled the sheriff, who turned out to be a professional, instead of the redneck Clay had expected. If the sheriff, or any of the officers, had been offended by the lifestyle of the two women, they’d hidden it well.
"Well, this letter pretty much tells the story." The sheriff had sighed. "I’ve seen this before. People are together for decades. Then one dies and the one left behind just can’t see the future without the other. Funny thing. The last time I saw it happen, the man had cheated on and treated his wife real bad for nearly forty years. I can tell you, we checked into that one for a long time. He didn’t leave a note. We never found anyone who might have murdered him. Not even an old girlfriend."
"She didn’t kill him before she died?" Clay had asked.
"She’d been paralyzed for two years before her death." The sheriff had offered one more piece of insight. "We found out that, after her stroke, the old fool never left her side. Says something about human nature, I guess; but, I’m not sure what." He’d been polite and considerate while questioning Sarah about the final days of Deanne MacKenzie and Anna Mae Williams.
Deanne’s doctor, who’d turned out to be the county coroner, too, had arrived to confirm Deanne’s condition and sign the paperwork. As the three men had stood watching the M.E.’s van pull away with the bodies, the doctor had offered, "I gotta tell you, I’m not surprised that Anna Mae up and did this. She loved that woman better than a lot of men love their wives."
Sarah had let Clay call AJ the first time to inform him that, barring some unforeseen verdict at the inquest, they’d both return no later than the following Wednesday, and that Sarah would call later to talk to him about FedExing out any paperwork she could get started on.
As it turned out, she hadn’t flown back to DC with him that Wednesday. Instead, after a courier had delivered several files, she’d spent most of the weekend going over a case that would take her to Okinawa.
She’d paid the twenty-one hundred dollar plus hotel bill, and moved her clothes into his room. He’d arranged for the car rental company to accept Sarah’s car at the Osage Beach office. They’d found a dry cleaner for the one uniform she’d brought with her. Harriet had arranged to send more directly to the base in Okinawa. All in all, that weekend in Missouri foretold just how their working lives would be. She’d sat on one end of the sofa, going over the briefs; he’d sat on the other end, reading the report and making notes. They’d found time to talk over dinner and to make love at night. It’d sealed the commitment that he was determined to make, not only to her, but also to himself.
That Wednesday night, after they’d scattered the ashes of the two women over the lake in front of the small cottage, he’d driven her to St. Louis, kissed her goodbye at the International gate and returned to DC to face his future.
The meeting with Kershaw, giving him the final news, had been revealing. "Well, Watts will be furious."
"Too bad. He’ll have to find someone else to kick around."
"Webb, damn it, you’re a good man. We need you."
But, the paperwork had gone through without him seeing the director till the last day. He’d been cleaning out his desk, yet again, when he’d looked up to see Watts standing in the doorway, glaring at him, the fury just below the surface. "I won’t take you back when you get bored,’ he’d said with vicious bravado.
Without thought, Clay had shot back. "Don’t worry. The rest of the shit you pulled is safe with me." He really hadn’t known of anything else that the old man had pulled during his clawing assent to the director’s chair. However, the sudden drain of color from Watts’ already pale face had been quite satisfactory. Clay’d known he was safe from any further personal attack, although he’d made a powerful enemy. But, his personal currency in Washington had still been in the black. He’d planned on making a real name for himself at State — but not at the cost of his marriage.
The blizzard was obliterating the southwest French countryside. He’d planned on flying, but the storm was wreaking havoc with the plane schedules. So, he’d boarded the high-speed train that might have allowed him to make Sarah’s timetable. However, the quiet solitude of the first class compartment gave him far too much time to dwell on Sarah’s current mood. She’d been in a preoccupied funk for nearly a week after he broke the news to her about the trade show. She’d not been mad. In fact, she’d just shrugged and said, "Have fun. You will be back for my surprise, right?" He’d solemnly vowed that nothing would keep him from her. He’d have to learn to stop giving God challenges like that.
She’d sounded resigned when he called her to tell her of his change of travel plans late last night. "You’re going to miss our anniversary, aren’t you?"
"Not if the train runs like it should. This is Europe. The trains run on time. It’s only three and a half hours!"
"In the summer with no snow, Clay!" She’d sounded really upset but, when he’d questioned her, she’d been evasive. He’d tried to tell himself that it was just normal female disappointment at missing an important milestone. He’d not made the mistake of pointing out that they’d celebrated their first wedding anniversary by taking the honeymoon in Tahiti that they hadn’t had time for right after the very quick wedding and reception at his mother’s estate. Or, that he’d remembered her birthday with a diamond tennis bracelet, roses, and a night of what she herself had said was the most wonderfully twisted sex she’d ever experienced. No. He had a feeling that Sarah’s resolution to live in the present might just translate to, ‘What have you done for me lately?’ Although he knew that it was unfair, and probably bordered on Rabbism, he let his guilt at having to disappoint her transfer to her reaction. It wasn’t like he was going to miss her surprise because he was out saving the world. And, he finally admitted, he was as disappointed as she. He’d been looking forward to her surprise.
"There’s no reason why you always have to be responsible for planning our anniversary extravaganzas," she’d told him a month ago.
"Sarah," he’d tried to tell her. "There’s no reason why they have to be extravaganzas." But he’d accepted her need to compete and, in this instance, they’d both win, if he could make it.
Of course, the train had broken down outside of Dijon. The blizzard had negated his plan to rent a car. The repairs added six hours to the trip, and completely destroyed his fudge factor. Now, he rose and began to pace in the small cabin. He was glad he had the compartment to himself. He needed to calm down. Perhaps it would be clear by the time the reached Paris and he could hop a flight. But, by the time they got to Paris he’d be late. "Damn it."
When he considered the past two years, he had to say he was pretty damned happy with them. He would owe AJ Chegwidden for the rest of his life. The JAG could have made Sarah’s transfer hard, but he’d seemed to understand. Harm hadn’t. That had been the hardest part for Sarah, thus, for Clay. Harm had acted like a seven-year old kid standing in the street, staring as his best friend was being driven away. And, Clay admitted, that had pretty much been how it’d played out. His transfer from the CIA to State had gone faster than he’d anticipated, and he’d flown to London a full two months before Sarah. Perhaps that’s why Harm had been so pleasant and easygoing at the wedding. He’d managed to keep his best friend, while the rival for her affection and attention had been an ocean away.
Clay had found them a beautiful apartment in a quaint Victorian section of London. When he’d called to tell her, she’d seemed happy and told him the date of her transfer from JAG to the Naval attaché’s office. The next time they’d talked she’d been tense, but wouldn’t discuss it. In fact, it’d taken his arrival for her to finally tell him.
"Harm’s not handling the move well," she’d finally admitted.
"What does that mean?"
"He… Never mind." She’d tried to distract him, but he’d refused to be dissuaded.
He’d taken her by the shoulders and forced her to tell him the mean, spiteful things Harm had said. It’d been the one and only time he’d tried to interfere. He’d stormed out of their nearly bare apartment, ready to show Harm that, even though the lawyer had six inches and thirty pounds on him, the CIA had taught its agents ways of overcoming that kind of disadvantage.
She’d been right behind him. She’d finally stopped him next to his car. "Clay. Don’t. I’ll take care of it."
"No, you won’t. You’ll just let it upset you. I won’t have our life together start out on this note. He has to understand what an ass he’s being." He’d reached for the handle on the car.
She’d stopped him with a very quiet, "Don’t you trust me?"
"What the hell does that have to do with this? He hurt you! Again!" He’d stood there, his hands fisted on his hips. "You stood there and took his crap and you didn’t do a damn thing, did you?"
She’d met his fury calmly. "No. I didn’t. I... Clay..." She’d shaken her head. "What would it have changed? He’s hurting, and he’ll have to deal with it. I’m just upset because Mattie has to listen to him put you down. I know she heard him tell me what an awful mistake I made marrying ‘someone like you.’ She asked me why I kept making mistakes when it came to the men in my life. She could’ve only heard that from Harm. I can’t believe he would say those kinds of things to her without thinking of the consequences. But Clay, you are the one perfect decision of my life."
He hadn’t like it, but had allowed her to lead him back up to the apartment to help her finish packing. They’d planned on only taking personal mementos, selling furniture and storing a few important pieces in his mother’s attic. He’d told her that they’d furnish the London flat together. After turning over the keys to the real estate agent, they’d driven to the Willard, where they’d stayed for two weeks, finalizing the sale of the apartment and a dozen last minute things.
His mother had insisted on throwing a going away party for his friends. Porter wanted to invite Sarah’s friends, but Sarah had blushed, saying that Harm had already planned something for the people at JAG. Of course, he’d talked Harriet into opening her home for the event.
AJ had brought Nora Simmons to Porter’s party. He’d been strangely silent about the party to be held at Bud and Harriet’s, saying only that he and Nora would be unable to attend. Nora had finally told Sarah, and Sarah had relayed to Clay, that AJ still hadn’t wanted to mix his personal life with the office – just yet.
"It’s so silly, Clay. Did you see the way they are together? Their eyes followed each other around the room."
"Well, from what you told me about the way it ended for him and his last girlfriend, I can’t say that I blame him." He hadn’t added that he’d just as soon skip the party, too, particularly if Harm was going to continue to act like a jerk. He’d known that the people at JAG would rally around the golden boy. Harm was a likable SOB. Clay had always known that, and had even envied the ease at which Harm made and kept friends.
The following weekend, as Clay had pulled up in front of the Roberts’ house, Sarah had gasped out. "She talked him into it!" AJ had just been helping Nora out of his SUV.
"Evidently Captain Simmons put her foot down," he’d replied.
"Maybe everyone inside will be so focused on them that they’ll leave us alone," she’d said hopefully.
He’d looked at her steadily. "You worried? They all came to our wedding."
"I know, but if Harm is saying the same stuff to them that he did to Mattie, then…" her voice had trailed off and he’d seen she was getting very angry, even before anything happened.
He’d reached out and palmed her cheek. "Stick with me kid. We’ll manage."
"AJ. Captain Simmons." He’d greeted them. Nora had hung back bit, and the streetlight had picked up a bright flush on her cheeks.
AJ had gruffly replied. "Webb, Mac. I hope you don’t mind us stealing some of your thunder."
Sarah and Clay had exchanged a surprised look. "Hell, AJ. Steal it all," Clay had said with grin.
Most of the people had been friendly enough towards him. Bud Roberts’ warm welcome had been the least surprising. Clay really liked the young lieutenant. Clay and Sarah had spent much of the evening next to AJ or Bud. Sturgis Turner had been cool. Jennifer Coates would’ve glared at him all evening had she not had to divide her attention between him and the new woman in her CO’s life. Mattie Grace had sat in a corner and refused to talk to either Clay or Sarah. Harm must’ve realized that he’d gone too far, because he’d crouched before his ward and talked to her earnestly. Clay had calmly met the young woman’s glare over Harm’s shoulder.
Later, when AJ had moved off to rescue Nora from Jenny Coates, and Bud had been helping Harriet with something in the kitchen, Harm approached them. "Well, Webb. You finally won, didn’t you?"
"That how you see it, Rabb?" Clay had responded coolly, wrapping his arm around Sarah, feeling her stiffen in anger.
"That’s how it is. You know, she’ll be wasting her talents over there. You should’ve let her stay where she was doing some good."
Sarah had stepped out of his light embrace. "Excuse me, I’m right here. Stop talking about me like I was in the other room, Harm. In fact, just stop it!" Clay hadn’t been sure if she was going to leave the room or hit Harm. Fortunately, AJ chose that moment to make his speech.
"Everyone. May I have your attention?"
Clay had taken Sarah’s hand and led her away from her former partner. "You okay?" he whispered once they were standing near the front.
"I can’t believe he’s being this big of a baby. He has no respect for me. I don’t know why I ever thought he’d..." Her voice had trailed off as AJ harrumphed.
"We’re here tonight to say farewell and good luck to an important person in our lives. We are all going to miss Colonel MacKenzie." He’d looked right at Sarah, the admiration in his voice evident to everyone in the room. "You’re one of the finest officers I’ve ever had the honor to serve with, Mac."
"Thank you, sir." Sarah had clutched Clay’s arm and he’d seen the effort it was taking for her to hold back her tears.
AJ hadn’t given her a chance as he continued. "But, all of us had a good long run together, a lot longer than most shipmates get. It’s time for Mac to move on. She’ll do well in London, and I’m sure she’ll keep Mr. Webb in line." There’d been a smattering of laughter and AJ’d taken a deep breath. "And, upon advise from my medical consultant," he’d reached out and pulled Nora to him, draping his arm over her shoulders, "I’ve decide that it’s time for me to go, too. Effective next month, I’m retiring."
The dozen or so people there had gasped and several had shouted out. "What! Sir! No! What’s wrong!?" Sarah had stood there, stunned.
Nora had muttered so low that only Clay, who’d been standing closest to them, heard, "Wonderful! Now everyone’s going to think you’re dying."
AJ’s blush had acknowledged her assessment. "Now people, calm down. I didn’t say my doctor. It was a joke," AJ had barked. He’d exhaled a deep breath, and then, looking only at Nora, continued. "Last week when I was gone from the office for three days, I flew out to Las Vegas and married Captain Simmons." Nora had held up her hand and waved the small diamond and gold ring.
Clay had thought that Jenny Coates would faint. But, it’d served to draw the attention away from him and Sarah, and they’d managed to make their goodbyes and sneak out. Of course, Harm had followed them. "Mac!" They’d turned to face him. "Can I see you, alone, for a moment’?’
Clay had been ready to let her go, but she’d stood there, silently considering the man who’d once again hurt her feelings so deeply. "No, Harm. Not right now." She’d turned and walked resolutely to their car.
He hadn’t seen Harm since. He never asked Sarah if she ever talked to him.
She’d loved the apartment, and they’d spent the last eighteen months on a perpetual honeymoon – as a couple and at work. She was always talking excitedly about her duties. He enjoyed his job and reveled in the fact that he could share so many details of his day now. Having Sarah in the same complex was a bonus beyond his wildest dreams. The first time she’d send him an email saying, "Important! 1130 hours. Meet me in room 5002. We need to discuss a military problem." He’d been concerned and hurried to find her, only to discover the door marked 5002 wasn’t a conference room. "File Closet?"
She’d opened the door and dragged him inside. "Military problem?" he’d managed, even as she’d begun pulling his suit coat off in the dim light. Her lips on his had cut off any further questions, and he’d quickly taken control. The small closet contained a stack of boxes. He’d wasted no time helping her out of her uniform. Then, spinning her around, he’d bent her over the stack.
"Oh, yes!" she’d hissed, as he’d roughly pulled down her panties covering her garter and nylons.
"Ah, that’s why you dressed in the bathroom this morning. You’ve been planning this for a while I see." His voice had been a hoarse whisper. His slacks and underwear had quickly dropped around his ankles. She’d been wet and ready for him before he ever touched her. "God, Sarah." Holding her hips, he’d plunged home in one stroke. Pausing for a moment, he’d striven for control. He’d released her hips to run his hands over her body. "How much time do we have’?"
"Well, ever since a certain security expert sent out the memo that suggested that the Marine guards do a walk through and check all the unlocked closets every two hours, we’ve got thirty minutes."
"Why didn’t you call me sooner, or later?"
"I was in a meeting, and you’re lunching with Blair. Remember?"
She’d ground her ass into his groin. "Damn it." He’d have gladly rescheduled his luncheon with the Prime Minister, but the guard couldn’t be ignored. Clay’d wanted to touch her, fondle her breasts, but there was no time. He’d begun a furious assault as she’d whispered encouragement. "Harder, faster. Clay. Hurry. I need you so badly." They’d come together and, bracing his hands on the boxes, he’d leaned over to lap at the sweat on her back.
"Damn, woman," he’d groaned as he stood. Pulling her around, they’d shared a long, passionate kiss. "How the hell am I going to clean up in time?"
"I’m a Marine. I came prepared."
"I thought that was the Boy Scouts."
"You want this or not?" She’d held up a package of body wipes. Together, they’d quickly cleaned and pulled on their clothes.
As he’d opened the door, he’d said in a loud voice. "Thank you, Colonel. You were absolutely right for showing me the flaw in my security plan."
The guard, who’d just turned down the hall, had looked long and hard at them. He’d positively glared at Clay, but smartly nodded to Sarah. "Colonel."
"Carry on, Corporal." She hadn’t burst into laughter until the elevator doors had closed behind them.
That had set the tone, and, at least once a week, they found ways of challenging the other to a tryst in a dangerous place. Clay found landings on the stairways that no one could spot from any of the security cameras. Sarah found closets and empty offices all over the building.
Just a couple of weeks ago, she’d come home late and collapsed, laughing, onto bed where he’d been reading a report. "We’re busted."
"Hmmmrnmm?" He hadn’t looked up. "Who, what, where?"
"Us, our afternoon delights, everywhere?"
He’d put down his report to stare at her. "What the heck are you talking about’?"
"Everyone knows. I had a quick conversation with Major Jensen in her office today. When I returned, I overheard my secretary telling another secretary that she had no idea where I was, so that meant I was probably showing you another possible security breach. I’m surprised the ambassador didn’t hear their gales of laughter."
‘Well, I guess we’ll have to stop then?" That had led to her attacking him, sending the pages of the report everywhere. He hadn’t minded a bit.
However, last week, something had happened. She’d refused to meet him any of the three times he emailed her with ‘possible security breaches.’ She’d never sent out an invitation. She’d been distant at home, but when he’d asked her what was wrong, she’s just shook her head and kissed him soundly. "It’s nothing, I’ve been really busy and I’m just tired."
They’d not had sex for five days, and the math had been wrong for her period. Then, the night before he’d left for Geneva, she’d been her old self again, instigating a blisteringly erotic goodbye. He should’ve just let it go, chalked it up to female mood swings, but as she’d driven him to the airport, he’d asked again. "Sarah? Is something troubling you? Just talk to me."
For a moment, it’d looked like she was going to tell him, but she’d shaken her head. "Everything is fine. I’ll see you when you get hack. We’ll have a nice anniversary dinner and we’ll talk then." He hadn’t liked the tone of ‘we’ll talk then,’ at all.
He’d called her every night and she’d seemed fine. But he knew something wasn’t right. The anxiety was driving him nuts. He’d even considered calling AJ to find out where Harm was. But the thought that he was jealous of the man brought him up short. «Talk to her, damn it. Find out what’s wrong and don’t take no for an answer.»
And now he was late. They were entering the city limits of Paris, where there’d be an hour wait before preceding onto the Chunnel. He opened his cell phone and dialed her cell. He got her voice mail. The same thing happened when he called the apartment. «Great! She’s not answering the phone. She’s pissed!»
He was staring at the phone trying to decide if he should call the embassy when a heavy rap at the door startled him. He automatically reached for his gun – he still carried one, he still had enemies. Placing it on his lap, he covered it with the newspaper he hadn’t bothered to read. "Entrez!"
The door opened and a smiling face peered around it. "Mr. Webb."
"Galindez?" He stood, letting the paper fall to the floor. He hadn’t seen the Marine since the wedding. Now he stood there, in a suit and tie, grinning even as he looked at the gun in Clay’s hand. "Sorry. Old habits." Clay returned the gun to his shoulder holster. "What the devil are you doing here?"
"Orders, sir. I’m stationed at the embassy in Paris now."
"No kidding? Since when?"
"I’ll tell you in the car. You’re needed." Gunny stepped into the compartment and reached up for Clay’s case.
"Now, wait a minute. What are you talking about? I’ve got plans!" He dropped his voice. "I’m not with THEM anymore."
"I know that. This is a military order. Comes from the top, sir."
"Galindez!" Clay gritted his teeth. "It’s my anniversary."
Galindez shrugged. "Sorry?"
"Damn it!" He grabbed up his wool overcoat and followed Galindez out of the terminal, where a car was waiting at the curb, a uniformed Marine at the wheel. Galindez put the suitcase in the trunk, then held the back door for Clay, who tried hard to come up with a better excuse. He knew he could just walk, but he doubted that the US military attaché of France would call him in just for tea. He slid into the back seat, expecting Galindez to follow him. Instead, he hurried around to the front passenger seat.
"Let’s go," Galindez ordered the driver.
Clay began, "You gonna tell me what’s going on? A hint?"
"Sorry, sir. That’s classified." The grin covered Galindez’s face.
"Terrific. How long have you wanted to throw that back at me?" The smile faded a bit as both men remembered the long night they’d spent siting in the Hummer, waiting for the bombing strike that would claim Fareeza’s life.
Gunny recovered quickly; he, too, had learned to put the past where it belonged. "Quite a while, sir."
"Can you tell me where we’re headed?"
"Sure. 10 rue de Rivoli."
"A hotel?"
"No sir. Private apartment building. Some bigwig flew in demanding to see you. The brass said find you, and we did."
"Who?"
Galindez just shrugged. Clay growled a warning, but whipped out his cell phone again. He tried Sarah’s cell.
"Hello, lover, where are you?" her silky growl demanded.
He was relieved that he found her, but dreaded having to tell her the news. "I’m in Paris."
"How long?" She no longer sounded quite as warm as before.
"I’m not sure. Uhm…you know the snow is really bad here."
"Clay!"
He’d sworn never to lie to her, but he was sorely tempted. He considered shoving the phone at Galindez and making him explain. Instead, he sighed. "I’ll be on the earliest flight I can, I promise. I’m not sure what’s going on. I’ll explain when I get there. Unless…"
"Unless?"
"I don’t suppose you’d want to meet me here?"
"I have my plans all laid out, Clay. Damn it."
"Sarah!"
"I know. I’m just disappointed."
"I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you."
"You’d better remember that, Clay."
"Call you when I’m leaving."
"Bye."
He sighed as he turned off the phone. He ignored the snow of the gray afternoon. He sighed again.
"I’m really sorry, Mr. Webb," Galindez said.
"Can you at least find me a flight out? How long is the meeting going to take?"
"Sir, they’ve closed the airport."
"Wonderful."
"Chunnel’s still open."
"Great."
"Train’s still running."
"Shut up, Galindez."
The apartment was in one of the best and most expensive areas in all of Paris. The views on any day that the snow wasn’t falling would be breathtaking. Clay didn’t care. He ignored the slush in his shoes, and the fact that he looked like the rumpled traveler he was, as he followed Galindez into the elevator. He silently glared as the numbers slowly climbed to the top floor. The man must be truly important if he commanded such an address. Clay hadn’t spent much time in Paris on the Agency’s nickel. He wondered who the hell had to talk to him, and about what? «So help me, if it’s Watts or Kershaw, I’ll walk out the door.» Once they were off the elevator, Clay could see there were only two apartments on the floor. "Definitely someone important," he sighed.
"Yes, sir." Galindez led him to one of the doors, gave a sharp rap before twisting the knob.
"But not a security risk?" The bells just started to go off in Clay’s head. "Who the hell?"
Galindez gave him a broad grin. "Happy Anniversary, Mr. Webb," he said, before pushing Clay inside and closing the door.
The apartment was everything he’d expected from the address. He quickly scanned the living area. Gold gilt, brocade upholstery and mirrors were everywhere. He shrugged off his coat and tossed it over a chair. Nothing. «Oh, Marine, you are in such trouble.» He stalked down the hall past a small dining room. He paused, took a step back and looked inside. The lights of Paris illuminated a table set with china, crystal and two unlit tapers. A vase containing two red roses rested in the center. Through the window, he could see the gardens behind the Louvre now covered in snow; far in the distance he could just make out the Eiffel Tower, already lit up for night.
The kitchen was as modern as the rest of the apartment seemed to be classic. He opened the refrigerator to find steaks and lobster tails ready for the grill on the range top. But he wasn’t interested in food. «Where are you?» He returned to the living room and listened. The music was faint but audible. «Amateur! Why didn’t you hear it before?» But then, he wondered if she’d turned it on after he went the wrong way. «Leading me by the nose, darling?»
Down the hall, he passed an office, a guest bath and an empty bedroom. The music was coming from behind the door at the end of the hallway. Opening it, he found himself in a warm and inviting room. A huge four-poster bed held center stage. Mirrors abounded. A fireplace warmed and softly lit the room. The windows were covered in muted brown and gold brocade. «Very interesting, but still no Sarah.» The music was louder here, though. He opened an armoire and whistled softly. The stereo system was Bang and Olufsen, state of the art, and probably cost twenty grand. Above the fireplace hung a plasma television. But his eyes rested on the bed as he took in the overstuffed mattress, the mound of pillows, the long silk scarves tied to the headboard posts. His cock surged at the images burned on his brain. He ripped off his rumpled suit coat and tossed it on a chair. Kicking off his shoes, he approached the only closed door in the room.
There was clear glass shower stall to the right, across from twin carved pedestal sinks. A door led off to what he assumed was the toilet and bidet. All the fixtures were gold. The walls were covered in an opalescent tile that shimmered in the light from what appeared to be a hundred candles placed on every flat surface, including the floor. But only a small part of his brain registered any of it. He was focused on the Venus before him. Sarah was reclined in the tub, the jets of the whirlpool stirring the water so that he only caught the occasional glimpse of a nipple. Her hair was pulled up in a bun on the top of her head.
"Hello, lover. Come here." She crooked a finger, but he was mesmerized by the way the water cascaded off her raised arm.
"God, Sarah." He had no conscious thought of removing his clothes, but soon he was standing at the edge of the tube, his cock sticking painfully out. She crawled over to him. Kneeling before him, she reached up her arms to beckon him, sending more water down her body. Her mound was covered but her breasts, so full and heavy, were arched toward him. He thought it a trick of the light, but her breasts seemed fuller, more inviting than ever. Stepping down into the water, he took her hands and slowly, insistently, pulled her up until she was standing before him.
"This was your surprise?" he whispered.
"Yes, and you nearly ruined it." She kissed him, wrapping her arms around him, crushing her breasts into his chest for a moment, before pulling him down to recline in the bubbling water. He hadn’t realized just how cold he’d been until he felt her hold him.
For a long while, he was content to just hold her to him. Finally, he pulled back and looked at her. With a wiggle of her eyebrows, she scooted away to recline against the tub. She draped her arms over the sides, once again pushing her breasts out of the water, inviting him. He, however, wanted answers. Mimicking her action, he went to the other end and rested. "So tell me, how was this supposed to really work?"
She pouted, but accepted his demand. "Oh, I had it all planned out. You were supposed to have arrived last night. I was going to make you submit to my wicked plan by blindfolding you and leading you to the train station at Waterloo. On the train, for two glorious hours, I planned on tormenting you. I had strawberries and whipped cream." She reached back and picked up a glass wine flute, the lime slice the only indication that it was filled with tonic instead of champagne. "Drink?" She nodded behind her, and he noticed she’d set out a bottle of his favorite scotch, as well as a rock glass and ice bucket.
"Later. How did you find this place?" Not that he really cared. He wouldn’t even blanche when he saw it on the credit card statement.
"Actually, your mother found it for me. It belongs to a friend of hers who’s on a ‘round-the-world cruise." She paused and screwed up her face in thought. "Can we do that someday?"
"Next year," he said.
"Yeah, right," she shot back. "Porter said Monsieur Rothschild was happy that someone – of refinement – would stay in his apartment for a week."
"A week? You got a week off?"
"Yes, and so did you. I already cleared it with the Ambassador." She sighed and grinned happily. "I could get used to this, Clay: Ambassadors, Rothschilds, Paris apartments with a view of the Eiffel Tower. Oh, lover, not bad for a girl with a past like mine." She sipped her tonic.
"As long as you get used to it with me, darling." He crawled over to her and reached out for the glass. He finished the tonic before placing it on the floor beyond the tub. He leaned in and brought his parted lips to hers, silently requesting permission to deepen the kiss. She complied and his tongue sought hers. Twisting them around, until she reclined on his lap, he held her tightly, rubbing her skin, hot from the water and from her desire. Her own hands were busy, raking through his hair, holding his head while she made her own explorations. His cock was trapped between them, rubbing against her belly.
"Perfect." She laughed softly, rubbing him harder.
"Stop that, or we’ll have a mess to clean up in the tub."
"Like that’s ever stopped you before." But she sat back, relieving the pressure for a moment. "Happy anniversary, Clay. I heard you roaming around out there. Did you see the dinner I have for us, later? After all, it is Paris and 1800 hours is rather early for dinner here. You have plenty of time to play with your present."
"My present?" He cocked an eyebrow. "And, that would be… ?"
"Me, of course." She smiled and kissed him again.
"The gift that keeps on giving."
"Ass." But she kissed him harder, longer, before pulling back. She was panting slightly when she asked. "So, what do you want?"
"You."
"Clay!"
He thought for a moment, then grinned. "I saw what you did in the bedroom. Monsieur Rothschild leave those scarves on the bedposts?"
"You’re a pervert. A wonderful pervert. I just thought you might like to play sometime this weekend. The scarves are there to let you know that you can have whatever you want."
He stood and pulled her up with him. "I’m going to tie you up and make you come again and again. I’m going to kiss every inch of your body. I can’t wait to taste you." He helped her out of the tub. There were thick towels on the warming rack and he took one. He lovingly dried her off, stealing kisses as he did. When he was done, he quickly dried himself.
While he did, Sarah let her hair down, shook it out and then began to tease him. Fisting his cock as he rubbed the terry across his back. "May I?" she said, even as she sank to the floor before him.
"I think you’d better. I’ve wanted you so much." He groaned as she took him in her mouth. "Damn, you’re good at that." He dropped the towel and caressed her head as she licked his shaft. She cupped his balls, playing with them as she sucked him deep. He was gasping for breath, moaning her name, trying desperately not to thrust too hard into her mouth. She was gazing up at him, a mysterious look in her eyes. "You’re so beautiful, so sexy. Yes! Just like that!" Her tongue was lashing against the vein underneath his shaft, even as she sucked him harder. "Sarah. Close. Soon." He always warned her, but tonight she just sucked harder until he had to grip the sink to keep from falling as he came. She sat back on her heels and licked her lips clean.
Helping her to her feet, he embraced her, accepting her kiss, tasting himself on her lips, after which they quickly brushed their teeth. "Now, its my turn." He took her hand and led her to the bed. "Lay down."
Without him asking, she stretched her arms to allow him to tie her wrists to the posts. They’d enjoyed mild bondage through their marriage. They’d also pleasured each other with vibrators and other toys. He hoped she’d brought them with her. But, not for now. Now, he wanted to just touch her. He remembered the night she’d made love to him, telling him everything she loved about him, healing them both by accepting the now faint scars on his body. Once she was secure, he rubbed his cock, still flaccid but struggling to rise to the occasion, against her thigh. He covered her with his body, reveling in the way she felt under him. "I love you, Sarah."
"I love you, too." Her smile was so sweet that he felt his heart pound even harder.
"You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. That you’re with me is a continual source of amazement and joy."
"Oh, Clay," she moaned
"I mean it. After all the rocky moments in our lives, after the way I used you to get to your uncle, after Colombia, after the Embassy fiasco, after Paraguay, that you love me is mind-boggling. I can’t imagine my life without you." He lowered his lips to hers. She spread her legs, nestling him closer. His cock, nowhere near recovered, rested in the moist heat of her vulva. "You gave up JAG for me."
"I transferred for us, Clay." She arched up and kissed his chin, nibbling on his five o’clock shadow.
He moved down her body. "You have the most gorgeous tits on the planet." He lightly ran his tongue over the skin just above her nipples. Her response was immediate. She arched up, thrusting her nipples at him. Sucking one into his mouth, he played with the other, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Clay! Oh Clay. Please." He’d never seen her this sexy before. She was rubbing against his cock, trying hard for some release. But he wasn’t ready for that yet. He lapped and tongued her breasts, biting the tender flesh with little nips of his teeth. Suddenly, she went rigid, gasping for breath. He stopped and looked at her in utter shock. Never had he brought her to orgasm so quickly, or by just stimulating her breasts.
"Holy cow, Sarah," he breathed, inordinately pleased with himself. He moved up to claim a long kiss. Kneeling back, he stared at the juncture between her legs. The light from the fireplace made the moisture on her thighs glisten. "I can’t wait to taste you."
He lowered his face and inhaled deeply. "You smell like heaven." Raising her legs over his shoulders, he licked the juices off her thighs, moving closer to her sex with each swipe of his tongue. His kissed her distended, swollen clit and blew across the head.
"Clay!" The note of panic stopped him immediately.
"What’s wrong?"
Sighing, she whispered. "Please don’t do that."
"Do what?"
"Don’t blow on me there any more."
"Huh? I thought you liked it." He lowered her legs to the bed. In all their times together, only once had he displeased her, and that was the first time, when he hadn’t been sure of his ability to perform at all.
Her face softened out of her fear, and he could see she was embarrassed. "I love it. Come here. Lay next to me." There was sad resignation on her face, and the anxiety he’d suffered for nearly a week returned to punch him in the stomach.
He did as she asked, after reaching up to untie her. "What’s wrong, Sarah?" The fear was nearly choking him now. "The week before I left, something was wrong. Now…"
He could see the tears forming in her eyes. "I just wanted one perfect night before I told you. I was going to tell you over dinner."
Visions of some unknown disease now crowded out any thoughts of her leaving him for Harm or anyone else.
"Oh, God, Sarah. Is this why you wouldn’t have sex with me? That last week? Have you seen a doctor?"
Her eyes widened and she cursed quietly. "Oh, damn. Oh, Clay, please don’t think that. Oh, shit. Not that." She was truly upset with herself now, and he was thoroughly, completely confused.
"Damn it! Just tell me!"
"I’m…we’re pregnant."
He sat up and looked down at her. He had no idea what to say. He was happy, but also rather put out that he had suffered through a week’s worth of agony over what should’ve been a joyous announcement. His sperm count had increased with each doctor’s visit, but it was still a miracle. "What are you telling me?" he blurted out.
She must’ve seen the questions and confusion on his face, and a flash of anger ripped through her eyes. But then, she sighed. "I’m sorry for the past week. I…It’s just that…shit." She stood up and walked naked to the window overlooking the Ritz Hotel. "It’s your baby, Clay."
He felt like a real jerk that she’d think that he had any doubts on that fact. "Sarah. I never thought that. I swear it. I just don’t understand. It’s a happy thing, isn’t it? Or, is something wrong? How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"
She let out a long sigh. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. But I wanted to be sure. I’m kind of old to be pregnant."
"Nonsense. Lots of women get pregnant well into their forties. You’re thirty-nine."
"I’m still high risk. And, I was going to tell you last week when I took the pregnancy test."
"That’s why you took out the trash from the bathroom that morning?"
"Yeah, lover, you don’t miss much."
He stood and padded over to the window, pulling her until her back rested against his chest. "Why were you scared?"
"Because the same morning that the strip turned blue, I started bleeding." He could see her reflection in the window and tears were streaking down her face. "I was so scared, Clay. I…I didn’t want to tell you if I was already miscarrying."
"Why not? What did you think I would say?"
"Clay, damn it, I don’t know. I just didn’t know how to deal with it. I wanted to talk to Patty, in records. She’s been through a lot, having five kids and all. I figured she could give me some advice."
"And?"
"And she told me to tell you right away, but to also see a doctor. She made a phone call and her physician, who isn’t taking new patients, agreed to see me on an emergency basis." She stopped and rested her head against his cheek. "I’m sorry, Clay."
"You said that and I’m sorry you’re upset. Now finish, please."
"He said the spotting was normal in some women. He checked me out and ran some tests." She turned in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist. "The morning before you left, he told me that everything looked good. That we could still have sex during the pregnancy."
He looked at her, stunned. It had never occurred to him that they might not be able to have sex while she was pregnant. "Okay, I take it that there are restrictions?"
"Not many, not many at all. He wants me to take good care of myself. He gave me a list of exercises and activities I could do. He wants to keep an eye on me. Maybe…" she smiled ruefully, "during the last trimester, when I’m big as a house, we might not be able to…"
He kissed her soundly, then pulled back. "We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Why didn’t you tell me before we got started tonight, though?"
"I just wanted one last night of unfettered sex. I know how you are. You’re going to start treating me like a china doll. I’m not. Doctor Klein said the only no-no was blowing into my vagina. It can cause an air embolism."
"What else?"
"Nothing really. Not yet, anyway. When I get bigger, we aren’t going to be able to do it missionary style. We’ll have to…"
His kiss stilled her again. "We’ll figure it out." He released her to stand before her. "I’m hurt that you didn’t tell me. I was worried sick that I’d done something wrong, or that you were getting ready to drop some kind of bombshell on me."
"What? Like I was leaving you for Harm?" At his look, she just sighed. "You think I don’t know? You think that I don’t see the pain in your eyes sometimes? I married you, Clay. I told you that you were the one perfect choice in my life. Isn’t that enough?"
He took a deep breath. "I’m sorry."
"Would you look at us?" She tentatively reached out her hand and he took it to pull her close. "We really have to work on our crisis communication."
Wrapping his arms around her, he settled her in his embrace. "I guess the demons just hide in the darkness, ready to jump out at us." His lips played across her neck and shoulders. "Tell you what we’ll do..."
"Okay." She hugged him tight and he felt her shudder with emotion.
"Since we both found some little release," he pulled back and let a smile crease his face. "By the way, is that one of the side effects of your pregnancy? Your breasts get bigger and more sensitive? Or, are you just going to be hornier all the time?"
He watched her struggle, but she finally laughed. "You know, you are such a…a… man!"
"Thank you."
"Your plan, Mr. Webb?"
"Dinner, Mrs. Webb. We’ll talk; make some plans. Hey, when will we know whether it’s a girl or a boy? Do you want to know?" he asked eagerly, looking around the room. "Where’s your robe?"
She continued to laugh as she walked over to a closet door. Pulling out two robes hanging there, she tossed him his. "I’m six or seven weeks. The way we go at it, I certainly couldn’t pin it down closer, and he won’t do a sonogram until later. As for an amnio, he’s not concerned yet." She sighed and pulled on her robe, tying it around her waist. "And, as for the sex of the baby, I haven’t decided if I want to know." She walked back up to him and tied his robe for him. "I’m really sorry, Clay. I’m sorry I put…"
"Hush." He kissed away her explanation. "It’s over. Now, let me go fix you dinner."
"Hey! This is my surprise and my gift. You get to sit here and watch me. You do know I can cook?"
"You can?" He laughed as she slapped at him. "Well then, make me dinner, Mother Webb."
"Don’t!" She stuck her finger at his nose. "Don’t you dare start that or so help me…"
He lightly nipped her finger, glad that they had weathered the squall. He wondered what their next disagreement would be over; he prayed they could get past it as easily as they had this one. "Come on. I want to see this." He turned her toward the living area and swatted her bottom.
"You’ll pay for that."
"Don’t think so. Who gets to tie who down?"
Her brilliant smile over her shoulder as they walked through the living area was more than he’d ever hoped to see three years ago. And, he realized that if God often laughed at your best laid plans, he sometimes answered your heartfelt prayers.