::  Preludes ::

Part 1

Takes places after Trail of the White Tiger. You really need to read this for Preludes to make any sense. Timeline: 1939 – 1940

AJ’s
Selau, Bougainville
July 3^rd 1939
Dawn

Meredith Cavanaugh opened one eye to glare at the visitor in the window. The parrot glared right back at her and squawked. Then, satisfied that its work was done, turned and flew away.

She groaned and tried to return to sleep, but now another noise, this one from directly behind her, let her know that she wasn’t going to get anymore sleep today. She didn’t mind that at all.

"Mornin’ darlin’." Even after eighteen months, the sound of his voice still sent a thrill down her spine. The touch of his hand sent other parts thrilling. At forty-three, she was still amazed at what she’d been missing during her marriage to Theodore Lindsay.

Poor Teddy. She wondered what had driven him to do it. But before she could contemplate her ex-husband’s trial for the murder of his new wife, Loren Singer, AJ’s touch dispelled all thoughts of her former life in New York.

She watched the butterflies dance across the jungle; the green, a perfect backdrop to their vivid colors. There were even orchids. Jason assured her that they weren’t particularly rare, and she could cut them to decorate AJ’s room, but this was better. She smiled contentedly as he traced his fingers over her skin. Then simple happiness gave way to desire, and she turned in his embrace. Their lips met, and he began to touch and caress her, eliciting groans of approval. Before, while she was still married, she would lie there and allow Teddy to take his pleasure, gritting through the pain and boredom of it all. Perhaps that’s why Teddy’d left her. But then, she’d not known the possibilities of rapture; Teddy hadn’t bothered to teach her.

That first night when she’d come to AJ’s bed, she’d done so to prove her resolve to stay. She’d known that a man like AJ would expect it. She just hadn’t counted on AJ demanding that she enjoy it, too.

She still remembered her shock when he took her nipple into his mouth. "What are you doing?"

"Don’t you like it?"

"I-I-I"

"Meredith, you were married, haven’t you ever done this before?" He’d asked it softly, already knowing the answer, she suspected.

He’d taken her to heights that most women – decent women, according to her mother – would never allow. She lost control in his arms that night, crying out her pleasure, gasping at his stretching of her. And when he’d shown her how to love him in return, she liked that, too. Not all of it, not at first, but he was patient with her, never demanding more than she was willing to try, and it was that patience that had sealed her fate.

They loved each other. She knew that, though neither had admitted it out loud. There was passion and laughter and arguments, and complete agreement that they couldn’t live together for long periods of time. They were both too old to change enough for that. He’d no desire to leave his little kingdom or the group of misfit subjects who had come to depend upon him. For her part, she was still drunk with the freedom of doing what she wanted, when she wanted. After a lifetime of having servants wait on her, she was content to do for herself in her small apartment in Port Moresby. Her father’s threatening telegrams had turned pleading, then conciliatory. Of course, that might’ve had something to do with the fact that it was Life, not The Sun that published her most recent photographs. For, while she still sent off stories weekly to the paper, she’d discovered a talent in an old hobby.

She might not be a Margaret Bourke-White, but she was proud of her photographs of South East Asia. New Guinea, New Zealand, and other islands and their peoples had become her subjects. She used both Victor Galindez and his boat, "The Gypsy Girl," as well as AJ’s plane – piloted by Bud Roberts – to visit and photograph dozen of the little paradises. She often had the men set her down on some remote spot and leave her there with enough supplies for as long as a week. She reveled in her newfound freedom, but she always returned to AJ.

Now, she reveled in touching him. Stroking her fingers through the thick mat of hair on his chest, down past his navel, pausing to tickle that spot she’d discovered one night when he’d lain back, his hands behind his head with the demand, ‘touch me."

"Stop it, minx."

"Oh, AJ!" Her laugh turned into a sigh. "I’m no minx."

He paused and looked deep into her eyes. "No, I looked it up."

And she knew he probably had. "Oh yes?"

"‘A girl or young woman who is considered pert, flirtatious, or impudent.’" He said it with the same tone he’d used with his students nearly twenty-five years before; before the war, before he – and the world – had changed.

"Only one thing wrong, AJ."

His lips on hers stilled her protest. Covering her with his body, he gazed down into her eyes. "You’re young and beautiful and certainly impudent." As he filled her, he marveled as her eyes fluttered shut. Marveled as her rich full mouth parted slightly in her desire. Her skin was as smooth as any woman he’d ever touched, most years younger than she. Her curves were graceful, perfect in his mind. Words failed him though. He could talk of the way she pleased him, of her vitality and grace. He could say the words that belied her age. He only wished he could say the words that she - that any woman - would want to hear from the man she’d given her body to for over a year. Even now, as she began to return his thrusts, he knew he should tell her, even though she’d never asked, never, in fact, said the words herself. And perhaps that’s what kept him still. Even after all this time, he wasn’t sure why she was with him, why she continued to return to him.

"Oh… oh… oh!" Her chant filled his ears, and he began to lose all thought now, except of their mutual release. He knew how to angle his hips to the fullest, best effect, and soon, his grunts of pleasure joined her whispered cries.

He collapsed on the bed beside her. "Damn, woman. Didn’t we do that last night?"

"You don’t remember?" she asked archly, even as she stretched, running her hand over his sweaty brow, through the remaining silver bristle on his head.

"Of course I remember. What I don’t remember is any woman having this effect on me. I’m too old to make love in the evening and again in the morning. You do that to me."

She lay there beside him, staring up at the ceiling. "You’ve given me so much, AJ. I never knew it could be like this. I guess I’m just making up for lost time."

"That bastard ex-husband of yours…" He let the accusation hang in the air. "Is Kate Pike going to let you know when they broadcast a verdict?"

"She said she would." Now that reality had intruded on their idyllic interlude, she rose from the bed and grabbed up the silk kimono that Tom Boone had brought her the last time he’d returned from Okinawa. She smiled in gentle sadness. Tom had finally returned to flying, but only as Bud Roberts’ co-pilot. The tremors had subsided for now. But they all knew it was just a matter of time. "I’m going out for a swim. Come with me?"

"I’ll be there in a bit. I want to check with Sturgis about something." He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and another brick of reality was added to the wall suddenly rising between them.

She said nothing. Something was going on that he wouldn’t tell her about. Maybe Kate would know. But then, the woman took her position as Clayton Webb’s personal assistant very seriously, guarding his confidences well. While Kate had given Meredith and The Sun several good stories, Meredith knew that she checked everything through Clay, or at least she used to. Now, Kate was consul in all but name. Clay was seldom in Port Moresby. In fact, the last time Meredith had seen Clay had been right here in Selau over two months ago. She’d just returned from a weeklong photo exploration of the villages of the Carolina Islands north of New Guinea. Roberts was helping her down from the Goose when Clay strolled up. "Hello, Meredith, Roberts."

"Clay! You’re not leaving? I just got here. Come back up. Sturgis is really getting to be a fine chef."

"Experienced that last night. Never a huge fan of breadfruit, but his stew was definitely interesting." He gave her an easy grin. "Though, I’ll not testify to the source of his meat."

"Oh, dear," she laughed. "I’ve learned not to. But you’re not staying?"

He sighed and turned away for a moment. When she could see his face again, it wore a look that she hadn’t seen it a long time; not since they buried Meg Austin in the little cemetery behind the Catholic church in Port Moresby.

"Can’t. I need to go to the mainland to check on something." He didn’t bother to mention which mainland: America? Australia? China? She shuddered at that. Diplomatic letters of passage only went so far – an angry guard could still ignore them or worse, desire them.

Later, when she, oh so very casually asked AJ about Clay’s visit, he’d just shrugged, and she knew he lied to her. "No idea, darlin’. Just came in for a drink and said hello to everyone."

The surf rolled in, and the water was warm against her skin. Before coming here, it would’ve never occurred to her to bathe in the nude. But the people here were free and open with themselves, and their bodies. Besides, the cove where she and AJ frolicked (she couldn’t think of a better term for their antics) was very private, the leafy, narrow entrance easily missed by passing boats.

He joined her, and they swam and splashed, then loved again in the middle of the cove, her legs wrapped around him, he let the water buoy her up as he thrust deep inside her. Now that’s a record," she sighed, her forehead resting against his. "Three times in less than twelve hours."

"Well, you’re getting ready to leave me again, aren’t you?"

The way he said it gave her pause. Usually, by the time she left, they were both ready for a break from living on top of each other. But now, he seemed almost probing and anxious. "Yes. I thought I’d get back and develop those pictures from the past couple of trips. They finally sent me more chemicals. Heavens, I think I still need to develop those pictures from the Carolina Islands. Darn. I promised Clay I’d send him copies. Not that he’s been around." She looked at AJ for a long time. "Or has he?"

"Not here. I haven’t seen him in two months." And the man who couldn’t get enough of her suddenly released her and turned away. He swam to the ocean entrance and back several times. She watched with growing concern before returning to the towels he brought to the beach with him. Throwing the kimono over her wet body, she stalked back to their room. By the time he returned, her small suitcase was packed, and she was dressed in the men’s khaki pants and shirt that she preferred to wear while flying between Selau and Port Moresby.

He stood there in the doorway for a moment, and the tension that they tried to ignore came crashing down around them. "You’re never going to tell me are you?" she asked softly. "Is it because you’re afraid I’ll write a story?"

"What are you talking about?" But she heard it in his voice. Heard the fear that she was close to guessing.

"You’re doing something for Clay, aren’t you?"

He groaned, and she thought he was going to walk out. Instead, he walked through the room to the window overlooking the jungle.

"Things are heating up out here, Meredith. The Japanese are a greater presence with each passing day. The natives are being worked up. There’s growing resentment to the white man’s presence on many of the islands."

"I know. I see it in Port Moresby and the other towns I visit. But not here. Why are you getting involved?"

He grunted softly. "Why do you get involved? Clay and I talked. I’ve been visiting these islands long before an impudent reporter for The Sun even realized they existed. I’m usually welcomed in most of the villages. There are people who will tell me things."

"And then you tell Clay." He was spying for Clay, and that explained the look of guilt on Clay’s face when they met at Bud’s boat the last time. "So much for not involving any more of his friends in his spying," she muttered bitterly even as she walked up behind him to embrace him tightly.

"Oh, I wouldn’t call Clay a friend." AJ took her hands in his and brought each one to his lips. "I would’ve done it anyway. And now, I have someone to pass it onto."

"I’ll worry about you."

His laugh shook them both. "Unlike the way I worry every time you decide to play Margaret Mead?"

"Ugh. No thank you. I like seeing their lifestyles; I have no desire to go native."

He turned in her embrace and cupped her face in his hands. "Oh? You do a lot of nude bathing in the pond in Central Park?"

The storm clouds passed, though in the nature of storm clouds, she knew they would return. That was something else she had with AJ. When she was married to Teddy, she never cared enough to find out what he was doing, or, evidently, with whom he was doing it. She was certain AJ was faithful to her. It never occurred to her to seek out another man. But then, she considered herself very lucky to have AJ’s touch.

The roar of the Grumman Goose overhead broke their farewell kiss. AJ sighed. "Bud’s going to have a quick turn around. Come and have breakfast while he’s refueling the plane."

Later, Tom Boone helped her into the co-pilot’s seat. "I’m going to let Bud handle this leg." He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and she wondered if his hands were shaking again. They seemed fine now, but fatigue often brought on a minor bout. Meredith felt guilty knowing that, had she and Sarah MacKenzie not come to this remote part of the world, he wouldn’t have suffered the concussion that was turning out to be the last straw for his poor abused head.

"Take care of yourself, Tom." She cupped his cheek in her hand. "Promise?"

He turned his head just enough to kiss her fingertips. "Hey. I’m fine. AJ needs me."

As the plane revved up, she watched the man whom she’d come to call dear friend tiredly make his way past the small harbormaster’s shack. AJ’s place was invisible from the small quay that served as this end of the island’s main source of commerce. But she knew that’s where Tom was going. That’s where everyone went who came to Selau.

Once they were in the air, she turned to the pilot. "Bud, I stopped by and saw Harriet and the baby. Little AJ’s quite the strapping young man."

Bud gave her a huge grin. "He’s a pistol. Even at three months, he’s giving his mother fits."

"Is Bobbi working out?"

"Oh, yes ma’am. It works quite well for both of them. Bobbi still paints while the baby sleeps. Harriet doesn’t want Bobbi to ever leave." He checked the instruments, and she knew he was composing his thoughts. "Harriet gets lonely, now that she doesn’t teach at the mission school anymore."

Meredith sighed and looked out her window. Neither needed to mention the reason why Harriet was no longer at the school. While a pious person, who went to the church services not only on Sunday but Wednesday nights, Harriet was a gentle soul who taught her children with love, and never tried to deny their parents’ beliefs. She got along with everyone, including AJ Chegwidden. The French magistrate adored her. Allison Krennick did not. And, unfortunately, Allison Krennick was the new head of the mission group that funded the school. When Harriet left to have her baby, Krennick took the opportunity to install a new teacher, Carolyn Imes, a perfectly nice woman who followed Krennick’s more fundamentalist ways of teaching. Fortunately, Harriet and Bud lived in the house that Bud had purchased at the same time he bought the plane. AJ, who’d subsequently won the plane in a game of cards, suggested that Harriet be given sole title of the house. AJ went out of his way to watch out for Bud and Harriet, and Sturgis and Jason Tiner and Tom Boone, and the list went on and on.

"Uhm… Meredith?" Bud’s tentative voice broke into her reverie. She turned, raising her eyebrow in question. "I don’t suppose you got those pictures you took of the baby developed?"

"Just got the chemicals in before you picked me up Saturday. When will you be going back?"

"Well, I want to get home, but I better spend the night, fly back tomorrow."

She knew he didn’t have the money for a room anywhere except one of the fleabag places near the docks. "You can stay with me. The couch is quite comfortable. I’m sorry now that I turned that second bedroom into a darkroom. I should move it downstairs to the office."

"Gee, thanks ma’am, but I usually just bunk down in back. Keeps the scavengers away."

"Okay. Well, stop by right before you’re ready to return. I want to get started on those anyway."

It was evening when they landed, and though Bud offered to ride with her to her apartment, she waved him away. "Nonsense. Get something to eat and get some sleep. I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning."

Bud Roberts didn’t like sleeping away from home, but he was exhausted. He stopped in at a small dive near the quay, only to find Victor Galindez just finishing a drink before starting his own supper. "Victor!"

"Bud." Victor motioned the young man to join him. "How are things back in Selau?"

"Fine. The baby’s three months old now."

"Truly. It pains me that I’ve not been to see your son or your wife."

"Come back with me. Give that rust bucket of yours a rest. I’m flying back tomorrow morning, then coming back in two days. I’m sure that AJ will give you a room."

"Alas, my friend, I find I have plans."

"Oh," Bud said with disappointment. "Well, next time." As they ate, they talked of the growing tensions in the area. Here in the tiny rundown café, there was such a mixed group of people who saw one another off and on for so many years that it was a respite, but on the streets, it was a different story. Bud felt a twinge of guilt for having allowed Meredith to return home alone.

He thought to walk back over to her street, just to check in, but before he could reach the gates, the harbormaster called him back. "We have to discuss these accounts, Roberts!"

"What accounts?" He turned, huffing his annoyance. AJ always paid the docking fees and gas receipts immediately upon receiving the bills. But the harbormaster was a drunk. After the first time the idiot screwed up the paperwork, he’d made sure to keep carefully documented copies of all the receipts. About once every six months he had to fix the harbormaster’s records for him just to keep AJ from being annoyed. By the time they were done, it was well after one in the morning. He didn’t feel right about going to see Meredith so late.

The next morning, he slept late and he almost decided to not go, but he knew that Harriet wanted the pictures of the baby, so he strolled out into the late morning traffic.

"Bud?"

"Victor!"

"Are you going to breakfast my friend?"

"No. I ate a banana on the plane. I’m going to get the pictures… hey… if you can’t come and see the baby, come and see his pictures."

Victor saw no way to get out of it gracefully. Besides, it had been a while since he’d talked to Meredith. "Very well, I want to find out if she’s going to need me in the next couple of weeks."

Together, they walked up the narrow street to where she’d rented a small office with an apartment above it. The office with the words "The New York Sun" painted in white on the dark door.

"She’s probably upstairs in the dark room." Bud pointed out when they found the door locked. "Let’s try the apartment door." They went down the small, but very tidy, alley.

"What’s this?" Victor stooped down and picked up a picture and showed it to Bud.

"Hey! That’s the baby!" Bud stared at the crumpled picture of his son. The surface was marred, as if someone had grabbed it while it was still wet. "What the heck!?"

Victor pushed him out of the way and tried the door. It swung open easily.

Bud gasped. "Oh, no! She’s real careful about that. Said living in New York will do that to you. She never…" But he was speaking to an empty doorway; Galindez was already halfway up the stairs.

"Meredith!"

Bud followed, his heart already beating hard from fear. "Oh, Lord! Please don’t…" He stopped in the doorway to her apartment. "Oh, God." Victor was kneeling on the floor next to Meredith’s still body, just staring down at her. A knife was lodged in her belly. "Is she?"

"Cold. She’s so cold." Victor reached out reverently to touch Meredith’s cheek. "Not again. Who would do this? Not again!" His cry rose.

Bud was trembling as he knelt on the other side of the body. He didn’t know how the hell he was going to tell AJ. He reached out and touched her neck. He needed to make sure, even though the blood pooled around her body. "Hey!" Victor stared at him numbly, not really seeing him. "Hey! Feel. I think I feel a pulse!"

Sisters of Charity Hospital
Port Moresby, New Guinea
July 6, 1939
Early afternoon

AJ seldom came to Port Moresby. He hated the crowds and the noise. Had he wanted that, he would’ve returned to the States. But when Jean Luc came running in with the news of the attack on Meredith, he’d dropped everything to go and pace outside on the beach waiting for Bud’s arrival. Half the village of Selau waited with him, though few said more than a word or two. He didn’t object when Tom Boone climbed into the co-pilot’s seat. He understood that Meredith had entered many hearts on the island besides his own. "Take care of everything," he’d absentmindedly told Sturgis Turner, and then again, Jason Tiner. The two men merely nodded. As the plane took off, the only person he noticed was Harriet standing on the beach, her son clutched to her chest staring up at them. "You should’ve stayed with her," he said to Bud.

"No, sir. She wouldn’t have wanted that." AJ did bother to reply.

Since Marcella left, taking his daughter with her, AJ had allowed no one to enter his heart. He maintained a gruff exterior that he’d guarded carefully. How had he allowed Meredith to breach his defenses? This was why he never said he loved her. It hurt less this way. Didn’t it? "Darlin’ you can’t die on me," he whispered to the pale woman lying so still.

Kate Pike stood at the door of the one private room in the hospital. The big bald man hadn’t so much as twitched in the few minutes she’d stood in the door. She didn’t want to intrude. But intrude she must. Clayton demanded it. And what Clayton Webb demanded, Katherine Pike endeavored to accomplish. Sometimes, it was damned hard. Like now.

"Mr. Chegwidden?"

Kate had never seen eyes so cold and hard as the dark brown ones now meeting her gaze. "How’s she doing?"

"She’s fine, Kate. What are you doing here?"

"I heard from Mr. Webb. He’s very concerned."

"Thank him for his concern." AJ returned his attention to his unconscious lover. "Where is he?"

"He’s still in Washington. The meetings there…" Her voice trailed off. She knew that Webb and Chegwidden were working together. She read the reports Chegwidden sent via a monthly pouch with Bud Roberts. But she didn’t know how much to tell him. "I spoke with the governor this morning. The local police are arresting every housebreaker and thief they can think of for questioning."

"It was no petty criminal."

Kate stepped farther into the room. It was only then that she noticed the outstretched boot-covered leg. Following that leg back up to its owner, she found herself staring into another pair of angry brown eyes. "Hello, Victor."

"Kate."

Kate pulled her eyes back to Chegwidden. She couldn’t think about Galindez now. She refused to acknowledge her attraction for the scruffy smuggler. "They’ll want to talk to you, Mr. Galindez."

"Indeed. Why? Because I knew her?"

Kate refused to elaborate to him. "They have no leads."

"The knife?"

"They told me nothing about the knife, except one was used, and that it proved it was a break in."

"And do you believe that?"

Even though Chegwidden had returned his eyes to the sleeping form, Kate felt her answer would determine all future dealings with the man. She carefully considered her response. "No. No, I guess I don’t."

"Why?"

Oh, hell. "I really don’t have concrete proof, however, it seems to me that if it was a break-in, then her assailant would’ve taken the money that was in her purse. All that he took was her camera and some of the photos she was working on in her darkroom. There were the Teletype and photo facsimile machines she’d recently installed. I’m not sure what the going rate for something like those are on the black market, but a thief would’ve tried to take them. They weren’t even touched."

"The knife," Victor stood and stretched, "was a Japanese assassin’s weapon. They leave them in their victims as a sign. They want to scare the family." He enjoyed toying with the cold stately woman standing next to him. He knew she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He knew what her problem was. In fact, he couldn’t agree more. It was best they stayed apart. She was no dalliance, and he had time for nothing else.

"But why? Who?" Kate said.

"Well if we knew that, then I could go and kill him, couldn’t I?" Chegwidden said it as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Would you like me to stay with her while you get some sleep? You’ve been here over 36 hours."

"No, thank you." He spared a brief glance with Galindez, who blushed a bright red. All of them remembered the last time Galindez had sat and watched a woman in this hospital.

"That wasn’t Victor’s fault!" Kate said hotly. At Chegwidden’s raised eyebrow, she continued in a more subdued, but no less angry tone. "How could he know that Alexander Nelson, the consul here would…" Her voice trailed off. "Or… it’s not him you don’t trust, it’s me." Red-hot shame and anger suffused her face. "I… I…" She turned to flee, but a soft groan from the bed stopped her.

AJ was afraid to move. The blood transfusion tube was at his side of the bed. They’d all given her blood. Gingerly, he put his hand to her forehead. "Meredith? Honey? Can you hear me?"

She groaned again but didn’t open her eyes. "Hirohito could hear you," she whispered hoarsely.

"What!?" He gasped in surprised and then he sighed in relief. Sitting back down, he looked up at Kate. "Get the doctor!"

"Well, Miss Cavanaugh, you’re a lucky woman." The doctor had tried to shoo them out of the room, but the three just moved out of his way while he did a thorough exam. "We had to remove your spleen, but the knife missed several very important organs by centimeters. It will take time, but now that you’re awake, I have much greater hope for your recovery."

Meredith just weakly nodded, but her eyes weren’t on the doctor. They moved as he moved, trying hard to keep AJ in sight. Finally, she closed her eyes, and the doctor turned to the three people waiting anxiously. "I won’t argue with your desire to stay with her. After what happened with Miss Austin, I understand your concern. But I’ll not have you arguing as you were before. Do you understand me?"

"It was my fault, doctor," Kate said softly. "I’ll leave you now."

"Kate." AJ took her by the arm and led her out to the hallway. His silent communication with Galindez had the smuggler settling back into his chair to keep watch. "It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’m not letting her out of my sight for longer than it takes for me to use the facilities. Galindez… well, Victor would lay down his life for her, for you, for any one in a similar situation, I expect. He feels he has much to atone for."

"But he doesn’t!" she said, fighting the tears at the unfairness of it all.

"Perhaps. But that’s the way it’ll be until I can move her back to Selau, where I can keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe there."

Kate looked him right in the eye. "You really believe that? With what you’ve seen? I read your reports, you know."

"Of course you do. But from what I can tell, Germany hasn’t sent anyone to replace Palmer. You are in contact with Clay?"

"I send him telegrams daily."

"Send one, tell him that she’s on the road to recovery. Tell him that I will not be making any more trips to the islands." He closed his eyes knowing what he was going to have to do. He would have to send others: perhaps Victor; perhaps Sturgis. Because, no matter what he said out loud, he knew that times were desperate. Something was brewing. Perhaps an attack on some of the smaller islands, perhaps just a subtle take over until there was a Japanese presence closer and closer to Australia. He knew the French and the English were worried, but with the way things were heating up in Europe, they were forced to overlook much of what was going on in this part of the world. No, Clay would need to continue to receive reports. "Tell him that I’ll do what I can with people I trust."

Involuntarily, her eyes strayed back to the room and the man she knew she couldn’t afford to have feelings for. Not in her position. Not with what he was still doing. Not with what she wanted to do with her life. "Very well. I’ll let him know." She reached out and touched the strong sinewy arm. "Why don’t you go and take a shower. I think Meredith would appreciate it." She tried hard to keep the smirk off her face, but she’d worked for Clay too long.

He glared at her, but then, his feeling of relief that Meredith was awake asserted itself, and his lips twitched slightly. "Perhaps. You’ll stay and keep Galindez company, of course."

"Of course."

The Sun Newspaper
New York City
July 10, 1939

Clay told himself that he was just doing the right thing. After all, he was still with the State Department – when he needed to be. It was his duty to personally advise the publisher of The Sun of the attack on his daughter, and her prognosis. He’d purposefully waited until he knew for certain that Meredith had survived her attack. He should be the one looking into the reason for the attack, but he’d have to trust Chegwidden to do it for him. It wasn’t like he could’ve stopped him anyway.

Clay nodded to the operator and watched as the elevator steadily rose to the thirteenth floor. He probably wouldn’t even see Sarah. Of course, he would be within social conventions to stop and say hello to her. He hadn’t seen her in seventeen months. She probably wouldn’t even recognize him.

He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her byline. Rabb was back to writing his column, though Clay seldom read it. There just wasn’t enough time in the day. Besides, from what his friends told him, Rabb’s columns were all almost literary accounts of his adventures in China and the South Seas. With Palmer presumed dead – damn it, HE WAS dead – it could be printed with high tragic drama, and no real impact on the foreign policy that papers like The Sun were still pushing. Since the necessary people in Washington had already debriefed Rabb upon his return, Clay saw no reason to rehash a painful period in his life.

He’d tried desperately to forget the beauty who was so utterly tied up with those dark painful days.

Upon hearing of his daughter’s death, Craig Austin had cursed him to hell, and to this day, refused to speak to Clay or his parents. That hurt. If Thomas Cavanaugh never spoke to him again, Clay wouldn’t care. Cavanaugh was, like many of the New York publishers, staunchly isolationist, wanting nothing to do with ‘that foreign mess.’ Clay just hoped the publisher wouldn’t have him escorted from the building once he told the man of his daughter’s condition. He really wanted to see Sarah before he left.

Meredith was damned lucky. But, Clay worried that yet another source of information was closed off to him. . She’d supplied him with details of the islands that he couldn’t spare people to obtain. He hated the way he used people and worried not about them, but the way they affected his job. Another brick of self-loathing was cemented to the wall around his feelings.

He stopped in front of the frosty blond guarding the publisher’s office. He already had his card outstretched. "Webb. I need to see Mr. Cavanaugh." He kept his voice sharp.

The woman barely looked at him. "You don’t have an appointment." Clay leaned over the desk, reaching for the intercom button. "Hey!" She slapped his hand away. "Who do you think you are?"

"I’m the man who has a plane to catch in two hours. Tell him that if he wants word about his daughter first hand, he has ten minutes of my time. If not, he can wait for the official telegram." Her face went a satisfactory white and her lip trembled.

Instead of pushing down the intercom switch she rose to her feet. "Wait here." She unsteadily walked to the oak doors. Clay followed her.

"Mr. Cavanaugh…" She gasped as Clay moved her out of the way.

Thomas Cavanaugh looked up from the tape of the markets he’d been studying. "Margaret, I told you… Webb?" He finished in shock. "What the hell do you want?"

Clay walked into the paneled office, carefully studying it, not out of any real interest; it was just what he did. "Your daughter was attacked in Port Moresby. That’s in New Guinea, Tom."

"I know where it’s at. That’ll be all, Margaret. Close the door and hold my calls." Once they were alone he took a deep breath. "Is she…"

"She’s alive. Hurt badly, but being looked after."

"I want her home. You’re something at State," he sneered. "Bring her home."

Clay could see the pain in the man’s face, but he saw something else, too. Christ, he looks satisfied. He’s been expecting something like this. Hoping? "I’m afraid her injuries are too extensive. She’ll need to recuperate for a while before she gets onto an airplane." Kate had wired him that, once Meredith was fit to be released from the hospital, Victor Galindez would take her and AJ back to Selau. There, AJ would make sure she stayed still and healed. AJ was even arranging for Harriet Sims and another woman to stay with Meredith. Clay had no intention of bringing any of their names into the conversation.

"Then I guess I’ll have to fly out there and get her."

"What aren’t you understanding? You’re going to fly out there, then take her back on a ship? She said she would contact you when she was better."

"You talked to her!? She radioed you and not…"

"Of course I didn’t ‘talk’ to her. She sent word through my assistant, Kate Pike." Assistant, hell. Clay knew Kate was consul down there. She’d all the powers he had held. He’d made sure of that. She was going to need them. Jesus, he couldn’t believe the President had asked him to go to Europe when everything he’d put together in the Far East was falling apart. AJ wasn’t going to leave Meredith’s side. And on one level, Clay was thankful for that. Kate was still unsure as to why a Japanese assassin had tried to kill… Clay jerked his head up. "I’m sorry? What did you say?" He could’ve sworn Cavanaugh muttered something.

"I said, ‘It’s a damn shame I can’t fire my own daughter, too!’"

"Too?" Clay’s stomach clenched. Casually, as if the question was merely polite on his part, he asked, "Who else have you fired?"

"That troublemaker MacKenzie! This is all her fault. I just wish she were here, so she could see what she did. I’ll make sure she knows. She and my daughter both should’ve just stayed home and done what they did best. Well, MacKenzie won’t be making any trouble for a while. I’ve see to that."

"You fired one of the best crime reporters in the city because she went after her friend? A man you sent to China?" Clay was having a hard time keeping his anger under control.

"She’s not worth the trouble! Let her play house with Rabb. That’s what women are good for. Meredith should’ve come to me with her problems with Teddy. See what happened!"

"So you’re blaming MacKenzie because Teddy Lindsay, in a drunken rage, bludgeoned his new wife to death?"

"Get out, Webb. I’ll handle this on my own. I have friends in the State Department. Get out."

Clay left. He’d plenty of questions, but little time. Who did he know that would tell him what he needed in the shortest amount of time? Stopping at the phone booth in the lobby, he quickly ran through the list of contacts that he kept in his head. Dialing a number, he glanced at his watch. "Damn it!"

"Well, hello to you, too, Clay," Dalton Lowne chuckled.

"Lowne, talk to me. What happened at The Sun? Why the hell did Cavanaugh fire MacKenzie?"

Lowne laughed. "Always so polite with your old friends."

"I don’t have time. I’m on the transatlantic flight in…" he looked again and groaned. "One hour and thirty-three minutes."

"Well then, the short version. You remember the SS St. Louis?"

"The ship with the Jewish refugees?" Clay knew of it well. He’d been sickened by the fact that pressure from men like Lindberg and others had kept the Immigration Service from accepting the 900 people. That was one of the reasons why Roosevelt was sending him to Europe. Find out definitely if the rumors could possibly be true.

"That’s the one. Sarah wrote an article covering it and Cavanaugh, through his toady Sheffield, refused to publish it. From what the officers on the scene said…"

"Excuse me!"

"Oh, yeah. Man, where have you been? The Herald printed the picture on the front page. Cavanaugh had the police come and drag her from the building. Wanted me to press charges but I talked the old man out it. He doesn’t need trouble like that. I’m not ready to run for DA, yet. I’m perfectly happy as assistant for now. I tell you, though. It’s a damn shame. I was talking to Morrie Wilson over at The Post. He’d love to hire her, but Cavanaugh put the word out. He would take it personally if one of the other papers hired her. She must’ve said something really bad."

"Well, hell. What’s she going to do?"

There was a long pause on the other end. "Why does it matter to you, old buddy?"

"She helped me out with something once, that’s all." It was an out and out lie, but Lowne didn’t need to know that.

"Well, if it doesn’t really matter, then I can share the gossip."

"Which is?" Clay braced himself.

"Well, seems that she and Harmon Rabb have been friends for a long time. She even went looking for him when he was lost in China. Rabb’s stories are being discussed at all the parties."

"One hour, fourteen minutes, Lowne!"

"Damn, son. Word has it, after they returned, she moved in to his apartment to make sure he recovered fully. She never moved out. That, of course, was the headline of The Post, ‘Sun Finally Fires Hussy.’"

Clay wasn’t surprised, but it still hurt more than he thought it would. "So no one else will give her a job?" he whispered.

"None of the city papers."

"Thanks, buddy."

"When you get back, you owe me dinner."

"Sure."

Clay sprinted from the building and hailed a cab. Sitting back, he chewed on his lip, trying to come to terms with this new ache. He hadn’t expected anything from her; though, even after seventeen months, he could still remember what that kiss felt like. He wanted her happy, damn it. And he knew that she wouldn’t be happy just staying home and playing wife. "Hussy! Bastards!"

"What’s that, Mack?" The cabby eyed him carefully.

"Sorry. Just thinking out loud."

"Uh-huh. Hey, you want a paper?" They were stopped in traffic and Clay was growing nervous that he might not make it in time. He looked out the window and saw the headline, TEDDY GETS THE CHAIR.

Clay looked down at the license and read, ‘Mickey Carlo.’ "No, I don’t have time, Carlo; find a way to get me to the field, there’s a tip in it for you if you do."

"Sure, sure, buddy. We’ve got plenty of time." The cabbie knew what he was talking about. They hit a clear path once they left the Wall Street area, and Clay returned to worry about Sarah and her problem. It’s her problem. Not mine. Let Rabb take care of her. She’s living with him. He bet the gossip columnists were having a field day. It’d been less than a month since the SS St. Louis incident. Maybe it didn’t bother her. Maybe Rabb would do the right thing by her. But was that what she wanted? Of course it is. She moved in with him. didn’t she? Maybe she was just worried about him. Maybe that kiss really meant something. She couldn’t have stayed. She needed to take Rabb home. There wasn’t time for us.

"We’re here, Mack." Clay got out and handed the man a ten and waved away the five-dollar change. "Hey, you’re okay. You can talk to yourself in my cab anytime." Clay looked at him askance. What had he said? Damn it! That was not good. He was going into a dangerous enough situation as it was. He needed to focus, and he knew that he would worry about Sarah if he didn’t do something. He walked through the terminal toward the locker room where he’d checked his luggage earlier. Passing a newsstand, he stared at the cover of a magazine.

As he entered the phone booth, he found humor in the fact that he was calling in a favor for someone he hadn’t seen in a year. "Mrs. Luce, please." He waited until the wife of the owner of Time came on the wire. "Claire, it’s Clayton Webb. I need a favor."

Fort Tilden
Queens New York
July 20, 1939
11:00 AM

Harmon Rabb, Jr. was in love. He stood there staring at her. It’d been the most thrilling experience of his life. "Oh man, baby, I’ve got to have you again," he whispered.

"Gets them every time." Commander John Farrow grinned at the reporter. "Well, tell me what you really thought."

Rabb shook his head and laughed. "In ten years I’ve only wanted one thing, well two, a good story and a good steak at the end of the day. I’d give it all up to have one of these babies."

The baby in question, the Chance Vought F4U Corsair, sat sunning herself on the runway. The maintenance crew lovingly checked her out after the twenty-minute test flight Farrow had given Rabb.

"Well, buddy, the only way to get one is to go down to your local recruiter and sign the papers."

"Yeah, right. I can see it now. I’ll join up and they’ll put me in public relations. No way. I know what I have to do."

Farrow studied the reporter. When he’d first met the man, last weekend at 21, he’d been unimpressed. In fact, the only reason why he’d paid any attention to Rabb at all was the beauty with him. Dancing with Sarah MacKenzie was definitely worth a promise to take the columnist for a ride. And good press didn’t hurt, either. In fact, General Taylor had been well pleased and approved Farrow’s hesitant request with enthusiasm. "Just make sure he agrees to do a column on his experience – a complimentary column." Farrow wasn’t really sure if the enraptured look on Rabb’s face would translate into the kind of press the general wanted.

"What do you have to do?"

"I have to learn how to fly. Then I can prove myself."

"Wellllll. What kind of article are you going to write?"

"Why? If I give the Navy good press, will you teach me?"

Farrow studied the reporter for a long time. "That and a dinner invitation with the lovely Miss MacKenzie."

Rabb looked shocked, and Farrow immediately went on the defensive. "Dinner, Rabb. That’s all. Just dinner. You said there was nothing but friendship between you two. Look, forget I said anything."

"Hey, no. I’m just really surprised, that’s all. You have to understand. Sarah doesn’t date a lot of men. Don’t ask me why. Look. Why don’t we do this…"

LaRue’s
Park Avenue, New York
July 20, 1939
2:30 PM

Sarah sat across from one of the most famous women in New York and tried hard to keep her wits about her. The call had come out of the blue three days ago. Mrs. Luce, wife of the owner and publisher of Time Magazine, editor of Vanity Fair wanted to have lunch to discuss Miss MacKenzie’s qualifications. Only the secretary hadn’t said which qualifications. Sarah was a crime reporter. She didn’t do society articles, though she could acquit herself without embarrassment at most press conferences. But newspapers were what she knew. It had never occurred to her to apply at any of the magazines. Besides, she figured that Cavanaugh would find a way to sabotage that, too.

"So my dear, we’ve established that Mr. Cavanaugh holds a grudge. You must admit that it wasn’t a very nice thing to call him though." Sarah could see Luce was having a hard time keeping a straight face. "Not very diplomatic at all."

"No, ma’am. I admit calling him a fascist toady was in bad form, but hardly worthy of calling in the police. Rather made my point, I thought."

Mrs. Luce grew serious. "These are trying times. People don’t want another war."

"But people have a right to know what’s happening. It wasn’t like the other papers weren’t reporting it. Your own magazine sent a reporter to Cuba. That’s why there are newspapers… and magazines." Sarah took a deep breath. It was killing her not knowing what was going on. "Why did you call me?"

"Aren’t you worthy of a call?" And now, the mask slipped away. Sarah could see the steely-eyed realist behind the beauty. Only six years older than Sarah, Claire Booth had made a name for herself before she married Henry Luce. She’d a reputation of loving fine things and not suffering fools.

"Of course I am. I’m a good reporter. And I realize that Thomas Cavanaugh’s no match for either you or your husband." That earned her a rich laugh of agreement. "But you have plenty of good reporters. How did you even know I was out of work?"

"Well, I could tell you that I keep track of the few women brave enough to compete in this rough and tumble business. But the truth is, your name was given to me. And I owe the giver a favor. So, we lunch. We talk, and I decide if I can use you."

"Who’s the giver?"

"A friend." It was Luce’s turn to peer at Sarah over the rim of her teacup. She knew the Webbs. She and Clayton shared a commonality of friends. But it was his saving of one of her reporters in Fascist Spain that she was repaying by having lunch with this intriguing woman. She prided herself on being able to read people, and she was certain that, if she told the young woman who had called in a favor on her behalf, Sarah MacKenzie would get up and walk out. Besides, Clayton had asked her, ordered her, not to tell.

Sarah considered the answer. Was it Harm? Did he even know the Luces? If he did, why wouldn’t he seek a job for himself. Time would be a plum for anyone; Vanity Fair, too. "Very well. What do you see me doing for you?"

"What do you see yourself doing? What would you like to report on?"

And Sarah didn’t hesitate. "My dream story? I’d like to go to Europe and find out what happened to the people of the St. Louis."

Luce hissed in surprise. "That’s a very dangerous part of the world right now, my dear. I fear for the men Henry and I both have over there. I realize that the streets of New York, particularly covering the beat that you’ve done so well in, prepares one somewhat, but…"

Sarah quietly interrupted. "Would you like to know the real reason why Thomas Cavanaugh is out to destroy me?"

"Do tell."

And she did. And when she was done, Sarah had inadvertently answered the question that she’d no idea the other woman was most interested in. For, while she mentioned no names, had never mentioned Clay’s to anyone since she left New Guinea in tears, Claire Booth Luce knew exactly who the State Department officer was. She also had a better idea as to what Clayton Webb really did for the State Department. Knowledge was power, and power was to be exercised with finesse. It would behoove her to repay the debt she owed Clay.

Harmon Rabb’s Apartment
East 47^th Street
July 20, 1939
7:30 PM

Rabb paced back and forth, ignoring the skyline outside his window. Where was she? He’d stopped by her apartment as soon as he returned from Fort Tilden. Mrs. Shaw, who really liked him, said, "Sorry, dearie. She went out at 11:30. Really in a state."

"A state? She was upset about something?"

Mrs. Shaw thought for a long time. "No. Not upset, just… you know." She waved her hand. "Just not really paying attention. Dazed, sorta like."

He’d handed Mrs. Shaw a written message, too. "Please leave this on her door if you don’t see her. If you do see her, tell her to read the note." That had earned him a look of bewilderment, but by that time, he was already having second thoughts. She was going to kill him.

Darn it. There were times when he wished she stilled lived in his spare bedroom. That had been the best time. Even feeling as bad as he had, it was great having her here with him.

He’d been so sick. The wound in his leg that’d never turned red once while he was in the jungle became well and truly infected three days after the doctors opened him up to ‘clean it out.’ Then, they found the parasitic infection in his gut. Damn, that’d been the worst. A liquid diet for nearly a month had left him weaker than he remembered being while on his own foraging for berries and the occasional raw rat. Finally, he insisted upon going home. They’d told him that the only way he could do so was if someone was with him all the time. Well, he kind of worked that out, telling them the maid was there during the day. He talked Sarah into staying with him at night. He really hadn’t thought anything of it. Neither had she – or if she did – she said nothing.

When he returned to work and heard the snickers, he tried to come to her defense, but that seemed to make it worse. She moved out the week after he went back. But she never made an issue of it. Never made an announcement to their co-workers or their employer. He hadn’t known how to bring it up. When The Post printed the story of her being hauled away with that horrible headline, he went down there. He was halfway up the front steps when she found him. "Just leave it be, Harm. Go home." That hurt. She could go halfway around the world to save his butt from a crazy Nazi, but he couldn’t take on the editor of The Post.

He tried hard to make it up to her. He’d pulled Mrs. Shaw aside and told her in no uncertain terms that Sarah wasn’t to be hounded for the rent – ever. He’d plenty of money, even with his nightly excursions to the restaurants and clubs. He made sure that he always asked Sarah to dinner at least once a week, and often stopped by with the plea that she cook him a dinner. He always brought far more food that they would need for the night. "Hey, what do I know about this stuff? No, you keep it, you know how I am." She, of course, saw right through him. But instead of being grateful, she started acting more and more distant. When he told her that he was thinking about threatening to quit to force Sheffield and Cavanaugh to take her back, she blew up. "I can take care of myself, Harm. Leave it alone!"

They hadn’t spoken for a week after that. In fact, it was just last weekend when he finally groveled and begged her to let him take her to dinner at 21. "Come on, Sarah. I’ve got no date and I really don’t want those gold diggers hanging all over me." She’d seen through that, too, but she’d gone.

Things were really changing in New York. Even though the newspapers were screaming for neutrality and highlighting every effort that Chamberlain made toward peace in Europe, men in uniform were more and more prevalent on the streets and nightclubs.

When John Farrow approached them, it’d taken a moment for Rabb to remember that he’d met the flyer once before, a few years back. Harm had always been intrigued by airplanes. They fascinated him. He invited Farrow to join them. Sarah was taken with the man. They talked and danced and laughed, and Farrow was in such a good mood, that when Harm casually asked, ‘So, when are you going to take me up in one of those new Corsairs?’ Farrow had enthusiastically responded, ‘Anytime. Bring Sarah with you.’

They set the date for today, but Sarah begged off. "I flew enough for a lifetime last year. You go ahead."

He felt rather guilty for accepting the dinner date for her. Well, it really was a double date. Farrow was bringing an old friend of his. But it was agreed that if Sarah were willing, if she truly liked John, then John could escort Sarah home. Where it went from there, was up to Sarah, and Farrow seemed like he really just wanted to get to know her. Maybe she wouldn’t mind. She really did appear to like Farrow. And Harm knew he and Sarah were going nowhere. She was his best friend, but somehow when one was in the mood to take their relationship a step further, the other wasn’t. She’d been there for him, but the one time he tried to kiss her, she’d looked so sad that he felt like a real heel for even trying.

The ringing phone jarred him out of his reverie. "Sarah! Where have you been?"

21
New York
July 20, 1939
10:30 PM

She was so excited to share the news with Harm that she hadn’t paid much attention. "Sure. Dinner. Sounds wonderful. I’ll save my news for then."

"I have great news, too."

Walking into 21, she felt better than she had in months, heck, years; since before Harm had left to cover Amelia Earhart’s disappearance. She would send a telegraph to New Guinea tomorrow. She could afford it now. "Harm?" As soon as she saw the couple at the table that the maitre ‘d was showing them, she stopped.

"Oh, didn’t I tell you? John Farrow is taken with you, he suggested that we double date."

She gave him a long appraising look. "He’s taken with ME, so he brings a date?"

Harm sighed. "You always could read me like a book. Look, you had a good time with him last weekend, but say the word, and I’ll take you home."

"You set me up? Why didn’t he just call me?" But even as she said it, she continued on toward the table and the handsome flyer in his uniform.

Farrow wore an appealing look of abashed embarrassment. He stood to greet her. "Sarah. Good to see you again. I’m really happy you agreed to join us."

With a pointed look at Harm, she presented her hand. "John. Good to see you, too." Then, turning her attention to the blond, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Harm since they entered the club, she waited to be introduced.

"Oh, sorry. Catherine Gale, Harmon Rabb and Sarah MacKenzie."

After further greetings were exchanged, Harm held Sarah’s seat.

"So, Sarah," Catherine began. "What is it you do?" And somehow, Sarah knew that Miss Gale knew her entire story. Even John looked embarrassed at his date.

"Me?" Her smile lit her face, and even Harm looked surprised. "I’m a reporter for Time."

"Whaaaattttt?" Harm looked thoroughly shocked. "Huh? When?"

"This afternoon. I had lunch with Mrs. Luce, and she wants me to be their European correspondent."

"What!?" Harm’s shout stilled the room. Everyone turned to look at them.

Farrow saved the day. "Waiter! Champagne! We’re celebrating."

And Sarah, who never drank, lifted a toast with them. She liked it. She liked it so much she had another glass. They laughed and talked, and laughed some more. Well, John and she laughed. Harm kept looking like she’d punched him in the gut. Catherine kept watching Harm. Finally, Farrow led her to the floor. The bandleader must’ve been in a somber mood, because all the dances were melancholy – and slow. John held her lightly to him, and while he was a perfect gentleman, she could feel his attraction to her. It’d been a while since any man had bothered to approach her at any of the clubs. But then, usually, she was with Harm. Perhaps it was the drinks, perhaps she was just curious. "Why?"

"Why what?" He pulled back his head so he could see her clearly.

"You and Harm set this up."

"Are you surprised? You’re a beautiful woman, Sarah MacKenzie." He laughed and brought his lips to her ear. "You’re even more beautiful when you blush like that."

"But Harm agreed?" Over his shoulder, she could see Harm staring right at her.

"Well, he really thought I was going to hold him up for the flight lessons. He said that he would bring you tonight, but it was up to you."

She stopped them. "Up to me to do what?"

It was Farrow’s turn to blush. "Honest, Sarah, I just wanted to have dinner with you again. Maybe even alone, but…"

She glared back at Harm who had the grace to lower his head in shame. "Indeed. Well then." She hooked her arm through his. "We aren’t alone here are we?"

She practically pulled him out the door into the street. Once they were alone, she looked up at him. "Well?"

Farrow sighed. "How can I convince you, I meant nothing by the…"

"Don’t. We’ve had dinner. Where would you like to go?"

Farrow gulped. He knew he should take her home, drop her off at her door. Rabb’s door? He still didn’t understand the gossip, but he couldn’t believe the two of them were living together. Only a fool or a cad would truly barter the woman he loved for flying lessons. Even if the deal was just for dinner. Damn it. "I’ll…" But then he looked into her eyes and fell harder than he had before. "Look. I don’t know New York that well. Why don’t you show me a great spot? We’ll have another drink and talk. Just talk."

Sarah had already let go of her anger. She could almost see how it had happened. She knew that Harm had figured she would say no, and Farrow would still give him the lessons. Harm wasn’t the type to do anything this crass – not for a story, surely not for flying lessons of all things. "Okay. Duke Ellington’s at the Kentucky Club. That’s about the most quintessential New York spot. But I don’t want another drink. I’m already feeling a bit woozy here."

"You want me to take you home?"

She could tell he meant it. "Only if you want to."

"No. No. I don’t want to."

He was a great listener, and she eagerly told him all about the deal she’d struck that afternoon. And if she felt a little sad that she wasn’t telling this all to her best friend, Farrow paid strict attention and seemed dutifully impressed. The waiter led them to a table, and when he brought a bottle of champagne, John insisted, "Hey. I didn’t order that. Honest. Take it back."

"My mistake, sir."

"Oh, leave it," Sarah said.

"Sarah, I swear…"

Her hand on his arm silenced him. "I believe you. Besides, we’re celebrating here. Right?"

He let out a sigh of relief. "Right." He poured two glasses. "To your new assignment."

Waldorf-Astoria
New York
July 21, 1939
10:30 AM

God she hurt. Her head was going to fall off and roll… roll where? She knew she needed to open her eyes, but she was afraid. Where was she? This didn’t smell like her apartment. She couldn’t hear the Minelli children thumping and playing above her. Slowly, she opened one eye, only to shut it again immediately.

"Thank you." A male voice, followed by a door closing, followed by the glorious smell of coffee.

She groaned and looked up. "Oh, my God," she whispered. She tried to remember. She was in a hotel room. That much she recognized. A nice hotel room, but a hotel room nonetheless. Not good. Not good at all. Carefully, she moved, which brought a groan to her lips.

"Here. Drink this. It might help." He didn’t sound particularly solicitous.

"John?"

"So good of you to remember." His voice was harsh and cold.

"What?"

"Look, Sarah. Drink your coffee, get dressed, and I’ll call you a cab."

"What?" She sat up holding the sheet to her chest – her covered chest. Looking down, she saw she still wore the dress she’d worn to the nightclub last night. Scanning the room, she saw the chair against the wall with bedding piled on it. "What happened?"

"You don’t remember? How convenient."

She struggled to arrange her clothes. "I don’t remember much past the band playing Sophisticated Lady."

"How appropriate."

"What is your problem? We agreed to drinks. That was it. Why didn’t you take me home?"

He leaned down so she could clearly see his face. "Because YOU didn’t want to go home."

"Oh." She felt the bile rising along with her blush. Standing, she pushed him out of the way, not caring if he fell or not. She just made it into the bathroom before she started throwing up. When she was done, she slammed the door and leaned against the cool tile, trying hard to get her breath back. The image in the mirror nearly made her cry. She looked like… She looked like some party girl who’d taken a man back to her room. Thank God she hadn’t done that. But what had she done? Gingerly, she straightened and took stock. She would swear he hadn’t touched her. Her lips were swollen but, while she was overall a mess, she wasn’t sore. At least not down there. They hadn’t had sex. But her dress was rumpled in all the wrong places. How was she going to get home like this?

She washed her face. Ran her fingers through her hair, sighed, and then turned to open the door. He was looking out the window, his bearing was military rigid. She spotted her purse. The urge to flee was tempered by the smell of the coffee. Coffee should help, shouldn’t it? "May I have a piece of toast?"

"Help yourself, sweetheart."

"Look. I’m sorry you’re mad at me. What did I do? Pass out on you? I don’t drink. I shouldn’t have last night. But I don’t know why you’re acting like this."

"Does Rabb know?"

"Does Harm know what? He set this up, remember!?" She was getting mad. In fact, her anger took the edge off the pain in her head. She suspected it was only temporary relief.

"Oh. So he’s done this before?"

"Oh, for pete’s sake! You know as well as I do how this was supposed to play out. We should’ve just had a nice dinner with you and whatshername, and I would’ve gone home. But you seemed like a nice guy. I thought it would be fun – and safe – to tease Harm." She exhaled and took her fist sip of coffee. It wasn’t helping much. And now that shame had once again replaced the anger, she sat down on the bed to put on her shoes. If anyone saw her… well, she was leaving on the Aquatania Monday afternoon. "From what I remember, I was having a good time."

"Oh, yeah? With who, Sarah? You do this with Harm? Well, sweetheart, not with me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He finally turned to face her. "Who’s Clay?"

She couldn’t breath. He must’ve seen something in her face, because he took a step toward her. "Don’t." She grabbed up her purse and reached the door.

"Sarah!" But whatever else he was going to say was lost on her slamming the door.

She’d no idea how she got downstairs. The faces in the lobby were a blur, and it was only because it was already there, disgorging other passengers, that she found a cab. She gave the man her address, sat back in the seat, and immediately began to cry.

"Miss?" The cabby’s voice barely penetrated her haze. "You okay? Some guy…"

"No. No, I’m fine. I was at a party last night and decided to spend the night. Just drive." She gasped out before returning to her despair. Oh, God. How had she come to this? It’d been seventeen months, eight days and… and… she didn’t want to think about it; about him. She couldn’t help her dreams. But ever since Clay insisted that she get on the seaplane with Harm, she’d refused to think about him while awake. One kiss. One week together, a little more, if you counted the time they’d snipped at each other on the plane. And now, he was haunting her love life; her non-existent, chaste, virginal, pathetic love life. Damn him! No. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault that she’d fallen in love with someone ELSE who was impossible. Maybe she picked men who could never return her love. This was insane. "Insane."

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

It seemed like forever before he pulled up in front of her building, but the meter read seventy-five cents. She only had a five, but she threw it at him and ran up the steps. Mickey Carlo looked at her, then looked at the five and shrugged. "Wow. First the guy who talked to himself, and now, a crazy crying lady; I ain’t had tips this good since I drove Frank Sinatra last year."

It took her two tries, but she finally opened her door. Stepping inside, she closed it by leaning against it. She was safe. She was… "Oh, shit!"

He sat bolt up where he was sleeping on the couch. "Sarah?"

"Go home, Harm."

"What happened? Where did you go? I… I Oh, gee, Sarah, I’m sorry. It’s all my…"

"Stop it! It isn’t your fault. I’m the hussy; remember? Just go."

His eyes grew round. "You didn’t. Oh, God, tell me you didn’t. Because I wanted…"

She shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t his fault, but she wanted him to stop talking. Her slap knocked his head back. Unfortunately, it reminded her of another slap. "Great! Maybe you can haunt me, too. Get out!"

"Look. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll make it right. I’m really sorry." He kept up his apology all the while he was walking toward the door. "I’ll see you Monday night, right?"

"No, Harm. You weren’t listening. Oh, wait. That wasn’t you last night. It should’ve been you." She knew she wouldn’t have called out Clay’s name with Harm. But then, Harm wouldn’t have let her drink. Oh, God, it should’ve been you. She took a deep steadying breath. "I leave tomorrow on The Aquatania."

"Tomorrow!?" He stopped dead, his hand frozen on the door. "You have to leave tomorrow? Why?"

"Because that’s when the ship leaves." She just pointed to the door before going into her bedroom. She slammed the door, and he heard the lock click.

New York
Monday, July 22, 1939
Noon

Mrs. Shaw looked down at the check and then up into Sarah’s eyes. "You’ll be gone for a month again? You’re moving back…"

Sarah quickly cut her off. Mrs. Shaw was a good woman, and never once looked oddly at her. Well, except for now. Sarah knew that Mrs. Shaw had witnessed her return yesterday; had to have heard her screaming at Harm. But she’d said nothing. Now, as Sarah pushed the check into her hands with a, "No. I’m going away on assignment," all Mrs. Shaw did was smile brightly.

"They gave you your job back?"

"Uhm… no. Actually, I’m working for Time now."

At first, Mrs. Shaw looked confused, and then her eyes grew very wide. "Time. As in the magazine!?"

Sarah smiled and nodded. At last, someone was impressed. "Yes. Now I have to go. I called a cab."

"Oh, yes. Mr. Rabb sent it away. He’s downstairs waiting with another one."

"What?" Oh, damn it. He wants to continue this. Well, why not? Let’s just rip me to pieces. "Thanks, Mrs. Shaw."

"And don’t you worry none. I’ll go in once a week and just air out the place."

"Thank you." Sarah struggled with the trunk and the two other cases that Meredith had bought her for their trip to New Guinea. As soon as she opened the door, Harm ran up the steps and grabbed the trunk from her. The cabby followed him and took the other two.

"I’ll take this," Harm said. "Go on, get inside. We’re going to be late."

She just stared at him in wonder. She climbed into the back of the cab, and when she noticed the cabby looking at her funny, she glanced at the license on the back of the of seat. "Is something wrong, Mr. Carlo?"

"No, ma’am. You okay?"

"I’m fine." At her confused look the cabby looked away.

She barely heard his muttered, "You din’ look so hot Saturday."

"Terrific."

Harm looked from one to the other, then said, "The docks."

"Which ship," the cabby demanded.

"The Aquatania."

"Nice boat."

Sarah leaned back and waited. She wondered if the cabby would say anything if Harm got too aggressive.

"Sarah? I’m really sorry for what happened. I won’t say it’s my fault again."

"Hey! Was dat you that had her in tears," Carlo said from the front seat.

"Excuse me!?"

Only I would get the same cabbie two times in a row. "Please. No, Mr. Carlo, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t anyone. I was just sad. Please."

"You sure?" Mickey still wasn’t convinced.

"I’m sure." She turned to Harm, and finally did what she should’ve done yesterday. She reached over and hugged him to her. "I’m sorry, too. I know you meant well. And you mustn’t blame John. It wasn’t his fault."

"I’m going to find him, Sarah."

"Don’t. I mean it. It was my fault. I’m a big girl, and sometimes," she laughed, "a lot of times, I make mistakes. I learned a valuable lesson, and I was lucky. All I did was hurt a nice guy. He could’ve taken advantage of the situation, but he didn’t." Well he would’ve, had Clay’s name not come between them. But the fact that he was hurt because she didn’t know with whom she was getting ready to bed, was her fault, and hers alone.

"You sure about this?"

"Harm! How many times do I…"

But he squeezed her hand. "Not about him. About this... this trip to Europe?"

"Feels kind of funny doesn’t it," she said softly. "Usually it’s you going off on wild adventures."

"You gonna make me come to… hey, where are you going?" He grinned and looked at the cab driver, who was eavesdropping unabashedly. "So as I should know wheres to find ya."

The cabby laughed, "Not bad Mack… for someone from Boston!"

"Watch it, if you want a tip."

"That’s okay, the lady takes good care of me, dontcha, doll?"

"Stop it, you two." Sarah rolled her eyes. It felt good to joke. They rode in silence for a bit, and finally, Sarah took Harm’s hand. "I’m not sure where all I’m going. But I’m starting in London."

"What are you working on?"

She almost told him. But somehow, she knew that would just upset him again. "Oh, just some human interest stories."

"You!? You’re the best damn crime reporter in the city!"

"Hey! You’re Sarah MacKenzie! I’ve got Sarah MacKenzie in my cab! Holy cow."

"I take it you don’t mind having a hussy in your cab, Mr. Carlo," Sarah said with dignity.

"Heck, you wouldn’t believe who I get in my cab or what they try and do. You ever want a good story, you come and see Mickey Carlo."

"Keep that in mind, Harm."

"Yeah, right." It was Rabb’s turn to roll his eyes.

"Hey."

"We’re here, guys." She left the two bickering and opened the door herself. Carlo unlocked the trunk, and together, he and Rabb pulled out her steamer trunk. Then Carlo went around to the front and handed out the last two pieces of luggage. A porter took everything but the small case Sarah carried with her purse. Harm turned to the cabby. "If you wait, I’ll have you take me back."

"Youse gonna be long? I gotta meter to run."

Sarah leaned in and whispered. "You know who he is, don’t you?"

"Him?" Carlo waved his hand dismissively.

"That’s Harmon Rabb. He writes In Harm’s Way."

Carlo’s eyes grew round. But he dropped his voice even lower. "He make that stuff up?"

"Nope. It’s all true."

"Yeah, Mack! I’ll wait right here."

Harm took her arm and the case. They’d just reached the gangway when they heard, "Rabb! Sarah!" They turned to see John Farrow, the tie of his uniform askew, running from his own cab. He stopped a good pace away from them and eyed the once-again angry Harm. "Uhm… Sarah?"

"Yes, John?" She waited patiently, her hand firmly on Harm’s wrist.

John blushed a bright red and even hung his head. "I don’t suppose I could speak to you privately."

"No!" Harm answered for her. "You’ve got nothing to say to her."

Sarah noticed that the cabbie was eyeing the newcomer with blood in his eyes. How much did I tip him yesterday? "John. I think we said everything that…"

"No." He took a deep breath, looked at Harm, and then turned his full attention to Sarah. He didn’t move any closer, but she could tell he wanted to. "I’m really sorry. I took advantage of a situation, and I shouldn’t have."

"You’re damned right you shouldn’t have." Harm started to get between Sarah and John, but she held him back.

"Harm, I’ll meet you up top."

"Sarah!"

"Please. Besides, Mickey will watch him for you." She smiled back at the cabby who had finally found something upon which he and Rabb could agree. It was obvious that even though Farrow was a good head taller, and probably outweighed him by thirty pounds, the scrappy cabby wouldn’t let that stop him. Man, I must’ve tipped him twenty!

"Who?" Farrow looked around and instantly dismissed the diminutive cabby. "Sarah." He took a step closer, but Rabb paused halfway up the gangplank, stopping the people behind him, and Carlo growled loud enough for him to hear. "Fine." He held up his hands in submission. "I’m really, very sorry. It’s just you’re such a beauty, and I’m afraid I fell under your spell."

"No, John, we both fell under the spell of too much to drink. I think you’re probably a really nice guy, but it’s better this way. I’ve got to go."

"Does he know?"

"Who, John? Harm? No. Are you going to tell him?"

"Not Harm. I figure if he’s letting you go on this trip, he’s got no claim. The other guy?"

"The other guy was long ago. That’s probably why I called out his name. We left it…" She shook her head and turned toward the gangplank. "Goodbye, John."

"Be seein’ ya, Sarah." He turned and walked back to his cab, ignoring the glowering cabby.

"I’m not sure why, but I feel you’re my guardian angel, Mr. Carlo." She started to reach into her purse but saw the hurt on his face. Instead of her wallet, she pulled out her ticket that had been delivered earlier by courier. Carlo’s face instantly relaxed.

"Sure thing, doll. I wait right here for Mr. Rabb."

"You do that. Make sure he pays you for every lead you give him." She hurried up the gangplank.

Harm walked her to the stateroom and whistled his approval. "You’re traveling in style."

"Oh, I guess it will do." They were both suddenly self-conscious. "Thanks for bringing me. I’m glad we didn’t part angry at each other." She turned to face him. "And you make sure that John gives you those flying lessons."

"Ah, Sarah. I don’t think I could do that now."

She took a step and reached up to cup his cheek. "Sure you could. It’s something you want, and from what I rem… from what he told me Saturday night, he’s a darn good pilot. Learn from the best, Harm."

"You sure?"

She stretched up and bestowed him with a gentle kiss on his lips. "I’m sure. Be seeing you around."

He took her shoulders and held her close to him. "Why didn’t we ever… I mean after we came back?"

Her smile grew sad. "I’m not sure. I guess we both had people to get over."

Her words stunned him. "You?"

"LAST CALL. ALL PASSENGERS NOT SAILING NEED TO REPORT TO THE GANGWAY," came the announcement over the ship’s loudspeakers.

She pulled away from him. He stood there for one brief moment, trying to decide if he should force the issue. But he spun around and left her without another word.

AJ’s
Selau, Bougainville
August 31, 1939
Early Afternoon

The bar was mostly empty of customers. Only one fisherman, who’d brought Sturgis the best of his catch from his early morning run, sat at one of the tables sipping his drink.

Jason was sitting at another table going over the receipts for the latest shipment of orchids. He wondered how long it would last. Orders had slowed off as people were concentrating on other things besides beautiful souvenirs of a far off land that they would never visit. Of course, the serious collectors were clamoring for more and more of the rarest specimens, which meant he was gone for longer periods of time. It wasn’t unusual for him to be gone for days at a time, sleeping out under the stars, finding the perfect plants to lug back. Several times, Tom Boone had come with him. It was a little daunting, and sometimes even slowed him down, if the older man was stricken by one of his seizures. Fortunately, Tom would wave Jason on with an, ‘I’ll catch up or you can just get me on the way back.’ It hadn’t happened often. Regardless, the upshot of it was that Jason knew as much of this island as anyone, save AJ Chegwidden and Sturgis Turner. It might not make him their equals, but it gave him a sense of pride that almost erased his shame of falling asleep on the mountain all those months ago. He would never do anything like that again.

Now, he looked up from the latest letter from Mr. Hughes demanding a Phalaenopsis gigantea. That would be a three-day hike up the volcano.

"Come on, Meredith. You can do it," AJ encouraged as the pair walked up from the beach.

Jason stifled his anger. Frankly, he thought that AJ was pushing Meredith too hard. After all, it’d been less than three months ago when she’d almost died. But after three weeks, long before the doctor felt he should, AJ brought her home to recuperate here on an island whose only medico was a retired doctor, who was more often drunk than sober. At least Mrs. Roberts fought him, arguing for caution. But Meredith didn’t. In fact, Meredith just gritted her teeth and did what she was told, pushing herself. Like she was doing now.

Meredith stood staring up at the doorway to the bar. There were only two steps on this side of the building. They might as well have been the ten that led up from the other side. She’d been so confident that she could do this today. Each day she was getting stronger. Each day, she and AJ would walk a little farther. This morning, she’d decided to pretend that she didn’t hurt. They walked down the steps over an hour ago, all the way to their cove. That had been the hardest. Not physically, but the memories of all the wonderful times they shared there came crashing down on her. She didn’t think he would ever touch her again.

"Come on Meredith. You can do this." He gently coaxed her.

Of course she could. He wanted her to, and she would do it. But he just couldn’t understand. She was so frightened. Too frightened to fight back. She’d changed completely from the… what had he called her? A minx. Well, she was no longer pert, flirtatious, or impudent. She certainly wasn’t young, but then she never really had been. Even as a child, she’d felt older than her years. Only once in her life had she felt free and young. The seventeen months she’d spent in his arms, in his bed. Now, they slept apart. Up until two weeks ago, either Harriet Roberts or Bobbi Latham had watched over her in shifts as she slept.

"Mere?" AJ knew she was depressed. He knew the moment it had come over her, and he knew the reason why. He should’ve never walked her down to the cove. The memories there were too intense. It would be hard but he’d bring her back. She would be his minx again if it took him years to hone her strength. "Can you make it?"

"Go on in. I’ll take my time." But they both knew he wouldn’t. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the rail that Sturgis had just installed a few days ago. It looked so… so… so civilized. God, she hated it. The anger gave her a last boost of adrenaline, and she pulled herself up the steps and into the bar. It cost her dearly, and she couldn’t shrug off AJ’s arm around her waist.

"Easy, Meredith." She heard the fear and, was it anger in his voice? "Slow and easy." He helped her through the bar, where everyone they met nodded but didn’t say any. Finally, they reached the room they’d once slept in together and settled her onto the bed. Tenderly, he washed her bare feet and pulled the covers over her. "Do you want me to send for…"

"No!" she snapped. "Just let the invalid sleep." Even though it hurt like hell, she rolled away to face the jungle. The orchids were ablaze this afternoon, and she wondered if Jason had placed more there so she would have something to look at while she lay here. "Just let me sleep." Hot tears coursed down her face as she heard him leave.

It wasn’t fair. Why had that man attacked her? She tried hard to remember something about the incident. AJ wanted that, too. Wanted her to describe her assailant. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t remember a damn thing past the moment when she’d climbed the stairs to her apartment that night. She remembered being happy and excited. Ready to work on the film that had been piling up because she’d run out of developing chemicals. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of attack. She got along well with her neighbors, making an effort to learn their language. Greeting them with an open smile. She thought that even if they didn’t like her, they at least left her alone. Was it a robbery like the local authorities insisted? Or was it something more sinister as she knew AJ thought?

He’d pushed her to remember. Gentle questions. ‘Tell me about getting off the plane, walking up the street, climbing the stairs, opening the door.’ After that, it was a blank… except in her dreams. But those were so jumbled, she dared not tell him. And it was the one promise that she’d extracted from both Bobbi and Harriet. They were not to tell him of her dreams. Too many times she’d woken in a sweat to find Harriet or Bobbi hovering over her, the concern obvious in their faces. The past two weeks had been a bit calmer, she would jerk awake, but she knew she hadn’t cried out.

"Why can’t I remember?" she sobbed as she fell asleep.

She knelt there in the jungle. Palmer was grinning in triumph. AJ’s hand in hers, the only comfort left. Her heart was racing, and she watched in sick horror as Palmer motioned his man to kill her. Slowly, the Japanese man approached her, swinging back the knife as he did.

"YOU CAN’T KEEP ME AWAY FROM HER!"

She jerked awake, the sweat pouring off her body. "What?" Panic propelled her out of the bed. She didn’t even bother to check her clothes. She was out of the bedroom and into the bar before she even realized that she must look a fright. "Father?"

They all turned to look at her. AJ was furious, almost as angry as her father. Kate Pike just looked scared, as did the rest of the bar patrons. Jason, Tom, Bud, and Sturgis all stood behind AJ, as if ready to back any play he was willing to make. One other man, dressed in British Army mufti stood near Thomas Cavanaugh, looking… well, looking British.

"Oh, my God. What have these people done to you?" Thomas Cavanaugh stalked over to her, loomed over her. "Get your stuff, we’re leaving!"

She was reminded of a scene in a poorly written comedy of errors that she’d sat through once on Broadway. The indignant suitor demanding that his love leave the haven she’d sought. If it wouldn’t hurt so much she’d laugh. "How nice of you to drop by, father. Had we known you were coming, we would’ve sent the car." Turning regally, or at least not falling on her face, she started back to her bedroom. "AJ?"

"Yes, darlin’?"

"Could you help me change?"

"Meredith!" Her father’s gasp of embarrassed indignation was almost worth the pain coursing through her belly.

"I’ll be out in a moment, Father."

Back in her room, AJ barely caught her as she collapsed. "Meredith?"

"Just let me catch my breath. Why is he here? Did you send for him?" she demanded angrily. "Are you that anxious to get rid of me?"

"Meredith!"

"Just help me get dressed." She didn’t need this now. Something had happened in her dream. Something important, and she didn’t need this right now. "Damn it!"

AJ gently turned her to face him. "Only if you’re sure you’re up for it. Say the word, and I’ll kick his butt off the island. The British have no power here. Well, little anyway. The French still have titular authority and Jean Luc owes me too much not to do as I say. You can’t believe I sent for him?"

"He didn’t, Meredith."

AJ turned and allowed Meredith to see Kate Pike standing nervously at the door. "Did you send for him?" Meredith hissed.

"Heavens, no. Lord, he’s been nothing but trouble since arriving. I can’t find Clayton for instructions, and Mr. Cavanaugh’s been all over Port Moresby demanding that people tell him what happened. Washington finally telegraphed that I was to help in any way possible. I’m sorry. I tried."

"What’s he doing now?"

"Well, Sturgis and Tom are standing guard, keeping everyone else out. He thinks I’m back here trying to talk some sense into you." Kate looked at AJ. "What do you want me to do?"

AJ looked to Meredith. "Well, darlin’?"

"Tell him I’m getting ready. That should hold him. But tell him it will take a while. I have to talk to AJ."

"Okay." Kate paused in her turn out the door. Looking back at the two, she whispered, "You aren’t going are you?"

Meredith took AJ’s hand in hers. "No. But buy me some time."

Kate’s face cleared. "You got it!"

Meredith moved to the bed and gingerly sat down. AJ just waited. "Tell me something…"

"I’ll tell you this. I don’t want you to go. But if you think you can get better care…" He stopped in his declaration. She was waving her hand dismissively.

"I know you love me AJ. Just like I love you. We’ve never said it before, but I don’t doubt it." She glared at him. "Do you?"

"No darlin’. I don’t doubt it. But just because I love you doesn’t mean I don’t want what’s best for you."

"Stop it. I’m not going. I don’t even want to talk about that. I need you to remember something that I’m unclear about."

"Okay."

"Exactly what happened that night on the mountain? After I wouldn’t leave you and they caught us?"

"What!? Why do you want to…" He took a deep breath. He might love her more than anything in his life, but he would NEVER understand her. He walked to the window, but instead of looking out onto the darkening jungle, he turned and rested against the frame. Closing his eyes, he called up a memory he would sooner forget.

He forced himself to report it in the same tone he’d used when reporting to the magistrate, and later to the British authorities in Port Moresby. "After they dragged us over to where Palmer was waiting, they made us kneel. Tom and I were on either side of you, not that we thought we could protect you. Then Webb said something cute, and Palmer was going to kill him. But that’s when someone - Galindez? – killed Palmer, and everyone started running around.

"If Palmer died," she said softly.

He opened his eyes. "Meredith. We went over this. We searched the mountain, the jungle, the whole damned island. We talked to everyone, and NO ONE saw him. The jungle beasts probably got indigestion that night," he said with no humor in his voice.

"What about the other guy?"

"What other guy?"

"There were all those natives looking kind of scared, like they really didn’t want to be there, but they couldn’t figure out how to get away. But there was that one man. Oh, God AJ, remember him? He was oriental. Japanese? He just stood there watching everything."

AJ considered it. "Yeah, I remember some Jap standing there. Why?"

"He didn’t walk toward us?"

AJ shrugged. "Not that I remember. In fact, after Palmer died, I never saw him again."

"He didn’t have a knife?" She asked it so softly that he almost missed the import. He was in front of her in two strides. Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her off the bed and forced her to look at him. "He didn’t swing back and stab me with it?" Tears were rolling down her eyes.

He pulled her to him and held her tight against his chest. He’d known all about her nightmares. Had stood in the doorway watching as either Harriet or Bobbi comforted her. Then, when Meredith insisted that she didn’t want them sleeping with her any more, he’d stood in the darkest corner watching her as she thrashed and cried out, jerking awake, then falling back to a deep sleep. He’d wanted to go to her. Had once, but his presence seemed to upset her further. It’d taken him a long time to understand that any man might’ve had the same effect. "This is what’s been in your dreams?"

She nodded silently, reveling in the feel of him, his very smell. Wrapping her arms around him, ignoring the way it made her insides stretch uncomfortably, she lifted her head. "It was him, AJ. Not just in my dreams. He attacked me. He was the one in my apartment. I remember him getting ready to stab me. I don’t remember anything else, but I know it was the same man. I know a lot of westerners can’t tell one from the other, but I KNOW it was the same man."

"But why, darlin’? Why would he come after you?"

"I heard Bud tell Sturgis that the intruder took some of my film. Do you know what film?"

AJ shook his head. He, they, hadn’t even looked. They had no way of knowing what’d been taken or why. "Do you remember seeing anything on your trips?"

She shook her head, barely hearing him. She was trying hard to work it out.

"Meredith!" Her father’s bellow seemed to explode through the entire building.

"Oh, for goodness sakes." She started from the room but AJ pulled her back.

"Look at me," he demanded. "If this wasn’t some kind of random attack, perhaps…"

"AJ, please. I don’t think I can fight him alone. Please."

He groaned and kissed her, much like he had in the jungle, desperately. But she could feel his passion for her and her own determination grew. Pulling back, she sighed. "Now, that’s what I need more of. Tonight, even if we can’t do anything but kiss, I’m coming back to your bed."

He was lost. He wasn’t even sure how it’d happened. He was on the verge of insisting that it was safer for her to return. "You know you’re in danger. If it was the man you saw at Palmer’s camp, he might well return. And…" Squeezing his eyes shut, willing the scene back to his memory, he finally shook his head. "I can’t protect you, Meredith. I can’t picture him."

"That’s okay. I know who I’m looking for. I want my things, AJ. I want whatever he didn’t take. There was a reason why he attacked me. It wasn’t revenge for what happened on the mountain. If so, why not the rest of you? Why not Tom? I’m glad I’m here with you." Marshalling her strength, she pointed toward the armoire with her clothing. "Help me change."

She walked back into the bar like a queen on the arm of her king. Her head was held high, and if her stomach felt like it was on fire, no one in the place could tell it by her face. Only AJ, who felt how stiff she walked, had any inkling of her pain.

Thomas Cavanaugh saw the look on her face and almost began shouting again. However, he also saw the look on the big bald man’s face. He’d checked out AJ Chegwidden, and unfortunately, the man had no weak spots for Cavanaugh to exploit. The British – who really didn’t like Cavanaugh or his paper’s position – weren’t going to help him. The French, who had other things to worry about now, had coldly rebuffed his request that they kick Chegwidden off the island. No, he would have to wheedle his way into Meredith’s heart.

"Honey." He reached out for her, but she waved him away and gingerly sat down in the chair that Tom Boone had rushed to pull out for her.

"Thanks."

"Hey, no problem. Jason’s making you a cup of tea."

Cavanaugh knew exactly what was happening. The wagons were circling against his attack. Well, it was his daughter, damn it. No. She was his employee. She depended upon his largesse to continue her little hobby.

She recognized the smile for what it was. She even suspected his course of attack. Not for nothing had she spent all that time at the paper after her divorce. She understood him better now than she had as a child growing up. "Father, say your piece, then go."

"Go? Excuse me, Miss Cavanaugh, or should I address you by your title? Miss Bureau Chief of Southeast Asia!" His snort was disdainful. He knew how to hurt her. "We’ve missed your reports. But then, I suppose you’ve been sending pictures to Time? Life? You know, I don’t know where…" He stopped when AJ made a sound that reminded him of a large cat clearing its throat.

Meredith just smiled. "Thank you for the lovely flowers, by the way."

"I didn’t…" He wasn’t going to rise to her bait. "I didn’t know where to send them."

Kate Pike gasped. "But I sent you a wire saying I would be more than happy…" her voice trailed off as Cavanaugh turned his glare on a target that he could hurt. "Sorry."

Meredith of was tired of it. She’d hoped that her father would wish her well, hoped that he’d support her, maybe even help her find the man who attacked her. But she could see it was hopeless. "What are you going to do? Fire me, too?"

"I could."

"No, you can’t. I quit."

"I’ll disown you!"

She quietly watched him as he worked it out for himself. She didn’t need his money. With her contacts at the magazines, she didn’t need the job. She’d never drawn on the bank account where her grandmother’s inheritance sat collecting interest.

"You don’t care how this is hurting your mother?"

"That’s enough, Mr. Cavanaugh." AJ put his hand on Meredith’s shoulder. "It a moot point. She can’t leave."

"And why not!? We can catch the boat in…"

Meredith stood. "I’m tired. I’m going to rest, AJ." With that, she turned and walked out of the room.

"I swear to God, Meredith! No one will take your nonsense! That’s all it is! I’ve friends, you know."

"Goodbye, Father."

She lay in bed a long time trying to settle her emotions. What a day. So much - too much - had happened. However, only two thoughts stayed with her. AJ admitting he loved her and the face of the man who had tried to kill her. She knew what she could try. When AJ came to check on her she said, "Could you ask Sturgis to bring Bobbi to the bar tomorrow?"

"Do you need her to stay with you tonight?"

"No, AJ. I want to see if she can sketch the man as I describe him." As he turned to go, she added, "I need YOU to stay with me tonight. Please."

"I don’t want to hurt you."

"You won’t. Please."

She drifted off, her thoughts a riot of images. Sarah came to mind, and she wondered where her friend was. She still couldn’t believe her father had exacted his revenge on Sarah. Even 10,000 miles away, she’d heard what he’d done. She understood that she – and AJ – had made a powerful enemy today. But she was never going back. She was quite happy in the bed she’d made, and perfectly willing to sleep in it. She just preferred some company. She was so restless that she made up her mind to get up and go to AJ. However, before she could marshal her strength, she heard his footsteps. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed.

"’Bout time you got here."

"He’s gone, darlin’." He refused to tell her of the bastard’s threats. They’d served only one purpose. AJ would never let her go back. He would somehow keep her safe.

"Well?"

"Mere, wouldn’t you be more comfortable with all the room you can get?"

"What’s the matter? Afraid you won’t be able to control yourself? Or are you afraid of me?"

He chuckled softly, but she breathed a sigh of relief as his shoes hit the floor, and the whisper of his clothes followed. "Keep your hands to yourself, minx. Try anything, and I’m back in my own bed."

It felt too good to have him next to her. Besides, now there was time. For the first time since she stopped taking the pain medication the doctor prescribed, she slept peacefully.

The next morning, AJ was gone. Carefully, she stood and tested her strength. See? Everything will be better now. Washing her face from the bowl and pitcher, she studied her face in the mirror. Much better than yesterday! Today will be a good day. Donning one of AJ’s shirts and a loose pair of silk pajama bottoms, she brushed her hair and walked to the bar. Instantly, she knew something was wrong. "What’s happened?"

AJ, Tom, Jason, and Sturgis turned away from the short wave radio they’d been huddled around. "Germany has invaded Poland."

Part 2

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