Title: "Shadowland"

Author: Sooz

E-mail: sooz9009@aol.com

Rating: R for language, adult situations

Classification: Action, Romance (H/M)

Spoilers: Anything up through "Back in the Saddle"

Disclaimer: Not mine, non-profit.


Summary: While Harm is in the CIA, he and Mac find themselves on intersecting missions in Indonesia and discover that sometimes, getting lost may be the only chance to find your way.


I began this story right after the Season 9 opener, and events diverge from there. I do not pretend to be an expert on the political situation in Indonesia; my apologies for any and all inaccuracies. This is a shipper story, I promise -- but it takes awhile.



"Shadowland"


October 25, 2003


The soft chiming of his Rolex jerked him awake. What the hell was his bed doing on the wrong side of the room?


Harm stared into the darkness and let details filter through the fog. Thick velvet curtains, with a sliver of city lights visible between them. A quiet hum of air conditioning. A warm, soft hip against his. He blinked and rolled his head to the right, feeling his cheek rasp against the pillow with a sandpapery whisper.


A lock of blonde hair gleamed in the faint glimmer from a digital clock blinking five a.m.


He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, then sat up with a sigh and scrubbed his hand over his face. The air was cool on his body.


"Harm?" Her voice was blurry with sleep. "Did the alarm go off?" Warm fingers grazed his back.


"No, it's only five. Sorry I woke you, Cath," he said, reaching over to pat her shoulder. "Go back to sleep." He stood and groped for his clothes on the chair. He heard a rustle as she sat up behind him, and the bedroom sprang into life as she clicked on a bedside lamp. Harm squinted his eyes against the sudden glare. "Hey," he complained.


Catherine Gale pushed her hands through her short blonde hair, flung back the covers, and frowned at the clock as she reached for her robe. "Coffee's on the timer," she announced, and walked swiftly out of the room, the pale satin of her peignoir swirling as she belted it around her slim naked body. Harm sighed and groped for his shoes.


He didn't even have time to pull on his socks before she was back. "You're up early," she observed, and handed him a steaming mug. "Are you leaving town again?"


He shrugged and sipped. "Guess I'll find out, they want me in at 0900," he said.


"So why the dawn patrol? Even *I* don't go in this early," she smiled and sat beside him, her shoulder touching his. Her robe slipped open to reveal the curve of one small breast.


"It's Friday. Five-mile run before work," he said, pulling at his shoelaces.


You'd think he's still in the military, she thought with an inward groan.


Harm set his cup on the nightstand and kissed her on the cheek before standing up decisively. "Thanks for last night, Cath. It was great."


"As always." She looked up at him, debating, then said, "So what is it, Harm?"


"What's what?"


"Whatever is still bothering you. Sometimes I feel like a battleground when we're done."


He busied himself with sorting keys, wallet, and change into his pockets, and didn't turn around. "Nothing's bothering me, Cath. Hey, I'm sorry if I was a little rough last night. I've been away for awhile." He gave her a charming grin and pulled her to her feet for a quick kiss. "I'll make it up to you."


"You don't need to make anything up to me," she said lightly. "We don't have any strings on each other, you know that. But I care about you, Harm." She gave him a shrewd look. "I'd like to see you happy, and you aren't."


He glanced away, his expression carefully neutral. "Happy is a bit of a stretch when you're starting your career over for the third time," he said. "But I'm fine. Look, I've got to go, but I meant it about making it up to you, okay?"


"Okay. But I'm not the one fighting the war, Harm."


He gave her a quick wave on his way out, not meeting her eyes. She listened as the front door opened and shut behind him, and sighed. Men.



* * *


0640 Hours EDT

North of Union Station, Washington, DC


The phone was ringing as he opened his door, panting and wet with sweat from his run. Harm lunged for the phone grabbed it just before the machine picked up. "Hi, Mom."


His mother's silvery laugh floated over the line. "Happy birthday, darling. How did you know it would be me?"


"Only my favorite girl would be calling at this hour."


"Well, that's sweet, dear. But I could almost wish you *had* a favorite girl other than me."


"Mom" --


"I know, I know. How's the new job going?"


Her cheerful tone touched him. She had been upset when he finally steeled himself to tell her about leaving both the Navy and the law, and he knew she was trying to conceal her anxiety. He replied, "It's nice not to be in an office all the time. It's all right."


"So, big plans for later?"


"Shooting hoops with Sturgis." He grinned to himself as he visualized her expression.


"I hoped you might be celebrating with friends," Trish said with elaborate casualness.


"Nope, no real plans this year," he said. He fervently hoped she would stop there, but knew she wouldn't.


"It must be difficult, staying in touch with people." He could hear the concern in her voice, carefully masked. "How's Mac these days, and your godson?"


"I wouldn't know, Mom." He didn't elaborate.


"Oh." Her disappointment came through over the phone, but mercifully she held off. "Well, darling, watch for UPS, they'll be delivering your present. I hope you like it."


"A new oil pump for Sarah?" he asked hopefully.


"Certainly not. A cashmere sweater. I assume there are still a few occasions when you're *not* wearing a flight suit?"


"Only in the shower."


"Watch it, young man. I still have those bathtub pictures."


They shared a laugh. "Thanks, Mom. Suddenly I feel a lot better about turning 40."


"Thirty-nine and holding, dear. At this rate, we'll be the same age before I have grandchildren."


"Listen, you have more energy than I do. What are you doing up in the middle of the night, anyway?" It was 3:45 a.m. in California.


"Giving you trouble, of course. It's my job."


Harm laughed. "Gotta get ready for work, Mom. Give my best to Frank."


"Of course, dear. I love you."


"Love you too, Mom. And thanks."


He replaced the phone in its cradle and stood with his hand on it, absently staring at nothing while he rubbed his sweaty hair with a towel, wondering why his immaculate loft no longer seemed like a welcome source of solitude.


The empty silence mocked him.


* * *


1400 hours EDT, same day

Marine Obstacle Course, Quantico, Virginia


The rapid thump of running shoes echoed in the silent woods, a counterpoint to harsh breathing. Golden leaves swirled into the air and fluttered into piles behind her as she sprinted beneath the arch of trees and leaped to grab the rope jump.


Mac swung across the water, paused at the apex of the trajectory, and dropped lightly to the hard packed dirt on the far side. Without a pause she raced for the pile of logs and vaulted over, pushing off the top with one hand to land with a thump and a grunt in a pile of leaves. Panting hard now, she dug in for the steep section and grabbed the heavy line that hung down the rutted path, pulling herself up hand over hand, lungs burning.


The golden afternoon was perfect. God, she needed this day off. It felt so good to really attack the course, knowing that the phone wouldn't ring, no one would interrupt, no one would make any demands on her. Harder and harder she ran, pushing to the limit, past the point where she needed to feel or think about anything but making it over the crest of this damn hill . . .


She went over the top in a burst of speed and barreled recklessly down the slope on the other side, racing over the path in a blur of pounding steps, dodging exposed tree roots and rocks that threatened to trip her, scarcely feeling the thin branches that whipped at her arms and legs. With an agile leap, she flung herself past the switchback in the steep trail.


Without warning, her heel slipped on a patch of gravel and went out from under her. She went down in a wild, skidding slide that erased skin from her knees and elbows and came to a stop sprawled across the bottom of the slope, the wind knocked out of her.


After a couple of frantic, painful gasps, she was sure she could breathe again and lay still, panting, waiting for the pain to subside enough to sit up. She knew she wasn't really hurt.


"God DAMN IT!" She pounded her fist into the cool dirt. "Shit, shit, shit!" Her hair clung to her neck, clammy with sweat, and she rested her head on her arm. All around her, the forest was filled with the faint sounds of early autumn -- birds singing far away, a squirrel rustling through the undergrowth, a woodpecker drilling. The obstacle course was deserted.


Slowly she sat up, hugging one knee, and risked a quick glance. Her black tights were shredded, and she could see blood and torn skin through the gap. Not too bad. Her left forearm was scraped from wrist to elbow, but it wasn't deep, there wasn't a lot of blood. She flicked a small piece of gravel from the wound.


Abruptly, tears stung her eyes and nose. "Oh, crap," she muttered as she felt a tightly held barrier crumble inside. She leaned her forehead into her uninjured hand and gave in, her throat aching, sobbing until she ran out of tears.


Finally Mac lifted her swollen eyes and looked at the golden patterns of leaves shifting overhead. Her belly ached with weeping, but she felt calmer. What the hell was that, she wondered vaguely. It isn't like me to overreact like that. Guess I've been more stressed lately than I thought. Funny -- things at work have been so quiet. Almost dull.


Damn you, Harm, she thought. Just because this is the first time in eight years we haven't celebrated your birthday, do I have to feel so lousy? Why didn't you return my calls, dammit? I'm sorry you had to leave the Navy, but I made the right decision, I know I did. So why does everything feel so wrong?


With a little hiss of pain, she struggled to her feet and began limping along the course. All her life, she had been picking herself up and getting herself home. She wasn't about to stop now.


* * *


1730 hours EDT, same day

Stonewall Jackson Park, Falls Church, Virginia


Bang. Bang. Bang. The bouncing twang of the basketball echoed off the pavement as Sturgis slowly circled for an opening. Harm balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, arms outspread, watching narrowly in the fading twilight. With a sudden fake to the right, Sturgis pivoted and drove for the basket.


Harm leaped, blocked the shot, and the two men crashed together in a tangle of elbows and knees. Harm grabbed the rebound and knocked the smaller man sprawling.


"Foul," Sturgis wheezed, flat on his back.


"Sorry, you okay?" Harm extended a hand and pulled him up.


Sturgis took a limping step, panting, and shot him a look. "I'll live, no thanks to you. Are you still growing or something?"


"I eat my spinach," Harm grinned.


"Like hell. You've added ten pounds of muscle this year, easy." He bounced the ball as he went to the foul line. "You lifting some serious weight?"


"The last year or so, yeah. Plus running."


"Shows. You training for something?"


"Yeah, to kick your sorry ass," Harm grinned, and jumped for the rebound as Sturgis's foul shot bounced off the rim. Sturgis scrambled onto defense, but Harm's jump shot sailed cleanly through the hoop, snagging the torn net on the way.


Sturgis gestured time out, panting. The crisp autumn afternoon had been warm, but it quickly turned chilly as they sat on the scarred wooden bench beneath the backboard. Sturgis picked up a towel, and Harm pulled a sweatshirt over his head.


"You must have started as soon as you healed up after that crash in the Atlantic," Sturgis commented.


"Yeah. I wanted to get back in shape, and it sort of went from there."


"Probably comes in handy working for Air America."


Harm gave a derisive snort, twisted the cap off a bottle of water, and tilted his head back, swallowing.


"So how is it going?"


Harm shrugged. "I can't say I'm too crazy about the whole culture at Langley, but I'm not there much."


"Must be tough."


"Yeah, well, it's not like I haven't had some experience starting over," Harm said lightly, but Sturgis noted the set of his jaw. "You know, it's funny in a way. After the ramp strike, I thought I'd lost everything, but all I lost was flying. This time, that's all I have left." He gave a mirthless laugh.


"You're still a lawyer."


Harm shifted restlessly. "I can't see myself as an associate in some big law firm. I'd be working 80 hours a week just so some corporation can stick it to the rest of them. One of these days, I'll find a firm that does a lot of civil liberties litigation. But for now, I just want to fly and get out of town for awhile." He grinned. "Or maybe I'll sell the 'vette, cash in my IRA, and buy a boat. Sail around the world for a couple of years."


"Want a crew?"


Harm cocked an eye at him. "That doesn't sound like everything is happy at headquarters."


Sturgis took a long pull at his water. "Man, I just don't know. The Admiral is sailing a much tighter ship, so I guess somebody over at the Pentagon is still getting the wind up. Maybe he has his sights set on a third star, who knows."


"Sounds like you should be pleased, Sturgis. You like things run by the book."


Sturgis gave a quick, humorless smile. "Guess the weird dynamics grew on me. All I know is, JAG used to be an exciting place to work, we were amazingly productive, and we got some damn fine results. Now we slog along, every case takes months, and we have to document every step. We're always watching our backs and covering our ass. It's a demoralizing way to operate." He glanced at Harm. "Everybody misses you, you know."


"I doubt that."


"Your name comes up about ten times a day. 'Harm did this,' or 'The Commander did that.' Drives the Admiral bugshit." Sturgis looked at him. "I'm sorry about the way it all worked out, man."


Harm rested his forearms on his knees. "I accepted the consequences when I made the decision, Sturgis. Do I think the Admiral could have handled the situation better? Yes. Would I make the same choice again? Yes."


"I'm glad to hear it." Sturgis watched his friend thoughtfully. "So -- are you okay?" he asked, surprising himself.


Harm raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, fine, why?"


"You've been a little quiet. Especially today."


Harm looked away. "Just one of those days, I guess." He took another swallow and squinted up at the sky. "We're going to have to turn the lights on if we want to keep going."


Sturgis reached into his gym bag and pulled out a six pack of Heineken. "What do you say we knock off a couple of these? Happy birthday, man."


Harm grinned as he twisted the cap off a bottle and clinked it with Sturgis's. "Thanks, I guess. I mean, Jesus, *40.* How the hell did that happen?"


"Beats me. And why are we sitting here tonight without a date between us?"


"Speak for yourself. I have an appointment later."


"You're seeing someone?"


"I don't know if 'seeing' is exactly the term. But when I'm in town, I occasionally spend the night with a very smart lady who doesn't feel the need to analyze my lack of commitment." Harm took a long pull at his beer.


Sturgis lifted his brows at the unfamiliar bitterness in his friend's voice, and paused before deciding to risk his next question. "What the hell happened in Paraguay, Harm? If you don't mind my asking?"


"I do mind, but I don't suppose that'll stop you."


Sturgis caught the bleak undertone, and a glance confirmed his suspicion that an indirect approach might be wiser. He took another sip of beer and said, "Mac looks awfully unhappy these days."


"Mac wasn't happy about *anything* I did in Paraguay. And when it was all over, she informed me things were never going to work out for us."


"You're kidding." At Harm's glare, he quickly added, "But -- you saved her life" --


"She didn't pay much attention to that."


Sturgis was appalled. "That doesn't sound like Mac."


"Tell me about it." Harm was silent for a long time. Sturgis handed him another beer, and Harm sat turning it absently in his hands without saying anything. For a long minute, Sturgis was sure he would say no more, and then Harm sighed. "Funny thing is, this past year, I thought we were finally getting it right. I went down there ready to -- to say everything I should have told her a long time ago."


"And she didn't want to hear it?"


"Hell, she came at me with both guns drawn. I think she had already made up her mind to move on." Harm blew a silent whistle through pursed lips and leaned back. "Man, I cannot believe I am buzzed on one beer."


Sturgis noted the sidestepped question, and waited patiently. After a long while, Harm spoke, almost to himself. "You know how she is, Sturgis. She decides something and that's it, full speed ahead. Webb pulled her into an incredibly dangerous situation, and they went through hell together. Next thing I know, she's all over him." Harm's profile revealed little emotion.


Sturgis watched his friend with compassion. "I'm sorry, man."


"So am I." Harm shrugged. "But hey, you put it behind you and move on, right?"


Sturgis wasn't fooled. "You sure about that, buddy?"


Harm's deep set eyes were somber as he turned the beer bottle in his hands. His voice, when it came, was so soft Sturgis had to strain to hear. "It's hard for Mac to believe that anyone loves her. She needs to hear the words." His lips tightened. "And I made her wait. Too long."


"Why did you?" For a moment, Sturgis was sure he had pushed too hard.


Harm looked away. "Who knows why anybody does anything?"


"If Mac didn't know how you felt, she *must* need it spelled out."


Harm stood up, grabbed his duffle bag, and tossed his beer into the trash barrel. Sturgis was shocked at the pain he glimpsed in his friend's face.


Very softly, Harm replied, "I thought I had, Sturgis."



End Part One



Shadowland -- Part Two


That evening, 1900 hours EDT

Georgetown, Washington, DC


The door of the limousine closed with a quiet, expensive click. Mac slid into the soft leather seat and turned to smile at Clayton Webb.


"You look lovely, Sarah." His eyes gleamed as he lifted her hand and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. "What happened here?" he frowned, noticing the bandage on her elbow.


"Oh, just a scrape. I took a fall on the obstacle course at Quantico today."


"So that's what Marines do on their day off?"


"Some Marines." She was glad her hemline covered the wounds on her knees.


"Well, you certainly clean up well. I'm glad you could come tonight."


"All work and no play, remember? Besides, we have to celebrate your getting out of the hospital. But Clay, you didn't need to bring a limo."


He waved his hand, dismissing it. "The chauffeur and the car are Mother's. She's letting me use them while I recuperate."


"Doesn't she need them?"


"I'm staying with her. We manage." Clay smirked and flicked an imaginary speck of lint off his dark sleeve. His gold cufflinks caught the light.


"It's nice to see you back in a three-piece suit," she teased. "You look like yourself again. How are you feeling?"


"Steps are still a bit much, sorry I had to send Franklin to the door for you. But I'll be a hundred percent in no time."


Riding through the streets of the District in comfort instead of battling the traffic was a luxurious sensation. Abruptly she was reminded of Dalton, and shrugged it off as she inquired, "Where are we going tonight, anyway?"


"We're here." The big car sighed to a stop at the curb, and the chauffeur held the door as she stepped out. Clay followed, and she noticed he was using an ebony cane, but his limp was barely noticeable. She turned and looked up at the quiet stone building. A dark green canopy stretched from the entrance to the street. They ascended shallow carpeted steps to the entrance, where a liveried doorman opened the wide doors with a flourish.


"Evening, Charles," Clay said casually.


"Good evening, Mr. Webb," the man replied.


Mac gave Clay an inquiring glance. "Harvard Club," he explained briefly. She looked around with interest as they crossed the entrance hall. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, and suddenly she was glad she had worn her new black dress with the matching wrap.


"Ever been here?" Clay asked.


"No, I haven't. It's a beautiful building," she said.


"We'll go right to the table, James," Clay said to a footman, and gestured for Mac to precede him to the dining room. As they passed the cavernous lounge, Mac glimpsed a huge fireplace, walls lined with books, and about an acre of Oriental rugs. People were seated here and there in leather chairs, and there was a discreet hum of conversation, the clink of ice in crystal glasses.


The dining room it was dim and quiet, with only a few tables occupied. Paneled walls and tall, narrow windows rose to the ceiling high overhead, and Mac stared curiously at the walls lined with silver cups and old photographs massed on shelves. Athletics teams, she supposed, going back to the last century. The captain seated her and spread her napkin, then did the same for Clay.


"Very impressive," she smiled, looking around.


"It's quiet, and the food's good," Clay shrugged. She was intrigued by the offhand way he ignored the trappings of old money as if they were commonplace, a birthright. For him, she supposed they were.


They chatted easily during dinner. Clay's astute and waspish observations on everything from politics to popular culture were always entertaining, but she was still startled by the intensity of some of his conservative opinions. While he amused her with anecdotes about people he knew in the Bush administration, she reflected on his smug assumption that he always knew more about every topic than anyone else. The fact that he was often correct did not keep it from becoming faintly annoying, and after awhile, she began to weary of the need to lob back clever rejoinders. 'I wish just once you wouldn't have a comeback,' she thought, and was startled to recognize Harm's voice echoing in her mind.


Quickly she focused on Clay, watching the candlelight play over his thick, coppery hair, his elegant clothes, his strong hands, visualizing him riding and controlling a powerful horse. Despite the sarcasm, his sharp intelligence and wit were stimulating, and she basked in the gleam of admiration in his eyes.


But as the evening progressed, Mac found herself making an effort. When informed that his favorite author was Anthony Trollope, she had to stifle an urge to groan. We have so little in common, really, she thought as she smiled and nodded. Most of our work is classified or confidential, so we can't talk about it. We shared one horrific experience. And that leaves -- what?


" . . . took care of our friend Hardy," Clay said, and she tuned back in.


"He's dead?" she asked, startled. "How?"


"Bullet through the head. Somebody tried to make it look self-inflicted after too many shots of cana, but I think he finally tripped himself up playing both sides of the street."


"The next head of station will be a little more trustworthy, I hope," Mac said. She knew she would never get used to his casual attitude toward killings.


"We'll try. It's not a coveted posting, you know."


"Why did they keep someone like Hardy, anyway?"


"He had his uses. He knew the ropes down there."


"So the fact that he was a weasel and a liar and traded information with other parties didn't matter."


"Come on, Sarah. We seldom have the luxury of operating in an unambiguous situation, or dealing with people of high moral character." He regarded her, considering. "Speaking of which, you haven't asked me how Rabb's doing."


She looked away. "How is he doing?"


"He was offered a promotion to field agent. I was glad to hear he turned it down. The missions they have him flying are dangerous enough."


"What do you mean?" Her voice was quick and sharp.


Clay didn't miss it. "Rabb's a warrior, Sarah. That's why Kershaw recruited him -- he's smart, resourceful, confident, and as you and I both have reason to know, he never gives up. But Harm doesn't deal in shades of grey -- he's one hundred percent or nothing. They don't teach irony or ambiguity or lying at Annapolis."


"If you don't count lies of omission as well as commission."


Clay's eyes narrowed slightly at the undercurrent of bitterness in her voice. "Being uncommunicative or misleading is a long way from lying," he pointed out.


"That's just splitting hairs. It still makes it impossible to trust someone. How do you live with dodging shadows all the time, Clay?"


"Easily. But I'm not a Boy Scout like Rabb. One of these days, he's going to hang it all out for the wrong person and wind up dead."


"Harm isn't naive."


"No, but he is one naturally heroic son of a bitch, and he takes ungodly risks. I ought to know, he's saved my life twice."


"And you got his brother out of Chechnya. He'll never forget that."


"No, he won't. Unlike most people."


She wondered if that included her. "So you weren't kidding, were you? In the CIA, lying and murder really are just another day at the office."


The flick of his glance registered the barb. His grey eyes met hers. "And that's why Rabb's in the wrong line of work, Sarah."


"There's nothing I can do about that."


"You're probably the one person who *could.*"


She stared at him. "Why would Harm listen to me? He never has yet."


For a long moment Clay watched her with curious intensity, then dropped his gaze and rubbed his fingers absently over the fine white tablecloth. "If you really don't know, then it's certainly not my place to tell you," he replied. "Please forget I brought it up. Would you like dessert?"


The rest of dinner passed with light, pleasant chit-chat, but Mac couldn't shake the feeling that something important had passed, just out of her line of sight. Later, as the limousine purred past the White House, she stared at the lighted facade and wondered if Clay was right. It would be like Harm to bury his feelings by taking one dangerous assignment after another, she thought with a little prick of anxiety.


Clay's fingers closed over hers where they lay on the seat, and he leaned forward. "Take a swing around the monuments, Franklin," he said, and touched a button to put up the screen.


"That sounds like a line from an old movie," Mac teased.


"Hey, it worked for Kevin Costner," Clay said with an arrogant smile. Slowly, he placed two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face to his.


His kiss was warm and firm, and it lingered long enough to ask the question. His lips were very soft. She found herself wondering what on earth she was going to say.


Finally he leaned back and regarded her intently. "This is never going to work, is it Sarah?" It wasn't a question.


She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "No," she agreed. "I'm sorry, Clay."


"Don't be. I'm not."


"Clay" --


"Please. Let's not get into the part about how we'll always be friends. You know we will."


She nodded silently.


* * *


A Friday night two weeks later, 1900 Hours EST

JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia


Mac sat back with a sigh and rubbed her tired eyes. Her neck ached, the close print of the legal brief was beginning to blur, and she was sure she had read the same paragraph three times. The pool of golden lamplight on her desk seemed to be the only source of illumination in the silent old building.


I should go home, she thought as she poked at her discarded shoes beneath the desk with a stocking toe. The thought of another evening alone in her apartment discouraged her, and the idea of a meal from a can or the microwave killed any appetite she might have had. I swear I can feel my ass spreading to the exact dimensions of this chair, she grumbled to herself.


Irritably she wadded up a sheet of scratch paper and tossed it at the wastebasket, where it bounced off the rim onto the carpet. Shit, she thought with a spurt of unaccustomed self-pity. I'm thirty-five, I haven't dated anyone in just about forever, and the most exciting prospect for my weekend is the laundry. I need a life.


"Excuse me, Mac?" Mac looked up quickly to see Meredith, who was standing with her hand raised to knock at the open door. "I was just leaving and saw you were still here."


"As always," Mac replied, trying to sound cheerful.


"I came to meet AJ, but he has to go to some late meeting over at the Pentagon. Would you like to join me for dinner? I haven't seen you in ages."


Mac started to say no, and stopped. Why not? She liked Meredith, and God knows she wasn't getting anything done here. "I'd love to. Where?"


"How about Callisto's? Shall we meet there? Then you won't need to come back for your car."


"Sounds great," Mac smiled, and stood up, straightening some stacks of papers.


"I'll go on and get a table. See you there," Meredith waved and hurried out.


When Mac arrived, the restaurant was already crowded, but she spotted Meredith waving to her from a booth against the wall.


"Oh, this is delightful," Meredith beamed. "I've been meaning to call you for lunch for weeks and catch up. How *are* you?"


"I'm fine, thanks. I don't think I've had a chance to congratulate you on your engagement." She raised her goblet of water, and the crystal rang as she touched it to Meredith's wine glass.


"And to think it was you who introduced us!"


"That wasn't deliberate, you know."


"*I* know that, Mac. I'm not sure AJ believes it, though," Meredith smiled.


Mac picked up her menu and said, "I hear you're having your wedding at Annapolis?"


"Yes, in the Academy chapel. AJ is Catholic, I'm Presbyterian, it seemed like a perfect compromise. Besides, when I married my first husband, we had the wedding in a park, with bare feet," Meredith laughed. "I knew AJ would demand a little more dignity this time around."


"I didn't know you had been married before."


"We met in graduate school, but we divorced a couple of years later when we realized we had absolutely nothing in common but our PhDs." She looked up as the waiter materialized at her elbow. "Oh, yes, I'll have the calamari. You really should try it, Mac, it's a specialty here."


"I'm afraid squid always tastes like rubber bands to me," Mac smiled. "I'm a Marine, remember? The lasagna, please." Suddenly the joke turned bitter in her mouth. She handed her menu to the waiter and turned to Meredith. "I got married too young, too."


"It helped me over that horrible transition from school to the real world. There are worse reasons to get married, I suppose, but I'm glad we were able to move on without too much difficulty. It would have been harder if we'd had children."


Mac hesitated, and then something prompted her to say, "I'm beginning to think I'll never get a chance to have kids. Do you ever regret not doing it?"


Meredith looked pensively at the candles glowing on the table. "Regret is the wrong word, I think. I would have loved to have children, in the right circumstances, but now that a wonderful man has come along, the time has passed. I'm 44, and I can't see asking AJ to start raising a baby at 58. Fortunately, we both have rich, full lives, and I adore my students. Besides, I don't have to change their diapers or pay tuition," she grinned.


When she saw Mac's half-hearted smile, Meredith leaned forward impulsively and laid a light hand on her wrist. "But there's no reason for you to give up, dear."


"I'm 35, and I don't have the best track record with relationships," Mac answered lightly. "It's funny, I never expected to make my career the center of my life, but it's the one thing I haven't made a mess of." She thought of her Article 32 hearing, and a vivid memory of Harm flashed through her.


"AJ thinks the world of you and the job you do, I'm sure you know that."


"I haven't been doing so well lately."


Meredith's keen gaze regarded her as the waiter placed salads before them. "AJ doesn't talk about things at the office, of course, but I know you went through an ordeal a few months ago. You look exhausted."


"We're short-handed, so we've all been working long hours. The admiral still hasn't found another litigator he wants to move up to headquarters."


"Yes, so I understand. Commander Rabb will not be easy to replace." Meredith was watching her intently, and Mac had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't let it go. Sure enough, Meredith asked, "Have you heard from him? How is he doing?"


Mac wondered irritably why everyone seemed to assume she had some sort of hotline to Harmon Rabb. "I don't have a clue," she replied shortly. "He hasn't returned my calls."


"I'm sorry to hear that," Meredith said, noting the defensiveness underlying Mac's tone. "He went through quite an ordeal himself last spring, even before all this happened."


"Harm always bounces back."


After a pause, Meredith said kindly, "I'm sorry. I didn't stop to think that you'd probably prefer not discuss this with the boss's fiancée."


"Meredith, I'm sorry. I didn't mean" --


"Nonsense, of course you did. And you're quite right. I'm not used to being part of a couple, it's something I still have to get used to."


"I imagine it's a big adjustment."


"I didn't expect it, but yes, it is. I've had relationships before, of course, but never anything like AJ. He's such an overwhelming presence, yet so painfully inarticulate when it comes to personal matters," she shook her head fondly. "It must be hard to go from giving orders that are instantly obeyed to discussing your innermost feelings."


"The service tends to instill that in people," Mac observed. "It can be hard for two strong-willed personalities to make it work."


"I don't know about that. A balance of complementary forces is the only thing that's satisfying in the long run, don't you think?"


"A balancing act can get awfully hard," Mac replied, feeling a little defensive. "It can seem more like a tug of war."


"Don't I know it. AJ and I both lived alone for years, so we're both used to deciding everything without consulting anyone else. I get so excited about making plans and trying new things, it took me forever to notice that he didn't really enjoy some of them. He was too polite to say so, poor dear."


"He is one of the most private men I know."


Meredith's eyes were twinkling. "Remember when he announced our engagement without mentioning it to me? When I confronted him about it, he just said, 'So, interested?'" They both chuckled.


"How did you handle it?" Mac grinned.


"Finally I marched myself into his office and asked him if he was trying to propose to me. The poor man just needed a little help."


Mac leaned back against the banquette and took a sip of water. "Sometimes those kinds of conversations backfire."


Meredith tilted her head. "That's true, of course. But I find if I listen carefully, he tells me what I need to know. More by the things he does than what he says. 'Strong reasons make strong actions,' and all that."


"And what if he never did ask?" Mac said softly.


"You know, last winter I was beginning to wonder. So I told him how *I* felt, and made it clear there were no strings attached." Meredith's shrewd gaze was warm with compassion. "If AJ hadn't responded, it would have hurt. But I would have moved on, eventually. Any self-respecting woman would."


"I've never been brave enough to say 'I love you' first."


Meredith was silent. Finally she said, "I guess I was more concerned about his feelings than my own."


Mac looked up quickly, but the waiter moved in to serve and she lost sight of Meredith's expression. As they began to eat, Meredith smiled cheerfully and demanded, "So tell me, how is Chloe?" And the moment passed.


But for Mac, later, sleep was a long time coming.


* * *


Late November, 2200 EST

Andrews Air Force Base, Washington, D.C.


"This way, ma'am." The skinny kid on the flight crew could not have been more than eighteen, and Mac thought, damn, it's finally happened. I could be this kid's mother.


He shouldered her sea bag and she followed him out toward the enormous military transport parked on the concrete. The autumn night was chilly and clear, with a brisk breeze that hinted at a change in the weather. Mac sighed. It had been a long day, and it was about to get a lot longer. God, why did the admiral have to pick *her* to spend the next 15 hours trying to sleep sitting up aboard military transports? Why couldn't someone in Japan handle the problems at Seventh Fleet?


A movement caught the corner of her eye and she turned to see a shiny Lear jet taxi up to the next gate. Its door opened, and immediately three men in suits trotted down the steps carrying briefcases. They were met by a couple of people who emerged from the building, and there was a lot of handshaking.


Feds? VIPs? Her idle curiosity evaporated as she turned to board the transport. And stopped, with her foot on the bottom step.


A tall, broad shouldered figure in a flight suit had emerged from the Lear and joined the group on the tarmac. Even in the darkness, half blinded by the lights reflecting off the vast expanse of runways, Mac knew who it was.


Harm shook hands with one of the men, and they stepped aside for a private word. They came a step closer, and Mac could see Harm's face clearly. He looked tired. Harm said something, watching the other man, then looked down thoughtfully. He nodded once or twice.


Soldiers were tromping up the ramp behind her, but Mac was oblivious to the noise. As she watched, Harm turned to take a clipboard from one of the ground crew and stood there alone, scribbling something. Mac hesitated, then started toward him with a tentative step.


She stopped abruptly when Harm looked up, but he was staring the other way. A slim blonde woman was approaching, a light rain coat billowing around her as her high heels tapped across the pavement. When she reached Harm, she put her hand on his arm and said something, smiling up at him. Mac recognized Catherine Gale.


Harm said something, and Catherine answered, nodding. Then he bent and kissed her.


Fifty yards away, Mac stared in disbelief. It wasn't a passionate clinch, but it was definitely not a platonic kiss on the cheek. She stood frozen, watching Harm and Catherine turn to walk toward the lighted doorway. His arm slid around her shoulders in a casual gesture, familiar and relaxed. The way couples touch who have been together for awhile.


Thank God it was dark, Mac thought, stepping back into the shadow of the big plane. Finally she forced herself to look away and climb the ramp, find a seat, and strap herself in. Her mind was blank, and her lips and fingers felt stiff with shock. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the big plane taxied out and took off with a roar of engines.


Okay, Mackenzie, she chided herself. You have no business being upset. Why should it bother you? This is what you wanted. He's a man, he has a perfect right . . . .


Sleepless, she stared out at the night sky for hours, numbed by the metallic roar of the engines, wondering whether she would ever feel warm again.


End Part Two



Shadowland -- Part Three


December 1, 2200 Pacific Standard Time

Jakarta, Indonesia


A decrepit taxi lumbered over the broken pavement like an old blind dog nosing through piles of refuse. Flaking walls on either side nearly scraped the doors, and the glare from the honky tonk district in the next street barely penetrated the shadows.


Marine sergeant Bill Sybalski was vaguely aware that his face was bumping against the greasy floor of the cab with every lurch. He tried to lift his head, but it felt huge and heavy. Jesus, where were they? He didn't remember getting this drunk.


"Ramirez?" he mumbled, struggling to look around. "Dammit Steve, where" --


A kick slammed his face back into the floor and a tense voice shouted something unintelligible. His nostrils clogged with dirt and the thick reek of garlic and fish and stale sweat, but he kept still, listening and hoping his head would stop spinning. As his vision cleared a little, he realized there were three men crammed into the back seat, their feet scuffing the floor beside him. He could hear two more talking in front. The heavy body lying next to him had to be Ramirez.


Sybalski moved a little more and discovered his hands were free. If he could just get a purchase with his knee and reach the door handle --


Another kick landed squarely in the small of his back and he crumpled, gasping for breath. With a harsh string of words, bitten off, the driver jerked the cab to a halt, and rough hands grabbed him under the shoulders, dragging him out and dumping him onto the pavement. He landed face down in a slimy puddle and felt Ramirez thump beside him.


With a string of hissed curses and a last kick to his ribs, their faceless assailants melted away. It took enormous concentration for Sybalski to roll onto his side and grope for his wallet. Funny, it was still there. What the hell?


He looked up blearily. They seemed to be lying in an alley behind some sort of bar or club. Loud music thumped and throbbed into the night and smears of red and orange neon gleamed in oily puddles here and there. He could hear voices shouting above the music, smell the sharp tang of cigarettes wafting through the back door.


"Ramirez?" he mumbled through stiff lips. "C'mon man, we gotta get outta here." He poked at the corporal's shoulder and was rewarded with a faint groan. "C'mon, man. Can you get up?" Sybalski struggled to his knees, then his feet, and began to manhandle Ramirez to a sitting position. The corporal groaned again and tried to stand.


The two men had just staggered to their feet when a dazzling flash and a deafening blast flung them forward on a wave of searing heat, and they never heard the screams or the roar of the flames shooting thirty feet high from the building behind them.


* * *


December 2, 1300 PST

Prefecture of Police, Jakarta, Indonesia


"As you were." Mac slowly set down her brief case on the scarred wooden table and stared at the two Marines. "You two look like you went through a meat grinder."


Sybalski stared over her left shoulder with the eye that wasn't swollen shut. "Don't know what you mean, ma'am."


"Can it, sergeant. Who roughed you up?"


"The locals got a little excited, ma'am."


Mac sighed. She sat down and gestured. "Sit."


The two men lowered themselves gingerly into chairs across the table and watched as Mac uncapped her pen. "Okay," she began crisply, "we are going to proceed under the assumption that anything and everything we say here, or that you say to each other in your cell, is being recorded. Therefore, when necessary I will ask you to respond in writing, understood?" Both men nodded. "Good. Don't forget it, you're already in enough trouble. I assume you both realize that you have created an international incident simply by being found near the site of the bombing? Not to mention, it was in a part of town you had no authorization to visit on your liberty pass?"


"Excuse me, ma'am. But we didn't go there. We were *taken* there. Corporal Ramirez and me, we were hanging out with some buddies in the red light district, and we hooked up with a couple of bar girls who wanted us to go with them. Next thing I know, we're in a taxi with five guys and they dump us in that alley. We didn't even have time to walk two steps before the explosion."


"Did the women give you anything to drink or eat? Where did you go, a hotel, an apartment, what?"


Ramirez spoke up. "Ma'am, I don't even remember getting there. I think somebody pushed us into a cab while we were walking down the street, but I was already pretty out of it."


"Were you drunk?"


"I only had two beers, Colonel."


"What about you, Sergeant?"


"Same here, ma'am. But like Steve said, they must have put something in them. I began feeling dizzy right after we left the bar."


Since both Marines were over 200 pounds of solid muscle, Mac tended to agree. "These men in the taxi -- what can you tell me about them? Did they hit you over the head or beat you up to get you into the cab?"


Both young men looked affronted. "They were skinny, smelly little guys," Sybalski scoffed. "Locals, definitely. Didn't speak English that I could hear. No way they could have taken us if we hadn't been passed out."


"Would you recognize any of them again?" Each Marines shook his head no.


"So what happened to the two girls?"


"I dunno, ma'am. They just sorta disappeared."


"Tell me what happened when you got to the bar. Is it a place Marines usually go?"


"Yes, ma'am. There's only about three places we're allowed to hang out, anyway. They're not too friendly to Americans here, and they only give us passes to that part of town."


"Did you go to more than one place?"


"No, just the Blue Lagoon. We usually go to there. We were with our buddies, see, and they all wanted to go for the live music."


"Did you ask for these girls specifically?"


Sybalski looked at her in polite disbelief. "No, ma'am. They always just come right up to you. Most of them speak a little American."


"Would you recognize them again?"


Ramirez looked up alertly. Mac held up her hand for silence, and pushed the legal pad across the table. Laboriously, Ramirez wrote, "Check Mancuso's camera."


* * *


Next day, 1600 PST

Office of the Ambassador, United States Embassy, Jakarta


"So that's why I need to request the assistance of one of your Marines, sir," Mac said.


Edward Beresford steepled his fingers and touched them to the bridge of his nose. "Not a chance."


"May I ask why, sir?" Mac glared at him, and Beresford held up a well groomed hand.


"Easy, Colonel. It's not that I don't want to help. But every single member of my Marine detail is known down there. You walk into those joints with any of them and start asking questions, and those women will disappear."


"What about a member of your staff?"


"Are you kidding? Can you imagine a member of my diplomatic staff in one of those dives, looking for a pair of hookers? Washington is breathing down my neck already."


"I'm sure you are aware, Mr. Beresford, that the only way to salvage this disaster is to establish that our people were not responsible?"


"For a secret plot that killed 32 tourists and injured another 100 people, many of them Indonesian citizens? Gee, Colonel, I can't imagine why we'd want to distance ourselves from that," he snapped sarcastically. "The fact is, your Marines were in the wrong place at the wrong time."


"They were kidnapped and used as scapegoats, they have been badly beaten in the local jail, and if we can't find a way to remove them from Indonesian jurisdiction, they will be executed. I am not going to allow that to happen, Mr. Ambassador." Mac's voice was rising along with her temper.


"And just how do you propose to do that?" Beresford put his head on one side.


"I'll go alone if I have to."


"Hold it, Colonel. Just hold on." Beresford regarded her with frosty grey eyes. "I understand Semper Fi and all that, but I can't have you creating another diplomatic nightmare, not with the situation the way it is these days." He tapped his fingertip on the desk blotter for a moment and looked up. "Wait. I have an idea." He pressed a button and said, "Rose, would you please ask Mr. Roberts to join us?"


"Roberts?" Mac asked. She was still simmering.


"CIA. He's here for something I'm not at liberty to discuss. But he might be just the ticket" --


The door opened. "You wanted to see me, sir?"


Mac whipped around.


"Mr. Roberts. This is Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie. Colonel, this is David Roberts. Please, join us." Beresford gestured graciously.


Without a flicker of recognition, Roberts glanced at Mac and seated himself in a leather chair in front of the desk, then turned his attention politely to the ambassador. Mac watched him while Beresford explained the situation. "So, Roberts. Would you be able and/or willing to accompany Colonel Mackenzie this evening? I believe your other duties don't begin until tomorrow?"


Roberts sat quietly, staring at Beresford, deliberating. "If the Indonesians get a hint that the CIA was involved, even if it's only for the investigation, we'll lose all credibility."


Beresford turned over an empty hand. "We don't have much now."


"Just so you understand. I can't be called to testify later, no matter what happens," Roberts said. "As long as that's clear, I guess I can do it."


Gracious of you, Mac thought irritably.


"Splendid. Well, I'll let the two of you go along, I'm sure you have things you need to discuss." Beresford stood and ushered them to the door with smooth, practiced ease. "By the way, I trust you'll join us this evening? We're having a reception for the delegations who have arrived to discuss the bombing situation. I don't imagine you'll leave before 10 tonight? Ah, excellent. Until this evening, then." The heavy door closed behind them.


"Um, the terrace might be a good place to talk," she said, gesturing at the tall glass doors.


"I thought you were all through talking, Mac," Harm said coolly, and held the door open for her.


* * *


"I take it I'm not supposed to know you." Her voice came out all right, she thought.


"Nope."


"I thought you turned down the offer to be a field agent."


"Webb tell you that?"


She nodded and caught a flicker of something in his eyes, quickly veiled. They walked slowly through the big walled garden, watching the shadows of palms play across the warm paving stones. She felt as if she were walking with a stranger. Harm looked fit and tanned, dressed in khakis and a blue chambray work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His collar was open, and his hair was longer. But the hardness around his mouth was new, as were the faint lines at the corners of his eyes.


After an uncomfortable pause, he said, "They sent me here to fly a chopper to pick up an American biologist, but this bombing means no U.S. aircraft will be allowed over Indonesian air space. So I have to walk in. They're driving me up into the mountains tomorrow."


"Am I supposed to know about this?"


He shrugged. "You have clearance. Just don't spread it around. The guy's been working in the jungle for six months, studying endangered monkeys or some damn thing, and he's a big deal with the National Geographic Society. They were worried that anti-American sentiment in the island would make him a kidnapping target, so they leaned on various people in Washington, and here I am. The bombing incident made it urgent. I'm posing as a botanist who's joining his expedition."


"Since when do you fly helicopters?"


"A lot can happen in six months, Mac."


"I wouldn't know. You haven't answered any of my messages."


"I've been out of town a lot."


"Does that mean you don't have any time for old friends?"


He didn't answer right away, and she had the distinct impression he was holding onto his temper. When he finally spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. "I moved on, Mac. You made it clear that's what you wanted."


"I didn't think it meant we'd never talk again."


Harm's eyes flashed. "Jesus, Mac. What the hell do you want from me? Every time I have ever tried to talk to you, you've bitten my head off and walked away!"


He expected her to flare up, but instead she crossed her arms and nodded. She said carefully, "You're right." His heart twisted as he saw her summon her courage before she went on, "You deserve better, especially from me. Whatever you have to say, Harm, I'm willing to listen."


For a long moment they stood silent, staring at each other. "Well, once again, Mac, you've managed to surprise me," he said at last, angry and off balance. He glanced around, trying to imagine where to start. Exasperation and longing tumbled through him in a kaleidoscope of emotions too confusing and terrifying to confront. He looked away in disgust, with her, with himself. "You know what, Mac? Sometimes it's just too damn late."


Stung, Mac said in a rush, "Dammit, Harm, don't use that as an excuse! You always keep everything to yourself. Even stuff that concerns me, too." She drew a shaky breath, adding in a softer tone, "And it's impossible to trust someone who won't trust you back."


He went very still. "There was a time when I thought we trusted each other with our lives."


"I would still trust you with my life. You'd do anything to rescue someone, but nothing gets through those walls of yours!"


The emotions had spiraled up so quickly between them, Mac could not trust herself to continue, and Harm's face was like stone. Furiously she swallowed back the treacherous tears that burned behind her eyes.


After a long moment, he looked away. "You've been thinking that out for a while."


"Yeah." She swallowed.


By unspoken accord, they turned together and walked for a few minutes in silence. At last, Harm said, "Look. You should know, I've been seeing Catherine Gale since June." She could almost hear the click in the lock.


Moments passed in silence, broken only by the chattering of a bird high in the bougainvillea on the wall. At last, she cleared her throat and said, "I see." Her voice sounded rusty.


"So how do you want to handle this job tonight, Colonel?" His voice was cool, devoid of emotion, professional.


"You still want to do it?"


"Hey, don't deprive me of the chance to rescue somebody, all right?"


"I don't want you to get into trouble again."


A private smile flitted across his face and was gone. "Let's look at the big picture, Mac. If the Marines get tagged for the bombing, the U.S. will never get any more cooperation on terrorism in this country. That concerns the CIA just as much as the Navy." He added impatiently, "So how do you want to proceed? It's your operation."


Mac took a steadying breath and said, in a voice that sounded far away to her ears, "I thought we could pose as a tourist couple looking for a little three-way action. That way, we have a reason to ask for two particular girls."


"And how do you propose to recognize them? Did the Marines give you a really detailed description?"


She slipped something out of her pocket and held it up. Sybalski and Ramirez grinned out of the snapshot with their arms around two giggling young women. "One of their buddies likes to take pictures."


* * *


That evening, 2000 Hours PST

American Embassy, Jakarta


The swooping spikes of brilliant orange didn't really look like flowers, Harm thought. More like a flock of exotic tropical birds alighting on the table in the foyer. Birds of paradise, he remembered. That's what they're called. Mom used to order them for the gallery.


He stood in the shadow of a tall pillar apart from the ebb and flow of guests. His lightweight summer suit was a little casual for the diplomatic gathering, but it was perfect for blending into the background. If anyone wondered who he was, he could pass for an embassy staffer.


Candles flickered as a warm breeze moved through the gallery. He turned to look, and a jolt of adrenaline hit him. Mac was standing in the doorway. All the light in the room seemed to coalesce around her as the noisy hubbub faded away.


Slender and tall, she stood poised lightly on slim high heeled sandals, surveying the crowd with serene grace. A simple black dress skimmed her body from breasts to knees, highlighting her flawless shoulders, clinging to every curve.


The blood pounded in his veins, and he swallowed once before stepping from the shadows, moving toward her without conscious volition. "Mac." God damn it, would there ever come a day when she didn't get to him?


She lifted her lovely eyes to his, and he was startled by the sadness he glimpsed in their depths. Anger, even hurt, he would have expected, but not this wistful sorrow.


"David," she nodded coolly. He kicked himself. Focus, Rabb.


"Ah -- yeah. You look very nice, Colonel." The candlelight picked up the exquisite freshness and polish of her skin, catching the sheen of light along her collarbone and across the swell of her breasts. Her perfume was a delicate trace of Chanel, the same as he had given her last Christmas.


"Thank you," she said lightly, with an attempt at a smile. "This is the perfect all-in-one emergency travel dress. Just a change of shoes and it's casual enough for a pub crawl."


"Does that mean you're wearing that invitation to riot when we go out tonight?"


"We are not 'going out.' I'm pursuing an investigation."


"And I'm your bodyguard, is that it?"


That got through. A flash betrayed her cool reserve and she shot back, "Does that suit come equipped with a cyanide pill?"


"They issue them to us along with the shoe phone and the decoder ring."


"Which reminds me. Did you think using 'Bud' would be too obvious?"


"I keep looking behind me when someone calls me by another name. And 'Harmon' is a little too distinctive."


"That's one word for it."


He decided to change the subject. "Considering the bombing was less than 48 hours ago, you got here in one hell of a hurry. How come they sent you, anyway? There must have been someone at PACFLEET with enough seniority."


"I was already in Japan," she replied tartly. "The admiral sent me to Yokosuka two weeks ago to handle a court martial, so he told me to get down here on the double."


"Congratulations, Mac. You're his top gun."


"Only because you're not around."


"No," he said, and she looked up. "Because you're one hell of a lawyer. You should be proud, Mac."


"I am," she said with quiet gravity.


Harm watched her for a moment, his gaze intent. "A few years ago, you would have ducked the compliment or tried to knock my block off."


She started to retort and stopped. "You're right," she said with an air of faint surprise. "I didn't want anyone to realize I was in over my head."


"Is that why you had a chip on your shoulder the size of a telephone pole?"


"You noticed."


"You got over it."


"I had help," she said, almost to herself. He glanced at her, surprised, and they lapsed into silence.


"How are the politicians handling your involvement?" he asked finally, eyeing the crowd.


"It's a tightrope. The government wants to show the Muslim population that they aren't American puppets. At the same time, they want to keep the radicals under control, and they want to keep our financial support. A lot of Indonesians apparently believe we orchestrated the bombing to put pressure on the government for dragging their heels on identifying terrorists. The conservatives want to get rid of the president and reestablish a dictatorship. And of course, I'm expected to prove that our Marines weren't involved."


"Oh, is that all? Just the usual, huh?"


"Well, at least we have backup tonight. They made the police available to bring the witnesses in for questioning, if we find them."


Harm started to reply when the ambassador's wife joined them, arm in arm with a big man in a seersucker jacket and a Western string tie. Mrs. Beresford was short and skeletally thin, with a helmet of carefully frosted blonde hair, and she performed the introductions with imperial authority. "Colonel Mackenzie, may I present Jackson Bierman? Mr. Bierman owns one of the oil platforms drilling in the Sunda Strait. He was so eager to meet you."


"Miz Beresford here tells me you're a Marine," the man proclaimed in a booming voice. "God damn, Colonel, I served in 'Nam '68 to '70, and they sure as hell didn't supply Marines in your model." Bierman grabbed Mac's outstretched hand and pumped it. His wide, florid face split into a friendly grin. "Nice to meet another American out here."


"It's a pleasure, Mr. Bierman," Mac said faintly. Her reserved air told Harm she was feeling shy, but he doubted anyone else could tell. Mac gestured. "This is Com -- Mr. Roberts," she said, correcting quickly. Harm returned the man's crushing grip.


"Roberts," Bierman nodded, summing him up with a sharp stare that reminded Harm of AJ Chegwidden. He turned back to Mac. "They tell me you're the JAG investigating the bombing," Bierman said, lowering his voice. His bright blue eyes were shrewd. "You gonna get our boys out of the local lockup?"


"I certainly intend to," Mac said.


Bierman shook his head. "They were framed, no question about it. They want to hang it on us, but I wouldn't be surprised if half of the government wasn’t in on it. Hell, they'd grab my oil rig if I wasn't in international waters. As it is, I have to keep my own private security force out there. Couldn't have gotten here tonight otherwise -- they know my chopper, don't worry if it shows up on their radar screens." He grinned. "Pulled me in to represent 'American commercial interests' in the talks. What a load of crap."


"What do you mean, Mr. Bierman?" Mac asked, curious.


He cocked an eye at her. "Make it Jake, ma'am, and we've got a deal."


"Jake," Mac smiled.


Bierman caught Harm's frown and grinned. "Look, I've found oil in every part of the world, from Venezuela to Alaska to Russia. Every place it's the same damn thing. We find the stuff, invest in the infrastructure, bring in revenue they never dreamed of, and they want to take it over."


"I don't believe Al Qaeda is about money, Jake" --


"Honey, it's *always* about money. Money equals power. You mark my words, somebody's out to make something out of this. Hell, Al Qaeda would be crazy to do these bombings, this island was a safe haven for them."


Mrs. Beresford intervened firmly. "Mr. Bierman -- this discussion really needs to wait for another time. Now," she said brightly, "won't you all join me in the library? The dalang is about to start."


Jake Bierman nodded politely and offered Mac a burly arm. "Colonel, will you do me the honor?" Harm realized he had been effectively cut out.


"I'd be delighted," Mac smiled graciously, and rested her hand on the proffered elbow. Harm followed and scowled when he saw Bierman lean over and whisper in her ear. God damn it, did the son of a bitch have to breathe all over her like that?


Harm stood close behind them as people jostled into the library. Bierman was practically slobbering on Mac's shoulder, for God's sake, and she was actually smiling at him. Just as he had decided to say something, the hell with it, he saw an embassy assistant whisper to Bierman. The big man frowned, muttered an apology to Mac as he pressed something into her hand, and sidled away through the throng of people.


Harm stepped to Mac's side. "Did John Wayne have to head back to the ranch?"


"He was very sweet," Mac said. A dimple appeared in her cheek.


"Clay won't be happy to hear you were flirting with an oil baron," Harm sneered in an undertone.


"I hate to disappoint you, but it's really not up to Clay," Mac hissed in reply. She frowned and didn't look away from the white curtain that obscured one end of the enormous room.


"What?"


"You heard me," she said in a low tone.


Harm was about to retort when Mrs. Beresford whispered at his elbow, "Have you ever seen the wayang kulit, Mr. Roberts? No? The shadow puppets are one of the oldest storytelling traditions in the world. It's central to Javanese culture, so we're having it tonight to make them feel welcome."


The lights dimmed, leaving the audience in darkness as kindled lanterns behind the screen illuminated its surface. Mac leaned across Harm to whisper, "What's going on, Mrs. Beresford?" Harm could think of nothing but the curve of her breast as it brushed his arm.


"I guess you could call it a puppet show," Mrs. Beresford said. "But it's really more of a play. One man, the dalang, does all the voices, and he sits behind the screen with the musicians. He also works the puppets, and all we see are shadows on the curtain. In the villages, they have performances for every important occasion, and I hear it can go on all night."


"What's it about?" Mac asked. At that moment, a musical chord sounded from behind the glowing curtain. Drums, tambourines, and a wailing flute took up the discordant chant as two huge shadows loomed and sharpened upon the lighted screen.


"The stories are based on Hindu legends that came from India nearly two thousand years ago," Mrs. Beresford whispered. "This one is about the noble Rama, who marries his lover Simtra. They are banished by evil lords to the forest, and have to overcome many dangers to escape."


Two silhouettes in elaborate headresses lurched and danced across the curtain with stylized movements, accompanied by keening and exclamations from the dalang. The effect was magical. "Artists carve the puppets from leather," Mrs. Beresford went on. "They're quite beautiful. They have different expressions on the faces, depending on the story -- sometimes they use a happy one, sometimes angry, or sad."


Harm was intrigued in spite of himself. The jerky shadows had a mysterious, compelling beauty. "They seem so lifelike," Mac breathed, entranced. "Does the story have a happy ending?"


"That's hard to say," the ambassador's wife said quietly. "The prince and his princess represent nobility and honor to the Javanese. The saga shows their courage in the face of adversity, and their devotion to their duty and to one another. There are more than 200 stories in the Rama cycle. I have never seen the lovers together in the end."


Harm looked down at Mac. She stood beside him, watching with a rapt expression as the light from the screen flickered across her face. After a moment she sensed him staring and lifted her eyes to his.


* * *


December 4, 0130 Hours PST

Blue Lagoon Bar, Jakarta


Bright smears of neon reflected on the wet pavement as police spotlights swept the boisterous crowd. Two stoic cops carried a struggling, garishly dressed woman out of the bar, ignoring her screaming invective, and bundled her into the back of a car. One of her shoes flew off as she kicked wildly at the door.


"Glad I don't have to ride with them," Harm observed from the doorway. "Man, she can't weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and it took two of them."


"At least nobody seems to realize this is anything more than a routine bust," Mac said. "With that crowd, it could get ugly." A bottle soared overhead and smashed against the broken pavement, and she flinched. Instinctively, he moved in front of her.


"We actually found them." He shook his head.


"You didn't think we would."


"No, I didn't. You called it, Mac."


"You sold them on the idea of a foursome," she grinned.


"We made a good team," he said lightly, with a quick, veiled glance.


"Do you ever miss it?"


"Sure." His face gave nothing away.


An awkward little silence fell between them. "What time do you have to leave?" she finally asked.


"Oh-four hundred. God, I can't believe I have to spend two days bushwhacking through the jungle."


"Sounds like a job for the Marines."


"You're right. Want to come?"


The tropical night was sultry, but suddenly she shivered, as if someone had stroked a cold finger between her shoulder blades. "Want to stay?" she whispered.


Harm was utterly still. Then, "I wish I could," he said quietly, and shrugged out of his jacket. She looked up wistfully as he slipped it around her shoulders, knowing they both were thinking of another night, another time. Harm cleared his throat. "At least we found them, Mac. With any luck, you should be able to clear your guys."


She nodded.


"Is this how it was that time in Aceh?" he looked away, changing the subject.


"Well, we aren't running for our lives. But yes, there's the same feeling of -- I don't know, hidden currents, rage -- all beneath the surface. Like a powder keg ready to blow."


They stood silent. "Well," Harm sighed, "I'd better go pack for my camping trip."


She handed his jacket back to him, and for just a moment they held it between them, his hands over hers. "Thanks for helping, Harm. Take care."


"You too, Marine." He lifted his hand, as if to touch her, and stopped. "See you."


She watched until he climbed into his taxi before going to the waiting police car.


End Part Three



Shadowland -- Part Four


1130 Hours PST

Ambassador's office


"You actually *found* these women?" Beresford stared at Mac, astonished.


"Yes, sir. They were working the crowd in the bar at the same place where they picked up the Marines. The police and I have been questioning them all night, and the women confessed to drugging Sybalski and Ramirez and leading them to a taxicab. They gave us descriptions of the men who hired them, and I have it all on tape. Sir, it's more than enough to get those two men released to our custody."


"Will you charge the Marines?"


"No, sir."


"The government will want someone held responsible. We've already squandered a lot of our credibility in Indonesia because our policies are focused on protecting American business interests rather than promoting efforts at democracy. A lot of people would like to see your Marines found guilty."


"Sir, the women gave us enough for the police to find out who abducted the Marines. They've already pulled in two people, and there's more."


The ambassador waited, listening. Mac went on, "Thirty minutes ago, one of the suspects identified the man who hired him. Sir, he said the man was wearing the uniform of an Indonesian army officer."


"My God. Those witnesses need to be in protective custody, right now." Beresford grabbed the phone. "Janie, get me the prefect of police." He sat back and stared at Mac. "This needs to be handled very carefully, Colonel. It could blow the lid off things down here. There's a reactionary faction in the military that must have orchestrated the bombing to discredit both the government and us. Every time there's another terrorist incident, popular sentiment grows for the military to take over. If they succeed in ousting the president, the country goes back to a dictatorship and we lose any hope of controlling terrorist cells based in Indonesia. You've done a hell of a job, Colonel."


"Thank you, sir. But have you considered what their next move might be?"


"Not yet, but I have a feeling you have."


"They might try to preempt us." She leaned forward. "Sir, Mr. Roberts left at dawn to join the National Geographic expedition. A military escort drove him to the insertion point. Suppose they decide to create another incident and involve the CIA? Professor Marburg is a prominent scientist, it would attract international attention and discredit anything the U.S. might say."


"What kind of incident?"


"I don't know -- something where they could claim Marburg's expedition was spying for the CIA."


"Do you have any evidence of such a plan, Colonel?"


"No, sir. But can we afford to discount the possibility?"


Beresford's gaze sharpened. "Even if I agreed with your theory, Colonel, what do you propose to do? I can't send a group of Marines inland, it would be considered an act of war. Do you have some way to reach Roberts?"


"No, sir. But I believe Marburg has a satellite uplink."


"And what do you propose to say?"


"Not to rendezvous with their military escort, for starters. We could arrange for helo extraction" --


"Colonel. There is no way we're going to get clearance for an American aircraft to fly over Java right now. And if we send a satellite transmission, the Indonesian military will be the first ones to pick it up."


"So you're going to just ignore this?"


"I'm going to play the percentages and hope you're wrong. If they try something, they know we have proof they were behind the bombings."


"And if you're wrong, no one will even care what we say about the bombings -- provided the witnesses even survive that long. CIA covert operations will be much bigger news."


"What do you suggest? That I call Washington and float this -- this theory of yours? Face it, Colonel, there is nothing more I can do right now."


Mac continued to scowl at him, but her gaze turned inward. The iron rails of discipline that had always comforted and guided her seemed to be disappearing into shifting sands. She found herself reaching for a sense of inner balance, and discovered it was an oddly exhilarating sensation. Duty and honor, fear and desire. Choose now. With a feeling that reminded her of her first parachute jump, she heard herself say, "Maybe I can."


"Colonel, if you act independently in this matter you could be subject to court martial," Beresford warned.


"Mr. Ambassador, that's why it's better if you don't know anything. And besides, you said it yourself -- my job is finished here. Technically, I'm on leave."


"What do you propose, sky writing?"


"Not exactly," she said.


* * *


Same day, 1800 Hours PST

Central Java, 3000 meters above sea level


Harm swatted irritably at a whining mosquito and paused to consult his GPS. He ought to be picking up some signs of the expedition by now -- according to the satellite coordinates, he was right on top of them. He took a final pull at his water bottle and hoped Marburg had camped by a stream. It was amazing how thirsty you could get when the humidity was so high your clothes stuck to you.


He was hot, sweaty, and tired, and he couldn't believe it had taken him all day to cover 15 miles from the muddy mountain road. The terrain was incredibly rugged, with rocky fissures and cliffs running from the central spine of the mountains toward the sea, and brief tropical downpours swept over the slopes throughout the day. His route traversed one flank of the peak toward the high forests, and he often had to scramble over seams of broken volcanic rock that poked through the thin soil. The heavy foliage of the lower elevations was finally giving way to fewer trees and open, grassy areas, thank God.


Harm eased his pack a little on his shoulders and squinted against the bars of sunlight slanting through the trees, then set off toward an outcropping of rock about half a mile ahead. He'd make it by dark, and if he still hadn't found them, he could spend the night there. Hell, maybe they were off chasing monkeys or something.


As his boots resumed their mechanical stride, he let his mind roam free as it had all day. The only trouble was, it kept returning to Mac.


How many times, he mused. How many times has this woman given me an ultimatum and then immediately walked away? I swore this would be the last. When she said 'never,' I think it was the worst I've ever felt in my adult life. Worse than the ramp strike, worse than watching her get ready to marry that loser Brumby, worse than listening to the Admiral tell me the last dozen years of my life were meaningless. I don't have it in me to go through this again.


And then she looks up at me with those big eyes, and I know I'll never be over her. Missing her these past six months just made it hurt more. And she actually wondered why I didn't return her phone calls, for Chrissake.


I can't believe yesterday. That was a first. Mac, admitting she might have been wrong about something. Offering to listen. And I blew it.


"What the hell do you want?" He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, the loud voice made him jump as he whirled to face it.


A man stepped out from behind a stand of thin tree trunks about ten feet away and stood staring at him with hostility. The stranger was tall and very thin, dressed in shorts and a remarkably filthy t-shirt. His hair was tied back with a bandanna, and his long beard framed a beaky nose and two piercing eyes. The rank body odor wafting from him was stupefying.


"David Roberts," Harm said and stepped toward him, wishing he could hold his breath. "National Geographic sent me. Are you Dr. Marburg?"


"I am." Marburg ignored Harm's outstretched hand. "What the hell are you doing here?"


"Looking for you, of course." Harm dropped his hand and squinted at him.


"What's so sensitive they couldn't e-mail me?" the biologist demanded.


"You know, I've been hiking up this mountain all day, and I'm whipped. Do you have a camp or something around here? Some place where we can sit down, have a drink?"


"This isn't the Hilton," Marburg snapped. Abruptly he turned and disappeared back into the forest, and it took Harm a minute to realize he was supposed to follow. Living in the jungle doesn't seem to develop the social graces, he reflected with some amusement, and hurried to catch up.


Five minutes later they emerged at the base of the rock outcropping he had spotted from below. Two small nylon tents had been pitched in a small clearing where an Indonesian man squatted beside a wood fire. Another man, apparently European, was sorting plant cuttings on a makeshift table of saplings lashed between two trees. He looked up at their approach, and Marburg veered off toward the tents without a word.


"Hello," the man said in a pleasant Scottish accent, coming forward with his hand extended. "Are you lost or visiting? I'm Stuart McPhee." He had a neatly trimmed beard and a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks.


"David Roberts." Harm shook his hand. "National Geographic sent me."


McPhee cocked his head with curiosity, ready to ask a question, just as Marburg interrupted with a gallon plastic jug. "Here," he thrust it at Harm, who gulped gratefully. Although warm, the water tasted fresh. As soon as he lowered the bottle, Marburg demanded, "Okay. What are you doing here?"


"Nice to meet you, too," Harm said. "Do I get to meet the rest of the staff, or do you summon them by clapping your hands?"


"Don't mind Marburg, he doesn't get out much," McPhee grinned and gestured. "That's Kwan." The man by the fire looked up and nodded before going back to whatever he was cooking. "I'm the post doc, which means I'm the rest of the staff. Here, have a seat." He offered Harm a rickety folding chair and sat down on a tree stump nearby.


"Thanks." Harm eased into the chair, stretching out his legs gratefully, and watched Marburg squat on a log facing him.


"Well?" Marburg said impatiently. "Obviously this was too sensitive for email or SAT communications?"


"Yes, it is. I assume you're aware there was another terrorist bombing in Jakarta?"


"Of course. So what?"


"So I'm under orders to escort you and your party to the American embassy immediately. You're considered a kidnapping threat."


"Forget it." Marburg gestured with finality. "That's ridiculous. We haven't seen anyone in six weeks, and there are no settlements up this high. No one knows we're here."


"Excuse me, professor, but do you really think your daily satellite feed is watched only by the guys back at Harvard? Al Qaeda has laptops too, you know."


"So what? Why should they bother us? We're biologists, for God's sake."


"And every American in the island has a bullseye on his back. Whether you like it or not, you're internationally known, and that makes you a big target."


"Bullshit. I'll get in touch with people at NSF and the WWF, and they'll back me up. I spent three years lining up the funding and the permits for this trip, and I'm not throwing it away because somebody at a desk got a bug up his ass. The Lauraceae trees up here only bloom once every two years, and the bats we're studying are their only pollinators. No one has ever been able to study this before, don't you get it? You don't just walk away from a chance like this, I don't care who sent you. Who was it, anyway? State Department? CIA?"


You arrogant prick, Harm thought tiredly. The flush of anger he felt reminded him how tired he was, and he forced himself to keep his voice reasonable. "Okay, here's how it's going to be. No one in Washington is going to pull any strings for you, because if you get kidnapped or killed, it will be a gigantic diplomatic headache, and they already have all they can handle. So you're coming with me, and I don't give a rat's ass whether you like it or not."


"No." Marburg got angrily to his feet and started to turn away. "What do you propose to do, shoot me?"


An instant later, his chest exploded in blood.


* * *


Mac heard the crack of AK-47 fire above the roar of the helicopter's rotors and looked down as they skimmed the treetops. From her vantage point, the forest resembled an endless bowl of broccoli, and she scanned it anxiously. Oh God, don't let us be too late, she prayed.


"There!" She pointed, shouting into her headset over the din. Jake Bierman banked sharply around toward the flashes of light. "Take us around behind them!" she yelled, gesturing, and the green horizon tilted alarmingly as he swung his corporate jet copter above the trees.


Mac wasted no time admiring Bierman's expertise, which apparently had not diminished since he flew missions over the Ho Chi Minh Trail. She hooked onto the steel cable and adjusted her goggles before grabbing a grenade. "I have to take out as many as possible before I go down," she yelled, and Jake just nodded before leveling out thirty feet above the cluster of muzzle flashes, which showed up clearly in the fading daylight. Mac leaned out, pulled the pin, and counted to three before dropping the grenade, quickly following it with two more.


Bierman immediately wheeled away from the orange fireball that rose from the trees and buffeted them with its shock wave. "Yeah!" he shouted over her earphones. "Right down the pipe!"


Without asking, he banked sharply to circle back, this time heading directly for two lines of tracer fire now aimed wildly upward, trying to reach out for them in the growing dark. Mac sighted carefully and tossed two more grenades as they swept over the position.


"Okay, that's got 'em," she called. "Hold her steady over that grassy area." She shrugged into her pack and fastened her rifle across her chest before looking up to find Bierman grinning at her. It occurred to Mac that Jake was having the time of his life. She reached out a gloved hand and clasped his shoulder, then gave him the thumbs up.


"Good luck, honey!" he yelled. Mac tossed the coil of cable out the open door, took hold, and leaned back into the roaring wind. Then she was dropping fast toward the darkness below. A rush of humid air, followed by a heavy bump as she hit. She rolled quickly to her feet and waved at Bierman, catching a glimpse of his thumbs up before he headed away, moving fast, trailing the cable.


Mac quickly unslung her weapon and brought it to the ready before running hard for the trees. There had been six muzzle flashes, and she hoped she had hit five. They had been firing in a ragged line encircling a rock outcropping about a hundred yards ahead, and Mac was pretty sure she had seen the flash of a pistol firing back.


The only chance was to get away from the spot where they had seen her come down, and fast. Following the terrain, trying to move silently and quickly through the heavy vegetation, she prayed she wouldn't stumble upon any remaining bad guys until she had cover at her back.


* * *


Harm peered over the log, sweat stinging in his eyes. As a shield, the log was pretty much crap, but it was the only thing within diving distance when the shooting began. At least the darkness soon would make it possible to crawl to the rocks behind him and find a better spot. He inserted a fresh clip in his Glock and swallowed down the brassy taste of adrenaline in his throat, concentrating on slowing his breathing. Who the *hell* had been flying that chopper, he wondered furiously. It seemed bizarre, almost surreal. They'd certainly saved his ass.


McPhee hadn't been so lucky. Harm had tried to shove the guy over the log ahead of him, but McPhee had lunged toward Marburg in some misguided impulse to help and now lay dead beside him, staring up at the sky with sightless eyes. What a goddamn waste.


Harm blinked it away and focused on the trees ringing the little clearing. He'd better move soon, before any other unexpected visitors showed up. He stiffened abruptly, trying to differentiate shadows, not sure whether he had seen movement or not, when a sudden 'pop pop' and the flare of a handgun told him he was right. There was no whine or impact from a round anywhere near him. What was going on out there, were they shooting at each other?


And then, through the blue haze of smoke swirling across the grass, he saw a lone figure emerge from the trees, arms raised. One hand held a scrap of white. Very slowly, Harm rose to his knees, his automatic held straight out in both hands as he scanned rapidly for other movement, expecting a decoy. Whoever it was took a hesitant step or two toward him and paused.


"Mac?" he muttered in disbelief. She lowered her hands. "Harm?" she called quietly.


He scrambled to his feet, and suddenly she was there before him, engulfed in full camouflage battle gear. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly, demanding, "What the *hell* are you doing here?"


Her eyes were enormous, shadowed and staring from a small pale face smudged with smoke and dirt. Her slight frame was taut with tension. "Not now," she brushed him off. "Where's Marburg?"


"Dead. His assistant, too."


"Come on." She grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back toward the trees. Harm jerked his arm away and clamped down on the million questions sizzling in his brain as he bent low and ran after her. Once inside the concealing foliage, they threw themselves behind a huge buttressed tree and peered back out at the clearing, panting.


* * *


"I don't think anybody else is moving out there." She lifted her head from the night scope mounted on her rifle and lowered the weapon before sliding down to sit against the tree, rubbing her eyes. After a minute she shrugged out of her pack and pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair, and Harm took the canteen from her pack. He nudged her arm with it, and she drank gratefully.


"Okay," he said. "Start at the beginning."


Mac sighed, her eyes closed. "The military were behind the bombings. They set this up to make it look like Marburg was working for the CIA and got hit by a group of Al Qaeda hiding out up here. They're trying to oust the government by making it appear too weak to keep order."


"And you know this how?"


She kept her eyes closed for a moment before getting to her feet. Without a word, she pulled aside a thick clump of ferns to reveal a man in camouflage sprawled on the ground. Despite the dim light, Harm could see the uniform. Mac fumbled at the open neck of the man's shirt. With a quick jerk, she held up a silvery chain and identification tag. "They didn't even bother to pretend to be terrorists," she said disgustedly. "The women led us to the guys who hired them, and they implicated a faction within the military."


Harm blew a breath out in a low whistle. "It figures. And I led them right here. Christ, what a mess." His voice was bitter with self-condemnation. Finally he looked up. "The only thing they didn't count on was you. So *now* are you going to tell me how you got here?"


"Jake Bierman."


"John Wayne?"


"Yep. He gave me his card last night, so I called him. He flew choppers in Viet Nam, and he still flies his own jet copter. He always lands on the lawn behind the embassy when he comes to Jakarta, and he said nobody would think twice if he took a little swing inland before heading back out to his oil rig."


"And he agreed to drop you into a live fire zone by yourself, just like that?"


"Well, we didn't know they'd be shooting at you by the time we got here."


"Your Marine buddies loan you the equipment?"


"I called in a couple of favors."


"For God's sake, Mac." She had never heard him so furious, at least not when it was directed at her. He got to his feet and stood with his back to her, silhouetted against the clearing. He remained silent for a long time, and she simply waited, feeling wrung out.


His voice, when it came, was low and rough. "You threw away your career. You realize that, at least? What in God's name were you thinking?"


"We don't leave people behind."


"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not in the Navy anymore. You can be charged for this!"


"Well, I know a good civilian lawyer." She gave him a faint smile.


"Jesus, Mac, you could have been killed! How was I supposed to live with that?"


"Stop shouting at me!" Mac snapped at his tall shadow, black against the starlight. Finally she said, "Let me ask you this, Harm. Did you think I would do any less?"


There was an odd little silence while they glared at each other, the tension thrumming the air between them. "No," Harm said at last. "No, I never thought that."


"I just killed six men," Mac said fiercely, trying to control the tremble in her voice. "I shot this guy point blank. Two Americans are lying dead over there. And all I know is, I'd do it again."


Neither would drop their angry gaze. Finally Harm threw up a hand in a gesture of futility. "Well, the question is, now what." He glanced at her. "What were you planning to do?"


"Jake was going to pick us up at first light."


He snorted in disgust. "Oh he was, was he? Well, no chance of that now, is there? The one thing we can count on is that somebody is waiting for these guys to call in. When they don't, you can bet they'll have a chopper standing by with night scopes."


"We'd better move out of the area. If we get far enough away, I can call Jake on his cell phone and we can arrange another rendezvous."


"Not if he wants to stay out of jail. They'll be monitoring any transmissions from this part of the island." He scrubbed a hand over his face and started back toward the scientists' camp, and Mac climbed wearily to her feet to follow. "Let's get Marburg’s identification and laptops," Harm gestured, pointing at the tent. "Dogtags from the soldiers, too. I want to be able to prove our story when we get out of here."


Mac swallowed and reluctantly started toward the column of black smoke that still smoldered, dreading what she would see. Angrily she swallowed down the absurd ache in her throat, willing herself not to cry. After only a few steps, she felt Harm's hand on her arm and halted, looking back.


"Why don't you gather up some supplies, Mac. Whatever you think we can carry without slowing us down. I'll do this." He jerked his head toward the blast site.


"I can do it, Harm," she bristled.


"I know. But let me." He was asking, not ordering, and the simple compassion in his voice suddenly snapped the fierce tension within her. It was all she could do to keep her voice steady.


"Thanks." She watched him move off and turned in relief to the camp.


When Harm came back ten minutes later, he found her sitting in the dark near the bodies of the two scientists, holding an entrenching tool. The moon had risen, and its faint light was enough to reveal her silhouette. He could see the droop of her shoulders as he sat down beside her with a sigh.


"Mac." He put his hand over hers, stilling their aimless turning and twisting on the handle of the shovel. "We could dig all night and not get deep enough to bury them."


She nodded in agreement, but her voice sounded thick. "I tried to find some rocks to pile over them, but there aren't enough small ones. I just" -- he waited -- "it just doesn't seem right to leave them."


"I know," he said softly. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sharing the water bottle back and forth. Finally Harm stood up and held out his hand to pull her up. "We'd better get out of here, Mac."


"Okay." They hoisted packs to their shoulders, and without discussion she followed him around the southern shoulder of the rocks, heading west. The darkness of the forest enfolded them.


* * *


Two hours later they halted at a small stream, hearing more than seeing it where the water gurgled over rocks. Slivers of moonlight penetrated the dense overhanging foliage and twinkled on the little cascade. Mac dropped her pack and threw herself flat, plunging her face into the blessed coolness and drinking deeply. Harm knelt beside her and did the same.


"Ah, God," he groaned, rolling onto his back on the mossy bank. "I'm never moving again."


"That makes two of us," Mac agreed, sitting back on her heels.


"You didn't spend all day hiking up this goddamn mountain."


"You weren't up all night interrogating the hookers from hell."


In spite of himself, Harm started to chuckle, and Mac finally joined in, feeling some of the unbearable tension begin to drain away.


"Do you think we can sleep here until it gets light?" she asked hopefully. "There's no way they could follow us."


"Yeah. Hell, *I* don't know exactly where we are, and I have the GPS."


With a sigh, Mac dug around in her pack until she found a small folded package that held her waterproof tarp. She spread it over the dense carpet of ferns near the stream and sat, then uncapped a plastic bottle of insect repellent and began smoothing it over her arms and face.


"What is that smell?" Harm grumbled, rustling around with his own pack.


"Here. It's Deet or citronella or something. I brought some stuff too, but I found this in their tent. The mosquitoes are using me for a hot lunch."


"Speaking of lunch, I have a couple MREs. Want to share?"


"Thanks, I brought some of my own. I'm too tired to eat, though." She flopped back and stared up into the inky, rustling darkness overhead. There was no breath of breeze to stir the oppressive humidity. She lay quietly, feeling every muscle in her body ache as she listened to Harm crackling the wrapper of his meal pack. "I can't believe we're spending another night out in the middle of nowhere," she said.


"We do seem to keep ending up this way. At least it isn't freezing," he replied. She wondered if he was relieved about that. He lay down a foot away and thumped around, trying to get comfortable. After awhile, his voice spoke from the darkness. "Mac. About tonight. Thank you."


A wave of hot shame rolled over her. Furiously she brushed at her cheeks, willing herself not to start snuffling, and finally she managed to whisper, "You're welcome." She swallowed. "I never thanked *you.* I'm sorry, Harm."


"I didn't come to Paraguay so you'd be grateful, Mac."


"I know."


He hesitated. "None of it was your fault."


"I'm not so sure about that."


After a minute she heard him roll toward her, and when he spoke, his voice was very quiet. "Mac. When you showed up tonight, all I could see was that you'd nearly gotten yourself killed and probably ruined your career, all on my account. I wasn't grateful, I was pissed."


She remained silent, glad to know he understood.


He sighed. "I should have seen it coming. I should have paid attention to you about the political situation."


She looked over, but his profile was turned away. They lay quietly beneath the looming darkness, side by side. After a long time, she said, "You know what's funny?"


"What?" He sounded wary.


"For the first time since I joined the Marines, I'm not following a course someone else laid out."


"How does it feel?" Now she could hear a smile in his voice.


"You ought to know, you wrote the book. I guess it feels -- scary, but exhilarating. Like working without a net." A memory of her last tour in Indonesia glimmered at the back of her mind. Had love finally made her crazy? If so, it felt right.


"Does it feel right?" Harm echoed, and she turned her head sharply toward him. Had she spoken aloud?


"Yes," she whispered.


"Then trust yourself, Mac. You've never let anyone down yet."


She stared up at the shifting leaves high overhead, swallowing the lump in her throat, feeling strangely comforted. After awhile she closed her eyes. "G'night, Harm."


" 'Night, Mac. Sleep well."


End Part Four



Shadowland -- Part Five


The next morning, 0530 PST

Somewhere in the mountains of Central Java


In the silence before dawn, the air felt almost cool.


The morning hush was broken only by a distant bird call. Bars of golden sunlight slanted down through the leaves, dramatic as a cathedral.


Mac blinked sleepily and turned her head. All she could see was Harm's broad back, his t-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders as he lay curled against her side. His chest rose and fell with his slow, steady breathing.


She sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking down at him. With faint surprise, she realized she could count the times she had ever seen him unshaven. Slowly she let her eyes move over his face, his body, noticing more tiny changes wrought by the past six months. He appeared younger in sleep, relaxed, but there was a faint brushing of blue shadow beneath his eyes, and even sleeping he carried an air of indefinable sadness -- or perhaps it was loneliness. She reached out and gently brushed a blade of grass from his hair.


Carefully, so as not to wake him, she eased herself to her feet and tiptoed away until she found a tree large enough to shield her. Thinking of bugs, she finished as quickly as she could and went to rinse her hands and face in the stream. On an impulse, she pulled off her brown Marine t-shirt and splashed the water over her arms and neck, reveling in the coolness before pulling the shirt back on with a shiver of distaste.


When she stepped softly back to her bed, Harm rolled onto his back and grinned up at her. "Hi, Sleeping Beauty." His voice was low and gravely with sleep.


"Hi," she smiled, and sat cross legged beside him.


"What time is it?"


"0545. Local."


Harm rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Been up long?"


"No. Just now. In fact, I can't remember the last time I slept so well," she admitted.


"Coffee ready?"


"I wish."


"Well, at least it isn't raining. This is monsoon season, when it rains all the time. We'll get a dozen downpours a day."


"Ah, good travel tip. Thanks."


Harm got to his feet, groaning, and she kidded him, "Not used to sleeping on the cold, hard ground, pappy?"


"I joined the Navy so I'd always have a nice, warm bed at night," he retorted, and stumbled away into the underbrush. When he returned, looking marginally more alert, she had two MREs unwrapped and ready. Harm sat and picked one up. "Ham, yum. My favorite."


"It was either that or lamb stew."


He sighed and chewed. "Guess it could be worse. We could be digging up roots and berries, hoping they aren't poisonous."


"It may come to that. Do you have any ideas for getting out of here?"


He considered. "The road's out, they'll be watching it."


"You're right. How come you walked in, anyway? Wouldn't it have been easier to get Marburg out by helo?"


"When we asked, the military gave us some bullshit. I guess they figured it would look more believable if they "discovered" the massacre later. I could have saved myself the trouble -- Marburg refused flat out to leave. I was going to have to drag him out at gunpoint."


"Well, if we can't call Jake and we can't make for the road, what else is there? We could go north, over the mountains. It's only about 20 miles to the coast road, and we could hitch a ride to Jakarta."


"They'll be watching for that."


"I could risk a call to the embassy."


"Same problem, the government troops will pick it up and intercept us." He frowned. "Our only ace is that we have proof that their military is involved, right? That's why they'll try to stop us. Otherwise, they could spread their story that Marburg was CIA and got killed by an Al Qaeda cell, and it would work."


"Okay, keep going."


"So our only option is to get to the embassy without being picked up. The only way to do that is to get to Jakarta without being intercepted. Anywhere we go, we're going to stand out like a sore thumb, except--" His head came up.


"Except what?"


"There are still a lot of European and Australian tourists coming to the island, right?"


"Yes, but--"


"And a lot of them visit the resort at Maribaya, don't they? To see the temple ruins and the hot springs? It's only about 50 miles west from here, and tourist buses go there all the time."


She sat up straighter. "We can make 50 miles."


"Damn right we can. We blend in with the tourists, get on a bus, and it'll take us right into the center of Jakarta."


Mac was nodding before he finished. "I like it. That can work."


"We should be able to make 15 miles a day, given the terrain."


"So that's three days plus, give or take. Water's no problem, but we only have five MREs left between us."


Harm waved his hand, dismissing it. "We'll find some roots and berries. Better for you anyway," he grinned.


"Okay. In that case, you can forage off the land and I'll eat the lamb stew." Her smile lit up her face, and he felt glad warmth spread through him.


"Let's go."


* * *


Later that morning


This wasn't rain, Mac decided. This was a solid wall of water, an endless warm shower falling straight out of the sky as if dumped from a celestial bucket. There was no point in wearing a poncho; there was simply nowhere that wasn't wet, and it brought no relief from the heat. She walked with her head down to let the water sluice off her nose and chin and kept her eyes on Harm's boots just ahead.


They were working their way westward across a wide swath of grassland that flowed down one shoulder of the mountain. It was a gentle slope, angling downhill, and Mac welcomed the sunlight on her face when they first emerged from the trees. The air quickly turned steamy as humidity rose from the damp ground, and swarms of insects buzzed around their heads. As the morning wore on, the brilliant sun was gradually obscured by low grey clouds until the rain began abruptly, bringing relief from the bugs but instantly soaking them to the skin. The tall grass stems brushed as high as their shoulders, clinging and scratching as they pushed their way through. The pounding of the water on the leaves was so heavy it made conversation impossible, and she suspected she would drown if she tried.


Then suddenly the trees closed in around them again, and they were struggling through dense tropical undergrowth. The rain continued to pour down, only slightly diminished by the canopy of foliage high overhead, and the ground became steeper and slick with mud. She was so intent on her footing that she literally bumped into Harm when he stopped, and she had to grab his waist to keep from stumbling.


"Whoa -- easy," he said, gripping her shoulders to steady her. The warmth of his hands on her wet skin arced through her, and she didn't resist when he pulled her into the shelter of an enormous palm frond sagging over their path. "You okay?"


"Yeah, but I didn't know I'd be swimming home." She risked a glance from beneath her lashes and pushed her dripping hair back. "Now I know why they call it a rain forest. Where are we?"


"Here," Harm held out the GPS and pointed to the tiny map readout. "We're following the central mountain range. It runs northwest toward Jakarta. We're almost to the bottom of the pass between these two peaks, see? There's probably a river or stream up ahead. Once we find a way across, we'll have to climb up and over the shoulder of that volcano. Maribaya is on the far side."


"Volcano?"


"Yeah, there's lots of them around here. Mostly inactive, though."


"How the heck do you know all this, anyway?"


He looked smug. "Crash course on the Internet when I got the mission profile."


"Anything about snakes or tigers or tarantulas to worry about?"


"Why, have you seen any?"


"Cute. Well, lead on, Dr. Livingstone."


"That was Africa, Mac."


"Whatever."


Harm grinned at her, and something spilled warm inside her. It was with a lighter step that she followed him as they wound their way among huge tree trunks festooned with lianas and thick with bromeliads clinging to their branches.


As suddenly as it began, the rain stopped. In the silence, Mac heard the dripping from a million leaves and a faint chattering of birds or monkeys high in the canopy. Not far ahead, a roaring sound became louder with every step. Without warning, Harm's arm shot out and blocked her from moving forward, and when she peered around him, she saw why.

The earth fell away at their feet into a thundering void. A waterfall roared down into the heart of a rocky gorge in a slender plume of white sixty feet high. Black volcanic rocks wet with mist lined both sides of the cataract and shook with the force of the falling water. To their right and above, cliffs rose sheer to the spine of the mountains.


"What do you think?" Harm shouted in her ear to be heard.


"Can we go downstream, find an easier way to cross?"


He peered over the edge, and she closed her eyes. "It could be miles before we find anything better, Mac. Look, you can see stones going across at the bottom. Once we get down there, it'll be easy."


She swallowed the butterflies in her stomach and nodded. "Okay. You don't have any rope, do you?"


"Sorry. But it's not sheer, Mac, look. It's like big steps, see?" He looked down at her, and his arm slipped around her shoulders with a reassuring squeeze. "I'll go first. Will you be okay?"


"Sure thing." She set her jaw and nodded. "Lead on."


Harm looked at her, frowning, then resettled his pack before kneeling and dropping over the edge of the ravine. His wet hands were white where they clamped against the rock, and he lowered himself until the top of his sleek head disappeared. She knelt to peer over and watched as he worked his way about ten feet down, moving easily. He was right. It wasn't straight down, it was more like a series of ledges where the boulders were piled one against the other like blocks, and none of the drop offs appeared to be more than six or seven feet. Mac took a deep breath and lowered herself over the side.


By keeping her eyes firmly on the rock and refusing to look down, she found it wasn't too bad. She kept moving slowly and steadily, feeling carefully for each new hand and foot hold before transferring her weight, ignoring the yawning space at her back. Then she felt Harm's hands on her waist, guiding her down until her boots touched the broad, flat ledge at the edge of the stream.


"You made it, Marine!" Harm bellowed in her ear to be heard above the thundering water. She let out the breath she had been holding and returned his broad grin. The ledge was scarcely large enough for both of them with their packs, and she could feel the warmth of his body through their clothing. Then she turned and looked.


Harm saw the blood leave her face, and quickly put his hands on her shoulders. "It's okay, Mac. It really isn't bad," he reassured her. "Mac, you dropped thirty feet from that helicopter yesterday, into a fire fight! This is nothing!"


"They train us to do that!" she yelled back. "It's okay, Harm. I can do it." She swallowed, and he tried to remember if he had ever seen her this scared.


"Take off your pack," he ordered, and wordlessly she complied. He shrugged his off too, holding it by the strap, and grabbed hers in his other hand.


"Harm, you can't carry both of them!" she cried.


"Sure I can, that's the benefit of traveling light," he kidded her. "Seriously, they'll balance me, and it'll be better for both of us to have a lower center of gravity. I'll take them across and come back for you."


She looked at him and nodded once. He saw her bite her lip, and impulsively he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "It'll be fine, Mac, you'll see."


"Good luck," she said, and he turned and stepped out onto the first boulder in the racing stream. Tensely Mac watched as he walked confidently from one rock to the next, moving with the easy grace of a sailor negotiating a deck in heavy seas. Dozens of rocks tumbled across the watercourse where the waterfall roared into the gorge. What had appeared from above to be an easy string of stepping stones turned out upon closer inspection to be a series of huge boulders, big as Volkswagons, surrounded by torrents of deep water and exploding spray. It was obvious that a fall into that maelstrom would mean certain drowning as your body tumbled down the rapids for miles.


But Harm appeared unconcerned. He reached the far side with no obvious difficulty, secured their packs in a cleft of rock, and started back. Mac watched closely, noticing that his boots slipped a bit on the slick stones, and at one point he made a short jump. Great. How the hell do I get myself into these things, she wondered.


Then he was there in front of her, balancing easily on the flat top of the first boulder and holding out his hand to her. "Come on, Marine!" he shouted. "It's okay, I promise!"


She gathered herself and stepped. Harm caught her hand and steadied her beside him before turning to point out the way. "I'll go first, and you step where I step," he shouted in her ear. "I'll be right there, Mac, I won't leave you." She nodded.


Now she had to look down, and the rushing water did nothing to offset her vertigo. The first few rocks were almost level, but the next had a slanted surface. She watched as Harm stepped onto it, and she took a breath and followed, trying to stand upright as he did. Her boots slipped a little, and her body went rigid as she teetered on the edge of balance.


His big warm hand closed around her wrist, and instantly she found her equilibrium. He flashed a warm smile, water dripping from his face, and she managed a weak one in return as they stood, drenched with spray, the torrent thundering around them. "Okay?" Harm shouted, and she nodded. They negotiated the next few steps without trouble, and then she saw the gap -- three feet of space between one boulder and the next, with a glossy, ominous wave surging dark between. Harm jumped lightly across, his long legs making it look easy. It was easy. It was only three damn feet. Come on, Mac.


It was no use -- she froze, staring at the gap like a bird transfixed by a snake.


"Mac! Mac, look at me," Harm was calling to her, and finally she lifted terrified eyes to find his warm gaze holding her. "Just hop over, Mac. It's flat over here, there's plenty of room to land. You'll be fine."


Helplessly she stared back at him, panic rising in her throat.


"It's okay, honey. I'll catch you." Over the roar of water she could hear his voice, calm and steady. She concentrated on him, only on him, and felt some sort of control returning. His gaze never wavered as he held out his hand. "Come on, Sarah. I promise you'll be all right. I won't let go."


She leaped, and was caught and held in an iron grip. It was ridiculous that she had forgotten how strong he was. Harm pulled her tight against him and she hugged him back fiercely, pressing her face into the hard muscles of his chest. Neither of them moved for a long time.


Finally she leaned back, gripping his arms. Her shaky little laugh died on her lips as he slowly wiped the moisture from her face with the palm of his hand.


At the heat in his gaze, an answering spark flashed through her body. His clear green eyes darkened in response, and his hands tightened on her waist. Their clothing was soaked, plastered to their skin. They might as well have been naked.


For an endless moment they stood together, balanced above the torrent, motionless, scarcely breathing. At last Harm broke his stare and stepped back. He took her hand and did not let go as they negotiated the rest of the distance to the bank, where he lifted her pack onto her shoulders, and silently they adjusted their gear. Without a word, he led the way as they scrambled up the steep slope. At the top, he extended a hand to pull her up the last few feet. "Thanks," she panted.


"You're welcome," he said. "Ready?"


She nodded. He began to break a trail through the undergrowth, moving upward toward the ridge far above.


End Part Five



Shadowland -- Part Six


1700 Hours

Somewhere in the mountains of central Java


Harm lifted his arm and swabbed sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his t-shirt. They had been climbing steadily all afternoon, working their way up a precipitous rib of the mountain range, and the intermittent sunlight had transformed the jungle into a steam bath. From time to time, cool grey clouds closed in like fog and rain, obscuring everything but the next few yards, only to disappear just as suddenly. They slogged upward, swapping the lead back and forth without talking much.


That suited him just fine. His thoughts kept whirling around like dry leaves, refusing to settle. That look -- that instant when her eyes had widened with trust, and she leaped -- it felt like being struck by lightning.


He had been within an inch of kissing the hell out of her. Like that would have solved anything. Desire had always been there between them, a banked ember ready to catch fire between one breath and the next. They both had known that for years. Giving in would only make it worse when it was over.


He watched her as intently as he could without being obvious. Since yesterday, he had sensed some sort of change in Mac, as if some of her fiercely held defenses had been abandoned. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and it was driving him crazy. When she reached to pull down the wide leaf of a banana palm and let the clear rain water run off into her open mouth, he nearly groaned. Her sodden t-shirt poured over her like paint.


"Clay isn't going to like it, finding you in the middle of a CIA operation," he needled her, just to break the silence and his hot, coiled thoughts.


"Is *that* what's been bothering you all day?" she asked, watching him as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.


"Nothing's bothering me." The arc of Mac's eyebrow annoyed him intensely.


"Oh, so that's why you haven't said two words to me since this morning."


"It's a steep hill, Mac. I didn't notice you having a lot of extra breath for conversation."


"Does *everything* have to be a competition between us?"


"We're lawyers. It's our job."


"And working together forces us to be adversarial, is that it?"


"We don't work together anymore," he snapped, and was startled to discover that the emptiness could still threaten to swamp him. He expected her to come back with a zinger, but she was silent for so long he looked up. She was watching him with that same wistful sadness that had surprised him before.


"We're working together now," she said softly.


"And Clay won't like it."


That pissed her off, he saw with satisfaction. "For your information, I am not dating Clayton Webb."


He glared. "So all that billing and cooing was just for my benefit, is that it?"


"He wanted more, and I said no!"


"Well, that's a first."


"First what?"


"First time you ever walked away from a man who offered you a safe bet."


For a second he was sure Mac would slap him, but she didn't. She went very still. "Stop it."


"Stop what?"


"Stop trying to stiff arm me. You do it every time someone gets too close." Her eyes narrowed. "You're scared."


"Maybe I am." His mouth was a grim line. "But you're just as scared as I am."


* * *


The unmitigated bastard! I'm going to kill him, Mac fumed. There's nobody around, I could get away with it.


She was hiking at a furious pace, panting harshly and refusing to look back to see if Harm was in sight. Palm fronds and branches slapped at her and clumps of grass scratched at her legs. Rocks and pebbles skittered away beneath the soles of her boots as she struggled upward.


How dare you, you lousy son of a bitch. You've always been jealous of every man who ever looked at me. Scared! You don't even have the guts to admit what you want.


I have nothing to be ashamed of, dammit. I didn't use anyone. I cared for every single man I have ever been with. I made mistakes, sure, but I learned from them and put them behind me.


She stomped onward, fuming, filled with a pleasurable sense of righteous outrage. All the reasons why he was dead wrong tumbled over one another, eagerly shoring up the walls of her anger.


Chris doesn't count, I was a kid and a drunk. He was sexy as hell and he was the first person who ever really wanted me, and he got me out of my dad's house . . . . You'd better not bring up John Farrell again, either. He was kind and decent, and his approval felt so great, like the father I never had . . . . I was still a kid then, too. And he'd have given me the law school recommendation anyway, you know he would.


Somehow she was still uncomfortable. Well okay, there was Dalton, of course. He dazzled me, opening the door to a world of wealth and sophistication I had always dreamed of. How could I have known he only wanted a female figurehead for his firm, not a real partner?


And what about Mic? You can't say I used him. He walked out on *me,* remember? Besides, I didn't agree to marry him until *after* he lost his job. Maybe he wasn't the world's greatest lawyer and we weren't really right for each other, but he was decent and we would have had kids, a family, a real life. It felt so good to have someone *want* me that much . . .


And Clay? He would ask me to marry him, with the right encouragement. He's acerbic and irascible, but he's brilliant and I'm sure he'll be head of the CIA someday. He could give me money, security, an exciting life -- but I said no, didn't I?


Mac was an old hand at self-justification, it was the enemy of every alcoholic. This felt way too much like that, and it made her a little sick.


My God. Did I ever actually *love* any of them? Love, where it didn't matter who they were or what they were offering? Did any of them make my heart fly?


Her steps slowed, and she scarcely noticed. I have always earned my own way, dammit. Sobriety, the Marine Corps, law school, JAG. But come on, Mac -- can you honestly say you would have gotten seriously involved with any of those men, if they hadn't offered security? Isn't that why you were always trying to talk yourself into feeling more than you did?


The truth itched and stung like a leech. God damn you, Harm. Why do you have to know me better than I know myself?


Stiff, angry tears clung to her lashes. I never had to talk myself into being in love with you. I use all my energy trying to talk myself out of it, for crying out loud! I swore I wouldn't spend the rest of my life pining away for a man who refuses to need anyone. And every time I tell myself I've closed that door, once and for all, it opens again at the touch of your fingertip.


Harm's hand clamped around her wrist, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. He yanked her roughly back into the trees and raised a finger to his lips, scanning the mountains behind them. Her scathing retort died as she heard the *whump whump* of helicopter rotors.


A Huey was flying low over the trees, heading straight for them.


She could feel her pulse hammering beneath his grip. They crouched, motionless, and watched the big helo flatten the grass as it approached. Together they threw themselves to the ground beneath a clump of banana palms and hunkered down as it roared directly overhead. Mac found herself praying the leaves were thick enough to conceal them. It seemed like forever until it drew away.


She lifted her face from the dirt and peered at Harm. He was still listening, and his hand tightened painfully on her wrist. "What" -- she began.


"Shhh!" he hissed.


The helicopter was swinging around and coming back. It passed just north of their position before looping back toward the northwest. Neither of them moved until the echo of its rotors died away on the hillside. Mac got to her knees and brushed herself off. "Well, that settles it. They're looking for us," she said.


"Looking for us, hell. They came straight for us." He grabbed his pack and began pulling things out, flinging them aside and digging into every pocket until he held up a tiny gadget that resembled a cell phone. "Son of a bitch!" Harm began to curse under his breath like the sailor he was.


Mac sat back on her heels and waited until he wound down. "They must have slipped it in there on the drive," he said in disgust. "I never even stopped to wonder how they followed me to Marburg's camp."


"Look, maybe we can use it to our advantage."


"How? The last time something like this happened, we were in Belfast, remember? I fastened it to the collar of a stray dog. Have you seen any of those around here? Even if we disable it, they'll know which way we're headed. Why haven't they intercepted us?"


She frowned, considering. "Terrain's too rough to set down. They drop some guys in here, we could give them the slip. We're just lucky they were dumb enough to tip their hand early."


"So we destroy the transmitter and go on. They can't be sure where we'll come out of the jungle."


"Or we seal it in one of our little Ziplock bags and toss it in the next stream. With luck, they'll think we decided to head for the coast. They'll figure it out, but it'll buy us some time."


He started to argue, and stopped, looking thoughtful. "You know, that could work."


"Jungle warfare is what Marines do, Harm."


"And you stopped me from wasting time kicking myself. Thanks, Mac." He missed her look of surprise as he rummaged around in his pack, pulled out a small plastic pouch, dropped in the transmitter, and ran his fingers across to seal it watertight. They both stood and shrugged into their packs.


"Thank *you,*" she said as they started off.


"For what?"


"For being the kind of friend who tells the truth, even when it isn't what I want to hear."


He turned to stare at her. She glanced away and said, "It's going to get dark pretty soon. Do you want to keep going?"


"Uh," he stammered, "um, it's pretty steep around here to try to hike at night. Let's get over the ridge. There should be a stream on that side."


Mac nodded and set off. He followed without knowing where he put his feet. In his mind, he was back on a street in Belfast, crouching behind a burning van and preparing to sprint toward the IRA car. Seeing Mac step out to cover him, armed only with a fake pistol she made with her hands. Risking her life to back him up without a second's hesitation.


Once again, he was awed by her courage. And overwhelmed with shame, as if he had used a hammer to crush a butterfly.


His throat thickened at the unconscious gallantry in the set of her slim shoulders. Damn. Sarah Mackenzie could still surprise the hell out of him.


* * *


Rain swept in, but it stopped before they reached the crest of the ridge. There they halted, feeling their hearts lift at the vista before them. The entire southern side of the island fell away at their feet, flowing down the steep flanks of the mountains in undulating waves of green and plumes of cloud. Jagged peaks marched away to the northwest, and to the south the coastal plains were a misty cloak of paler green. Thunderheads rimmed with a nimbus of gold soared into the sky, vast pillars towering above the land that was disappearing into the endless shimmer of the sunset.

Far out on the horizon, the sea sparkled in a veil of stars. It flashed in their eyes, so dazzling Mac had to shade her eyes. Then Harm moved between her and the sun, a dark figure whose outline wavered against the brightness. Suddenly goose bumps ran up her arms.


"Mac?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. He was looming over her, a featureless shadow, and his tone was sharp with concern.


She had to clear her throat to answer, and her voice sounded tiny and distant in her ears as she said, "It feels like we're lost on the far side of the moon."


"At least it's beautiful," he agreed quietly. She nodded. Wordlessly they turned to the northwest and began moving across the flank of the mountain.


It was getting dark by the time they found a stream. It trickled down from above and flowed away through a rocky ravine, but at the base of a cliff the water widened to form a small pool. Rocks surrounded the natural hollow and screened it on three sides.


Harm dumped his pack and stretched. "We're not going to find a better campsite," he said. He knew she would march all night if he didn't call a halt. Mac simply nodded and dropped her pack beside his. He glanced at her with concern. She was clearly exhausted, and she was being awfully quiet. He hesitated, started to speak, and instead headed off into the trees.


"Where are you going?"


"Gotta see a man about a dog."


The moon was rising when he returned, and it bathed the little clearing in faint silvery light. Mac was sitting on a tarp with her arms wrapped around her knees and her head resting on them, but she looked up at his step. He held out two round objects with a flourish. "Breadfruit," he announced.


"How did you find it?"


"They teach aviators a few things in survival school," he said, and dropped down beside her. He began peeling one with his knife.


She held up an MRE. "If we split one of these twice a day, we'll have enough to see us through," she said.


He nodded. "You take the stew and the applesauce, Mac. I'll take the veggies and rice."


"You need to eat more than that, Harm, you outweigh me by eighty pounds!"


"Okay, we'll split the applesauce. And here, try this." He handed her a slice of spongy white breadfruit.


Mac took a cautious bite. "It's kind of like a potato," she decided.


"It's better when it's cooked." He was pleased to see her take another slice. "You know, breadfruit has a long and disreputable history in the Navy," he said. "It caused a mutiny."


"You're kidding."


"Remember Captain Bligh? Mutiny on the Bounty? They were heading back from Tahiti with a load of breadfruit plants. They were going to raise it in Jamaica to feed slaves. The crew decided they preferred Tahiti."


"Now that I've tasted this stuff, I can't say I blame them," she said. The tension eased a fraction at the tiny joke.


He squeezed the last of the peas-and-carrots mush into his mouth and wadded up the foil packets. "Time to launch our stowaway," he said, and held up the transmitter in its bag. He walked over to the stream, where he squatted down and blew into the bag to inflate it. Mac stood back as he sealed it tight and tossed it into the water, and together they watched it bob away on the slow current. "Vaya con Dios," he said, and pulled something from his pocket. "Toothbrush?"


"You brought one!" she exclaimed. "I was just wishing I had."


"Hey, always prepared, right? Here." He held out a tiny travel size tube of toothpaste.


"Thanks." She looked away, remembering the time she had called him a Boy Scout. Now the jibe seemed hateful.


While she brushed, Harm quickly buried their trash and busied himself rigging a length of clothesline between two saplings. He flung his tarp over it and began tying down the corners. Mac helped him spread her ground cloth beneath the little canopy. "There," he said, dusting his hands. "That'll keep most of the rain off, at least."


She handed him the toothbrush. "Here. Thanks."


He knelt on one knee beside the stream to brush his teeth, and she sat on a boulder and began pulling off her boots. Silently she dipped her feet into the water.


Harm rinsed and spat, then gestured. "Blisters?"


"No. Just sore. Borrowed boots." She stood up and unzipped her pants.


"Uh, Mac? What are you doing?"


"I'm going swimming. I've never been so hot and sweaty in my life." Without another word, she stepped out of her BDU trousers and tossed them over a bush, followed by her t-shirt. In the dark, her underwear was only a blur, some sort of athletic bra and briefs, he noted distractedly. She stepped gingerly into the pool and halted. "Do you think there could be snakes or leeches or anything like that?"


"Nah, the water's moving too fast and the bottom's rock, not mud."


Normally she would have kidded him about sounding like Jack Hanna, but she simply lowered herself into the water. "Oh, this is great," she sighed.


Harm stood up and pulled off his t-shirt with a jerk. A man could stand only so much. Quickly he yanked off his boots and socks and tossed his jeans over a log before wading into the pool in his shorts. He submerged completely, reveling in the coolness.


He surfaced with a snort and shook himself like a dog. "You're right," he grinned at her, and was rewarded with a faint smile. He took a breath. "Mac. About before. I'm sorry."


"Why? You were right."


"So were you. I was just hitting back."


"I know." The moonlight etched her profile in silver. He gritted his teeth, knowing she was beating herself up, knowing it was his fault. Even worse was the resignation in her voice, as if she wasn't surprised. He wished he could drown himself.


They floated in silence, their heads bobbing on the water. The moon rose higher, turning the pool into a disk of silver.


"What do you think will happen, when we get back?" Mac's voice sounded small and uncertain.


He sighed. "I'll probably get canned for getting Marburg killed. You could get off with a slap on the wrist, if the Admiral can finesse the fact that an active duty officer was participating in a covert mission in a friendly country. Of course, it won't help that I was involved."


"He doesn't hate you, Harm."


"He sure doesn't love me. Hell, I can't blame him anymore. Given the situation, no CO in the military would have sanctioned my trip to Paraguay, but he might have granted emergency leave if I hadn't pushed the limit so many times."


Mac concealed her surprise. Was Harmon Rabb admitting he might have been wrong about something? Treading carefully, she said, "What do you mean?"


"Resigning to search for Sergei. A galactically stupid decision. Disobeying a direct order to stay with Bud. Almost tanking a defense because I thought the guy was guilty, then investigating *after* I was off the case. Trying to protect my brother from NCIS. Running that private investigation of Singer." He shot her a look. "That ticked you off, too. And you were right."


She stared at him in disbelief.


He went on, "The Admiral was right, I *was* letting my emotions make my decisions. I guess I started thinking I was above the rules. Inexcusable. Hell, I had duty drummed into me from my first day at the Academy."


She said fiercely, "You risked your life for an entire battle group. You saved my life in Paraguay."


"And I'd do it again." His eyes were somber. "But if I hadn't tested his authority so many times, Chegwidden might have given me a little leeway." There was a silence, and then Harm blurted, "He was wrong to question my sense of responsibility, though."


"I think he was hurt," she said slowly. "Did you ever think he rode you so hard because he expected so much of you? You're the most talented officer I've ever known, Harm. He wanted to see you go all the way."


He frowned. "Maybe," he said thoughtfully, and sighed. "Don't have to worry about that anymore. Guess I'll be finding out how I do in private practice."


"Maybe we both will." She gave him a rueful little smile, and he felt something relax inside. It always comes back to this, he thought wistfully. When it comes to me, Mac gets it, and I get her. Guess that's why we push each other's buttons so well. We're wired the same way.


The dome of the sky was spangled with brilliant stars, and they floated in silence. After awhile Mac spoke, cautious as a sonar operator probing the depths. "Has it been lonely out there?"


He started to make a smart remark, and stopped. "The Navy meant more to me than I ever understood until it was gone, Mac." He flipped a hand, dismissing it, but his voice sounded hollow. "Everything disappears sooner or later, right?"


"Your love for your father never did," she reminded him gently.


"I still miss him." She didn't expect him to say any more, but after a long moment Harm whispered, "I keep wondering if he'd be ashamed of me now."


Her heart contracted. For the first time, she could glimpse the lonely little boy who shut everyone out so he would never feel that kind of pain or loss again.


"No," she said quietly. "He'd be very, very proud."


* * *


The moon was high by the time they climbed out of the pool, and clouds were beginning to obscure the stars. Mac squeezed the water from her hair and crawled into the makeshift tent to dig around in her pack. Harm slid out of his wet shorts and pulled on his jeans.


He paused before ducking under the tarp. "You decent?" he called.


"Sure."


He crawled in and saw that she had a flashlight shining on the floor, shielded and pointing away from the opening. "I didn't think anyone would be able to see it, just for a minute," she said. She was wearing a clean dry t-shirt and panties. "Give me those," she said, gesturing at his shirt and wet underwear. He handed them over, and she hung them from the rope at the end of the tent, next to her own. "Maybe they'll get dry by morning."


"Do you have any more of that bug stuff?" His clean skin was beginning to attract mosquitoes in droves. Wordlessly she handed it over. "How did you manage to keep a spare shirt dry?" he asked.


"Marine secret," she said primly. The golden light slid over her long bare legs, gilding her skin, and he swallowed and willed himself not to stare. It was a cinch she wasn't wearing a bra under that t-shirt.


Mac propped their packs at the end of the tent, wriggled into her BDU pants, and switched off the flashlight. He scooted up and reclined against his pack, trying to ignore the brush of her arm against his as she lay down.


Her breathing soon steadied, becoming deep and even, and he knew she was asleep. Harm lay staring into the darkness for a long time.


* * *


Water. Black, icy water everywhere, filling his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Lightning flashed, and a gigantic wave roared over him like a locomotive racing down the backside of hell. It was cold, so cold, and the lines were wrapped around his legs and where was the damn knife! The chute was dragging him down and he couldn't breathe --


He sat up with a jerk and stared wildly into the dark with sightless eyes. The roar of water filled his ears.


"Harm! Harm, it's me! You're okay, you're awake," Mac was calling to him, and gradually he became aware of her arms around him, her breath warm on his cheek. With a click, he remembered where they were, realized the roar of water was rain drumming on the tarp overhead. He took a deep, shuddering breath, weak with relief, and scrubbed a hand over his bristly face. It was the dream, just the damn dream.


"It's okay, Mac. I'm okay. Sorry." He sat with his arms resting on his knees, breathing hard. She rested her palm between his shoulder blades, and after a moment the flashlight clicked on, creating a tiny glow like a candle between them.


"You were dreaming," she said.


"I know."


"Was it your crash?" she asked, and he wondered if she was having one of her psychic moments.


"Yeah."


"Does this happen a lot?" Her voice was filled with gentle concern, and her warm palm began rubbing little circles on his back. Silently he hoped she'd never stop.


"More than it used to. Look, it's nothing. An anxiety dream, that's all. What time is it?"


"Oh-one hundred."


Thank God she didn't sympathize. She just sat beside him, listening to the rain, and after awhile she said, "That was the most terrible night of my life."


He was astonished. Out of all the terror and jumbled confusion and pain of that crisis, it had never occurred to him she might feel like that. He started to tell her he was sorry, and decided anything he might say would sound absurd. Instead he squeezed her hand briefly and leaned back.


Mac switched off the light and sat staring out at the rain. He could just discern the graceful line of her back and throat, silhouetted against the night. After a while she turned her head to look at him, and he saw the gleam of her eyes.


Wordlessly he held out his arm. She came down to him in one graceful movement, nestling her head into the hollow of his shoulder, and his arm went around her. A slim hand lay on his chest, over his heart, and he covered it with his own.


Her body was soft and warm against his. She gave a little sigh, and he laid his cheek on her hair.


They lay quietly, listening to the rain. After awhile it stopped, as if someone had turned off a faucet in the sky.


End Part Six



Shadowland -- Part Seven


0615 Hours, PST

A rain forest in central Java


He awoke in the pale grey light before dawn. He was lying with Mac pulled into the curve of his body, his arm snug around her waist and his morning erection firm against her back. He began to pull away before he realized she was still asleep, so he rose quietly on one elbow and gazed down at her.


With her hands tucked beneath her chin, she looked like a little girl. She had grown thinner since last spring, he saw with a prick of concern, and remembered that the last time he had watched her sleeping was in a jeep in Afghanistan. For an insomniac, Mac certainly managed to fall asleep in the most uncomfortable places.


Harm nestled his face in her hair for a moment, then cautiously eased out of the tent, grabbing his shirt and shorts as he went. The jungle was eerie and still, obscured by thick mist. Only the chuckling of water over stones broke the silence.


He stretched, thinking that sleeping with Mac in his arms made a night on the ground almost bearable. He waited for his body to leave him alone before moving quietly away from their camp. When he returned, she was dressed and had the shelter packed up.


"Leave it to the Marines," he kidded her.


"I figured it was probably an emergency, if you were already up." She smiled to show she was kidding. "Breakfast is served."


"I'm so hungry, even this stuff is beginning to look good." He tore open a packet of fruit cocktail.


"Harm, you need to eat some of this. You can't keep going without some protein."


"Look, Mom, I'm fine. What is that stuff, anyway?"


"Turkey a la king. Here, try it, there's noodles."


He sampled it. "You know, that's not too bad."


"Okay, you eat the rest, and we'll split the other stuff too. You can say you got me to eat green beans."


He grinned, thinking that only Mac could make bossy sound cute. For the first time in months, the tight little knot in his chest wasn't there. She looked more relaxed this morning, too. "Looks like you managed to get some sleep last night," he said.


"Like a log. How about you?" He caught the flick of concern in her glance.


"Yeah, actually, I did. Once I got the whim whams out of my head, I was fine." He bent to lace up his boots.


Mac gathered up their food wrappers and buried them. Her silence warned him something was coming even before she blurted, "Harm, is there something you're not telling me? I mean, I know we're in a situation here, but it seems like our chances of coming out okay are pretty good. Am I wrong?" Her gaze was keen, and he met it straight on.


"No, you're not wrong. I'm just worried about this mess I've gotten you into."


"I walked into it with my eyes open."


He nodded. Hesitantly she said, "Harm? What?"


"There *was* something I didn't tell you." She cocked her head warily. He said with quiet vehemence, "My interest never faded, Mac. Not once."


Her eyes widened in shock. She swallowed and glanced down.


Abruptly he stood and hefted his pack. "We'd better get going. Eventually they're going to trace that transmitter back here, and I don't want to leave any tracks."


Mac rose, not meeting his eyes. He hoisted her pack and held it while she fastened the straps. Very slowly he smoothed the t-shirt across her shoulders.


In silence they forded the stream above the pool, carefully erasing any sign of their passage, and headed northwest.


* * *

By the time the third deluge of the day inundated them, Mac decided she was grateful for the rain. It gave her something to focus on besides the emotions playing ping pong inside her head. An idiotic song kept repeating an endless loop in her inner ear, keeping time with her footsteps, and no matter what, she couldn't get rid of it. Worse, it was "Jingle Bell Rock." Give me a break, she thought.


The rain also made conversation impossible, thank God. All morning they had hiked in a fizzing silence. Small talk or a banal comment would be worse than saying nothing. She never thought Harmon Rabb would make an admission like that, never -- just as she never would have expected him to open up as he had last night. She could still feel the pressure of his hands on her shoulders.


Dreamily she watched the play of powerful muscles where his jeans clung to his long legs, the easy athletic grace of his big body as he walked ahead. He pushed a palm frond out of the way, and she realized she was staring at the strong bones of his wrist, the long fingers of his hand. She pulled herself together and grabbed the branch.


Despite the miserable discomfort of this little adventure, she realized there was nowhere she would rather be than hiking through the Indonesian rain forest. With him.


Their route sloped gently across the southern flank of the huge peak, and they stayed just below the tree line for cover. It made for rough going as they scrambled over rocky outcroppings and slogged through muddy stretches of scrubby bushes and grass that rose waist high.


Harm paused to consult the GPS, and she came up beside him to look. "How are we doing?" she asked, feeling absurdly self conscious.


"Better than I expected," he said. "We made close to 18 miles yesterday, and we've already done ten today. If we go as far as that ridge up ahead and follow it down, we should be in pretty good shape to make Maribaya by tomorrow night." He pointed out the route, half obscured by clouds rolling up the mountainside.


"You march pretty good, for a squid," she teased him.


"Okay, Marine, how about you break trail for awhile?" he grinned back.


She lifted her brows in response to the challenge, took a deep drink from her canteen, and set off at a smart pace. Forty minutes later they reached the top of the ridge which divided the south from the western face of the mountain like a buttress. Rain obscured the view as Mac started down. The trees became taller as they descended, and the understory vegetation grew thick with ferns and shrubs.


At the top of a rocky cliff Mac paused to scan the possible routes before starting down a narrow opening between the boulders. The thin soil beneath her boots deepened into slick mud, and without warning she slipped, slithering into a wild downhill slide on her ass, bumping and banging off rocks and tree roots until she thumped to a stop against a huge tree.


"Mac! Mac, are you okay?" Harm came barreling down, moving nearly as fast as she had but managing to keep his feet. He grabbed a branch, slid to a stop beside her, and dropped to one knee. "Mac?"


She waved her hand. "I'm fine," she gasped, trying to get her breath. "Just wind -- knocked out--" She kept bending over, coughing a little and trying to quiet the trembling in her knees. Harm waited tensely, one hand on her shoulder, until she looked up and gave him a quavery smile. "Some Marine, huh?"


He let out his breath in relief. "You're sure you aren't hurt? That was one hell of a spill."


"No, really, it's nothing." She grimaced and touched a tender spot on the side of her head, smearing mud across her cheek.


"Here, let me see," Harm said, earning a glare as he peered into her eyes. "Okay, your pupils are contracting normally. Can you stand up?" He extended a hand to help her. Mac took it and rose shakily to her feet, trying to balance her pack, when Harm stiffened and bent closer. "Wait a minute, Mac. That's not nothing."


He lifted her hand to reveal a long, bloody gash running down her forearm. Mac regarded it in amazement, as if wondering how it got there. "C'mere," Harm ordered, and dragged her over to a trickle of water dripping down the rocks. He cupped his palm to direct the little rivulet over her arm.


"Ow! Why is it these things never hurt until you know they're there?" Mac cringed.


"Don't worry, it isn't deep. It's just a long scratch," Harm said, examining it. His touch was very gentle as he rinsed the skin clean. "The bruises will be worse than the cut." He dug the first aid kit out of his pack, ripped open an antiseptic pad, and dabbed at the blood.


"This isn't as bad as the fall I took on the obstacle course at Quantico on your birthday," she said. "Skinned my knee *and* my arm."


His fingers stilled. "My birthday?" he said lightly, not looking up.


"This was the first year we didn't celebrate together," she answered in a small voice. "I had to do *something.*"


He wiped the last of the blood from her arm and applied a dry bandage, smoothing it into place. "That has to hurt," he said, and covered it with his warm hand.


"Missing you hurt more," she whispered.


A muscle twitched in his cheek, and she could see the pulse beating in his throat. His eyes came up to meet hers, and she caught her breath at the raw pain and longing she saw in their brilliant depths. The sights and sounds of the forest faded away as they stood suspended in a crystal bell of silence. Slowly he took her face in his hands, and his mouth came down on hers.


His touch swept through her, aching with need. Tears stung her eyelids as she surrendered to the softness of his mouth, the urgency of the big hard body curved around hers. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only answer his fierce intensity with her own.


He broke off and stared down at her, panting. He started to speak, then swallowed and cupped his hand behind her head, gathering her gently against him. Vaguely she became aware that their cumbersome packs were in the way, so Mac simply laid her cheek against his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding in syncopation with hers.


They stood leaning against each other. Her head fit just beneath his chin, and he rested his cheek against her hair. After awhile he kissed her on the forehead.


"Mac," he began, and hesitated. Patterns of sunlight played across his face, illuminating the man she know so well, poised on the knife edge between friend and lover -- at once both familiar and unknown, and more urgent, more necessary than her next breath. Exhilaration and confusion tumbled together in his expression and resolved into blazing certainty.


"Mac" -- he tried again, and then he was kissing her with a thoroughness that obliterated any other thought. Clearly she was not the only one hanging onto composure by a thread.


Harmon Rabb was not a patient man, she thought, but my God, did he know how to kiss. Kisssing that was slow and simmering, his mouth and hands moving with passionate tenderness that told her everything he had never been able to say.


Like a rose unfurling to the sunlight, Mac surrendered with a sense of utter belonging. After a long while Harm rested his face against her hair and simply held her, which was a good thing because she wasn't sure she could stand up by herself at the moment. He curved his warm palm around her throat and tilted her head back for another gentle kiss, and she shivered.


He stared down into her lovely face, feeling as if he had just pulled seven Gs. Mac gave a little sigh. "We have to get going, don't we?"


He shook his head slowly, with a rueful little smile. "We're going to run out of daylight if we don't. I'd rather find a better place to spend the night."


She cupped her hand against his jaw and kissed him gently on the corners of his mouth. The knowledge that she could touch him now, as much as she wanted, steadied her. "If you keep looking at me like that, we'll end up spending the night here after all."


"I was planning on someplace a little softer, actually." Harm's hands came up and smoothed her hair back from her face, and now she was trembling for a different reason.


He took her hand, and without another word they set out, walking side by side. Dappled green light surrounded them, an enchanted forest filled with birdsong and drowsy with heat. From time to time their eyes met, and each saw the same sense of wonder reflected in the other's face.


* * *


It was late afternoon before they heard the sound of water.


Mac turned her head from side to side, seeking the source. "It's a good thing the rain stopped," she said. "We never would have heard it."


Harm pointed. "That way, I think." He shouldered aside an overhanging banana palm, and together they pushed their way through a dense cope of shrubs dripping with moisture. Abruptly the forest opened to reveal a waterfall -- a wisp of white rushing from one ledge to the next before tumbling into a stream at their feet. Heavy jungle cloaked the walls of the narrow ravine in violet shadow, and a sliver of late sunlight lanced down to sparkle on the water.


Mac gave a little sigh. Harm lifted her pack from her shoulders, dropped it beside his, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Tired?"


"Starved." She smiled and pulled out an MRE. "Dinner is served."


Harm sat down on a log and made room for her. "What is it?"


"Does it matter?"


He gave her a tired grin and accepted one of the foil packets. "I guess it's true that if you get hungry enough, you'll eat anything." He ripped open the packet and sampled the contents. "I never thought I'd eat hamburger helper and like it." He handed her the rest, and started on the creamed spinach.


"I never thought I'd go without a bath for three days." Mac swallowed her half of the tapioca pudding, handed him the packet, and stood up. "I'm going to rinse off about ten pounds of mud." Without removing her boots, she waded straight into the water, spread her arms, and fell back with a huge splash.


Harm lounged on the log and chuckled indulgently. He didn't recall bathing being a high priority in his jungle survival training, but Mac made it look pretty inviting.


Laughter was bubbling up inside him, a fountain of quiet joy. He felt exhilarated and naked and vulnerable, as if a searchlight were illuminating the corners of his soul. The dark burden of unhappiness he had carried for the past months had disappeared as if he had stepped into sunshine. It was crazy, and he didn't care.


Mac was splashing happily around, washing out her BDU trousers. He stood up to join her, but paused and lifted his head when he caught a whiff of a strange odor. Harsh, chemical -- sulfur. Coming from over there.


She was about to pull off her t-shirt when she saw Harm beckoning to her from the bank. Quickly she waded to the shore and stood there dripping, looking at him inquiringly.


"Got a surprise for you," he grinned, and took her hand. She looked intrigued but didn't question him as he led her up the bank and into the trees.


"Harm?" she said. "What's that *smell*?" He stepped aside, and she saw a rocky little grotto tucked among ferns at the base of the cliff. Steam was rising from the still surface of the water, milky white.


"Natural thermal spring," he said proudly. "This area's full of them. That's what Maribaya is, a resort where people come to take the cure. I'm just surprised we haven't come across one sooner."


"Is it okay to get in?" she asked, bending to test the water with her hand.


"Don't see why not. It isn't too hot, is it?"


"It's perfect." She gave him a glorious smile that stopped his breath. "Thank you." She sat down on a rock to unlace her boots. "Join me?" She looked down, suddenly shy, and he found himself hesitating.


"Ah, I'll go set up camp," he said, and reluctantly retreated. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her, he thought, even as he kicked himself. Hell, he had waited eight years for this woman. He could wait until she was ready.


Still, he found himself jerking at the ropes and fumbling with the knots as he rigged their shelter for the night. They were both exhausted, he argued in his head. There might be people on their trail right now. . . this was no time to be fooling around. . . what the hell was he thinking? She was probably wondering how to hold him off, he thought savagely as he ripped up armfuls of ferns and piled them beneath the tent before spreading the groundsheet on top. Slowly he smoothed his hand over the rough fabric, thinking of how she would feel beneath him, wondering if she would want him tonight.


With a snort of impatience, he stood up and yanked off his boots. The hell with it. At least he could cool off. Quickly he stripped and took two steps into the water before launching himself in a long, shallow dive, luxuriating as the delicious coolness flowed over his body. He pulled himself along the clean rocky bottom as far as he could before surfacing with a splash, then leaned back and floated. The first stars were glimmering in the sliver of evening sky above the trees.


Something made him lift his head. A pale figure was standing in the waterfall. He blinked, and there was Mac, submerged to the hips with her back to him, letting the cascade flow over her. The water glistened on her tawny skin as she raised her face to the spray and smoothed back her gleaming hair.


He had no memory of moving, but he found himself stepping onto the rocky ledge beneath the waterfall and rising to stand waist deep. She lifted her arms to the spray, and he was mesmerized by the play of taut, trained muscles in her slender arms.


As she wiped her face, she glimpsed him and went very still. Slowly she turned to face him, standing tall, arms at her sides. Her breasts were lush and round and beautiful, resting proudly on her slim ribcage.


Her dark eyes met his. With one stride, he swept her into his arms, and she embraced him fiercely, molding herself against him, her body all warm curves beneath cool slick skin. Slowly, gently he brushed her mouth with his, barely nuzzling at first, and then her lips parted and they were tasting each other, slow and deep, breaking only for a quick breath before desperately seeking more.


How did he ever wait for this? To finally touch her, to let his hands roam free, sliding over her flanks and up her long, smooth back. The flashpoint ignited between them, he was spiraling out of control and he felt her breath warm on his neck as he plunged his hands through her silken hair, mindless with desire. Oh, Sarah.


Her head dropped back as he traced a line down her throat to her breast, and she swayed against him. With a low growl, he swept his arms down to catch her beneath the hips and lifted her hard against him. Just as her legs went around his waist, he leaned back, panting.


"Harm," she murmured, reaching for him. Her eyes were not quite focused.


"Wait," he rasped, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I don't want to hurry, Mac."


She rested her hands on his shoulders, her expression luminous and filled with wonder. Slowly he eased back into the water and swam until his feet found the bottom, then he scooped her against his chest and carried her up the bank.


Twilight had filled the valley, and the forest was loud with the chorus of night birds and insects. Harm stopped beside their little tent and looked down at her, resting so trustingly in his arms. Slowly he let her slide down his body until her feet touched the ground.


"Ow!" she squeaked and slapped at a mosquito, then fanned the air around her head as the whine of insects filled their ears. "Bug juice, quick!"


With an oath, Harm ripped open his pack and dug frantically around until he found the plastic bottle. He pulled off the cap and squirted some into her cupped hands, then quickly drizzled it over himself. "Goddamn vampires," he muttered, slapping two of them against his thigh. "Shit!"


Mac began to giggle, and then they were laughing and holding each other. Slowly they began sliding their hands over each other, their touch slow and sensual. Her breath caught, and very gently, he laid his palm over her breast to feel her heart pounding.


Mac knelt gracefully and slipped beneath the tent, and he crawled in after her. She began spreading the oily stuff on his thighs until he caught her hand, swallowing hard. Slowly he slipped a hand behind her knee, pulling it into his lap, and smoothed the oil down her long legs, first one, then the other.


She recapped the bottle and set it aside. Her eyes were luminous in the spangled dark, her glance eloquent as a touch. The heat leaped up, pure as sunlight. Now was the time to speak in a language beyond words.


Entranced, he traced his fingertips lightly along her collarbone and over the swell of one breast, watching her eyes darken and her breathing deepen. Her skin was like satin, and there was a fine tremor running through her body as he leaned down to touch his lips between her breasts, over her heart.


She brought her hands up to cradle him, and her touch sent the cool fire flickering through his blood. She was silken and slender and strong all at once, and without effort he felt eight years of restraint fall away.


The first time . . . the first time . . . the emotional tide sweeping through him was obliterating every landmark. He felt the softness of her breasts against his chest as he placed delicate kisses on her forehead, her cheekbones, her eyelids, and beneath her ear, slowly sliding his mouth along the exquisite curve of her jaw. He lingered to kiss the little hollow at the base of her throat, feeling her pulse pounding clear and hard against his lips, answering the beat he could feel in every part of his body.


Slowly he lowered her until she was lying across their bed, the starlight turning her skin to silver. He wanted to look at her forever, but she was reaching for him, her smooth slender arms and legs sliding around his body and pulling him down to her. Distantly he was aware that somewhere deep inside, a tightly guarded barrier was melting away in her silken warmth. Joy flooded through him like a golden tide.


My God, Sarah . . . the ache in his body was an imperious demand. He was drowning, desperate to get closer and closer still, shaking with the effort to hold back as their mouths caressed each other slowly, endlessly. Beneath his hands, the long, delicate lines of her body were at once familiar and utterly new.


Her eyes were dark and blurry with wanting, and her body rose to meet his as he kissed her throat. Then her cool hands were there, stroking and guiding, and he surrendered and entered her, feeling as if he were plunging into the heart of life itself.


End Part Seven



Shadowland -- Part Eight


In the night, he awoke to the rush of rain in the leaves and the gentle touch of Mac's hands on his body. Softly her mouth caressed his neck and chest. "Harm," she whispered, her breath warm on his cheek, and they reached for each other. This time it was slow and simmering, with a sweetness that seemed to fill the night.


* * *


0720 Hours PST

Somewhere in the rain forests of central Java


Mac snuggled closer to the warmth of the big hard body wrapped around her, letting his fine, springy chest hair tickle her face as she breathed in the scent of him -- of them. Her body felt tender all over, languorous and sweet.


Slowly she opened her eyes. Harm's sleepy smile filled her vision, his eyes gleaming beneath drowsy lids. Their hands rested between them, entwined, and after a moment he lifted them and brushed a kiss across her knuckles -- a light, almost casual gesture -- but now there was ownership in his touch.


"Tell me we don't have to get up," she murmured.


The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. "Works for me."


She gave a satisfied little sigh and nestled closer until the tip of her nose brushed his. After a few minutes, she spoke without opening her eyes. "I have to go to the bathroom."


"You Marines have such sweet pillow talk."


She smiled and sat up, brushing her hair back and knuckling her eyes like a little girl. Pale sunlight slanted down through the canopy high above and turned the mist on the water into gold. Swiftly she slipped out from beneath their shelter and disappeared into the trees.


Groaning with displeasure, Harm crawled out after her and did the same. When he returned, he saw her standing in the stream, waist deep, just as he had first glimpsed her last night. His heart expanded with a sweet, swift ache.


He waded into the water and slipped his arms around her, and she leaned back against him. "This feels like Adam and Eve in the Garden," she said. "But no apples, darn it."


His chuckle was a quiet rumble deep in his chest. "Not even a serpent."


"Yikes, I hope not."


"I hear they can be very tasty."


"Eew, did they teach you *that* in SERE training?"


"Why do you think I became a vegetarian?"


She laughed, a light, happy sound. He held her, rocking just a little, and together they watched the mist rise off the water and listened to the jungle come alive around them. After awhile he dipped his head to nuzzle her neck where it met her shoulder, and she tilted her head with a sound that sounded suspiciously like a purr.


When his hands began roaming over her body, she turned in the circle of his arms. "If we start, we may never get out of here."


"Would that be a bad thing?"


"I'm starving."


"You're right, that MRE is our last meal."


"Don't even joke about it."


He smoothed her wet hair back. "Okay. But I promise, next time there'll be room service."


"Deal."


They waded out and pulled on their damp, muddy clothes, and sat on the log in the sunshine to share the remaining food. "This is not how I envisioned our first breakfast together," Harm said.


"You did?" Her eyes were shining.


"Did what?"


"Imagine it."


His gaze was warm. "Repeatedly."


"I love you," she whispered.


The flash in his eyes told her how much he needed to hear it. Her heart was hammering in her fingertips as she leaned forward, cupped his face in one hand, and kissed him gently. "I tried so hard to get over you," she said.


"Hopeless, huh?" He had a cocky grin, but it would never fool her again. This man was guarded, not because he did not care, but because his emotions ran so deep.


"Utterly," she agreed, and then he was kissing her until she couldn't breathe.


* * *


Bushwhacking through the jungle that day was hard, hot, slow going, but her heart was so light it scarcely seemed to matter. Every few minutes she would feel Harm's eyes upon her and look up, and his smile would lance through her with a physical shock.


As they moved lower in elevation, the understory vegetation became increasingly dense as the trees reached higher and higher for the sunlight above. The canopy was alive with scampering monkeys and the flitting shadows of birds and butterflies, and the air was heavy with the rich, damp odor of decaying plants on the forest floor. Insects droned around their ears.


After five hours, they had made barely four miles of the twelve they needed when they came across a thin trail of packed dirt. It intersected their route, disappearing among the trees uphill and continuing down the slope below, headed more or less in the direction they had been taking.


"First signs of civilization," Harm observed.


"If we follow it, we could be spotted," she said.


"Yeah, but not likely, not up this high. There will be settlements down lower, but my guess is, this is a path to a hot spring somewhere. There won't be a lot of traffic along here."


"Well, it would certainly be a lot easier to follow a trail," Mac said. She was tired, more tired than she would have expected to be, and a faint headache pressed behind her eyes. Guess the hard going and short rations are getting to me, she grumped to herself.


"Okay," Harm agreed, and took a reading on the GPS. "We can start making up some time. Maribaya is about eight miles that way, all downhill."


They hiked in silence for the next hour, walking single file on the narrow track. Just as Mac was about to call for a five-minute rest stop, the trees thinned out to form a small clearing where a second trail intersected theirs. She dropped down to sit on a fallen log and surreptitiously swallowed a couple of aspirin with a deep drink from her canteen.


"Here, Mac, let me have it. I'll refill it for you." Harm held out his hand.


"Thanks," she said, grateful that she didn't have to get up for a minute. "Do you think we need to start purifying our water?"


"Definitely, now that people are around. But I think we're still okay with rain water." He pulled down a big frond and let the runoff splash into the canteen.


A movement in the corner of her eye brought Mac's head up. Two girls stood on the branching path, hesitating just inside the trees. They were slim and brown and held bundles that looked like washing.


"Hello," Mac said, standing up and putting her palms together in the traditional gesture of greeting. Harm looked up, surprised, and followed her gaze.


"Hello," he added, smiling. The two girls giggled behind their hands, and Mac saw that they were very young.


"It's all right," she smiled, gesturing for the girls to continue on their way. With bent heads and averted eyes, they sidled past, cutting covert glances at them. Just as they came abreast of her, Mac held up her hand, palm out. "Wait, please?"


The younger of the girls looked like she wanted to bolt, but the other turned to her shyly. Mac gestured at her clothes and wrinkled her nose. "Sarong?" she asked, and gestured at the girl's garment. "Buy sarong?" She held up a folded bill.


The girl's eyes became huge. Wordlessly she set her bundle on the grass, pulled out a square of blue fabric printed with tiny red flowers, and held it up questioningly. "Yes," Mac smiled, nodding vigorously. "Yes, I like it. Here." She extended the money to the girl, who hesitated, then snatched it and handed over the cloth. Rapidly she retied her bundle, swung it to her hip, and hurried off with a brief, muttered phrase, pushing her companion ahead of her. They quickly disappeared into the forest.


"Shopping again?" Harm was amused.


"I'll stick out like a sore thumb in BDUs if we have to blend in with tourists," Mac said. She folded up her purchase carefully and sealed it in a plastic bag before stuffing it into her pack.


"They'll tell their village about us."


"They would have done that anyway. At least this way, they might think we're just tourists on a hike."


"Good point. This is probably the way to a hot spring where they do their laundry." He handed the canteen back to her.


"I wish we could find one. I feel like an old, wet dog." She picked at her filthy shirt.


"You look beautiful." She started to make a tart rejoinder before she saw the tender light in his eyes and realized he meant it. He gave her a brilliant smile, and her heart warmed to see him looking so relaxed and happy. He said, "Of course, you look better without any clothes at all, but still . . . ."


Her smile grew wistful and sweet, and he took her in his arms and kissed her.


"Speaking of old, wet dogs, they'd probably run if they got one whiff of me," he mumbled into her hair.


"You smell great. Very manly." She leaned back in his arms and regarded him with a grin. "So is the four-day beard."


"You like it? I was thinking of keeping it."


"Really? It's a whole new look for you. Kind of scratchy, though."


He laughed. "In that case, it's history." His voice dropped into that husky, sexy murmur that made it hard to breathe, and then he was kissing her again, slow and hot, and she was kissing him back.


Harm lifted his head and took a shaky gulp of air. "We can't do this now."


She sighed and stepped back, letting her fingertips trail down the deep muscles of his chest. "Good thing you're worth waiting for, sailor." She glanced up from beneath her lashes.


"I'll never ask you to wait again, Mac." He touched her cheek, his green eyes turbulent, then swung his pack to his shoulders. They set off, and as the afternoon passed, they encountered no one else on the trail.


By late afternoon, Mac was exhausted, with a cracking headache. She plodded along, keeping her eyes on Harm's heels, and only looked up when he stopped.


They had emerged from the trees into a valley where fields had been cleared from the surrounding forest. Narrow terraces and rice paddies spread out across the land, and far in the distance they could see tiny buildings on stilts, with thatched roofs.


"Is that Maribaya?" Mac asked.


"No, the town's about a mile down the road," Harm pointed, and she saw a thin track winding along the far side of the valley. "This is just a village. Good place to spend the night, though." He gestured to a small hut, open on three sides, perched at the edge of the fields on their right. It was deserted.


"Looks like they probably use it as a place to rest when they're working in the fields during the day," he said. "Nobody will notice if we sleep there tonight."


"Okay," she nodded, too tired to hide her disappointment.


Harm looked at her sharply. "Are you okay?"


"Yes. I'm sorry, I just thought we'd get there tonight."


They started toward the little pavilion, staying inside the trees to avoid being seen. He said, "I know, I was hoping so, too. But it's late, the tourist buses won't be running any more tonight, and I don't think we can risk a hotel."


"No, that wouldn't be smart," she agreed. She tossed her pack onto the rough wooden platform and hoisted herself up. She sat down and reached for her canteen.


"I'm going to scout around over there." He pointed, and she nodded as he headed back into the trees. The sun was beginning to set, and a tiny breeze rustled the dry thatch in the roof of the hut. She curled up on the dusty boards and closed her eyes against the glare.


When Harm returned, he was surprised to find her asleep. I should have noticed she was worn out, he kicked himself, and sat down quietly nearby, squinting as the setting sun turned the surface of the rice paddies into burnished bronze. Across the valley, cooking fires winked on like fireflies in the gathering dusk, and still Mac slept. He watched her with growing concern.


Just as it was getting dark, the harsh cry of a bird broke the stillness. Mac sat up and gazed around in confusion. "Harm?" she said.


"It's okay, you were sleeping," he reassured her.


"How long?" she grumbled, rubbing her eyes.


"Oh, an hour or so. Hey, look what I found." He held up two coconuts.


"Wow, great! Where did you find those?" She tried to muster some enthusiasm.


"Under a palm tree, where else? We finally got down where they can grow. Here, try this." He dug into the eyes on the end of one nut with the tip of his knife, and handed it to her. Dutifully Mac tilted it and sipped at the rich liquid that ran out.


"This is great, Harm. Thank you."


"Well, at least we won't go to bed on an empty stomach. Tomorrow, we should get up before it gets light so we can bypass the village, then we can just walk into town and find a restaurant that serves breakfast. Think you can hold out, Marine?"


He was working on the second coconut, but her silence made him look up. She was sitting with her head bowed, holding her coconut in her lap. "Mac?" he said.


Her head snapped up. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm not very hungry."


He frowned. Mac wasn't hungry? On impulse, he reached out and laid the back of his hand against her cheek. She pulled away irritably as he caught his breath in a little hiss.


"Mac, you're running a fever. Why didn't you say something?"


"What good would it have done?" she asked dully. "We had to keep going."


"We could have rested more. You could have taken some aspirin, at least."


"I did take some. Don't fuss, Harm, I'm just tired. I'll be okay tomorrow."


He frowned and bit back his questions. She was right, that was the trouble. There wasn't a damn thing he could do until they got back to civilization, and that wasn't going to be easy.


"Okay," he said with a calmness he didn't feel, and resumed hacking at his coconut. He forced himself to eat a few chunks of the white meat, but it was cloying and stuck in his mouth.


He could hear her rustling around and saw the gleam of her body in the starlight as she undressed. He started to object, thinking she would get chilled, and then she shook out the fabric she had bought that afternoon. Mac stepped into it, pulled it up and knotted it above her breasts. Then she knelt beside him.


"So that's a sarong, huh?" he said.


"Yes. It's wonderful for the tropics -- it's cool, and at night you just loosen it and lie down, and it covers you. Tomorrow, I can wear it as a long skirt."


"I like it. Easy to get off."


That earned him a smile, he was relieved to see. She said, "We can bury all our stuff before we leave here, right? Especially these nasty clothes?"


"Right. We'll just take our money and papers. Nobody will find our gear, at least not right away."


"What about weapons?"


"I'd like to have them with us, but I'd hate to get caught with them. What do you think?"


He watched her as the moon came up, outlining her exquisite profile in silver. "I think we should risk it," she said. "If you stick one in your belt at your back and button your shirt, nobody will see it. And you can dump it if we have to go through a checkpoint."


"Sounds good." He spread out their groundsheets and stacked their packs against the single wall of the hut. Mac opened her canteen and tilted it, but it was empty.


"I need some water," she fretted. "Where are the iodine tablets?" With growing irritation she dug around in her pack.


"Here, take the rest of mine," he said, handing her his canteen. "I'll get you a refill." She had already drunk three quarts since noon, he realized with unease. Well, he supposed it could only do her good.


"Thanks," she said. "Too bad we couldn't camp beside a stream again tonight."


"I promise you a hot bath tomorrow."


"That would be lovely." She gave him a wan smile and lay back down.


When he returned, he thought she was asleep, but she sat up and reached for one of the canteens. "Thank you," she said, and gulped thirstily.


"Need some more aspirin?" he asked.


"I just took some, thanks."


He settled himself against the wall at his back and opened his arms. "C'mere."


Gracefully she settled herself between his bent knees and leaned back, and he wrapped his arms around her. "This is nice," she murmured against his neck.


"Yeah," he agreed. "Sleep now, Mac."


" 'Kay," she mumbled. He could feel her relax, and a moment later her breathing became soft and even. She was warm, but not overly so; in the sultry heat of the tropical night, he held her close.


* * *


He hadn't intended to sleep. It seemed a foregone conclusion that his anxieties -- about Mac, about the village across the valley, about the unknown dangers they might face tomorrow -- would conspire to keep him alert and on guard. So of course he went out like a light.


The moon was high in the sky when his eyes snapped open. For a moment he couldn't tell what had awakened him, and he listened, taut with tension, his automatic in his hand. Then Mac stirred against him and he realized she was burning up.


Her slender body positively radiated with fever. He stroked her damp hair back from her forehead and winced at the baking heat beneath his palm. Her face and body were slick with perspiration and she was moving restlessly in her sleep. That must be what woke him, he realized.


What could he do for her, he wondered frantically. He groped for the canteen and poured a little water into his hand, then smoothed it over her neck and shoulders. She mumbled something and opened her eyes, gazing at him dully.


"Hi, sweetheart," he said quietly.


"Thirsty," she muttered.


He sat up, propping her against him, and held the canteen to her lips. She gulped at it, then turned her head away. "Thanks," she managed.


"Just rest, baby," he murmured, stroking her forehead.


"Sick," she mumbled. " 'm sorry."


"It's not your fault, Mac," he said quietly. "You're going to be okay."


She looked at him with trust and closed her eyes. He sat cradling her against his chest, hoping he had told the truth. What could have caused this, he wondered. We have eaten and drunk exactly the same things, and the military stuffs you so full of shots before you go into the field, there's no way you're supposed to get sick.


Her hands plucked fretfully at the knot in her sarong, so he finally loosened it and let the garment fall lightly over her. She seemed cooler, and rested against him more quietly. Harm tilted his Rolex so he could read the lighted dial -- 0015. They needed to get up in a couple of hours, and she needed all the rest she could get.


He awakened from a light doze to feel her huddling against him, clutching his t-shirt in her fists and shivering. Great, now she was having chills. Quickly he dragged the spare tarp over her, tucking it in as best he could. He was stifling in the hot night, but Mac's teeth were actually chattering. He hugged her close, willing her to get better, to be all right.


It was one of the longest nights of his life. When Mac seemed to be resting more quietly, he allowed himself to relax, but soon he would feel her temperature start to climb again. Over and over she pushed at the heavy tarp, he pulled it off, and the cycle would start again. Repeatedly he soaked her discarded t-shirt in water and smoothed it over her arms, her neck and breasts, trying to cool her off, but she scarcely seemed aware that he was there.


At last she stopped moving restlessly and dropped into a quiet sleep. Harm eased out from behind her with a silent grimace as he stretched his cramped muscles. Quickly he slipped into the trees and dug a shallow hole to conceal the gear they needed to leave behind. The moon had set, and the night was very dark.


When he returned to her, he saw the gleam of her eyes. "Hi," he said softly, stroking her hair. Her forehead was cooler.


"What time is it?" she whispered.


"Oh-four hundred. Do you feel any better?"


She sat up, absentmindedly gathering her sarong around her. "Yes," she said.


"Think you can walk?"


That earned him a glare, as he hoped it would. "Think you can keep up?" she snapped.


He grinned and began tossing their things into the center of one of the tarps. Mac gathered up her dry t-shirt, underwear, and her boots, and dressed quickly. At the last minute, she remembered the aspirin bottle and slipped it into the pocket of his work shirt.


Harm pushed his automatic into his belt, resting flat against his spine, and pulled his shirt on over his t-shirt. He wrapped both tarps around the small pile of gear and knotted the bundle securely with the clothesline, then carried it into the woods and tossed it into the shallow hole, covering it with leaves and dirt.


Mac was waiting beside the hut when he came back. He took her hand, and silently they started down the path.


End Part Eight



Shadowland -- Part Nine


0400 PST

A mile outside Maribaya, Indonesia


Slipping past the sleeping village was surprisingly easy. They left the trail as they drew near and moved stealthily through the jungle, angling toward the road. A dog gave a sleepy bark, and that was all.


They halted just inside the trees when the road came into view. The eastern sky only hinted at dawn. Mac sat down to rest.


"Think we'll be too conspicuous on the road?" he asked.


"Yes. But I don't see that we have much choice. I don't think I can manage a long hike through the jungle today."


He looked at her closely. It was unlike Mac to admit any weakness. She gave him a faint smile. "I'm just trying to be realistic, Harm."


"Well, we shouldn't meet anybody at this hour," he said. "Let's chance it."


She stood and took his hand again, and together they stepped onto the road. "Here goes nothing," he muttered under his breath, and they started walking down the dusty track that gleamed pale in the darkness.


He shortened his stride and Mac kept pace gamely, but he could tell her endurance was already waning. It was only a mile to the town, he reminded himself, but by the time the first bullock cart rolled past them, he had his arm firmly around her waist, supporting her. They walked past scattered, silent huts where chickens scratched and smoke was just beginning to rise from cooking fires, and as the eastern sky gradually lightened they began to see people -- just a few, here and there, then more. An old taxi rattled past, followed by a group of women carrying water jars. A few incurious glances came their way, but that was all.


The road changed from dirt to pavement, then became a street lined with small shops and buildings. They passed some crumbling stone ruins, which he supposed were the ancient temples that attracted tourists, and they paused to let Mac rest on a bench. Harm wished fervently for some sort of prop -- a camera, anything -- so he improvised, pretending to consult a creased brochure that he found on the ground. The sun lifted above the palm trees and filled the street with clear light.


"Okay," Mac said, and stood up. "Is it too early to find a café or something?"


"We'll find out," he said. Slowly they walked on. After about fifteen minutes they emerged into a wide paved square surrounded by handsome stucco buildings, and Harm steered Mac to the central fountain. "Let's rest here for a minute and reconnoiter," he said, and she sank gratefully onto the low stone wall encircling the fountain.


There were some people around, and a few cars drove by. Harm kept his eye on the outdoor restaurant in front of the largest hotel, and eventually a waiter appeared and began cranking open the colorful umbrellas over each table.


"Okay, here we go," he said. Mac pushed herself upright and swayed, and he caught her around the waist. "Easy," he said, frowning with concern.


"I'm okay, Harm," she said firmly, but she leaned on him. "I can do this."


Slowly they paced over to the café and sat down at a table overlooking the square. The waiter appeared, and Harm ordered. When the food came, he smiled at the waiter and held up some money. "We want to get the next bus back to Jakarta. Can you tell me what time it goes?"


"Right in front of the hotel, sir. At nine o'clock." The man nodded and discreetly pocketed the tip.


"Three hours," Mac said lightly.


"It'll be okay," he reassured her. "Are you hungry at all?"


She shook her head and sipped at her mineral water. Harm tried to keep himself from gobbling as he downed four crisp rolls with butter, a bowl of sliced mango, and several cups of blessedly hot, fresh coffee, but he scarcely noticed what he was eating as he watched Mac pretend to pick at a piece of toast. She was very pale.


They dawdled over their breakfast for more than an hour, watching the activity in the square. Harm could detect no signs of military vehicles or surveillance. Other customers began to drift into the café, and finally he decided they would be conspicuous if they lingered any longer. They walked into the hotel and found seats in an alcove of the spacious lobby. Harm picked up a newspaper from the table and unfolded it.


"I think I'll use the ladies room," Mac said.


Automatically he stood and reached out to steady her, but she gently disengaged her arm. "I think people will notice if you try to go with me," she smiled.


"Will you be all right?" He was tense with concern.


"Yes." She set her jaw and walked slowly across the lobby.


Harm waited anxiously until he saw her navigating toward him ten minutes later. He jumped up and took her arm. "Okay?"


She swept her hair behind her ear with a hand that shook ever so slightly. "Okay," she nodded. He let his hand brush casually across the back of her neck. Her skin felt hot. They sat down side by side on the small sofa, and he took her hand.


"Mac, there has to be a doctor in the hotel. I'm going to ask."


"No!" Her low tone was vehement. "It will only attract attention. We can't afford to answer questions now, not until we get to the embassy. I can make it, I promise." She knew better than to remind him there was nothing he could do.


Harm scowled. "How about some aspirin, at least?" He fished the little bottle out of his breast pocket, marginally relieved to be taking some sort of action. She nodded, and he beckoned a passing waiter. "A bottle of mineral water, please, and a pot of coffee."


When the refreshments came, Mac swallowed two tablets and leaned back with her eyes closed. He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, and she settled against his shoulder.


She dozed off and on for the next ninety minutes, while Harm meticulously read every page of the International Herald-Tribune and didn't remember a word of it. He was very careful not to rustle the paper and disturb her. At last people began bustling around the lobby, and he saw a big bus pull up outside. "Okay, Mac, it's time," he murmured in her ear, and she opened her eyes and nodded, sitting up a little straighter.


Mac started to stand, but her knees gave way and she plopped back into the cushions. He saw her clench her teeth and grip the armrest to try again, and his heart turned over in his chest. "Easy, baby," he told her, grasping her arms lightly. "I'm here."


When he helped her get to her feet, she was trembling. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry to be such a nuisance."


"You're not a nuisance. Easy, now," he said, and locked his arm around her waist. Moving very slowly, they walked outside with a total lack of hurry that belied his inner tension. People were dropping tote bags and duffels beside the cargo doors of the bus and climbing aboard, and the driver merely shrugged when Harm inquired about two seats. Certainly, sir. Yes, they would stop at the Hilton in Jakarta. He accepted the cash and punched out their tickets, and Harm helped Mac up the steps. Nobody seemed to notice their lack of luggage.


The old Trailways had definitely seen better days. Harm inched his way down the aisle, keeping a firm grip on Mac and waiting for other passengers to struggle into their seats. A babble of European and Australian accents swirled around them.


The bus wasn't full, and he was able to steer Mac to a pair of seats near the back. She stumbled into a spot by the window and dropped onto the shabby blue upholstery, letting her head fall back against the headrest. He sat beside her and took her hand, scanning the scene outside as best he could through the dusty windows.


There was the usual delay, as someone insisted on loading a crate of clucking chickens into the cargo bay, engaging the driver in a loud argument with much gesticulating. The old bus smelled of dust and babies and orange peels and people, but Harm knew it could have been a lot worse. At least there were seats, not benches, and there was a restroom in the back and a cooler with bottled water at the front. And no livestock in the passenger area, he noted grimly.


The driver climbed in and the doors hissed shut, and they started up with a jerk and a belch of black smoke. The heavy old bus ground its way up through the gears as it circled the plaza and headed out of town, and Harm sent up a silent prayer of gratitude. So far, so good. Just four hours to go.


* * *


Of course, the air conditioning didn't work. The fans hummed and blew hot air around, but the interior of the bus was stifling. Every window stood open, even when it rained.


They swayed and bounced over the rutted mountain road, which was paved only in short stretches. The endless green of the jungle pressed close on both sides of the road, often brushing against the sides of the bus and parting occasionally to provide a view when they veered around a corner of the mountains. The road became an endless series of switchbacks that slowly descended toward the coast as the day wore on.


Mac's head lolled against his shoulder with every lurch. Harm kept his arm around her to hold her steady, but he knew it was more to reassure himself than anything. If there was one thing he hated more than forced inaction, it was feeling helpless, and now he had to endure both.


Mac's fever waxed and waned. One minute her skin was cool and clammy, the next she was radiating heat. She didn't really sleep and tried to stay alert for his sake, but her eyes were dull. From time to time he held a plastic bottle of water to her lips and she managed a few swallows, and twice he helped her to the malodorous restroom, where he waited anxiously outside the door.


"Is your wife all right?" a pleasant voice spoke behind him in an Aussie accent. He turned and was confronted by a nice-looking older woman in a straw hat who was regarding him with polite concern. She continued, "I noticed she doesn't seem to be feeling well. Is there anything I can do?"


Harm felt unreasonably relieved. "Yes, thank you," he nodded. "She's ill, and she's being awfully quiet in there. Can you" --


"Of course, dear." She bustled past him and tapped at the door, to no response. "What's her name?" she demanded.


"Sarah."


"Sarah, are you all right? Answer me, dear." The woman rapped smartly on the door of the restroom and bent her head. "Sarah, it's Cora Boyles. I'm coming in, all right?" She tried the handle and it turned, and cautiously she eased the door open. Harm stood back, his view blocked. "All right, dearie, you're going to be all right," he heard Cora say soothingly, and there was some bumping. The door swung shut, and Cora stood there with Mac leaning on her.


"I think she just fainted, poor thing," Cora said as Harm practically lifted Mac into her seat. "Whatever is the matter with her?"


"I don't know," Harm admitted, brushing Mac's hair off her forehead. "She's running a temperature. It's why we decided to go back to Jakarta early."


"Oh. I see." Cora leaned toward him with a conspiratorial whisper. "I thought she might be -- you know, expecting."


"N-no," Harm stammered. "I don't think so." He looked up. "Thank you for your help, Mrs. . . ."


"Boyles. Cora Boyles, dearie. Just let me know if there's anything else I can do."


"Thank you." Harm turned back to Mac and gently pulled her into his lap, cradling her against his chest. Mrs. Boyles shook her head and whispered to her husband, who hadn't been paying attention, "She isn't wearing any rings."


For the next hour they swayed steadily along a level stretch of road, and Harm scarcely took his eyes from Mac. She had not roused at all, but her breathing remained light and even. Her face was waxen beneath her tan, and her skin was filmed with perspiration. Please, he prayed silently. Please, let her be all right.


The sound beneath the tires changed, and suddenly they were running smoothly along on blacktop. Afternoon sun slanted across the road where small houses and farms were scattered among scrubby palmettos. Harm glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly 1300.


When he looked down, Mac was watching him with a tiny smile. "Hi," she whispered.


"Hi," he smiled with relief and stroked her forehead, which seemed cooler. "How are you feeling?"


"Better, I think." She lay quietly in his arms. "Where are we?"


"About 30 minutes out," he said. "Be there in no time."


"What time is it?"


His gaze sharpened, but he concealed his worry and told her. "Oh," she whispered. "I thought we just left."


Her fingers plucked restlessly at his shirt and then were still. "Will they let us stay together?" she asked in a small voice.


"Count on it."


She turned her face into his chest, and he felt her warm breath. Gently he cupped the back of her neck, supporting her against him, and dropped a soft kiss against her temple. "You won't leave me?" he heard her whisper.


Pain twisted his heart. "No," he said quietly. "No, I won't leave you, Sarah, not ever again." With infinite tenderness, he stroked her hair. "I love you," he whispered. "I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."


Her hand tightened in his, and he knew she had heard him.


* * *


0200 PST

Jakarta, Indonesia


The teeming squalor of the capital city closed in around them. Ramshackle huts thrown together from corrugated iron and palm thatch jostled for space with low stucco buildings and areas of scrubby grass where goats and naked children played, and telephone wires zigzagged everywhere. Gradually the buildings became larger and more prosperous as they approached the center of the city, where rickshaws and foot traffic gave way to sleek modern cars. Beautiful old Colonial buildings mingled with modern steel and glass, and the boulevards were lined with stately palms.


At last the bus swung into a wide central square and pulled up in front of the Hilton. People stood and started gathering up shopping bags and hats and purses, while Harm remained sitting quietly with Mac, waiting for the crowd at the front to move ahead.


He put his hand against Mac's face and stroked her cheek. "Come on, baby. Time to wake up now. We have to get off."


"Huh?" she frowned and opened her eyes, squinting.


"Can you stand up?" He would carry her if necessary, but it would draw attention.


" 'Course I can," she snapped, and swung her feet to the floor. Quickly Harm put his hands on her waist, boosting her to her feet and steadying her as she swayed. "I'm all right," she muttered, and began tottering down the aisle, hanging onto the back of each row of seats. He got in front and helped her down the steps.


Throngs of well-dressed people were milling around the entrance of the hotel, chattering in a dozen languages. Harm peered into the wide, shady lobby, wondering if they could call from here, but then he spotted a pair of military guards who appeared to be stationed by the front desk. He drew Mac behind a wide pillar.


"Okay," he whispered in her ear, "our embassy is right across the square. Just a couple hundred yards away, Mac. There are lots of people around, so we're going to walk right over there and show our credentials at the gate."


"Okay," she nodded, and set her jaw. He tightened his arm around her and followed a noisy group heading to the cab stand.


They had taken only a few steps when a woman's voice rang out, "Sir! You can get help in the hotel!" From the corner of his eye he saw Cora Boyles waving at him imperiously. Oh hell.


Harm ignored the woman and kept walking, trying to keep the group of people between them, but Cora would have none of it. She came bustling up, tugging at his sleeve. "Mr. -- Mr.? I'm sorry, I didn't get your name. But Sarah, she needs a doctor, you must see that. You must let me take her into the hotel." Her eyes were kind, but her strident voice carried.


"Please, no, Mrs. Boyles," Harm said politely, not stopping. "Our hotel is right over there. We'll be fine, thank you." Over his shoulder, he saw people peering at them. One of the army guards turned with a frown.


"But she is *very* ill! They have a splendid doctor here who speaks English, don't you want me to call for him?"


Harm caught Cora's arm in a viselike grip. The quiet fury in his tone was frightening. "Listen to me. We are in serious trouble. If you don't stop right now, you'll be in danger too. Walk away from us. *Now.*"


The authority in Harm's cold face was sufficient. Cora's mouth snapped shut, and she backed away with wide eyes. People turned away, shrugging.


The flagstones of the plaza were hot and white in the pitiless glare of the afternoon sun. The American embassy seemed very far away as Harm led Mac across the street and into the park. People strolled here and there, some in business clothes, others obviously tourists, and no one paid any attention to the tall man walking very slowly with his arms around a slim woman.


Mac's steps wobbled uncertainly. She seemed almost to be sleepwalking, but she clung tightly to him and kept putting one foot in front of the other. They paced slowly beneath a grove of tall palms and sat on a bench to rest in the shade. Harm hated to make her move, but he felt as exposed as a fly on a plate. After a few minutes, they continued down the walk toward the far corner of the plaza, where the gates of the American Embassy stood surrounded by flags hanging limp in the humidity.


"Almost there, sweetheart," he kept repeating in her ear. "You're doing great. Just a little farther."


By the time they reached the bustling intersection, Harm was practically carrying her. A few people turned to stare and he glared at them until they turned away. The traffic lights changed, and they joined the throng crossing the street. Harm turned right on the wide sidewalk and started walking toward the Marine guard standing at attention in front of the embassy gates. Twenty steps. Ten. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet and Mac's.


"This is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, Corporal," he said, holding up their credentials in front of the Marine. "I'm David Roberts, CIA. We need protection inside the embassy immediately. Ambassador Beresford will vouch for us."


The Marine's impassive expression didn't flicker. Furiously Harm turned to look for the sergeant in command of the guard post.


A black Citroen screeched to a halt at the curb and two army officers stepped out. One shouted an imperious command as a dusty truck with canvas sides pulled up and a dozen armed soldiers scrambled from the back and fanned out across the street, stopping traffic. Behind them, a crowd began to gather.


"Halt!" the officer cried again. "These people are fugitives, criminals! They are wanted for arrest by the government of Indonesia! Take them!" At his peremptory gesture, four soldiers ran forward.


"Hold it," Harm bellowed in a voice that could carry across a busy flight deck. He held up their credentials. "We are American citizens, and we are requesting the protection of our embassy! You can't arrest us! Sergeant!" Desperately he looked around. Two Marines appeared behind the gate and he snapped, "Gunnery Sergeant, this is Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie of the United States Marine Corps. Now open this goddamn gate!"


Sidearms appeared in the Marines' hands as if by magic, covering the surrounding soldiers. The gunny was speaking urgently into his radio and gesturing for the guard to unlock the gate. Harm slipped an arm behind Mac's knees, picked her up, and turned to carry her through.


From somewhere came a sharp crack, no louder than a motor backfiring. Harm's head snapped back as if he had been kicked, and he staggered. A woman screamed, and a second shot rang out. His leg collapsed and he went down on his knees.


He refused to let her fall. Slowly he sank forward until Mac rested on the dusty pavement, and only then did he crumple beside her.


"Hold your fire!" the gunnery sergeant bellowed at his men. The snick of weapons cocking and locking backed him up and feet pounded inside the compound as Marines with rifles came running to join those aiming their weapons through the gate. "Okay, Corporal. Bring 'em in." the gunny ordered in a low voice.


Even as the gate swung open, the government troops drew closer. "Halt, or be fired upon!" the gunny shouted. Then he paused, as every eye turned toward the two figures sprawled on the ground.


Mac was struggling to rise. She got to her hands and knees and pulled herself painfully toward Harm. She tried to shout, but her voice was dry and cracked. Painfully she leaned across Harm, trying to shield him with her body. She raised a hand that trembled with effort. "Don't shoot."


Somewhere at the back of the crowd, cameras were clicking. An officer barked an order, and the government soldiers lowered their weapons. Four Marines hustled onto the sidewalk, closed ranks around Harm and Mac, and carried them inside. The embassy gates clanged shut.


End Part Eight



Shadowland -- Conclusion


1430 PST

United States Embassy, Jakarta


"Colonel. Colonel, can you hear me?" Ambassador Beresford's face swam into her field of vision. She blinked.


"Where's Harm?" she whispered.


"Colonel, what the hell happened out there? I've got to talk to Washington *now.* The Indonesians are claiming Marburg was murdered, and CNN has it all over the news."


Shakily Mac pushed herself to a sitting position and let her legs dangle over the side of a hard little brocade settee. Her head swam, but she looked around and recognized the entrance hall of the embassy. "Where's Harm?" she insisted doggedly.


"What Harm? Oh, you mean Roberts? They're taking care of him," Beresford snapped irritably. "Look, Colonel, you *have* to give me something to work with."


Mac wiped her face with a trembling hand and forced herself to concentrate. "Marburg and his assistant were murdered by members of the military," she said carefully. "We have their identification, we can prove it. Harm and I killed six of them and escaped. We walked cross country to Maribaya and took a bus from there. That's it." She got slowly to her feet and started unsteadily toward the archway.


"What the hell do you mean, that's 'it'?" Beresford scurried after her and grabbed her arm. "You mean to say that cockamamie theory of yours was *true?*"


"Yes," she said, and looked pointedly down at his hand. "Now take your hand off me."


Beresford dropped her arm. "This won't be the end of it, Colonel," he began, but the tirade stopped abruptly as his wife appeared at his elbow.


"Colonel Mackenzie," Mrs. Beresford said graciously, impaling her husband with an icy glare, "you look exhausted. Won't you sit down?"


"I need to see Harm," Mac repeated stubbornly, and kept going.


The older woman slipped her arm around Mac. "This way, dear."


* * *


The doors to the kitchen slammed back to reveal a scene from hell.


Banging metal, harsh lights, voices barking orders. Controlled chaos as men hurried past. Marines bent over the stainless steel counter in the center of the room. Dark red streaks smeared the tile floor where their boots scuffed in it.


Long legs in blue jeans hung off the end of the table. Feet shod in muddy hiking boots.


Mac staggered forward, clinging to Mrs. Beresford's arm. A Marine moved aside, and there was Harm, sprawled half on his side with his shirt gone and blood everywhere.


Someone pulled a stool forward and she sat, clutching the edge of the counter. Harm's cheek was pressed against the metal table and she noticed a little patch of fog on the cool surface beneath his nose. His eyelashes fluttered, and there was recognition in his eyes as he saw her and struggled to speak. Mac watched with sick dread as a thin streak of bloody foam trickled from the corner of his mouth. She clasped his fingers and squeezed gently. "You're going to be fine, Harm. It's okay," she whispered.


"Get that pressure bandage secured," a calm voice ordered. "And where the hell are the splints?"


"This is all I could find, sir," a young private said, looking scared as he held up a couple of bed slats.


"Okay, it'll have to do. Gimme that tape. How are his vitals?"


The voices continued clanging above her, and she stopped listening.


When they rolled him onto his back to immobilize his leg his body clenched, shaking with a spasm of pain. She pulled herself to her feet and leaned over him. His hand clutched hers so hard she thought the bones would crack, but she managed to smile. "It's okay. You're going to be fine," she kept whispering, over and over. Harm's desperate gaze locked with hers. At last his body relaxed, and his eyelids drooped. Someone took her by the shoulders and moved her back, and four men lifted Harm into a stretcher basket, securing him with heavy webbing.


"Okay, Colonel, we're taking you to the roof now," someone ordered.


"Roof?" She looked up in confusion.


"This man needs a hospital asap. Do you want to trust the locals? We're evacuating you both to the Guadalcanal. They sent a helo, it's on the roof." She focused on the Marine corpsman who was speaking to her, and then someone picked her up bodily and followed behind Harm's stretcher. Four Marines carried him, swaying and bumping up some dark stairs. One corpsman was holding aloft a clear plastic bag connected to a thin tube that snaked down to disappear beneath the blanket.


The unfamiliar arms around her were enormous. It occurred to Mac that this is what it must feel like to be carried by Arnold Schwarzenegger.


They burst through a door into brilliant sunlight. Hot wind roared around them, stinging with sand and grit. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face into the wall of the Marine's huge chest, feeling his ribbons against her cheek. "Okay, ma'am," someone yelled, "we've got you," and she felt herself being handed to another set of arms, lifted and bumped and laid down on a hard, flat surface.


She turned her head to see Harm's stretcher beside her. An oxygen mask obscured his nose and mouth, and his eyes were closed. His eyelids looked thin and bruised. She reached over and managed to grasp one of the straps that held him.


With a roar and a shudder, the big helicopter lifted off, tilted, and headed out to sea.


* * *


December 17, 1400 Hours PST

University Hospital, Sydney, Australia


There was a tree outside his window. He gauged the passage of time by the color of the light filtering through its leaves, and amused himself by watching shadows dancing on the wall while he drifted on the drugs.


There was no change in the constant, soothing hum of background noises from the corridor, but he knew when she came in. A breath of fresh air, a whiff of perfume. Mac.


"Hi," he croaked, and opened his eyes.


"Hi yourself," she smiled, and leaned over the rails for a quick kiss. She was wearing her Class A's. This couldn't be good.


"Going somewhere, Marine?"


She flicked an anxious glance at him and pulled up her usual chair. She reached for his hand, carefully avoiding the IV line taped to the back. With her other hand, she held up a long envelope.


"Orders?"


She nodded, looking unhappy.


"When?"


"Now."


He digested this in silence. "You sure you're feeling okay? Well enough for the flight, I mean?"


"I'm fine, Harm. It was just a light case of dengue -- a few days of bed rest and Tylenol and I'm fine. Really." She shrugged. "I felt a whole lot better when they told me you were going to be okay."


He made a face. "Nothing three weeks flat on my back won't cure." His left leg was encased in a full length plaster cast suspended in a sling.


"They still won't let you try the crutches?"


"Not until the incision in my back heals enough to start rehab." He shrugged. "No big deal. It's not like I have anywhere else to go, right?"


"Only if coming home to me doesn't count," she said lightly. He squeezed her fingers and stared at the ceiling, and she peered at him closely. "You heard from them, didn't you?"


"Yeah. They cut me loose." He gave a brief, humorless laugh. "They'll pay my medical bills and buy me a ticket home, but that's it. Sure you want to be involved with a guy who can't hold a job?"


"You may not be the only one." She tapped the envelope. "I guess I should be glad this wasn't delivered by a couple of guys carrying handcuffs."


"Think they'll charge you?" His casual question didn't deceive her.


"I think that's going to be up to the Admiral," she said. "I'll worry about it when the time comes."


"What time is your flight?" he asked, hooking his index finger around hers.


"I have to leave in a few minutes." She smoothed the short hair from his forehead. "I'm going to miss watching reruns of 'Walker Texas Ranger' with you."


She hoped he would laugh, or at least smile, but his bleak expression turned serious. "I'm going to miss a lot more than that, Mac."


"Me, too."


He nodded, frowning, and shifted a little. A not-quite-comfortable silence fell between them. She was looking away with a sad, wistful expression that tore at him. Through the fog of medication, he scrambled for the right words, but nothing came. Jesus, Rabb, suck it up. Now or never. "Mac," he managed in a strangled voice.


She looked up.


"What happened out there" -- he tried, and started over. "It was important to me."


"Me too," she said. When he remained silent, the light in her eyes went out and she said casually, "But hey, stressful situation and all that. How long can something like that last, anyway?"


"How about forever?"


Her gaze snapped to his. Suddenly the whole future was poised in the stillness between them.


Mac was staring at him as if she could see right into his soul, and he supposed she probably could. "All or nothing," she murmured, shaking her head.


"What?" he whispered, confused.


"All or nothing, it's all you know how to be. It's why I love you so much." Oh great, now she was crying.


"Mac -- sweetheart -- I didn't mean to upset you--" If she says no, he thought wildly, I won't survive it.


"Harm. Shut up." She was leaning over him, smiling, and then her soft mouth was on his. He could taste her tears, hot and salty.


When he could breathe again, he grinned, "So I guess I can take that as a yes, counselor?"


"Yes," she laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Yes." Slowly she shook her head. "You really do have lousy timing, you know that? I have to go, right now."


He grabbed the shiny steel bar hanging above him and pulled himself up, grimacing. "Harm -- no, you'll hurt yourself," she said, reaching for him.


"I love you," he said.


"I love you too," she murmured, and kissed him.


* * *


Shadowland -- Epilogue


Six weeks later, 1900 Hours

North of Union Station, Washington, D.C.


"Hey," she said, tossing her coat and cover on the rack. "Sorry I'm late."


Harm looked up from the sofa where he was sitting with his leg stretched out across the coffee table and clicked the remote to turn down the jazz pouring from the CD player. "You're not late," he said, smiling up at her.


She bent to give him a swift kiss. "Wow, you started dinner already. You must be feeling better."


"I had to do something with all this time on my hands." He caught her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap.


"At least until you find something better to do with your hands," she grinned as he began unbuttoning her jacket. Their kiss was long and lingering. When they finally pulled back, Mac rested her head on his shoulder and asked, "How did rehab go today?"


He shrugged. "Okay."


"You've come a long way from the skinny scarecrow who came off that plane in a wheelchair two weeks ago," she said. The deliberate pace of physical therapy would never suit Harm's restless nature, she thought, smoothing his hair.


"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, it's better now that the cast is off." He tightened his arm around her shoulders and stared across the room at nothing. His deep set eyes were somber.


"Hungry?"


"Huh? Oh -- no, not yet. You go ahead."


"Harm. What's wrong?"


"Nothing's wrong."


She wanted to shake him, but she knew he'd simply clam up. So she took his hand and said carefully, "Whatever is bothering you, it's affecting me, too. It would really help me to know what it is."


His lips tightened, and for a bad moment she was sure he wouldn't answer. Please, she thought. If he won't trust me now, it will never be any good.


Harm looked at her and sighed. "The Admiral came by the hospital to see me today."


"Admiral Chegwidden?"


"Yep. He offered me reinstatement, with full time in rank and benefits." He looked at her sharply. "You didn't know."


"I'm not exactly on his short list of confidants these days. But Harm -- that's wonderful. What do you think?"


"I think he needs good litigators, or he wouldn't have asked."


Privately, Mac thought the Admiral was struggling with a classic case of letting go. He saw himself in Harm and had nurtured his career, but when the leash got too tight, Harm had rebelled. They were both strong, stubborn alpha males -- it would be difficult for them to get past it.


"What do you want to do?" she asked.


He started to speak and stopped. "I don't know, Mac. I love the Navy, and I love the law, but I'm not sure whether Chegwidden wants me -- or a lap dog. Besides, you and I are together now. We can't both work for him."


"There are lots of jobs in the military, Harm."


"And that's another thing. What are the odds that we'll both be stationed in the same place from now on?"


She leaned back and fixed him with a stern look. "Harm. You told me how much you miss it. Do you really want to give up this chance? If you don't want it, fine, but don't do it on my account. The details will work themselves out."


He regarded her silently. Finally he said, "The Navy is where I belong, Mac. Not just because I love it, or because I didn't leave on my own terms. When I was seventeen, I made a commitment to serve -- I can't turn my back on that. It matters."


She nodded, unable to speak. He swept her hair back and cradled her face with both hands. "It's not much to offer you, Mac. We won't be rich, we'll move around a lot, there'll be times we won't be together. We'll have to make some tough career choices."


"Don't sugar coat it or anything," she grinned.


"So you'll marry me?"


"Just try and stop me."



Finis