Admiral Morris is a good CO, not as good as my son’s namesake but good and polite.  “Lieutenant Sims, Agent Ryan.”

To say that sparks flew would be lying, but he had a nice smile.  Deep blue eyes and flaming red hair would have announced his ancestry if his name had not.  His Irish brogue might have been an affectation, but he made me laugh and when he stopped by my desk after getting the information he needed, he flirted so outrageously that even my bull mastiff of a Gunny Sergeant, Victor Galindez, just shook his head and walked away.

Two days later he called me and asked me out for dinner that night.  When I had to beg off because of Little AJ’s T-Ball game he laughed out loud. “Sure now, and hasn’t it been a long time since I saw a really grand game of baseball.”  He was the first man I had dated in two and half years who didn’t run screaming into the night or try to ignore my son. 

In six months we’ve been on at least 10 dinner dates.  Doesn’t seem like much does it?  But that’s because he insists upon including AJ in our fun.  We seldom go out on Fridays, preferring instead to spend all day Saturday doing ‘things.’  We’ve been to the Air and Space Museum so many times that the guards wave to them.  He makes stupid faces at the monkeys in the National Zoo that makes both of us collapse into tears of laughter. My son adores him.  One of his prized possessions is a photo that Tommy took of three gorillas. They had been sitting side by side their arms thrown about each other.  The original had been fabulous, but Tommy had carefully airbrushed out their faces and had replaced them with each of ours.  No one could have done a better job, it looks so real you can stand in AJ’s room and stare at it on the wall trying to figure out where human ends and ape begins.

He didn’t kiss me - really kiss me - until almost three weeks into the relationship.  By the fourth week I knew this had possibilities. 

I wanted to be up front with him and told him I was seeing someone else too, a dear friend who meant a lot to me.  I didn’t tell him who it was and he never asked, only told me to take my time and be sure. He was the only person I had even mentioned the possibility of Clayton Webb too.  No one at JAG even suspected.  My dad had no clue.

Tommy and I didn’t sleep together for almost two months.  When we did it reminded me so much of Buddy I cried for an hour on the floor of the shower.  Sweet and gentle, he held me all night when I finally returned and never asked what kept me so long. 

Two weeks ago I made my decision.  I called Clayton Webb.

I think he knew as soon as he saw me at the cabin that this was it.  We had known for nearly two and half years that what we had was based on great sex.  And, make no doubt about it; it was mind-blowing sex!  Fantasy sex!  Playful and playacting sex.  There were many a Monday that I would have trouble sitting in my chair I was so tender. 

That weekend I was determined to make it perfect.  While the whole time had been wonderful, I wanted one snap shot weekend to remember.  It was July and damn hot in town.  In the foothills of the mountains where the little bed and breakfast sat, it was a little cooler but not much.  Friday night we made furious, pounding love.  He practically dragged me into the front room, threw me over the back of the chair and took me from behind.  I screamed my orgasm at the top of my lungs and when he pulled me back into a brutal kiss I was instantly horny again.  It had been a long dry spell for us.  In two years, He had begged off only twice when I called.  The last time was just a week before I made love to Tommy for the first time. 

This was first time that we didn’t play the game.   I have given Clayton Webb twenty-six of my personal checks, all made out to cash, all in varying amounts.  None less than $500 - one that I wrote last New Year’s Eve was for $5000.  “You’ve been a most satisfactory gigolo,” I had seriously intoned, “buy yourself something nice.”  Even then he didn’t looked at the check, just folded it and put it in his breast pocket.

In the two and half years we were together the only place we’ve been to dinner is in our little town or small towns south of here.  Most of the time we just eat at the cabin or order in room service if we are at the Willard.  Clay as never met my son.

But none of that mattered to me or to him, I think.  We would take long walks and sometimes go looking for antiques for his townhouse.  For the past two Christmases I have received a small blue box from Tiffany’s.  The first year was a pair of diamond studs, the second a gorgeous tennis bracelet.  There is never a card but I know they were from him.  The only gift I have ever bought him was a solid silver pinky ring that we found at an art fair last summer. 

“Oh come on, it looks good on you!”  I scolded.

“Jeez, Harriet, I feel like a mobster.”

As far as I know he only takes it off when he makes something messy in the kitchen, I can tell because there is a pale white ‘tan line’ there.  We had a very strange and wonderful relationship. 

That last weekend I wanted to stay close to the cabin and I suggested a picnic.  He gave me a sour look but dutifully packed a lunch and we set out for ‘our spot.’  The bed and breakfast, owned by Clay, managed by a burned-out former operative rests on the edge of town and sits next to the National Forest.  There is a trail that even most of the town folk don’t realize is there and about a mile from the cabin that is always reserved for Clay there is an incredible drop-off overlooking the valley below.  Ancient rocks form perfect chairs and there is even a lush grassy area.  It is my favorite place to make love to him during the summer. 

We had just set out; both of us dressed in blue jeans, boat shoes and tee shirts.  I snap my fingers.  “Damn.  You go ahead, I forgot the wine.” 

“That’s okay, I’ll get it.”  He murmurs. 

“Go on.  Spread out the blanket.  I’ll only be a minute.” I call over my shoulder as I run back to the house. I strip naked and find his favorite outfit.  My classy slut costume, I call it.  The long sleeve cotton shirt barely fits below my breasts.  The three buttons have never been used since I bought it, the shorts are so tight that the seam alone will have me wet and horny by the time I reach him.  Leaving on the boat shoes, I grab up a pair of 4” FM heels and run back out the door. 

By the time I reach him, he has everything spread out including the wine.  His back is to me and I know he is suspecting a surprise.  I slip on the shoes and carefully saunter over to the wide flat stone and sit down and pose.  His hiss is worth the pain to my feet. 

“Damn, you’re beautiful?” He breathes raggedly.

I cock my eye at him and nail him with a disdainful sneer and set the tone for our last game together.  “Excuse me.  Are you addressing me?” 

A smile quirks his lips.  “You know you are private property, miss.”

I snort indignantly, “No I’m not.  This is national forest!”

He walks up to me and I can see his erection straining against the tight blue denim.  “Actually no.  The forest ends some two miles back.  You’re on my land.” 

I sniff, stretch and heave my breasts so they almost fall from my blouse.  I sigh dramatically.  “Oh well, I suppose I’ll leave then.” 

Standing up, I start to turn away, but his hand grips my arm.  “I don’t think so.”  He growls. 

I struggle.  “Let me go!” 

He pulls me to him, his other hand reaching out to cup my breast through the cool white cotton.  “No.  You’re on my land and you’ll have to pay a toll.”

I try not to groan but his hands have always felt so good on me.  “W-w-what’s the toll?” 

His fingers snake through my hair.  His lips find mine and his tongue invades my mouth, biting my lip he before he begins to trail kisses down my throat.  He forces me to kneel before him and whispers.  “Suck me.”  God I almost come from the roughness of his voice.  I pretend to struggle against him but one hand holds my head and his other hand pulls down his zipper.  He often doesn’t wear underwear while we are alone.  I doubt if he ever does that anywhere or with anyone else. 

I take him deep in my mouth.  In our time together I have gotten very good at this and I work his shaft, from the very tip to his base, with my tongue.  I tease his balls and finally pull down on his jeans so that I can caress his crack and his anus.  “Oh God, yes.  Oh baby you are so damn good.”  He tries not to buck but I want him.  I want all of him today and I hold him firmly until he throws back his head and my name echoes down the valley.  The thought of a farmer or some hiker hearing our lovemaking and the pressure of the seam of my shorts against my clit is enough to send me spiraling out of control. 

We collapse on the blanket and I’m glad he hadn’t taken the cork all the way out of the wine because we knock over the glasses and the bottle.  Holding me tightly in one arm, he reaches for the bottle, yanks out the cork with his teeth and carefully pours the wine into my mouth.  Even still, a cooling rivulet escapes and puddles in the hollow of my throat.  Lapping and sucking at it until I’m dry, he begins his assault on my breasts.  I have nice breasts and Clayton Webb has always appreciated them, nipping, biting and teasing them until I’m almost mindless in my ecstasy.  He works the knot of the shirt loose and between feather-light kisses he takes my nipples in his teeth and flicks them with his tongue.  Standing, he removes his jeans and tee shirt before kneeling back down to work the button of my shorts.  Slowly he lowers my zipper. 

Pouring a bit of the wine into my belly button he laps it up.  “Hold this.”  He commands as he hands me the bottle.  I take a swig and watch him as he removes my shorts.  Splaying my legs in a most obscene manner he reaches for the bottle and pours the wine onto my sex before lowering his face to drink.  His tongue is a weapon that invades my core.  His fingers caress my labia and his nose nuzzles my clit.  My second orgasm is louder, longer and more intense than the first and before it’s through he plunges into me. He is as hard as before I had taken him into my mouth.  Holding my ankles, he splays my legs out in a ‘Y’ and pounds into me.  The edge is off and though he sets a punishing pace he lasts long enough for me to come again before he buries his seed deep within me. 

Clayton Webb is the only man in two and half years I have ever had unprotected sex with.  He is the only man that I have implicitly trusted.  Tommy never even asked if I was on the pill, he had his own Trojans that first night we made love at his apartment and the other times we made love, he always wore them.

We salvage what we can of the sandwiches and feed each other before napping away the afternoon.  Watching the sunset, we make slow leisurely love again.

The next morning, I tell him over breakfast.  He doesn’t even blink.  He goes to the briefcase that he always brings with but, until today, has never opened in my presence.  Tossing a slim manila on the table he smiles.  “He seems like a nice guy, Harriet.”  There’s little in the file folder that I don’t already know.  A ten-year veteran with the bureau, Thomas Ryan is 35 to my 33.  No complaints and one outstanding service award.  He is a good dependable agent and has been assigned to the DC field office for four years.  He has thirty solid arrests under his belt and he is an expert on computers and surveillance.  A practicing Catholic, his 60-year old mother is his beneficiary.

“When did you do this?”  I gasp. 

“I saw you two last week.” At least he’s embarrassed.  “The guy I was having dinner with knew him.  The rest was a piece of cake.”  Leaning over he kisses me gently.  “I’m happy for you, kid.

With that he walks into the bedroom.  Twenty minutes later he comes out with his suitcase, picks up the briefcase and opens the door.  He turns around and nails me with a glare.  “So help me, if you need anything and don’t call, I’ll track you down and I don’t think you’ll like the spanking I’ll give you.”  He’s gone and as soon as I hear his car back out of the driveway, I burst into tears.  It’s done.  The best sex of my life, the one thing I’ve done just for me is over.  I clean up the breakfast dishes even though I know Mr. Smith will come in and clean the place after I’m gone.  I pick up my suitcase and open it to finish packing.  Inside is a small white 4 x 10 envelope.  Opening it I find all twenty-six checks. 

When I’m again done crying, I finish packing and leave our little haven.  I take extra time driving home.  My mother died last year and I wasn’t surprised when my father moved to Alexandria.  I’m his only daughter and AJ is his only grandson.  He kisses me on the forehead.  “I got a phone call from Agent Ryan, looking for you.”

“Oh!  I thought he was out of town.” 

“He said he was calling from the airport and wanted to know where you were.”  My dad has met Tommy.  Seems to like him. But my dad likes anyone who is good to his little girl. 

I call Tommy on his cell phone.  “Hi!  I thought you were in New Orleans?”  I’m happy to hear his voice.

He sounds tired.  “I wanted to get back in time to see you.  I have to be in the office tomorrow morning for a meeting, then I’m flying back down to New Orleans.”  He takes a deep breath.  ”Listen, I’m probably too tired to be good company.”  Tommy, like Clay, never talks about his work.   “ I’ll be home Wednesday.  Dinner then?”

“Sure!  Call me tomorrow when you get back down there, let me know you’re safe.” 

“You got it, honey.” Suddenly I wish I were there to soothe the tiredness from his voice.

By Wednesday, I’m missing him badly.  I call Mrs. Delaney down the street whose son is on AJ’s T-Ball team and she is happy to baby sit. He calls me at 4:30 and I suggest Callistos.  He seems kind of surprised.  “Oh?  What about AJ?” 

“Hey.  You’ve been gone for a week and I missed you Sunday.  I want you to myself!” 

Dinner is wonderful, he tells me of all the weirdness in New Orleans.  When I tell him it sounds like a fun town he shakes his head.  “No place I want to take someone I care about.”

Taking a deep breath, almost afraid my next admission will scare him away.  “Tommy?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I wanted you to know, I’m not seeing anyone but you.  That other man I told you about, I told him that I was seeing someone special.”  I’m blushing at my admission. 

Taking my hand in his he waits until I meet his gaze. “What did he say?”  He’s staring at me like the answer means something to him.  I suddenly get the urge to tell Tommy everything that Clay meant to me, but I know that now is not the time so I just shrug.  “He’s a good man, Tommy, he wished us well.”

Tommy nods and signals for the check.  Driving me to Mrs. Delaney’s he is quiet. After he carries AJ into the house and I tuck my son into bed and close his door, he takes me in his arms and his lips crush mine.  “I want you Harriet.  Please, can I make love to you? I promise I’ll leave before AJ wakes up.”

Oh boy.  I feel so strongly about this.  I know I should send him home with a promise to meet him anywhere tomorrow for a ‘nooner’ or arrange for a baby sitter and meet him at his place tomorrow, but the look of desperation on his face is so strong I nod and lead him down the hallway.  I lock the door and before I can turn on the light he his devouring me in kisses.  It’s almost like the first time we made love.  Slowly he undresses me and kisses each inch of exposed skin.  Pushing me back on the bed he quickly strips and lies beside me.  Trailing his fingers up and down my body he barely touches me.  It’s nice, very nice.  I’m panting and very glad that he is here.  He stops his ministrations, stands and fumbles in his pants.  I hear the foil tearing and the next thing know he is covering me with his body, his penis invading my core.  He sets a steady rhythm and I move my hips just right so that he is hitting my clit with each thrust.  I feel the tightening in my stomach and just as I am almost there he grabs my hair, and kisses me as he comes.  I follow close behind and sigh my release.  I try and not compare Tommy to Clay, anymore than I compared Clay to Buddy.  Besides, we’re not deep in the Shenandoah Valley with all of nature to swallow our passion.

He rolls off me and lays there for a bit panting.  “Damn, I’ve missed you, honey.  We got to do that again soon.”

I roll over and put my head on his shoulder and whisper, “Anytime, love.”

I don’t hear from him on Thursday but a large bouquet of flowers is delivered at the office and I am teased unmercifully.  I love it. 

Friday, my world is tossed upside down.

I come in to work on Friday feeling really good.  Just as I was leaving the house to drop AJ off at school the phone rings and it’s Tommy.  “I love the flowers!”

“That’s great honey.  Can I stop by tonight?” 

“Sure!  I’ll fix spaghetti.”  I plan everything I have to buy for dinner as I drive in. 

I’m just putting my purse in my drawer when I hear a low whistle and a heartfelt “Son-of-a-bitch!”  Since it’s coming from Gunny, who has never sworn in JAG ops in my memory, I turn around and try to see what has him so upset. He’s watching the monitors that float above the bullpen.  I gasp and put my hand to my mouth and watch the screen in horror.  Three men with windbreakers and bulletproof vests are dragging Clay down the steps of his townhouse.  His hands are cuffed behind his back and that lock of hair that always fell forward over his face during our lovemaking is caressing his forehead. His face is a rigid mask. 

I hear Harmon Rabb’s “What the hell?”  And Sarah MacKenzie’s “Oh my God!” I just stand there.

“Turn it up,” someone demands.  Rabb doesn’t wait for Gunny to find the remote; he’s tall enough that he stretches.  Sound floods the crowded room. 

“In a shocking development.  Clayton Webb, Director of Covert Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency was arrested this morning at his home in a very fashionable section of Georgetown.  A spokesperson for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, under whose jurisdiction the arrest was made, would only say that the 40-year-old bachelor was being arraigned in federal court on charges of treason.

“No way!”  Rabb gasps.  “Mac, can you handle the Peterson motion?” 

“Go!”  Her voice is shocked.

Just as he is grabbing his cover, Admiral Morris comes out of his office.  “Rabb!”

“Sir?”

“Where are you going?” 

“Sir, they’ve just arrested Clayton Webb.  I’m going down to the…”

“No you’re not, Commander.”

“Sir!”

“Commander!  That’s an order.”  He turns to go into his office and Rabb is on his tail. 

I sit at my desk stunned.  It’s so stupid.  There’s no reason why Clay would ever do such a thing.  It can’t be because of the money.  There isn’t enough money in the world to make Clayton betray his country.  He has given up everything for the CIA including any hope of a personal life.  I’ve seen him battered and bruised and once I held him in my arms as he cried about something he couldn’t discuss.  I reach for the phone and quickly dial a number that I memorized months ago.  It rings until I get Tommy’s voice mail.  I hang up without leaving a message.

The whole office is quiet for the rest of the day.  Even Singer doesn’t complain too loudly.  Rabb is in Morris’ office for almost an hour and when he comes out his face is white and he won’t talk to either Mac or me.  Gunny sends one of the enlisted men down to the newsstand for the late edition. A studio shot and a blurry picture of that morning’s arrest are both above the fold of the front page.  There is little information other than the charge of giving sensitive information to agents of Iran was read at 11:30 in the morning and he was being hailed pending bail. His passport had been confiscated. 

I’m not sure how I made it home that night.  I’m upset and afraid.  I pace while I wait for Tommy to come over.  I need to know and I hope he can tell me something.  Phoning my dad, I ask him to take AJ for the night.   They are just pulling away when Tommy pulls up in his Dodge pickup truck.  “Hey!  Where’s the slugger going?”  He looks calm and happy.  I must look a wreck because as he kisses me he looks at me carefully.  “Harriet, what’s wrong?”

I lead him into the kitchen and sit him down.  “You want a drink?” 

“Sure.  A beer would be great.”  He sips his drink while I fix dinner.  “Harriet?”

“Oh I just got some pretty upsetting news today.”  I can’t look at him.  I need to know what he knows and I realize I will be asking a lot.

“Not AJ.”  His concern soothes me.

“No.  AJ’s fine.”  As I wait for the water to boil I turn and lean against the sink.  “Your people arrested a man today.”

“Oh, you mean the faggot traitor.”  He seems relieved that it’s only something about work.

“Excuse me?”  I’m shocked for the second time today.  One, that he would use such a crude term and two, that he would use it about Clay.

He looks at me funny.  “Why?  Do you know him?”  There’s something about the way he says it and I shy away from the truth.

“Well just from work.  You know he used to come in to bug Chegwidden almost as much as you’ve been bugging Morris.”  I try for lightness but it seems to fall flat.  His eyes harden a bit. 

“So you think I’m bugging Morris?”  He grinds out.

“Hey!  It’s just an expression.  I know you’re there on business, just like…Webb always was.” 

“Yeah well, that’s going to be a problem too.”

I bite my lower lip and put the garlic bread into the oven.  “Why?” 

“Well we’re checking all his contacts and friends.  Trying to see whom else is contaminated by his corruption.  We’re checking out your Commander Rabb pretty closely, but so far he appears clean.  Hell with those medals he’s no limp wrist that’s for sure. 

I take a deep breath.  “And why do you think that Mr. Webb is a…limp wrist?”

He studies me carefully.  “Harriet.  I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but I trust you and I think you need to get word to your friends in JAG to stay clear of Webb.  I hear that Rabb was ready to storm the federal lockup this afternoon.”

“Mr. Webb has done a lot for Commander Rabb.”  I gulp and blush.  I probably shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh really?  What?” His eyes narrow.  I’ve never heard this tone of voice from him. 

“I don’t know.”  I whisper.  “What aren’t you supposed to tell me?”

“We’ve got pictures.”  He chuckles.  He is so proud and so wrong. 

I sigh.  “Pictures of what, Tommy?”

“Pictures of him and his boyfriend at a sex club.”  He waits a minute.  “Pictures of his boyfriend going down on him right there in the middle of the club.”  We’ve got witness who will testify.

I shake my head.  I know there has to be a logical explanation.  “Tommy.  Even if what you say is true and from what little I know of the man, I’m having trouble believing that. What does any of it have to do with a charge of treason?”

He comes up to me at the stove.  Stirring the pasta he kisses me lightly on the head.  “Honey.  His boyfriend is Mohammed al’Faisal.  We’ve been watching Faisal for months.  He’s one of Iran’s best, Harriet.  Mr. Webb is going down.”  His chuckle chills me. 

Over dinner he tells me all about the case.  More than I could have dreamed of.  More than he should have and I know that he could get into major trouble telling me.  But like he said he trusts me.  I won’t betray the trust.  It looks really bad for Clay and my first coherent thought is ‘who has set you up?’ 

After dinner he asks, “So when’s AJ coming home?”

“Tomorrow.” 

He gets a funny look in his eye.  “Oh yeah!”

“Yeah.”  I smile.  I need to be held.  My world is shaken.  A man I called lover and friend is in trouble and I feel helpless to aid him.  I lead Tommy upstairs and he takes me in his arms.  I’m expecting gentle loving but his kisses turn brutal.  I groan at the fire he is igniting and while I’m surprised I start to get into his caresses, returning his passion with kisses of my own.  But wants no part of my touch.  Roughly he throws my hands off.  He’s not making love to me any longer he is using me viciously. 

And then I know.  I know that he saw us.  The way he takes me on the bed, spreading my legs, pounding into me, a parody of my last afternoon with Clay.  I know he was spying on us.  My gentle lover turns into a vicious fucking machine and as he comes in me, his snarl of ‘so you like it rough, Harriet?’ tells me everything.  His passion spent, he falls on top of me. 

Taking a deep cleaning breath he rolls off of me. “Wow, honey.  You are something else.”  Dear God, how much did he see and hear.  And why was he so tender Wednesday night? 

I can’t believe he would spy on me. Can’t believe he could be so brutal.   As he falls into a deep sleep I stare up at the ceiling.  If what he says is true then they must have been following Clay and that’s how they found us. Perhaps they have the whole thing on tape and Tommy just saw it?  Or was Tommy there in the woods and is the world’s best actor?  Did he hear me crying Clay’s name?

My dreams are troubled and I toss and turn. When I wake up he’s gone.  His truck is not at the curb. There is no note.  Gingerly I walk to the shower.  He tore me last night, something that Clay never did. Even in during our roughest sex there was always an element of the gentle about Clay. 

I have to talk to someone.  I have to decide what to do.  I let the water cascade over my bruised skin.  Drying off, I study the damage.  I’ve had love bites before; these are teeth marks.  Clay has held me so hard that his fingers left tiny blue circles, but they always quickly faded.  I trace the purpling bruises that promise to discolor to green and yellow.

Throwing on my silk robe, I go to the kitchen to start coffee.  I find an envelope with Tommy’s bold script scrawled across it.  “In case you had any doubts, sweetheart.”  There are two pictures.  One, grainy and dark, obviously a still taken from a security camera, shows two men in a hallway, one on his knees, the other with his head thrown back. There is just enough light to make out Clay’s face, though it could really be a lot of people I suppose.  The other one is clear and clean.  Taken in bright daylight, it shows Clay sitting on a bench talking with a man of Middle Eastern descent. Clay’s arm is carelessly thrown over the other man’s shoulder. Clay’s hand rests on the man’s knee.  The smile is unmistakable.  Clay is in love with the person sitting next to him.  My grief grows as I study the picture carefully.  Then my anguish is complete. 

I know. 

As sure as I know he spied on us, on me, I know that Tommy has set Clay up.  I shake my head.  It’s a ridiculous thought not worthy of the man who makes stupid faces at monkeys at the National Zoo.  Not worthy of the man who has claimed my son’s heart and my Dad’s admiration.  But I know it. 

I walk back to the bedroom and find my softest cotton underwear.  I have a comfortable old tricot bra I haven’t worn out of the house in a year. It feels good on my aching nipples.  I feel like I have gone 5 rounds with Mike Tyson.  I feel like I have been raped.  I pull on a tee shirt and stretch jeans.  My lips are swollen, but they will heal.  Everything else is hidden. 

Returning to the kitchen, I drink my coffee and stare at the phone until the shrill shatters the early morning and I trudge over to it.  It’s a number I recognize and hesitantly I pick it up, saying nothing. 

“Harriet?”  I don’t know what to say so I say nothing. “Harriet, I’m sorry.  I guess stuff got out of hand last night.”  My silence stretches.  “Damn it! Talk to me.”  I can hear the tears in his voice and my resolve begins to waiver.

“Why?”  I whisper.

“I don’t know, Harriet.  A couple of guys were talking and they said their ladies really liked it rough and how women really hate namby-pamby men and I was so high yesterday.  You don’t know how long I’ve worked on this case!  We’ve been tracking the leak at the CIA for over a year.  We had no idea how high up he was.  This is huge for me, Harriet.  Catching this guy.  He’s a real scumbag, Harriet.”  He’s rambling and he’s lying.  I just don’t know about how much. 

“So why did you leave?”  I ask in a ragged voice.

“Oh.  Well I didn’t tell you last night but we’re going to a little town today where he has this…uhm…place of his and we going to search it.  I hear it was a real love nest.”  He’s rubbing it in. I’m very frightened now.  Not just for Clay but for me and Little AJ.  Thinking of my son shows me what I have to do. 

“So, will you be back today?”  I ask as casually as I can. 

“No.  After we tear up his place,” I close my eyes in pain, “we’re going to have to question everyone in town.  See who he’s been seen with down there.”  He gets really quiet as if he expects me to say something. 

“Well call me when you get back.  Dad wants to keep AJ for a couple of days.”

“Cool.”  He growls in my ear.  “When I get back, maybe I can figure out how to make love to you right.”

“Goodbye, Tom.” As I lower the phone I hear him laugh nervously.

“Hey, Harriet I was just.” I don’t hear any more.

I call my father.  “Dad.  Would you mind keeping Little AJ for the weekend?”

“Hey no problem.  This is great.  Do you mind if I take him to Aunt Shirl’s?” Only my father would think nothing of getting up on a Saturday morning and flying down to Palm Beach for a weekend.  But the thought of my son being as far away from this mess as possible suddenly appeals. 

“Sure Dad, that’s a great idea.  If you want, stay an extra day or too.  It’s early in the season.”  Well at least my dad is happy. So is my son, if his shouts of laughter are to be believed.  “Stop by here on your way to the airport and pick up some clothes.  I’ve got something I have to do this afternoon.”

“Sure babe.  Hey that was some arrest, wasn’t it?

I’m sure everyone within a 500-mile radius of DC is talking about it.  “Sure was, Dad.  Listen, have a great time.  Can I talk to AJ?”

I tell him I love him very much and to mind his Grandfather.  “Hey mom!  Why don’t you and Uncle Tommy come down with us?” 

I swallow.  “No baby.  Not this time.” 

Even though I had told him I was seeing someone else, perhaps Tommy feels I betrayed him by seeing Clay after we had been together.  Maybe he thinks that I’m just one of many lovers Clay takes down to Harpers Corners for a weekend of ‘rough’ sex.  I know better.  Whenever we are there in town it is evident that I am the only person that Clay brings to ‘our’ cottage. 

But still, I suddenly feel cheap and dirty and that makes me very angry.  Clayton Webb never made me feel cheap.  No, it took the righteous Agent Ryan to manage that feat.  I could have forgiven his anger at me, even begged for his forgiveness.  Someday, I might forgive his attempt to destroy Clay.  But I will never forgive him for the pain that will be visited upon my son because of this horrid mess.

Quickly I say goodbye and click the receiver.  I speed dial a number.  “Chegwidden.”

“Sir?”

There is a sigh on the other end.  “Yes, Harriet.”

“I need to see you.”  I keep my voice firm and calm.

“You too, huh?”  I hear the sigh again.   “Be here at 1400 hours.  I should have some information by then.” 

“Thank you, sir.”  I hang up and try to figure out what I am going to do for five hours. 

I find a parking place on the street and walk down the block to the restored Federal mansion.  I ring the bell and wait.

Admiral Chegwidden retired on December 31st last year.  On January 2, Admiral Morris was appointed JAG.  By January 5, Colonel Sarah MacKenzie was walking around the office with a silly grin on her face - half the time - a worried frown the rest.  Morris did nothing but scowl. 

There was surprisingly little fallout though, and on February 15th she was wearing a two-carat, square-cut diamond engagement ring.  They married on April 10th.  The reception was in the rotunda of the Capitol.   That was the only time Clayton Webb and I ever danced together in public.   Now in late September the swell of her belly can longer be hidden. 

They kept his house in McLean for weekends, but bought this place two months ago.  This is where they entertain and where he has his office, an almost duplicate of the one he had at JAG ops.  Mac tells me he walks the mile to Georgetown University.  I’ve never known a happier couple.

She doesn’t look happy when she opens the door.  For years it was always Mac, Rabb, sometimes Buddy, and Webb getting each other into trouble and getting each other out of it.  Only occasionally did the Admiral have to step in and save them all.  Me? Until that night 28 months ago, I seldom spoke to Clay and only knew of the aggravation. Now I suspect I probably know him better than anyone else in the world outside of his mother and that is a truly scary and sad thing. 

“Come in Harriet.” Leading me through to the back of the house to a small sunroom they had built over part of their deck I see that Commander Rabb is already there, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. 

If the MacKenzie/Chegwidden wedding surprised people, they were floored when Harm and Bobbi Latham became engaged a month ago. 

I’m surprised to see Bobbi outside, talking and gesturing while holding a cell phone to her ear.  At my glance Harm shrugs, “She knows him too.  Who knew the pain-in-the-ass would have made that many friends?” 

“Where’s the Admiral?” I ask.

“He’s not back yet.” Mac offers me a glass of tea.

 “I have to talk to him.  Can he find out what is going on?” Even I know I don’t sound like me.  Not the ‘me’ they think they know.

“Uhm…Harriet…” Mac looks at Harm but before she can continue, Bobbi comes in from outside. 

“Damn it!  I’m a Senator now. You’d think someone at the FBI would tell me something!  I’m on their damn oversight committee!  No one at State will even take my phone calls.  I swear to God, if this is one of his ploys I will kick his butt into the Potomac!”  Finally she acknowledges the fact that I’m standing there.  “Harriet.”

“Ma’am?” There is question and accusation in my voice.

She snorts. “Oh please!  Like he wouldn’t set himself up if he thought it would pay off.” 

I shake my head. I don’t know what to say so I look back at Mac.  “When is the Admiral due back?”  I’m not sure if I will ever be able to call him AJ.  Maybe ‘Your Honor’ if he gets his judgeship, but I doubt it.”

Mac rubs her belly and sighs.  “I don’t know Harriet, they denied bail last night.  AJ’s been trying to see what evidence the FBI has.”

Until that moment it never occurred to me.  “Oh!  The Admiral is going to defend him!”

“That’s right, Harriet.”  I turn at the sound of his deep baritone.  Damn, he looks good for 57. Mac is at his side immediately and he lightly kisses her upturned lips.  “Let’s go inside.”  He looks out the window like he is scanning for the enemy. 

We settled down in his comfortable den.  Bobbi and I share the sofa, Harm paces behind us and when AJ sits back into his deep leather club chair, Mac perches on the arm beside him, her arm around the back of the chair, her fingers just grazing his neck. 

“Damn fool didn’t want to tell me anything.  Swore for an hour that he didn’t know what the hell was going on.  I had to threaten to break his nose for him again before he finally admitted that they had known there was a traitor for over a year and they were doing their best to track the leak down internally.  Webb thought that they had him pegged two weeks ago.”  He takes everyone into his glance.  “You remember that suicide of the CIA official?”

We all nod.  The papers just reported that he left a note saying he was sorry and he couldn’t take it anymore.  No one ever reported what he could no longer stand.

“Well it seems that Paul Eckert was the man the CIA had pegged for the leak.  The phony info that Webb had set up to be sent out never got waylaid so they can’t prove it.” 

“B-but what evidence do they have against Mr. Webb, sir?”  The Admiral studies me for a long time.  I swear he can see into my heart.  I wonder what he sees?  I’m sure he was surprised to hear from me, but I can’t believe he knows the reason why I’m here.

“Some photographs.”  He shakes his head in resignation.  “Some very damaging photographs.  Plus there are dates and times that he can’t or refuses to account for.  That looks the worst of all.” He looks so tired and I know he hasn’t gotten much sleep.  “I can’t even get him bail because of who he is and what he knows.”

Rabb takes a deep breath, but I rise and walk to stand before my former CO.  Desperation makes me bold.  “What dates…AJ?”

I can hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.  He licks his lips and looks up at Mac.  “Would you three excuse us? Harriet and I need to…”

“No.  Sir.”  I meet his gaze and I know he is stunned. I’ve never outright defied him before.  But I know Clay said something to him and AJ has figured it out.   “I have nothing to hide, AJ.” 

I hear Bobbi ask softly, “What the hell is going on?” and Harm’s whispered, “I have no clue.”

“Harriet.  I think it’s best that they leave.”  AJ’s face is very grave.

I just shake my head.  “No.  I don’t want to have to repeat it and they will have to know.”

“Uhm…Harriet…” Harm starts.

AJ cuts him off with a tired, “Shut up, Harm” He closes his eyes.  “He asked me to tell you to stay out of it.  They don’t know about you. They won’t if he can help it.”

The gasps of surprise from Mac, Bobbi and Harm would almost be funny. My eyes never leave AJ’s.  “He can’t.  They already do.  What dates?”

Harm swears.  “Damn it, Harriet!  You’re the leak?  You’re his inside source into JAG? That’s why Morris wouldn’t let me go over there yesterday!  The bastard.  What has he gotten you involved in?”

I round on him but Bobbi reaches up and touches his arm.  “Sweetheart?”

“What!”

“Shut up.”  She sighs, looks at me and shakes her head.  “Harriet isn’t the leak.  There isn’t a leak.  Morris told me he was warned off by the FBI because of a conflict with one of their agents working on the case and someone in his office.”  She kisses his hand and he blushes bright red.  Turning her attention back to me she asks softly, “Do they know about each other Harriet?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

We brainstorm long into Saturday night.  By the time I collapse on the bed in their guest room I have fielded three cell phone calls from Tommy, each more urgent in tone than the previous. 

The first one was just to let me know that the cottage in Harpers Corners was empty and they were searching diligently for evidence of Clay’s crimes. Barring that, Tommy was sure they could at least prove Clay’s perversions.  “The manager just suddenly up and left.  I bet he was part of it.” 

He was more anxious during the second call.  “Agents are talking to everyone in town.  Agent Ashwell is telling me now that maybe Webb never brought any boyfriends down here after all. There’s some talk about some…girlfriend…though.” 

The third call is more angry, the hurt and fear apparent.  “Harriet, we have to talk.  I’m coming back tonight.  It’ll be late but I’m still stopping by.”  I tell him I was staying with friends and that I’m turning off my cell phone.  I didn’t hear more than his “Damn it, Harriet” before I threw the instrument across the room.  Poor Harm.  Today has really been a shock for him, but he managed to get over the impossibility that not only was sweet little Harriet Sims having sex on a regular basis, but having it with Clayton Webb.  By the time I throw the phone unerring toward a plate glass window, he merely reaches out, catches it in one hand, shoves it into his pocket and goes back to writing the motion he’s working on. 

AJ took to the plan to Clay at the federal lockup the first thing on Sunday morning.  Returning just before lunch, he tells me Clay wanted to see me and won’t agree to anything until I do. 

Clayton Webb doesn’t look good in prison orange.  I step into the visitors’ room and approach the seat that the guard pointed out to me. 

The niggling paranoia began Saturday morning when I examined the bruises that Tommy’s brutal assault – I cannot call it loving - had left.  It grew this morning when Mac and Bobbi drove me back to my house to change, only to discovered a Ford Taurus parked at my curb, two men in suits sitting in it drinking coffee.  Not wanting to chance being carted down to the FBI headquarters, I scooted down into the seat while Mac drove by and Bobbi called a friend who agreed to open up her exclusive boutique so I could buy something decent to wear to see Clay in.

I fully expect to be arrested and while Mac poo-poo’s the idea, she – and Bobbi – wait for me down stairs.  Sitting down on the hard chair, I pick up the handset and wait for him to do the same.  I can tell he is angry and upset and I await his fury. 

“Lieutenant Sims!” His voice is so tired I wonder if he’s being harassed or even allowed to sleep. 

“Did you think it only worked one way, Clayton?” I whisper.

“I’m sorry?”  He might have been able to pull it off if he’d been allowed some little sleep.  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”  Bullshit! He remembers his last words to me as clearly as I do.

“Oh knock it off, Clay.  Tommy knows about us.  They’ve been all over the village.  I’m sure they have an adequate description of me.  His bosses may not know yet, but he knows.  He’s trying to find me now.”  My cell-phone voice mail had ten messages – all from Tommy.  As soon as I hung up from getting them, it began ringing.  “You have to do it, Clay.  If you don’t, so help me, Plan B is no idle threat.  I will go to the newspapers.” 

“Damn it, Harriet!” 

Are all the men in my life on some weird ‘damn it, Harriet’ kick? First Tommy, now Clay.  I lost count how many times AJ and Harm used it last night.  Mac and Bobbi just sat there shaking their heads in wonder.  No one is used to this new Harriet.   Clay is trying hard to regain his control, so I sit back and let him try.  He buries his face in his free hand.  I wait and make myself think of the happy times I’ve spent with this man.  Last night I accepted the fact that the last two years with him have been a lie.  I’ve been deluding myself into thinking that it had been all about sex and nothing more.  Oh it started out that way, but somewhere along the way I did the unthinkable, the one thing that was taboo and forbidden to me – I fell in love with Clayton Webb.  I wonder if Tommy realized it even if I couldn’t admit it until Clay was in peril.  I wonder if I really am to blame for this whole damn mess. 

He finally whispers into the phone.  “You know that this will ruin us both.  You have to think about your son, Harriet.” 

“And what kind of mother would I be if I let you rot in jail for this?” I shake my head firmly.  “Do it Clay.”

“No.”

“Yes.”  My hand flattens on the glass and I can see he’s struggling not to return the gesture but I draw him like a magnet.  “I love you, Clay.”

“You can’t.” His whisper is desperate.

“I do.”  I don’t wait for him to say anything else.  Hanging up the phone, I stand and turn.   I force myself not to look back.  I don’t want to remember him like this.  I flip through the photo album I’ve made of us in my mind and suddenly the last puzzle piece falls into place.  When I exit the elevator on the first floor I am smiling as the tears fall down my face. 

Mac, five months pregnant and Bobbi, thin as a rail are standing side by side, arms crossed, glaring at two huge federal agents, daring them to go through them to reach me.  “Agent Kowalski, unless you have a warrant, you are not talking to my client!”  Mac snarls.

“Look sweetheart.” 

Oh that is the wrong thing to say but luckily AJ and Harm come in time to keep two agents from going to the hospital and a Marine Colonel and US Senator from going to jail.  While AJ goes upstairs to talk to Clay, Harm escorts us back to the house.

I hang suspended like a gossamer soap bubble between two men.  One who, under different circumstances, might have been good husband to me, a great stepfather to my son, but whose actions have made a mockery of any kind of declaration of love.  The other is either too clueless or stubborn to admit the truth, even to himself.  But neither man holds the pin to burst the bubble.  The choice is mine to make, at least the choice in the aftermath.  Now.  At this table there is no choice.  I will destroy the one to save the other, if for no other reason that, for any and all of his faults, Clayton Webb doesn’t deserve to pay the price for Thomas Ryan’s righteous jealousy.

We would never be sitting at this conference room table on the sixth floor of the Hoover building unless the lawsuit had been sitting on the director of the FBI’s desk at 0900 hours this morning.  The requested damages are high – 10.8 million.  I didn’t think it was enough but AJ said it would do.  “We don’t want to have to file it any more than you wanted to call the press conference yesterday. We just want a public apology.”

Mac and I sit on one long side of the table that can sit 10 people on each side. Both in uniform, we arrived promptly at 1030 hours and were shown into the empty room.  We decline coffee and wait in silence.  My paranoia is complete – I ‘know’ the room is bugged. 

Five men walk in and sit across from us, leaving the center chair empty. While they nod to us, they are neither particularly polite nor talkative.  A few minutes later, Tommy walks in with a man who is whispering frantically at him.  Our eyes meet but I glance away quickly, I cannot bear the pain I see in his eyes.  He starts to come to me but the man he is with firmly takes him by the arm and leads him to ‘their’ side as far away from me as he can get him. 

The door opens again and two men walk in together, both consummate politicians, both recognizable from the television.  Howard Cabot, the director of the FBI sits at the center of the table directly across from Mac. Jack Hughes, the director of the CIA sits next to her, smiles briefly and opens a file folder that Harm delivered to his house last night at 2200 hours. 

Two US Marshals lead Clay in, followed closely by AJ who scans the table and then whispers something to one of the Marshals.  The Marshal looks over at the men sitting at the table and AJ commands,  “I want them off.”  The head of the FBI nods and the handcuffs are removed from Clay’s wrists.  Even from where I sit they look reddened.  AJ brought him a fresh suit and clean shirt and if it weren’t for his defeated air, he would have looked just like the old Clayton Webb who had tormented the JAG for years. 

AJ motions for Clay to sit down. Clay hesitates as he looks at his boss, looks at Tommy then looks at me.  I manage a small smile. A sigh shudders through his body, but he seems to have made some kind of decision because he nods to himself and walks past his boss to sit next to me, AJ takes the chair on his right. 

Director Cabot starts the meeting by nodding to the man on his left.  “This is Deputy Director Williams, in charge of legal affairs.  He will go over this outlandish suit.” 

DD Williams clears his throat and looks around the table.  “Let me make sure that I have everyone’s name right.” 

It is all so much blah-blah. For almost an hour he goes over the points of the lawsuit, points that everyone knows.  Finally he concludes.  “Well it is all clearly a farce and a delaying tactic, designed to muddy the waters.  Frankly Mr. Chegwidden, I’m rather disappointed that a man of your stature would sully his reputation and put his future on the line to defend such a man.”

The threat is implicit and very poor strategy on Williams’ part.  AJ removes his glasses, carefully centering them within the folder in front of them.  “Farce, Mr. Williams?  Tell me sir, what part is funny to you?  What part of the lawsuit do you dispute?  The attempt to ruin Mr. Webb’s career by slander? Or the falsified reports and doctored evidence that will not only destroy a brilliant career BUT give aid and comfort to our enemies?”

Cabot looks at he counterpart in pity. “Frank, I know this is hard for you to believe.  Hell, he’s one of your top men.  But please understand this.  I’ve read all the reports.  You yourself agreed that it looks bad that he won’t account for the critical days.  We have the pictures and al’ Faisal is prepared to testify.’

Frank Hughes holds up his hand.  He is not a happy man but I’m unsure exactly who he is mad at until he growls.  “Mr. Webb has agreed, under duress, to answer your questions.  However, you must understand that what I have read does not paint a pretty picture for the FBI.  Chegwidden’s back-up for the lawsuit is damning…Director Cabot.” 

My hands have been tightly clasped on the table before me.  Now I visibly relax and fold them into my lap. 

The sneer on Williams’ face pronounces Hughes speech as so much bravado.  “Agent Foster is in charge of the case, I’ll let him do the questioning.

Foster is a harassed looking little man who looks like he would prefer to be in Fargo or Boise than here right now.  Taking a deep breath he looks quickly at Tommy before he begins.  “Mr. Webb, where were you on the afternoon of April 6th of this past year?”

Silence.  I spare a quick glance at Clay.  His face is white with fury and I long to reach out and touch him, but I will not add to his anguish.

“Answer him, Webb.”  AJ tone is kind but firm.

“Where am I accused of being, DD Williams?”  Ignoring the two men at the end of the table he addresses his FBI counterpart instead.

Foster speaks up, his voice rising just a bit.  “Mohammed al’Faisal says you were with him in Toronto.”  He looks down at his notes, “At the Biltmore Hilton, room 370.  We have a description of you two from the bartender, who evidently doesn’t see a lot of Arabs kissing white men on the lips in public.” 

Director Hughes asks quietly, “Could you read the description of the man please?  The description from the bartender, not your description of Mr. Webb.” 

Foster sniffs.  “The white guy was 5’11 at the most.  He was medium build with brownish hair, the beginnings of a widow’s peak, nice suit and green eyes.” 

Hughes nods.  “Well that is Mr. Webb all right.”  He looks over at one of the agents at the end other end of the table.  “Johnson isn’t it?” The man weakly nods, he knows what’s coming.  “How tall would you say you were Mr. Johnson?” 

Cabot slaps his hand on the table.  “We don’t give a…where were YOU, Mr. Webb?”

“Harpers Corners.”  Webb spits out.

“Can you prove it, Mr. Webb?”  Williams purrs.

“He was with me that weekend.”  I look at Tommy and shake my head.  Oh what have you sown here? 

“Ah yes, the uhm…girlfriend.  If you don’t mind, dear, we will get to you…”

Clay starts to surge to his feet but it is Mac who stands up and leans over, her hands braced on the table in front of her.  “You listen to me carefully, Mr. Cabot.  Mr. Hughes and Mr. Chegwidden’s goal here is to clear the Director of Covert Operations and return him to his duties with as little muss and fuss and just enough newspaper coverage to accomplish that. Lieutenant Sims and I support that goal because we both know Mr. Webb to be a good and decent American, but if Mr. Williams doesn’t apologize immediately, I will file a sexual harassment suit against him so fast…”

Cabot cleared his throat and glares angrily at Williams who has the sense to apologize.  “You’re right of course.  What Lieutenant Sims is willing to do to save her…friend… is perhaps misguided, but somewhat understandable.”

I’ve had enough.  “Sit down, Colonel.  Please.  I don’t want his apology.”  I look at the men across from me for just a moment and finally turn my look to Agent Foster.  “Tell me, sir.  When did you first suspect Mr. Webb?”

Williams speaks quickly, “We’ve been investigating this case for a year.”

“Yes sir, I know.  But when did you suspect Mr. Webb?”  I wait patiently for Mr. Foster to answer. He doesn’t, so I answer for him.  “It was just last week wasn’t it?  It was Agent Ryan who found the picture of Webb and al’Faisal, wasn’t it?  Who took that picture and when, sir?  Oh not the one in the bar.  That could be anyone really though it probably is Mr. Webb’s face.  No I mean the other picture that Mr. Ryan left in my home.  The one that proved to me that a man I thought loved me set up a good kind man who has been my friend and lover for over two and half years - a man who wanted nothing but happiness for me.  Even if it meant losing me.  The picture that I can prove is fake.”  I look at the stunned faces across from me.  “You really don’t know how good Thomas Ryan is with photography and computers do you?  He is an artist actually.”  I reach down to my folder and take out the picture of the happy smiling trio of human-faced gorillas.  “Any man who can do this.”  I hold it out to Cabot.  “Can fake this.”  I take out the picture of Webb smiling at the Iranian spy.  “When was this taken, Mr. Foster?”

Foster is stunned almost speechless.  “Last weekend.  Ryan took it outside of DC, he’s been following al’Faisal for a long time, he’s done a great job.” 

“I shake my head.  “Not last weekend, at least not Faisal.  What did you do Thomas?  Lose him? When? In time to come by my house and see me leave?  In time to follow me to my ‘goodbye’ weekend?  The FBI wasn’t following Clayton Webb like you told me.  You were following me.  You decided to see your supposed competition didn’t you?”  Tommy’s face is a pasty shade of oatmeal.  “If this picture was taken last week then tell me something?  Where’s his ring?” 

“Ring?”  The FBI men ask almost like a chorus.

I point to the hand resting on al’Faisal’s knee.  Reaching down, I thought I would have to force Clay to give me his hand, but he meets mine halfway.  Of course there is no ring.  They would have taken it at the lockup.  But the tan line looks like he’s worn it for twenty years.  “Baring the ring, gentlemen,” I tap the photo, where’s the tan line in the photo?  You can clearly see the mole on the man’s wrist.  A mole that doesn’t seem to exist on Mr. Webb.”  I hold it up for all to see and when I put his hand back on the table I don’t release it. 

“Jesus Christ.”  Cabot sits back in his chair.  “Foster!”

“Sir.”  The man knows his career is ruined.  Oh God, Tommy, surely you didn’t mean for all this to happen.

“Do you have any information linking Mr. Webb to this case that is older than one week?”

“I’d have to check, sir.”  The quaver in is voice is answer enough.

“Sit down, Harriet.” Mac whispers, but it is Clay’s gentle tugging that gets me back to my chair. 

Tommy’s cry of anguish claims everyone’s attention.  “You whore!  I loved you!  I loved your son!  You bitch!”  The agent to his left reaches him before he can pull his gun, but Clay pulls me back and AJ was already pushing us both aside to get to Mac.  Tommy’s face is so red.  “Why did you have to do that with him!  Why did you act like that in front of God!  You are going to burn in hell, Harriet Sims!”  Except for Foster and the other agent holding him firmly, everyone else might be made of stone. 

I have to understand.  “Perhaps, Agent Ryan, but why did you try and hurt Webb?  He let me go.  He gave us his blessing.  He said you were a nice guy!  If you hated me so much why didn’t you come after me?” 

I will hear that laugh for the rest of my life.  “Sinner!  Once your debaser was out of the way, once I knew you would never go back to him, I wanted to show you the way to righteousness for His glory, Harriet.  I would have showed you and your son the way.  But I knew I had to get rid of him.  I knew you would never be happy with me unless you despised him for the disciple of Satan that he is.”  Tommy is sobbing now and as they lead him from the room I collapse back into the chair.   Mac looks down at me.  “Come on, Lieutenant Sims.  Let’s get out of here.  They can handle it without us now.” 

“Go on, Harriet.”  I look up at Webb and know I will probably never see him again.  I let Mac lead me out the door. 

She wants to take me home with her but I just want my little house.  I see the yellow notice on the door as we pull into the driveway.  Mac stalks up to the two agents on duty and in less than five minutes they have made their confirming phone call and leave. 

My house is in ruins, picture frames hang askew on the walls, furniture is out of place, and newspapers and magazines are scattered across the floor.  I never knew I owed that much reading material. 

“Jesus H. Christ.”  Mac swears and reaches for her phone.  “I’ll sue them myself for aggravating the shit out of me.”

I reach out and touch her arm.  “Please, ma’am.  Just go.  I want to be alone now.”

“Harriet, please come back with me.”

“No ma’am.”

“Well at least call a service…” She sees the look on my face and shrugs tiredly.  “I’ll call you in the morning, but please call me if you need us.”

“I promise.”

I walk over to the phone in the kitchen, trying to ignore the flour that still hangs suspended like motes in the sunshine streaming in the windows, hang it up and try again.  I still get that horrid sound, which means another phone somewhere in the house is also off the hook.  I trudge through the family room and replace that one.  The gold fish that had been in the small bowl on a table lies dead on the floor, the bowl tipped over, the water staining the carpeting.  If they have done this to my house, what have then done to the cottage?  Climbing the stairs to my bedroom I am shock by the destruction.  I manage to pull the mattress back on top of the box springs.  By pulling the cord, I find the last phone and reset the receiver.  I count to 20 to allow the phone company computer to reset my connection and to allow me to regain some semblance of control.  I call my aunt’s house and AJ answers the phone so seriously,  “Mrs. Beaumont’s residence.” 

I can’t talk.  “ ‘lo!”  He yells.

“Hello?”  My father has taken the phone.

I swallow my tears.  “Hi dad. Listen, there is going to be some fallout over that arrest you mentioned.” 

Twenty minutes later I hang up the phone.  I pray that I have convinced him to stay down there with my son.  He wants to leave AJ with Aunt Shirl and fly back up to be with me, but I insist that I need to be alone.  My dad is the greatest.  He doesn’t understand, but he is behind me 100 per cent.

Almost as soon as I hang up the phone, it rings.  Admiral Morris tells me that Chegwidden called him and they both think it would be a good idea if I took a couple of weeks off, maybe get out of town before the shit hits the fan.  “Fine, sir.”  I stare at the phone and then take the receiver back off the hook.  Anyone that really needs me will call me on my cell phone.

I look around and sigh.  Well at least I will be kept busy. After changing out of my uniform into comfortable shorts and tee shirt, I start to straighten up in the bathroom.  I can’t imagine what they thought they would find in my box of tampons, but I just pitch everything.  Talc is everywhere and my anger and sorrow grow as I clean.  It takes me an hour and by the time I’m done, I’m cursing the FBI at the top of my lungs.  It feels good. 

I return to bedroom to start on it. He’s carefully picking up books and magazines off the floor.  I put the mop and bucket down and just stand there.  Carefully, he lays the magazines down on the dresser and puts his hands in his pockets.  In shirtsleeves and vest, his tie loosened; that strand of hair has fallen over his forehead again.  “The door was open.  I… uhm…straightened the coach and heavy stuff.  I…I’m…oh shit…Harriet I am so very sorry.” He hangs his head. 

I walk up to him and take his face in my hands.  “What the hell are you sorry for?”  I whisper.  “I brought this upon us.  If it is anyone’s fault it’s mine not yours.”

He pulls his hands from his pockets and holds me to him.  Burying lips in my hair he denies my guilt as he caresses my back. I gently push him away and bring his lips to mine.  I don’t remember any kiss softened by so many tears.  We need each other; I think we’ve always needed each other.  We just buried the need in games and fun.

Carefully, he lowers me to the bed.  When he starts to pull my tee shirt over my head and sees the bruises, he stands back up.  His hands fist and open convulsively; al the blood leaves his face, the fury threatening to consume him.  I manage to grab his hand and pull him back.  “No.  It’s over.  At least for a bit.  Please, Clay.”  I touch his face.  “He hurt me Clay in more ways than you can see.  He hurt me here in this bed.  Please.  Give me something else to think about when I’m lying here alone at night.” 

He voice is ragged.  “I wish I could tell you that I won’t ever let you be alone at night again, Harriet.”  I can see the sadness etched in his face. 

“I know, Clay.”  I work the buttons of his vest loose before tackling his shirt.  He trails kisses over my face as I become more and more frantic pulling his tie and shirt off.  He carefully ministers to each bruise, just lightly grazing my nipples.  He is setting me on fire.  “Please, Clay.” I stiffen when he pulls my shorts off, afraid of an outburst but whatever anger he feels at my violation he deftly hides and makes this about me, about us.  His mouth covers me and he’s never been so gentle as his tongue and lips soothe and then work me into a frenzy.  “OOOOOOOOO, yes.” I gasp out as I come.  “Now, Clay I need you in me now.” 

Instead of entering me he leans against the headboard and gently draws me up to lie against his chest.  The sheets are somewhere on the floor and the mattress padding feels funny against my skin but he holds me. I reach down to open his zipper but his hand covers mine.  “Don’t Harriet.  You probably need to wait a few days.”  His voice hardens and I can see the effort he is making to stay calm.  “I can’t, I won’t hurt you any further.” 

I don’t argue.  I kiss his lips and then his jaw.  I like kissing Clay’s skin.  There is just enough hair across his torso to make it interesting.  I let my tongue trace each defined muscle. 

It took a couple of times before I really paid attention to what those three-piece suits were hiding. Not a bulky body builder, but he does work out and as I trail my tongue lower my eyes lock on his.  He groans as I work his pants off.  A memory long buried in so many great times comes back to me.  The first time he made love to me he actually made love to my feet just by kissing and biting gently on the insteps.  I’m not sure if he will like that but as I pull off his shoes and socks, scattering the rest of his clothes in the mess on the floor I decide to find out. 

“Jesus! Harriet.”  I guess he does.  I lick the pulse point at the back of his knee and am rewarded with not only his approving groan but also the awakened memory of how it feels to me.  I decide not tease him like he teased me that night so long ago when we began this very strange journey.  I make love to him with my mouth.  Licking long and slow, up and down.  Nipping and biting until he is once again incoherent under my tongue.  He’s begging me to take him all and I love the power I have over this man.  This man who faces the world each day in a mask, hiding his own wants and needs from everyone - everyone but me.  He stills as I engulf him, swallowing him and I know he is reveling in the sensations.  His hands caress my hair and as I slow move up and down on him he carefully begins to pump.  I want him in me so badly, but I know he is right.  Even his careful manipulations stung somewhat.  So I’ll wait until we can do it properly.  Without any pain at all. 

His orgasm takes us both by surprise.  He always tells me, allowing me the choice.  But this afternoon, I drink every drop.  He pulls me up to him and our mouths and tongues continue mating for a while, binding us together, more surely than any marriage vow that we will probably never take. 

He finds pillows and the comforter and pulls them to the bed.  “What to go to a hotel?”

“We’re fine.”  I snuggle deeper into his warm embrace. 

“Harriet?”

“Yes, Clay.”

“What are we going to do?”

“When, Clay?”

“You know what I mean.” He sighs.

I rest my chin on his chest.  “Well.  How does this sound?  We take a nap.”

“Harriet.”  The growl is frustrated and tired.

I kiss his nipple.  “Then when we wake up, we decide if we are going to make love again.  After that, we shower and clean up this mess.”  I am afraid he is going to get mad, but he waits.  “Then…” I think of something else.  “Hey?”

“What?”  He whines.

“Do you have to go back to work tomorrow?”

His laugh almost turns hysterical.  When he calms down he runs his finger up and down my spine.  “No.  I have been told I am not to show my face at Langley for two weeks.”

I look at him and wonder if Chegwidden and Hughes had a long talk.  “Two weeks, huh?”

“Yeah, don’t change the subject.”  He bends his head and captures my lips.  They already feel better.

“Hummmmm.  Oh yeah.  I figure it will take us most of tomorrow morning to finish everything. Then we’ll make love again.  I’ll pack a bag and then we’ll go to your place and pack you a bag. We’ll drive to the cottage and clean that up.” 

“Oh hell.  I’ll get John to do it.” I think he’s just realized what a mess that will be.

“No.  That’s our place.  We’ll do it.” I grin evilly, “We’ll probably have to perform as special ceremony…”

“Let me guess, we’ll make love again.”  He groans but I see the grin that I love begin to tug at his lips.

“We’ll probably have some fences to mend it town anyway.”  I take a deep breath.  “By then the fervor will be such that I think we’ll just keep driving.  How do you feel about small children, Clay?”

The grin is gone.  His tone grave.  “Oh Harriet, you cut right to the hard questions, don’t you?”  He is quiet for a long time and when he speaks I know he is going to share something with me that no one else has ever heard.  “Why do you think that I didn’t ask you to marry me two years ago?”

There are so many answers to that, but I just kiss his chest again and let him tell his story. 

“When my dad disappeared, it almost killed my mother.  Even though she always knew it was a possibility.  Do you have any idea what it did to me? I don’t want to do that to someone that I love.  I don’t want to fall in love with your son, Harriet.  He and you have been through so much.  How can I…”

“Stop it.”  I move up until my face is inches from his.  “You are coming to Florida with me.  You are going to do what you should have done two years ago.  You are going to meet my family.  I want you in my life.  Whatever we can work out together.  We are going to bring my son back and then we are going to deal with the mess and the bullshit -  together.  I don’t think I can do it without you, Clay.  The papers going to say terrible things about me and about you.  I have a choice.  I stand up to them or I run.  I won’t do either one without you.”  I lower my lips to his.  After a moment I pull back.  “So, what’s it going to be, Mr. Webb?  Run and hide?  Or stay and fight?”

He rolls us over until his face is over mine.  “Do they know at JAG how stubborn you are?”  I see the smile that had been in the photograph and I remember it from that Saturday.  I know the instant Tommy took the picture that he pasted over that poor man’s body.  I can erase the picture from my mind now.  I have the real thing before me. 

“A few do, now.”

~~~Fini~~~~