Chapter 19

Thursday morning, A.J.'s work was interrupted by what
sounded like a somewhat heated conversation taking
place outside his office. He stepped unobtrusively up
to the open doorway to listen. The topic wasn't too
hard to guess. He'd seen the evening news the night
before, with its brief clip of Commander Rabb dangling
upside down from a rappelling line in the midst of
what was being called a "daring rescue attempt".
Steiner had released just enough footage to whet the
audience's appetite-- even A.J. could get nothing more
from him save a confidential assurance that the
commander was unhurt. The entertainment column in the
morning paper was predicting a record audience for the
premiere episode that night, thanks in part to Rabb's
foolhardy heroics and the ensuing media coverage.

A.J. peeked around the corner. Gunny, Tiner, Singer
and Harriet were standing in a cluster beside Tiner's
desk.

"I'll bet Colonel MacKenzie was mad," Gunny was
saying, "with her husband going off and playing hero
with some cute blond."

"Oh, come off it, Galindez." Lieutenant Singer rolled
her eyes. "Why would she care? It's not like they're
really married."

Gunny shook his head. "You weren't there, ma'am.
They're married."

"You mean, in the biblical sense?" Tiner chimed in, a
bit wide-eyed. The comment earned him a snort from
Gunny and a reproving stare from Harriet.

"Lieutenant!" Harriet scolded, her disapproval marred
by a smile she couldn't quite hide. "Don't forget
these are senior officers we're talking about."

Tiner stiffened at the rebuke. "Yes, ma'am."

Singer frowned at the exchange, her face its usual
disdainful mask. "Even if it's true-- and I doubt it
is, by the way-- it won't last. They'll be divorced
inside a year. Two, tops."

There was a moment's silence, in which A.J. had to
force himself not to step out of his office. It was
beneath him to get involved in such a petty squabble. 

Galindez broke the silence with a chuckle. "Yeah,
right. I'll believe it when I see it, ma'am."

Harriet cocked her head, giving Singer a penetrating
stare. "What makes you say that, Lieutenant?" The
question was sincere, if somewhat wary.

"Several things." Singer raised her chin a fraction.
"First-- and with all due respect--" the aside was
said in a slightly mocking tone. "The commander isn't
exactly a one-woman man, if you get my drift. Even if
he reforms now, his mid-life crisis is just around the
corner. If you don't think there won't be a string of
bimbos then, you're being naïve."

A.J. winced invisibly at the thought of Rabb hitting
mid-life. The man already got into enough trouble as
it was. Hopefully that day was still a few years off,
though A.J. suspected it would begin the moment the
commander could no longer fly fighters.

"Second," Singer continued, "Colonel MacKenzie is very
much the jealous type, all her talk notwithstanding.
She's never going to completely believe he's not
cheating on her, so she's going to keep demanding
proof. You know… 'If you love me, you won't go out
with the guys tonight.' 'If you love me, you won't do
your carrier quals this year.'" She mimicked Mac's
throaty voice surprisingly well. "Over time, one
ultimatum will lead to another and eventually…" Singer
shrugged as if it were of no consequence to her.
"Well, you get the idea."

A.J. pursed his lips. Singer, I think you missed your
calling as a clinical psychologist. Despite himself,
A.J. was impressed by the analysis. He thought she was
being too bleak, but her take on the two officers'
characters was disturbingly accurate. It was probably
a good thing she hadn't gone into psychology, though.
There was no telling how many patients she would have
killed trying to cure them.

"Lieutenant, I think you put entirely too little trust
in the commander and the colonel." Harriet's firm
statement made A.J. smile. "They're great together."

"I guess we'll find out tonight, won't we." Singer
nodded to the other three and took her leave from the
conversation.

Tiner and Gunny exchanged worried looks, then turned
in concert to stare at Harriet. "She's coming
tonight?"

Harriet shrugged. "I couldn't very well not invite
her. It would be rude."

There was a short pause in which many things were
carefully left unsaid.

"Hey, does anyone know if Colonel MacKenzie is going
to change her name?" Tiner asked suddenly. "It's going
to be confusing to have two Rabbs in the office."

Gunny shrugged. "At least their rank structures are
different."

"I'd love to see the clients' reactions when they find
out their defense attorney is married to the
prosecution."

Gunny frowned at Tiner. "I'm not sure they'll be
allowed to go against each other in court any more.
'Appearance of impropriety' and all that."

Harriet gathered up a pile of papers from the corner
of Tiner's desk. "Well, I'm sure it's a small price to
pay, all things considered. Now, if you'll excuse me,
I really need to get back to work." She smiled at the
two and walked away.

A.J. decided he'd better get back to his desk before
someone noticed his eavesdropping. He'd already been
turning over the question of how to handle having his
two most senior attorneys married to each other, but
as he settled in his chair, he pushed the thought
away. The SecNav himself had promised he could keep
them both in JAG. He was certain they would be able to
work out the details.

#

Somehow, A.J. thought, word of the JAG Temptation
Cruise party must have spread. He didn't think Harriet
could possibly have invited all the people who filled
the Roberts' small home to overflowing. The guests
were a truly astonishing mix of people, all of whom
seemed to have agreed to shed their various ranks and
positions for the night to a degree that shocked the
Admiral. He'd counted a total of three congresspeople,
one senator, two judges… and one very
uncomfortable-looking CIA agent in the press.

"You couldn't resist either, I see, A.J." Judge Amy
Helfman stepped up beside him, a glass of wine in one
hand. Her normally solemn gaze flashed with amusement.
"What's your excuse?"

"I'm staying abreast of an ongoing undercover
investigation." He cracked a smile. "What's yours?"

She chuckled. "Me? Oh, I've always been a closet soap
opera addict."

"This is a far more sordid obsession than Guiding
Light, Your Honor." Clayton Webb raised his glass in
salute as he joined them.

"I notice that didn't deter you," A.J. pointed out.

Webb grinned. "Heck, no. I think we've all been
quietly dying to see these two together, so why not
indulge my voyeuristic side along with the rest?"

Bud Roberts appeared at A.J.'s elbow then, saving him
from a response. "Sirs, ma'am, it's almost eight o'
clock. The show's about to start."

"Thank you, Bud." A.J. nodded to his conversation
mates then went to find himself a seat. 

Meanwhile, Harriet stepped up in front of the muted
t.v. and raised her voice. "If I could have everyone's
attention, we're about to get started here." 

The volume in the room dipped for a moment, then
resumed. People found seats or stood behind the
clustered furniture, drinks in hand. Harriet had
popped a truly astounding amount of popcorn, which
circulated the room in two large Tupperware bowls.

"Now," Harriet said, clapping her hands together in
front of her, "we all know why we're here--"

"To see Colonel MacKenzie in a bikini!" Webb called
from the back of the room, to loud applause and a few
whistles.

"Webb!" A.J. stared at the CIA man, who grinned
impudently.

Harriet made shushing motions and slowly regained the
room's attention. "Seriously, I think we've all, at
one time or another, thought to ourselves that
Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie would make a
great couple. I know I have." She grinned, bouncing
with excitement. "So tonight, we'll finally get to see
them together." 

"Everybody sing it with me," Tiner jumped in. "Am I
the only one who hears the screams, and the strangled
cries of lawyers in love…"

"Lieutenant!" A.J.'s bark cut through the howls of
laughter.

Tiner straightened abruptly in his chair. "Yes, sir.
Sorry, sir." He looked intimidated but not very
repentant. 

Sighing, A.J. stood and held up his hands. The room
quieted expectantly.

A.J. let his gaze roam the gathering. "It appears I
need say something on a serious note, before this
evening gets entirely out of hand."

"Oh, lighten up, Admiral." Bobbi Latham grinned
sweetly to take the sting out of her words.
"Personally, I've been looking forward to this
premiere ever since that little get together at your
place. Harm and Mac put on quite the show." She raised
her eyebrows expressively.

A.J. fought the temptation to roll his eyes. "May I
remind you all that Commander and Colonel Rabb's
presence on this show remains part of an serious
undercover investigation, despite all appearances,
which I'm sure will be quite to the contrary." He was
a little afraid of just how contrary. Harm and Mac
would still have to work with these people when they
returned.

"Let me also remind you all that you are
professionals, whether military or civilian, and that
I expect everyone to maintain a certain level of
decorum this evening." A.J. swept the room with his
gaze, noting the subtle shift of expressions.
Satisfied, he let the smile he'd been holding in
emerge. "But don't let that dim your enthusiasm."

He retired to his chair while a chorus of "Yes, sir!"s
ran around the room, accompanied by laughter.

The show started a few moments later. The theme music
began, heavy with tribal drum rhythms, as the
Temptation Cruise II logo appeared. Images flashed
across the screen. Some were obviously staged shots,
others "real". Each of the couples was shown in some
kind of sultry pose as the announcer said their names.
In Harm and Mac's case, the two stood face to face,
his arms hooked around her waist, holding her close.
They were dressed for a night on the town save that
the commander's shirt was about halfway unbuttoned.
Mac held the lapels in her slender hands as if she'd
paused for a moment in the early stages of undressing
him. They were staring at each other, smoky gazes
unmistakable, until something off camera called for
their attention. The two turned in unison to look at
the camera, and then the scene cut away.

"This is going to be worse than I thought," A.J.
muttered under his breath.

Beside him, Bobbi Latham laughed. "But just think how
much ammunition this will give us to use against them.
I'm not going to have to do Harm any more favors for
quite some time," she added, her tone playfully smug.

"Don't bet on it, Congresswoman," Webb said from
across the room. "He'll find a way to guilt you into
it no matter what you've got on him."

Bobbi turned, her grin deepening. "Are you speaking
from personal experience, Mr. Webb?"

Webb cleared his throat and looked away, eliciting a
chuckle from A.J.

The t.v. soon recaptured his attention. The show's
host stood on a tropical-looking beach, explaining to
the audience the rules of the competition. He moved
quickly from there into a combination introduction of
each couple and summary of the wedding ceremonies.

"Today saw nine couples joined in holy matrimony," the
host said from his spot on the beach. "Obviously, we
can't show you everything, but we will give you the
highlights. Some of the weddings were perfect--" the
screen flashed through several scenes of couples
saying 'I do' or exchanging rings and kisses. "Some
were not so perfect--" The t.v. jumped to a scene that
could have come from America's Funniest Home Videos,
with a bride tripping on her skirt and wiping out both
her husband-to-be and best man. "And some were just a
little strange." This time the scene was of Harm
scratching a square in the sand. The camera stayed
with them as he explained his actions and Mac's
inexplicably happy response.

"Does anybody know what their thing was with the
porch?" Victor Galindez asked, his gaze on Sturgis.

Sturgis raised his hands. "Why are you looking at me?
I don't know any more than the rest of you, and
probably less. I'm the newcomer around here,
remember?"

"So, Harm, Mac, what was the significance of the
porch?" This time, the question came from the
television. Harm and Mac sat in plush chairs side by
side, their casual dress proclaiming that this had
taken place sometime after the wedding. Their hands
were clasped, balanced on the adjoining arms. A
thirty-ish woman sat across from them. The set up was
very obviously an interview. 

The first thing A.J. noticed beyond the oddity of
seeing his officers holding hands was how relaxed and
happy both seemed.

At the question, however, the two shared a
significant, slightly guilty look. "We're going to
have to come clean about that, aren't we?" Mac asked
Harm. 

His answering chuckle held a clear note of
embarrassment. "Go right ahead. It was your engagement
party, after all."

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks."

A.J. blinked as the implications sank in. 

"You know, they did spend an awful lot of time
together on your front porch that night, Admiral."
Bud's eyes were round with realization. "You don't
think… something happened… do you?"

"I think we're going to find out, Mr. Roberts," he
answered tightly. He felt just a little trepidation at
the prospect.

Onscreen, the perky interviewer gave Harm a curious
look. "Now, when you say 'your engagement party', I'm
assuming you mean she wasn't engaged to you at the
time." 

A.J. saw the aviator's unflappable cool settle into
place. "That would be correct," he answered with an
easy smile. 

"What happened?"

Harm glanced at Mac, giving her the field. She stared
down into her lap for a moment, gathering her
thoughts. "Let's see. It was the night of my
engagement party. A friend hosted it at his house.
Harm had gone out to the front porch to wait for his
girlfriend, who was running late, and I went to talk
to him about a case we were working on at the time."
She flashed Harm a nervous smile. "We ended up talking
about old times and… and why it had never worked out
between us, I guess. It was supposed to be a goodbye
of sorts."

Mac paused for a deep, bracing breath. "To make a long
story short, he kissed me… or I kissed him… I'm not
really sure who started it… and all the things we felt
for each other but had never said somehow just… boiled
out in that kiss--" 

"Sounds passionate," the interviewer observed.

Harm arched his eyebrows. "You have no idea."

The interviewer laughed. "So your friend's porch was
where you two first realized you loved each other?"

Mac's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Not really." She
glanced at Harm. "I knew long before that, anyway."

He shrugged. "Me too, I guess. But that was the first
time we allowed ourselves to realize how deep it ran."
He raised Mac's hand to his lips, watching her all the
while. She smiled gently in return.

"Did you know about this, A.J.?" Bobbi asked with a
twinkle in her eyes.

A.J. looked at her. "That two of my officers were
making out on my front porch at such an inappropriate
moment? No, I most certainly did not." He wondered if
he sounded properly appalled, or just irritated at his
ignorance. "If I had, Ms. Latham, you can be sure I
would have done something about it."

"Like?" Bobbi continued to grin at him. But then
again, baiting people was one of her favorite sports.

A.J. lowered his voice to a murmur. "Like ordering
them to take it to the guest bedroom and not come out
again until they'd figured out what they wanted." He
met Bobbi's gaze squarely. "Just think: Rabb wouldn't
have gone down in the Atlantic, Mac wouldn't have gone
TAD for three months… can you imagine how much more
work my office could have gotten done this past year
if I'd known what was going on then?"

Bobbi chuckled. "I never took you for such a romantic,
Admiral."

"Thank heaven for small favors."

The premiere continued with introductions of each of
the singles on the cruise. 

"Hey, look. It's the commander's chippie." Singer
pointed to the television. A young woman with shoulder
length blond hair and a deep tan was smiling for the
camera.

"Singer!" Harriet stared at the other woman, who
shrugged.

"I just call 'em like I see 'em," she answered. 

Nikki Upton, A.J. thought, was far too attractive for
comfort's sake. To him she looked painfully young, but
from the comments the young men in the room were
making, he deduced that he was probably outnumbered in
his opinion. Unfortunately, Commander Rabb fell
somewhere between those two examples. He wondered what
that would mean.

"She's not as pretty as Mac," Bobbi observed while
Nikki told the audience about her childhood in
southern California.

"She is blond though, ma'am," Gunny returned.

Bobbi turned on him. "Is that supposed to mean
something, Sergeant? Gentlemen prefer blonds,
perhaps?" Her question was as sharp as her glare.

Galindez sucked in his breath. "No, ma'am. I wasn't
speaking personally… it's just that Commander Rabb
does seem to have a thing about blonds."

"You know, that's true." Bud looked between the two
with surprised realization. "Renee, Jordyn, Annie…"

"I'm not blond," Bobbi pointed out, her expression one
of feigned injury.

Bud paused for a moment, staring at her. His mouth
closed with a snap. "No, ma'am." A.J. chuckled.

Sturgis turned to the congresswoman, his expression
curious but not entirely pleased. "Were you planning
to tell me about this at some point, Bobbi?"

"You didn't know?" 

"Should I have?"

She gave him a helpless look. "I figured someone would
have said something, if for no other reason than to
make Harm squirm."

Sturgis's expression cleared. "Ah." He glanced at A.J.
"In retrospect, I believe the Admiral attempted to
tell me, but I apparently missed the full implication
of his words."

Bobbi chuckled and waved one hand dismissively.
"There's very little to tell, honestly." She smiled.
"Even if Mac weren't around, you would have nothing to
worry about."

A.J. returned his attention to the show once he was
certain another of his officers' love lives wasn't
about to blow up. With the introductions complete, the
show had gone into commercials. A.J. took the
opportunity to refill his drink.

When he returned to his seat, the show's host stood at
the ship's rail. "Paradise hasn't been without its ups
and downs for these nine couples already. Very soon,
we'll show you who's been arguing and why. But first,
let's go to our panel of experts for some quick and
dirty predictions."

The scene flashed to a group of four people-- two men
and two women-- sitting in a loose semi-circle across
from the female interviewer they'd seen before. Each
of the four was introduced as some kind of
psychologist or relationship counselor.

The interviewer checked her cue cards, then looked at
the panelists. "Having had forty-eight hours now to
observe the couples, who do you predict will win?"

"The Andersons," one promptly answered and heads
nodded down the line. 

"What? No way!" Boos filled the Roberts' living room.
Tiner even went so far as to throw a piece of popcorn
at the t.v.

The interviewer continued her questions. "All right.
Who do you predict will be the first couple
disqualified from the competition?"

"The Na's."

"The Coopers."

"No, the Sorensons."

"Opinions appear to be divided." The interviewer
smiled at the foursome. "Which couple would you say is
most passionate?"

"The Rabbs." 

Several people cheered. A.J. had to smile. Add
'mule-headed' and 'prone to getting in trouble', and
that pretty much sums them up.

"I'd have to say Crossby/Esperanza," one of the others
countered. 

"And the most likely to still be married fifty years
from now?"

"The Andersons."

"The Washingtons."

"The Rabbs."

The other panelists’ heads turned toward their
colleague in surprise. He leaned forward. "Consider
what we've seen and heard just in these first
forty-eight hours. They've been through too much to
get to this point," he explained. "They're not going
to let anything permanently separate them."

A.J. raised his cup in solemn salute to the
psychologist. "Amen to that."

The interviewer cocked her head, her expression
doubtful. "But you don't think the Rabbs are likely to
win this competition?"

The psychologist just shrugged. "No. But I think
they'd survive an affair."

Silence filled the Roberts'. A.J. felt a growing anger
at the very thought. "Well, they wouldn't survive me,"
he growled at the television. "I would personally
wring the responsible party's neck and send the broken
corpse straight to Hell in a custom-crafted
handbasket."

"I'm sure people would be lining up to crucify the
commander, sir," Gunny assured him, his dark eyes
snapping as if he had every intention of being first
in said line.

"I hate to say this, Galindez," Webb injected calmly,
"but you probably have the wrong culprit. Mac's got
the rotten track record there. Harm may have had a lot
of women…" For a moment a spark of humor showed
through. "But never more than one at a time."

"How do you know?"

"I'm CIA, Gunny. We know everything." He flashed
Galindez a superior smile.

Tiner threw popcorn at him.

Following on the panelists' discussion, the television
began showing arguments. Trash t.v. that it was, of
course Temptation Cruise spent a great deal of time
focusing on any and every apparent rift between
couples. Some of it was ludicrous enough to laugh at,
but seeing Harm and Mac at each other's throats over
Brumby while still dressed in their wedding attire
tore at A.J.'s heart. His hands clenched into fists
that didn't relax until they'd resolved the argument.
And when Commander Rabb dipped his new wife there in
the passageway for a passionate kiss, resounding
applause broke out in the Roberts' living room. A.J.
cheered right along with the rest.

The general mood lightened as they watched snippets of
The Newlywed Game. A.J. got to explain to those who
were unaware about Mac and Harm's ill-fated flying
expedition and why 'Crash' was so incredibly apropos
as a description. And later, Mac's "Do I look fat?"
drew shrieks of laughter from the women in the room. 

"I have to hand it to him," Judge Helfman said with a
smile. She gestured toward the t.v. with her glass,
her eyebrows raised in amusement. "He managed to
answer the unanswerable question."

Webb started to chuckle. "Can you imagine what would
have happened if he'd tanked that one?"

"He'd have had one ticked off Marine on his hands,
that's for sure," Gunny said.

Webb tossed off the last of his drink. "Jerry
Springer, eat your heart out."

After another commercial break, the premiere moved
into its last segment-- the outing. The host returned
to give them a short introduction.

"As you are all probably aware, the first outing
didn't exactly go as planned. Due to a very serious
emergency, the details of which we'll show you in a
little while, the day's activities ended slightly
before noon. However, before we get to the potentially
deadly situation two of our number found themselves
in, let's take a look at how the rest of the couples
enjoyed the early part of the day."

A.J. and the others were treated to a montage of film
clips, each showing a man and woman involved in
various innocuous vacationing activities. They saw
John Washington struggling to figure out how to use a
Ski-Doo while his companion darted across the waves in
the distance. They also saw Stacy Anderson giggling,
one hand clasped in her companion's as he gallantly
helped her across a rickety wood bridge. 

"Whoa, baby!" Webb's comment summed up the general
male reaction as Mac's image appeared. She lay
sprawled on her back in the sand, staring at the
cloudless sky as she turned a seashell over in her
fingers. Her bikini and flawless tan only made her
more lovely-- not to mention more visible-- than
usual.

"You're not planning on forming a fan club, are you,
Webb?" A.J. asked with as much disdain as he could
muster.

A male voice from offscreen accompanied Mac's image,
either reading or reciting poetry. As they watched,
Mac rolled her eyes and exhaled her breath in a sigh
that fluttered her short bangs.

"Now that is a bored Marine," Bobbi observed.

"Well, you know Marines, ma'am," Tiner said with a sly
glance in Gunny's direction. "They think beaches are
only good for invading."

"At least we're not afraid to get off our boats and
get in a real fight," Galindez returned. 

"Gentlemen." A.J. called them to order before the
generally friendly rivalry could get out of control.

After a little while, the show's host returned. This
time he stood on a humid jungle plateau, rugged
mountains framing him in an awe-inspiring backdrop.

"Here is where it happened," he solemnly told the
audience. "Here is where a woman nearly lost her life,
and a man put his own at risk to save her." The host
gestured toward the cliff edge. "The cliff below me is
a staggering five hundred and eighty-four feet tall. I
warn you that some of the footage you are going to see
may be disturbing, even frightening. If you are easily
alarmed or have a fear of heights, we advise you to
use discretion while watching this next segment."

This time it was Gunny who threw popcorn at the t.v.
"Would you get on with it already?"

The host steepled his fingers in front of him. "The
story actually starts this morning as our couples said
good-bye to their spouses and prepared to head out for
the day. Specifically, I'm talking about Harm and
Sarah Rabb." The screen changed to show Harm and Mac
amid the milling chaos that had to be the staging area
on the beach. The host's voice continued to narrate as
Harm turned abruptly to sweep his wife up in a
desperate-looking kiss.

"It seems like Harm somehow sensed the danger that lie
ahead for him," the host observed, "if this kiss is
any indicator. But the day started out routinely
enough."

The view changed to show Harm and the single girl,
Nikki, climbing a rugged trail. They exchanged
occasional words in sporadic but friendly banter.

"What Harm could not have known was that his companion
had put a plan into motion that would nearly cost her
her life."

They watched as Nikki took off up the trail ahead of
Harm and emerged on the same clearing where the host
had been standing. She turned to face the camera, then
proceeded to explain her plan for letting Harm rescue
her and become her hero.

A.J. felt the blood drain from his face at the girl's
unimaginable foolishness.

"What an idiot!" Gunny shook his head sadly.

Singer shook her head also, but in disgust. "Boy, did
she ever nail that one on the head. The commander is
such a sucker for the whole 'damsel in distress'
thing. I wonder if he thinks women really like that."

Bobbi turned to give her a wide-eyed, innocent stare.
"You mean we're not supposed to?" At Singer's
affronted look, she chucked. "I'm a huge fan of seeing
women take charge of their lives and accomplish
anything and everything a man can… but I'll be the
first to admit I love having a big, strong man to come
to my rescue when I need it."

"And when have you ever needed rescuing,
Congresswoman?" Sturgis asked her with a smile.

She grinned. "Why, every time I go to open a new jar
of olives. Or have to program my VCR."

Harriet wrinkled her nose in an impish expression.
"For me it's every time the car makes a funny noise."
She smiled at Bud.

"Or I need to hitch the trailer to my truck," added
Judge Helfman.

Bobbi laughed. "See, men are indispensable."

While the conversation was taking place, on the
television, Nikki had gone to the edge of the cliff to
look for tree roots. The collapse was so sudden it
startled the room into silence, broken only by Nikki's
scream. The camera cut to Commander Rabb where he
rested further down the trail. His head snapped up at
the sound, his face filled with alarm.

They watched in silence for the first tense minutes as
Harm ran to the clearing, assessed the situation and
devised a plan. A.J. could see him become the officer
he was. He gave orders will the full expectation of
being obeyed, his assumption of command both
effortless and efficient. A.J. found himself nodding
as Harm walked down the cliff.

"Well done, Commander," he said softly.

" I do believe he'll make a good CO someday," Sturgis
added.

A.J. chuckled. "With a few years of marriage and
fatherhood to mature him, I'd have to agree." He
crossed his arms. "Maybe by then I'll be ready to
retire."

"You, sir?" Sturgis smiled indulgently "I'll believe
that when I see it."

The remainder of the rescue footage was a mixture of
tape shot from a helicopter and images from the second
cameraman who'd been with the commander. There was
little sound beyond the noise of the helicopter blades
and the few instructions Harm had shouted up the cliff
face. But it wasn't hard to guess the conversation
that took place between Harm and the girl. Her heart
was written on her face-- desperation, hope, and
faith. The way she clung to the commander after the
rescue helicopter arrived spoke very loudly of her
feelings.

"You know, that's going to be trouble." Harriet
watched the screen with a worried frown as the Coast
Guard helicopter landed at the beach to disgorge its
battered passengers. 

Webb waved the comment away. "Pfah. Harm's hardly
going to be impressed. He gets to play hero all the
time." His gaze cut toward A.J. "Amazing thing, that,
especially since JAG is considered a non-combat
assignment."

"Oh, I'm not worried about Commander Rabb," Harriet
assured him quickly. "I'm worried about that girl. Did
you see her face when Harm and Mac walked away
together?"

Webb's brow wrinkled. "What about it?"

"Ooooh, she's right." Bobbi's mouth formed a little
moue of concern. "Nikki might have been trying to win
Harm's heart with her little stunt, but it worked the
other way around."

"Meaning?"

Harriet gave him an are-you-really-that-dense look.
"She thinks she's in love with him, Mr. Webb."

There was a short moment of silence.

"Well, I wouldn't be too concerned," A.J. finally
said, his voice intentionally casual. "I'm sure Mac
can handle it. And her."

"Probably with a good old-fashioned right cross,"
Gunny added with evident satisfaction.

On the television, the episode was wrapping up. Harm
and Mac sat side by side, hands clasped, while the
Coast Guard medic looked Harm over. The two appeared
to have eyes only for each other as they talked and
laughed. The camaraderie that had always characterized
their relationship showed clearly, but it had grown
into something new. Something stronger and deeper than
any mere friendship could be. A.J. felt an almost
fatherly swell of pride.

For the first time since the entire investigation had
begun, A.J. began to feel truly confident that the two
would be able to make it work.


Chapter 20

The next few weeks passed with less trouble than Harm
expected. After that first, disastrous outing, the
others somehow seemed mundane. As did the women. What
he'd feared might really be a long, hard struggle with
temptation had turned out to be… very little.
Certainly the girls were attractive, but that was
hardly enough to divert his attention from Mac. Not
when she was everything he'd ever wanted. 

The cruise wasn't an entirely pleasant situation, but
it was manageable. 

Truth be told, managing Mac was far harder (though
infinitely more rewarding) than dealing with all the
rest of the women on the ship put together, including
Nikki Upton who was beginning to make Singer seem like
a pleasant person. 

Harm had come to recognize the constant tug-o-war
taking place inside his wife-- trust in him versus a
numbing terror that he would betray and abandon her,
just like her parents had. On the one hand, he
understood that her fear wasn't a reflection of him,
or even their marriage-- that it was a byproduct of
the home she'd grown up in. But on the other hand, it
hurt. Every time suspicion and fear flared in her
eyes, he felt like he'd taken a gut shot. Why won't
you trust me? was always the first thing that wanted
to leap off his tongue, and the one he worked hardest
to keep hold of. It wasn't about trust. No that was
wrong, he corrected himself. It was about trust. It
just wasn't about him. 

Sighing softly, Harm opened his eyes. He wasn't going
to get any more sleep this morning. He turned his
head. Mac lay facing away from him, curled up in a
ball with the covers tucked up to her chin, as always.
The steady rise and fall of her breath confirmed she
was still sleeping. 

Rolling onto his side, he reached out beneath the
covers to brush the backs of his knuckles along her
spine, relishing the simple act of touching her. The
warmth of her skin comforted him in a way nothing else
could. For a moment he let his eyes close, wondering
if he might be able to go back to sleep after all. 

After a few minutes, he reopened his eyes. Not today.
Moving carefully so as not to wake Mac, he slipped out
of bed and padded to the bathroom. A tiny smile lit
his features. Not the head, the bathroom. He was
getting into the habit of using the "proper" word. For
a moment he wondered what would happen if he ever made
the opposite mistake while onboard a Navy ship.
Probably bust me back to lieutenant, he thought with a
grin.

Once inside, he secured the door and spent a few
minutes brushing his teeth and splashing water on his
face. When he felt reasonable coherent, he turned on
the shower, leaving the water set on cold. Then he
fished under the sink for the black case containing
the satellite phone. He and Mac had accumulated a
number of questions over the past couple of weeks--
questions they couldn't answer without reviewing the
evidence. There was some risk in using the phone, but
they'd searched the confines of the little room
several times without finding any sign of bugs, so he
was willing to take the chance.

"Good morning, Bud," he said when the lieutenant
answered his phone at JAG. 

There was a short pause. Harm imagined his friend's
eyes widening the way they did when he was startled.

"Good morning, sir. It's good to hear from you." The
warmth of the greeting gave way to cautious alarm. "Is
everything all right, sir?"

"Everything's fine, Bud." Harm rubbed his eyes, trying
to extinguish the last of his grogginess. "I need some
information, though."

"Name it, sir."

"I need you to go through the testimony from the two
Naval reservists and compare it with Mrs. Antony's
statements about the notes she sent them. I want to
know when, how many, what each one said, and if there
are any discrepancies in their accounts."

Harm could hear the scratch of Bud's pencil in the
background. "Yes, sir."

"Also, how is the sorting job going with the tape from
the first show?" Before he and Mac left, they'd tasked
a couple of ensigns with the unenviable job of going
through every single recording made during the first
cruise to look for missing segments. Failures did
happen, but a blank spot might also be an indication
that someone-- namely Ariel-- was doing something he
didn't want recorded.

"It's going, sir. It'll probably be at least a week
before they're done, though."

Harm kept his sigh to himself. They had the time to
spend, but if he and Mac could wrap up the case before
the end of the cruise, he would be more than happy to
do so. "O.k. I'll check back on that one."

"Anything else, sir?" Bud asked.

"Yeah. I want you to have the rape recording
analyzed."

"We've already had it checked for tampering, sir. It's
not a fake."

"No, I didn't think it would be, Bud. What I want to
know is why the recording quality was so poor.
According to all the involved parties, the incident
took place in one of the ship's cabins, so the
recording should have been as good as anything else
used on the show. I'm assuming what you're seeing on
t.v. twice a week is a lot higher quality than that
footage, right?"

Bud cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, sir."

"Then I want to know why."

"Got it, sir." There was a pause in which Bud was
obviously gathering himself to say something forward.
"…sir?"

"Yes?" Harm tried to keep the amusement out of his
voice. He could all too easily guess what it would be.

"I just want you to know that… we're all rooting for
you and the colonel, sir."

Harm grinned, deliberately misunderstanding. "To solve
this case? Why, thanks, Bud."

"No no no, sir. I mean… in the competition. The show."
Harm was fairly certain the lieutenant was blushing
furiously and fought to keep from laughing.

"Ah. Is anyone giving us odds?"

"Lieutenant Singer is running a pool, if that's what
you're asking… but, don't ask. You don't want to know
what odds she's giving you." A smug note crept into
his voice. "Some of us are going to make a lot of
money at the end of this thing." 

At that, Harm did laugh, though he kept it quiet for
fear that the cabin recording system would pick it up.
"Bud, I like your style."

"Thank you, sir."

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I don't think so."

"How's Sergei doing?"

"Fine, as far as I know, sir."

Harm nodded and ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled
hair. "O.k. I'll check back with you in a couple of
days."

"Sounds good, sir."

Harm disconnected the call and replaced the phone in
its case. He doubted they would find sufficient
evidence from the first show to implicate Ariel, if he
was indeed guilty. Most likely, it would all come down
to his and Mac's ability to set themselves up as
candidates for a repeat offense… and that was
someplace Harm really did not want to go.

#

"Did you hear?" Carmen asked brightly as Mac and Harm
walked up to the table where she, Boothe, and the
Washingtons sat together over lunch. Mac watched her
warily. There was something… off about her behavior.
Something sharp and brittle in her gaze that Mac
didn't like at all. 

"Did we hear what?" Mac asked while Harm pulled out
her chair for her. It was, by now, a familiar
courtesy, but eyebrows still went up around the table.

"The Sorensens are out, as of this morning."

"And then there were five," Harm commented quietly as
he took the chair beside Mac. With the Sorensons gone,
the only couples remaining were the three seated
around the table, Jeb and Stacy, and the Moleneuxs, a
couple from New Orleans. 

Mac picked up her menu, her appetite dimmed. Beneath
the table, Harm laid a hand on her thigh and gave her
an encouraging squeeze.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" Carmen said
after a moment.

Mac sipped her water, meeting the other woman's gaze
over the rim. "I don't particularly want to know the
details."

Delia chuckled. "Good for you, Mac. I don't have that
much willpower when it comes to gossip."

Carmen's gaze roamed the table, looking for a more
receptive audience. Harm and John were chatting
good-naturedly about the hazards of a red meat diet,
something Harm believed and John just liked to razz
him about. Delia and Boothe had apparently already
heard the story, but Mac didn't think that would stop
Carmen.

It didn't. "Apparently, Mrs. Sorenson decided she'd
had enough of her husband treatin' her like dirt… so
she went to the bar, got up on one of the tables, took
off all her clothes, and then asked who wanted to take
her home."

The table went quiet at Carmen's abrupt statement, or,
more likely, the vicious tone with which she'd said
it. Mac's nerves began to scream as long buried
warning signals came to life in her mind. She fought
to keep her expression mild. Beneath the table, she
caught Harm's hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. His
instincts were good. If something were really wrong he
would notice, too. But when she risked a glance at
him, all she saw in his eyes was puzzlement and
concern.

John broke the silence with a long sigh. "I wonder if
it's worth it." He waved a hand. "All this."

"Worth a million dollars?" Harm asked.

John shrugged and looked tenderly at his wife. "Worth
anything."

Delia smiled back, a surprisingly shy expression from
the brash, outspoken woman.

"Are you guys thinking of withdrawing?" Mac asked. For
some reason her heart was fluttering in her chest.
With hope for them? For herself?

John's answer was another shrug, but Delia nodded.
"Thinking about it," she confirmed.

Harm solemnly offered his hand, and John shook it.
"Well, we wish you the best, whatever you decide to
do," Harm said, and Mac could hear the sincerity
behind his words.

John smiled. "Thanks."

#

"Lieutenant Roberts is here to see you, sir." Tiner's
voice sounded tinny on the desk speaker in the
Admiral's office.

"Send him in," A.J. replied. He didn't look up from
the newspaper that lay on the desk before him as the
door opened, then closed with a soft thunk. He heard
Bud's footsteps approach, coming to a precise halt in
front of the desk.

"At ease." A.J. looked up into Lieutenant Robert's
round face. Salt of the earth, he thought as he always
did when he saw Bud. If God had made a more humble man
than Bud Roberts, A.J. had yet to meet him. And with
the growing confidence that age and experience were
bringing, the Admiral suspected the lieutenant would
mature into a very fine officer indeed.

A.J. sat back with a frown. "Have you seen the paper
this morning, lieutenant?"

Bud shook his head. "No, sir."

A.J. picked up the section he'd been reading and
handed it to Bud. "It appears Rabb and MacKen--" He
paused, struck by the humor in his own slip. "Rabb and
Rabb?" He shook his head at that one. Happy as he was
for them, it really did complicate things. "The
commander and the colonel's identities have finally
been discovered by the media."

Bud glanced at the paper in his hands, taking in the
gist of the entertainment page's top story in a matter
of seconds. "It certainly took them long enough," he
said. A.J. had to smile at the assessment. 

"Have you talked to Mr. Webb about this yet, sir?" Bud
asked.

"Actually, I'm going to let you do that, lieutenant."

Bud nodded, not looking terribly pleased. "Yes, sir."
He folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. "I
spoke to Commander Rabb today, sir."

Startled, A.J. stared at him. "I trust nothing has
gone wrong?" 

Bud shook his head. "No, sir. At least, not that I
know of. He had some questions and I'm working on
finding the answers."

A.J. frowned, then nodded in dismissal. "Very well.
Keep me apprised." 

Bud came to attention. "Yes, sir."

He watched the lieutenant leave, then turned to his
television. He found a midday entertainment show and
let it play in the background as he worked.
Considering the phone calls he'd been fielding, he
would eventually hear something. He wasn't
disappointed.

"We have with us today Daniel Steiner, executive
producer of the hit reality show, Temptation Cruise
II."

A.J. turned. A vaguely familiar, stylishly blond woman
looked out from the television screen. The camera
panned to Steiner, seated beside her. A.J. noted with
a touch of asperity that he was dressed in a suit. But
then, Steiner no doubt attached far more importance to
appearing on t.v. than to visiting the Judge Advocate
General of the Navy. The two exchanged pleasantries
and other meaningless chitchat for a while, but
eventually the woman asked the question the Admiral
had been waiting for.

"Mr. Steiner, can you tell us why two of the
contestants on your show are really military officers
from the Judge Advocate General's office?"

Steiner's expression remained politely neutral. "They
are conducting an undercover investigation with the
full cooperation of the production studio as well as
the FBI."

The woman's eyebrows rose in feigned surprise. "Is
this related to the rape allegations made against two
employees of the original Temptation Cruise?"

Steiner nodded solemnly. "Yes, though I really can't
say more about that because of legal considerations."

A.J. nodded in grudging approval. Whatever else
Steiner might be, he did know how to handle himself in
front of a camera.

The woman shifted in her seat. "All right, then. What
can you tell us about the two officers?"

Steiner smiled, warming to his topic. "Harmon Rabb is
a commander in the Navy. Sarah Rabb is a lieutenant
colonel in the Marine Corps."

"They're really married?"

"Yes."

The woman flashed him a smile. "Now, the Judge
Advocate General, that's the military's legal
division, correct?" Steiner nodded, and she continued.
"So the Rabbs are lawyers?"

"Very good ones, I'm told." Steiner leaned back in his
chair, radiating casual ease.

The interviewer paused for a moment, either to check
her teleprompter or to gather her thoughts. "We here
on the Morning Show did a little background checking
on the Rabbs earlier today, and were surprised to
learn that both have combat experience. Apparently
Colonel Rabb served a tour of duty in Bosnia during
the crisis there, and Commander Rabb was… and still
is… an F-14 pilot."

Steiner nodded. "Yes."

The woman leaned forward. "How is this information
going to affect both the ongoing criminal
investigation and your show?"

"It's not." Steiner's casual posture didn't change.
"The Radiant Heart and its compliment are totally
isolated from the rest of the world. No one there will
have any idea the Rabbs are anything but what they
seem."

The interviewer's eyebrows rose fractionally as she
turned to the camera. "Well, I think it's safe to say
we will all be watching the remaining episodes of
Temptation Cruise II with great interest to see what
happens."

A.J. picked up the remote and switched the television
off. He could only hope Webb had the situation under
control.



Chapter 21

Mac jabbed toward Harm's midriff, catching him just
beneath the solar plexus. She followed with a second,
faster and harder, and was rewarded by a small grunt
of pain. 

"You're not playing nice today," Harm observed as he
danced out of her reach. They were sparring in the
ship's gym. With gloves and headgear, there was little
chance for either of them to get hurt, and it made for
a nice break from running. Usually.

A crowd generally gathered to watch whenever they did,
and today was no exception. Mac really wished they
would all go away. The cheering and jokes from the
sidelines only served to irritate her.

Mac blocked her husband's return swing, feeling the
jolt all the way up into her shoulders. Ouch. Not that
she hadn't asked for it. She was feeling… violent.
This had seemed like the best way to work out the
roiling unease that had plagued her since lunchtime.
Talking to Carmen had strung her nerves taut and the
sensation simply would not go away.

Frustrated, Mac launched herself at Harm, the assault
intended for her own untenable emotions rather than
him. She went after him with a flurry of punches that
forced him to cover up. As he fell back a step, her
swings got harder, wilder. A little voice in the back
of her head told her she was getting out of control…
over-committing, but she didn't care.

Not until Harm's glove came out of nowhere and smacked
her in the temple, that is. Mac landed flat on her
back, the breath knocked out of her. Flickering lights
danced in front of her eyes. She blinked furiously,
trying to clear them.

"Mac? You o.k.?" Harm loomed over her, looking
worried. "Geez, you walked right into that."

Instinctively, Mac raised a hand to her head, which
was starting to throb. But between the glove and the
foam helmet, she couldn't really tell how tender the
spot was.

"I'm o.k." she told him, angry at herself for dropping
her guard.

Harm reached out a hand to help her up. She swatted it
away.

"I'm o.k." She climbed to her feet and assumed a ready
position.

Harm stepped back, his expression guarded. "Mac,
what's going on?"

"Nothing. Now shut up and fight." She threw a sharp
jab in his direction. He raised his gloves to block
the blow and stepped back again.

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

Mac glared at him. She could see the brick wall going
up in his eyes-- that infuriating self-controlled calm
that nothing could crack. How could she explain to
that how she was feeling, especially when she didn't
understand it herself? Why would she want to try?

A humorless smile twisted her lips. "Make me."

The blue eyes narrowed, but he made no move to
continue. He stood quietly, arms at his sides,
watching her. Mac ground her teeth. All she wanted was
a good fight. Where was the harm in that? The safety
gear would make certain they walked away with nothing
but bruises. She'd gotten far worse in the past.

Mac didn't acknowledge the voice in the back of her
mind that said, But not from Harm.

"Come on!" She stalked toward him, fists raised.

Harm raised his gloves in the signal to end the match.
"No." Ignoring her approach, he stripped off his
gloves and dropped them on the ground. "I have no idea
what's gotten into you, Mac, but I don't want to have
anything to do with this." He pulled off his helmet,
sweat-soaked hair sticking out wildly in all
directions. "I'm out."

"Well, you never were very good at hand to hand." The
blatant insult startled Mac at least as much as it did
Harm, and blunted the edge of her sourceless rage.
Harm was actually pretty good at hand to hand, having
been trained first in Laos by a Marine Recon colonel,
and then later by several different SEAL and Recon
teams for various missions he'd gotten involved in. It
wasn't something people knew about him since most of
the fights he got into were of the bar-brawl variety,
where lethal techniques were, by unanimous accord,
always left at the door.

Mac saw her husband's eyes go cold. He threw his
helmet to the ground with unnecessary force. "I'm
going to pretend I didn't hear that." He turned and
walked away, his long strides swift and angry.

"Where are you going?" Mac demanded, her anger quickly
turning to fear. What in the world was wrong with her?

Harm spared her a sharp glance over his shoulder. "I'm
getting out of your hair until you turn back into a
reasonable person. Go cool off, Mac." And with that he
was gone, leaving Mac alone in the center of a small,
silent crowd.

#

Mac spent a solid hour at the punching bag, until her
arms felt like lead and her kicks were about as
dangerous as an assault with a feather duster. What
had possessed her to deliberately alienate Harm like
that? 

Exhausted and thoroughly disgusted with herself, she
gave the bag one final swipe, then headed for the
locker room. She passed several women as she threaded
her way through the rows of lockers, all of who seemed
to be getting ready for an exercise class. Probably
the step aerobics. A brief smile crossed Mac's face.
Harm had teased her about doing the class, until she'd
said that she would only if he did. She hadn't heard
another word on the topic since.

Sighing, Mac dropped onto the bench in front of her
locker and rested her elbows on her knees as she
worked her gloves off.

"I heard a rumor your old man used to beat you up."

Mac looked up sharply to find Carmen standing a few
feet away. She leaned against the row of lockers, arms
crossed over her breasts. Her dark eyes, usually hard
and uncaring, were filled with a nameless need.

Mac stared at the other woman as all the unease she
felt congealed in a bitter pool in her stomach. 

"Mostly my mom, but… yeah," Mac answered, her voice
strained. "My first husband, too." She couldn't have
said why she answered the question honestly. Carmen
was hardly a friend. Yet something in the other
woman's gaze compelled her.

"Is that why you took up boxing? So he couldn't hurt
you any more?"

Mac dropped her gloves on the floor between her feet.
"He was already gone by then. I just wanted to make
sure it never happened again."

"Did it work?"

Mac kept a neutral expression on her face as a number
of tiny details clicked together in her mind. Slowly,
she nodded. 

"Does Boothe hit you, Carmen?" Mac asked in return,
her voice tightly controlled.

Carmen's expression closed over. She stared at Mac in
silence for several long moments. Mac held her breath,
afraid to say anything else for fear of breaking the
tenuous link she had with this woman.

Finally, Carmen shrugged. "Sometimes." She looked
away, biting her lower lip. "It's my own fault."

"No!" Mac rose to her feet like an uncoiling spring.
"Don't say that. It is not your fault!"

Carmen's dead stare didn't change. "What about Harm?"

"What about him?" The question came out more sharply
than she intended.

A faint smile touched Carmen's lips. "Does the boxing
make sure he won't hurt you?"

Mac was utterly appalled by the idea, but buried her
reaction. "Harm's more likely to commit suicide than
he is to hit a woman in anger," she answered
matter-of-factly. It had taken a long time just to get
him to agree to spar with her. She flashed Carmen a
tight, rueful smile. "But, the truth is no, kickboxing
probably wouldn't be enough if he ever really tried to
hurt me." Nine inches and eighty pounds made sure of
that. If he didn't have any training at all, maybe...
She shook her head softly. "He won't, though."

Carmen's disbelieving snort spoke volumes. "That Boy
Scout routine's really got you fooled, honey." She
looked at Mac with what could only be described as
pity before turning and walking away. 

Mac stared after her, her thoughts turning. She didn't
stir until long after the other woman had gone. Then
she quietly gathered her things and headed for the
showers.

#

George Laughton leaned back in his ergonomically
correct chair, stretching hard enough to nearly knock
himself over backwards. He straightened after a
moment, working his jaw until it popped, then took
another sip of the warm diet Coke sitting beside his
keyboard. Another day done. The day's transmission of
tape segments had just gone out, which meant he also
had a fresh download sitting on his computer.

George didn't like being disconnected from the world.
So, when he'd learned this cruise would be
incommunicado except for the daily satellite
transmission to the production studio, he'd made
provisions for his own newsfeed to come back with the
studio's acknowledgement. Since he'd designed the
system on the studio's end, it was easy enough.

George took a final look around the AV room to make
sure he was alone. Everyone else was off in the
conference room, playing HALO. Geeks that they were,
the technical staff had brought a total of four
X-Boxes with them, which they had networked together.
The HALO sessions often went long into the night.
There was fierce competition between the staff and the
singles, but only a couple of the marrieds had yet
been enticed into playing with them. George smirked.
Well, he supposed they probably had better things to
do with their time.

George went through the process to uncompress his
download, then sat back with a satisfied sigh to read.
He wanted to see how the White Sox had played today.

When he came across the articles describing the
undercover investigation taking place onboard the
Radiant Heart, George sat bolt upright in his chair,
nearly choking on a mouthful of soda. A Navy Commander
and a Marine Corps Lieutenant Colonel? Really? And a
fighter pilot, no less. He let out a low whistle of
amazement. No wonder they were so odd sometimes.

George quickly scanned the rest of the news for
anything else of import, then deleted the files as
permanently as he knew how. He leaned back in his
chair and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the new
information in light of his own job on board the
Radiant Heart.

#

Harm looked up when the door to the cabin opened. He
sat in one of the room's plush chairs, reading a book
Frank had given him for Christmas several years
earlier. It had been languishing in his "I'll read it
someday" pile since then. He'd brought several such
books with him on the cruise in the hopes of making
some progress on the pile. Harm slowly closed the
volume in his lap.

Mac stood in the doorway, fingers laced together in
front of her and her gym bag slung over one shoulder.
She shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. 

"Hi," she offered in a timid voice, not quite meeting
his gaze.

Harm set the book aside, but didn't move to rise.
"Hi."

She licked her lips. "Can I come in?"

"You live here, Mac."

She nodded, a flush rising in her cheeks. After a
moment, she walked into the room. Bypassing him, she
entered the bedroom. He heard the thump of her bag
hitting the ground. Not knowing what to say, or if he
should say anything at all, he stayed where he was.

Eventually she emerged, dressed for bed though it was
barely dinnertime. Her long satin nightgown was the
color of summer peaches and, though pretty, it was
probably the most conservative one she had. Harm
watched her with concern and a simmering frustration.
Something was very obviously bothering her-- hurting
her-- and so far she had excluded him to the point
that he didn't have even the faintest clue what was
going on.

She walked up to his chair, bare feet silent on the
carpet. Harm looked up into her face. "Are you ready
to tell me what's going on?" he asked with as much
aplomb as he could muster.

Mac's hands closed into fists at her sides. She shook
them open, then crossed her arms over her chest,
closing her fingers around her biceps. She stared at
the floor. "I had a talk with Carmen today." Her voice
held a dull note that alarmed him. "Boothe hits her."

Harm pursed his lips. He wasn't terribly surprised by
the revelation. He'd met others of the type before and
Boothe certainly fit the profile. He could understand
why Mac was upset. Why take it out on me, though? He
answered his own question a moment later. He was the
closest target, both physically and emotionally. 

Harm stood, intending to take her in his arms for what
looked like a much-needed hug. But as he moved toward
her, Mac flinched, taking a half step back.

Harm froze. Ignore it, he instructed himself firmly,
fighting the surge of hurt and anger her reaction
generated. Abuse doesn't just go away.

"Mac… Sarah, look at me." He kept his voice soft,
non-threatening.

Mac raised her head obediently. Her eyes were wide and
full of the shadows of old terrors.

"Are you afraid of me?" Harm asked. He thought he
already knew the answer, but the question needed to be
asked. He steeled himself as tears welled up in her
eyes and began to trail down her cheeks. Nothing in
the world felt worse than making Mac cry.

She bit her lip, her expression helpless. "I…
shouldn't be."

Harm had to look away. He closed his eyes, feeling the
weight of his dreams as they came crashing down on
him. Is that really what kind of man you think I am,
Mac? How are we ever going to make this work? 

Mac's fingers touched his chest, just over his heart.
"Harm, please don't be mad." Her voice broke. "I'm
sorry. I didn't mean it. Please--"

Harm's eyes snapped open. Capturing her wrist, he
dragged her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight
hug. "Stop it!" She stiffened with a gasp and Harm
forced himself to speak more gently. "You did mean it,
and that's…" He buried his face against her neck,
needing the comfort. "That's o.k., Mac." 

She was silent for a long time. Harm felt her relax by
degrees against him, though her shaky breath didn't
change.

"I thought I was past all this," she finally said, her
voice muffled against his shirt.

Harm stroked her hair, uncertain how to respond. 

Mac turned her head and laid her cheek against his
arm. "I thought… since I finally made a good choice in
men--" Harm smiled at her admission. "--that it
wouldn't be an issue anymore."

Harm squeezed her tightly. "I wish it was that simple,
too."

They stood together for a while in silence. Harm
closed his eyes again and tried to lose himself in the
feel of Mac's hair between his fingers and the
coffee-and-cinnamon smell that was so much a part of
her. He didn’t want to think but his mind refused to
obey, turning what he'd learned about their
relationship over and over again, looking at it from
every angle he could conceive of. It was an attribute
that made him an excellent investigator, but it also
contributed to his obsessive tendencies.

Eventually, he settled on one question that summed up
all of his uncertainties. "What will it take for you
not to be afraid of me, Mac? On any level?"

She stiffened, then slowly withdrew from his arms. She
never raised her eyes to look at him.

"Mac?" he asked in concern as she turned away, folding
her arms across her chest once again. Her shoulders
began to shake.

"Mac." Harm hesitated to touch her, but then reached
over to lay a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the
rigid tension running through her body, testament to
the vicious emotional battle taking place inside.

"I am so tired of being damaged." Mac's voice was a
ragged, angry whisper. "When is enough, enough? When
do I get a chance to really be happy without all this
garbage haunting me?" She threw her arms wide in a
gesture of frustration as she turned to face him.
"Haven't I worked hard enough? I cleaned up my act,
got sober, put myself through law school, and made
myself a life. A life I'm proud of. And now, I have
even managed through some miracle to end up married to
a man I not only love with all my heart, but admire
and respect, too! So I ask you, when will it be
enough?"

Harm stared into her dark, flashing eyes, both pleased
and a little taken aback.

Mac bit her lip, her expression falling. "When do I
get to leave the past behind?" The desperate plea in
her voice tore at Harm's heart. 

Wishing he had a better answer to offer, he gave her a
rueful smile. "You're asking me? The man who nearly
got you killed… twice, no less… in Russia trying to
resolve my own issues with the past?"

Mac cracked a smile. It was small, but genuine. "Only
twice?"

Harm grinned, relieved by her reaction. "O.k. Maybe
three times." He sobered. "But that still doesn't
answer my question."

Mac sighed, brushing away a stray tear. "I don't know.
It's not really you that scares me. I hope you realize
that." 

Harm nodded. He did-- intellectually, at least. 

She went on, "It's the… the possibility, I guess…
that, despite everything I know to be true about you
and about our relationship, that somehow I'm still
going to end up being hurt again. And I'm not going to
be able to do anything about it. Again. I don't know
how to make that go away."

"Trying to clobber me in the sparring ring isn't going
to help."

She flashed him a sheepish look. "Sorry."

Harm closed the distance between them. He caught Mac
beneath the elbows, drawing her close without--
hopefully-- making her feel trapped. He stared into
her chocolate eyes. "Listen to me, Mac. I will never
deliberately hurt you."

She sighed and laid her hands on his chest, palms
flat. "I know. I trust you with my life."

Dismay hit him like a blow. "It's your heart I want." 

Mac's breath caught, her eyes filling with tears.
"It's yours." She leaned into him, pressing her
forehead against his chest and wrapping her arms
around his waist. "As much as I know how to give it,
it's yours."

"What if that's not enough?" Harm didn't know whether
to be angry, hurt, or just afraid. "You're my wife,
Mac. That's supposed to mean we love each other with
all our hearts, forever."

For a moment, Mac didn't answer. He could feel her
gathering herself. 

She took a step back and looked up at him, her
expression unreadable. "You know, there's a bridge in
Australia where they once wrote 'Eternity' in lights."


Harm stared at her in horror.

Mac took a deep breath, her fingers closing and
unclosing at her sides. "When you told me that, I
thought it was an evasion… maybe even a taunt." She
shook her head. "I didn't realize until just recently
that you were making me a promise--" A smile flickered
across her face. "--in your own oblique way. That it
would be Eternity for us, eventually, even though you
were saying no right then." 

She straightened her shoulders, another swift smile
crossing her face. "So now I have to ask you to accept
the same promise, though hopefully with a little less
misunderstanding." She reached for him, the motion
hesitant. "The answer is yes, I will love you with all
my heart, forever… even if right now I'm not quite
sure how to get there."

It took Harm a moment to absorb what she'd said. Then
he hugged her. Hard. 

Mac hugged him back. "I really do love you."

He kissed her forehead, lips, throat. "I know."

Mac's fingers knotted in his hair as she pulled his
face toward hers. Her kiss was passionate and sweet
and filled with promises.

Harm answered her in kind, his mind's eye filled with
an image that had touched him deeply from the moment
he saw it: A far-spanning arch, bridging between two
distant places, and the word 'Eternity' inscribed in
lights across it.

 
Chapter 22

A.J. looked up in surprise as Lieutenant Roberts blew
into his office, a sheaf of papers clutched in one
hand. The young man's face was suffused with anger,
something the Admiral rarely saw. 

"What is it, Lieutenant?" A.J. asked as Bud came to
attention in front of the desk.

"Ariel's guilty, sir, and Steiner knows it!" The words
came out in a rush. Bud thrust the papers at A.J. 

A.J. took the pile curiously, for the moment willing
to overlook the breach of decorum, and scanned the top
document.

"Sir, the one thing we didn't have was a motive for
Ariel. Why would he risk felony charges just to get
the Antonys out of the running?" Bud gestured broadly
as he spoke, his motions as agitated as his voice. He
pointed to the stack of papers in A.J.'s hands. "The
answer's right there, sir. The Antonys were one of the
last two couples on the ship, with only three days
left in the cruise. Ariel's contract says he gets a
rather sizeable bonus--" Bud's eyebrows arched in
sarcastic emphasis, "--if there is one clear winner to
the competition. Steiner had to know about it."

"Not necessarily," A.J. countered absently as he read.
He found the details of Ariel's bonus and pursed his
lips in a silent whistle. "Two million dollars?" He
looked up at Bud. "That's quite a motive."

"Yes, sir. At Commander Rabb's request, I've been
going through the testimonies from the reservists and
Mrs. Antony about the notes they exchanged. It appears
there was intent, at least, to engage in… well,
whatever… between the three of them, but not until
after the cruise ended. Mrs. Antony denies making the
invitation that led to the incident, and claims she
doesn't remember how she got to the stateroom where it
took place. That's the only exchange between herself
and the reservists that doesn't check out from both
sides."

A.J. leaned back in his chair. "So you think Mr. Ariel
simply took advantage of a pre-existing situation to
get the Antonys out of the competition and thereby
securing a two million dollar bonus for himself?"

"Yes, sir. He probably didn't think Mrs. Antony would
bring rape charges, all things considered." Bud
paused. "Heck, sir. He might not even have thought it
was rape, if he knew about the plans they had."

"If she was drugged, then in wasn't consensual," A.J.
reminded him.

Bud gave him an affronted look. "I didn't say I
agreed, sir. Just pointing out that it's possible
Ariel might not have recognized the crime he was
committing."

A.J. sighed and laid the papers on his desk. "Well,
the circumstantial evidence against Ariel is pretty
compelling, but that's all it is-- circumstantial. We
don't have anything but the various parties' word
about what happened."

"As it stands now, do you think the reservists would
be convicted, sir?" Bud asked.

A.J. shrugged. "It's pretty much a toss up. It would
depend on whose story the jury believed." He laced his
fingers together on the desk in front of him. "The
problem is, whether they're convicted or not, the Navy
is going to be damaged. Unless Ariel can be proven
beyond any shadow of doubt to have orchestrated the
entire incident, and the two reservists therefore
exonerated of any malicious intent-- the Navy's
reputation will still suffer."

"Do you think Steiner knows the truth, sir?" This time
Bud's expression was troubled.

A.J. sighed. "Probably. Whether he was involved in the
plot…" He met the lieutenant's gaze. "Does Steiner
have a clause like this in his contract, too?"

Bud shook his head, looking disappointed. "No, sir.
That was the first thing I checked. He does get a
bonus, but it's based on a combination of net proceeds
and the show's viewership."

A.J. digested that, finding himself more concerned
rather than less. "Keep working on it, lieutenant. Let
me know what you find out."

"Yes, sir."

A.J. handed the stack papers representing Tony Ariel's
contract with the studio back to Bud. "Very well.
Dismissed." 

As Bud left, A.J. turned to stare out the window.
Maybe it was time to have a talk with Daniel Steiner.

#

Mac sat bolt upright with a cry, her nightmare
shattering. One moment she was fending off heavy hands
that shoved her backward, pinning her with their
weight, and the next she was in her own bed with
sunlight streaming cheerfully through the windows.
Disoriented, she looked around, trying to regain her
bearings. Her gaze fastened almost immediately on
Harm, who watched her with deep but wary concern from
his own side of the bed. 

"Mac?" He prudently didn't try to touch her.

Smart man. Mac had to smile at the wayward thought,
the last vestiges of her dream fear slipping away.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

"I was having a nightmare."

Harm's eyebrows arched eloquently. "Some nightmare."
Now he did reach for her and Mac was more than happy
to crawl into his arms. She laid her cheek against his
chest.

"A man attacked me…" She shook her head. "You know how
it is in dreams when you ought to be able to fight or
run or scream, but you can't make your body work?"

Harm nodded. "I've had a few of those."

"It was like that. I knew he was going to hurt me, but
I have no idea how or why or even who he was." She
sighed. "It was strange."

"You think it has anything to do with how upset you
were yesterday? About Boothe and Carmen, and…
everything?"

Mac's lips twisted in a sour smile. "Delicately put,
counselor." She looked up into her husband's face.
"You don't have to tiptoe around the subject, Harm.
It's hard and it hurts, but it's something I have to
deal with."

Harm ran his fingers through her hair, cupping the
back of her head. "We have to deal with. You're not
alone any more, Mac." His solemn gaze bored into hers.

Mac smiled. "We," she repeated, accepting the
admonishment. She sighed. "And on that subject, what
are we going to do about Boothe?"

Harm shrugged. "Other than offering Carmen the
services of two very good lawyers, I'm not sure what
we can do. She has to be willing to stand up to him
before the law can help her." He shifted to a more
comfortable position. "There's a problem with us
getting involved, though."

Only one? Mac didn't voice the thought. The room
cameras were on. "I'll admit there's a conflict of
interest--"

"A million of them, don't you mean?" Harm grinned at
her.

Mac rolled her eyes. Neither of them cared in the
least about the prize-- even if they "won", they
wouldn't be able to keep it. "I can't just sit by and
not at least try to help. No woman deserves to live in
that situation."

"I wasn't advocating doing nothing, Mac." Harm's hands
were warm against the exposed skin of her back. "We
just have to be careful what we say. There are some
pretty big ethical pitfalls that could hurt Carmen as
well as us. Plus, we don't know for sure that Boothe
is guilty."

Mac tensed. "It was in her eyes, Harm."

"Maybe," he conceded. "And maybe she made it up. The
longer we stay on this boat, the crazier people seem
to get. It's like all of the normal rules of proper
societal behavior have been suspended here and people
are beginning to test the waters-- if you'll excuse
the pun-- to see how far they can go without
repercussions."

Mac mulled that for a moment. He had a point, as much
as she hated to admit it. Carmen probably had an
ulterior motive, though whether it was to further her
chances of winning or was a plea for help escaping an
abusive relationship, Mac couldn't guess.

Mac sighed. "I'll talk to her. Maybe Boothe was stupid
enough to do something on the cruise. Then we'd have
proof."

#

"Have a seat, Mr. Steiner." A.J. speared the producer
with one of his sharper stares as the other man walked
in.

Steiner raised an eyebrow as he settled in one of the
chairs fronting A.J.'s broad desk. "Something on your
mind, Admiral?"

A.J. folded his hands in front of him. "As a matter of
fact, there is. Tell me about the bonus the network
will be paying you based on the success of the show."

Ariel's expression never changed, but something wary
sprang to life in his eyes. He smiled. "It's a
percentage bonus, based on Temptation Cruise II's net
proceeds and a fairly complex combination of our
Nielson ratings and viewership numbers from the
network."

A.J. kept his own expression to one of polite
interest, though an ex-SEAL Admiral's polite interest
was a little more intense than most people's. "How
much did you get for the original Temptation Cruise?"

Steiner didn't look very comfortable in his chair.
"That's a matter of public record, Admiral."

A.J. flashed him a hard smile. "Spare me the effort of
looking it up."

Steiner sighed. "4.2 million."

"And how much are you likely to make off the current
show? In addition to your negotiated hourly rate, that
is."

Steiner gave him an ingratiating smile. "I have no
idea. The show's only halfway through. I don't have
good numbers to use." He spread his hands in a gesture
of helplessness.

A.J. silently ground his teeth, careful to keep his
expression neutral. "Will it be more than the first
Temptation Cruise, do you think? Or less? Surely you
know that much."

Steiner uttered another sigh. "Oh, more, most
definitely. Those investigators of yours have gone and
made my show. Which I resent, by the way. If it works,
I want to be able to take credit for it." He shrugged.
"Who would've thought adding a Cops element would be
so successful? Here we've gone and re-invented reality
television, and I can't even claim the idea as my
own." He ran a hand through his lanky hair, seeming
irritated.

A.J. studied his guest. He suspected he was being
carefully stonewalled, and didn't much care for it.
"How about Tony Ariel? What will his bonus be like
this time around?"

The wary expression came back to Steiner's eyes. "I'm
not privy to the details of Tony's contract. It's
probably the same as last time, though. Two million."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me you don't know
the conditions under which Mr. Ariel receives his
bonus."

A.J. saw the sudden flash of recognition on Steiner's
face before the other man buried it. "No."

"You realize that if I can prove you did, you might be
charged with conspiracy."

"Conspiracy to what? Rape? I absolutely did not have
anything to do with encouraging those two men to hurt
Jessica Antony. I think it's abhorrent." Steiner
glared at him.

A.J. was surprised to hear a small ring of truth in
his words. Did the man actually have some moral
standards, albeit low ones?

"But you can't deny that having one clear winner to
the competition is a good thing for you, in terms of
your success with the show."

Steiner gave him a credibly puzzled look. "Of course
not. But what does that have to do with anything?"

A.J. kept his disappointment to himself. It was too
much to hope for to catch Steiner operating on
information he claimed not to possess. Still, it had
been worth a try.

"Did you ever encourage Mr. Ariel to make sure there
was only one couple left by the end of the cruise?"

Steiner gave him an appraising look. "Ecourage? Of
course. That was the stated goal of the production
team. Tony and his people were supposed to do their
best to see to it that all of the couples were given
every possible opportunity to… give in to temptation,
let's say. There was no way to be certain there'd only
be one couple left by the end of the six weeks, but
what would be the point of making a reality show if
everyone knew ahead of time how it would end? As the
number of couples in the competition dwindled, the
heat on each of them obviously increased, so it seemed
reasonable to expect we'd be down to one by the end.
To be honest, I was a lot more concerned that the
competition might end early and leave us unable to
fill all our time slots."

"So you never told Ariel to make sure there was a
clear winner?"

Steiner met A.J.'s gaze. "No, I did not."

A.J. switched subjects. "What have you been telling
him this time around?"

Steiner cocked his head. "About?"

"My officers, in particular. Are you certain their
identities are being kept confidential?"

Steiner nodded. "Yes." He leaned back in his chair,
resting one elbow on the back. "And given how popular
the Rabbs have become, it hasn't been easy. We have to
do everything twice-- once with real information for
ourselves and the network, and once for Ariel with the
Rabbs popularity scrubbed from the data." Steiner's
fingers drummed on the hard wood of his chair.
"Assuming Ariel is fixing the results, we want to make
sure your people become his target, which they won't
be if they're the clear favorites."

A.J. studied Steiner as understanding dawned. "You
want him to be guilty."

Steiner flashed him a wolfish grin. "Don't you? The
Navy's getting great press out of this."

A.J. forced himself to stay calm. "Is he guilty, Mr.
Steiner?"

Steiner's expression never wavered. "I guess we'll
find out, won't we?"


Chapter 23

Harm leaned casually against the light bamboo
structure that passed as a bar, sipping from his Coke.
The sweating glass felt wonderfully cool against his
fingers. He resisted the temptation to press the glass
against his cheek. The midday sun had become downright
brutal, and even the light breeze gusting across his
face was hot. The striped umbrella shading the two men
gave little relief.

Beside Harm, Jeb chatted with a couple of young women
who worked on the ship, telling them about some
college event with the naïve enthusiasm of youth. Harm
kept his amusement to himself with an effort of will.
The two girls were very patently hanging on his every
word, but Jeb was too engrossed in his story to
notice. He obviously had no idea what the girls were
thinking about him, nor what he could do with the
situation-- if he chose.

I don’t think I was ever that innocent, Harm thought
with a small pang of regret. His own nature and the
months he’d spent in Southeast Asia had seen to that.
Then Harm grinned into his drink as the memories
surfaced. His "What I Did on my Summer Vacation" essay
the next year had nearly given his English teacher a
heart attack.

Raising his gaze, he swept the wide expanse of deck
visible from his position, looking for Boothe. Mac had
managed to talk all of the remaining married women
into a few hours at the spa-- something about facials
and manicures and whatever the heck a Vichy shower
was-- in the hopes of getting some more information
from Carmen. Harm was supposed to take the opportunity
to do the same with Boothe, but so far he’d been
unable to find him.

His survey was interrupted by a new presence at his
elbow. 

"Hi, Harm!" Nikki Upton grabbed his arm in a hug, her
slender body momentarily pressed against his side. She
let go before he could react, stepping back to look up
at him. A playful smile lit her face.

"Guess what?"

Harm watched her warily from behind a polite smile.
"What?"

She bounced on the balls of her feet, clearly excited.
"I won the Singles’ Challenge this morning, so that
means we get to spend the day together tomorrow." The
winner of the Singles' Challenge got to choose their
companion for the next outing. She tapped him lightly
on the chest. "And you’re going to take me flying.
I’ve already worked it out with Mr. Ariel."

Harm blinked, taken aback. "Sounds like fun," he
managed after a moment. The idea of going flying
sounded like a lot of fun, actually. Too bad the
company wouldn’t be more enjoyable.

Jeb turned at the mention of flying. He grinned at
Harm. "Lucky dog." His gaze shifted to Nikki. "What
kind of airplane is it?"

She shrugged dismissively. "Oh, I don’t know. It has
two wings, though."

Harm coughed lightly. "Would that be two wings
stacked, or one on each side of the airplane?"

Jeb made a choking noise, which sounded suspiciously
like smothered laughter. Harm slapped him charitably
on the back until he'd regained control.

Nikki watched them with a frown. "Two wings on top of
each other… like the Red Baron." She seemed to have
figured out that the men were laughing at her.

Harm held on to his composure by a thread. "Ah. A
biplane. That'll be fun."

Nikki rallied gamely. "Well, it's a two-seater. I do
know that." She winked at him.

"Have you ever been flying in a small airplane?" Harm
asked.

She shook her head, her smile reappearing as if by
magic. "No, but it sounds like a trip. I’m sure I’ll
have a great time." There was a glint of challenge in
her gaze.

Harm chuckled despite himself. "Don’t be too sure
about that. I’m a qualified aerobatic pilot."

Nikki gave him a diffident stare, one eyebrow cocked.
"And?"

Out of his peripheral vision, Harm saw Jeb bite his
lip, his blue eyes dancing.

Harm couldn’t resist the opportunity. He gave Nikki a
glimpse of his most dangerous smile. "And… unless you
have an extraordinarily strong stomach, you’re only
going to have a ‘great time’ if I decide to be nice."

The well-manicured eyebrow hiked another notch. "Oh,
really. Care to place a wager on that?" She leaned
toward him.

Harm echoed her. In the back of his mind, he realized
he was getting into dangerous territory. Still, he’d
never been one to back down from a challenge. 

"What did you have in mind?" he asked Nikki without
breaking eye contact. 

She grinned invitingly. "How ‘bout the loser gives the
winner a kiss."

Harm laughed outright. "No." He straightened, giving
Nikki a congratulatory bow. "But nice try." 

She just shrugged, utterly unrepentant. Harm nodded to
Jeb as he turned away.

"See you tomorrow," Nikki called after him as he
walked away.

#

"Oh, wow. I could get used to this." Mac exhaled
blissfully. She’d been pretty doubtful when Carmen
suggested the warm cucumber wrap, but now, with
steaming towels wrapped around her body and her skin
tingling from the smelly concoction the masseuse had
smeared on her beforehand, she was glad she had.

Carmen chuckled, sounding smug. "Told ya."

None of the other women had been willing to join them,
for which Mac was grateful. Of course, she wouldn’t
have done it either except for wanting to talk
privately with Carmen. She might have to make a habit
of it from now on, though. Mac smiled to herself. Harm
would be thrilled she’d finally found a reason to like
cucumbers.

The silence stretched comfortably. Mac tried to stay
focused on her objective, though it was hard in the
sultry environment of the spa. Plus, she didn’t know
how to bring up the subject of Boothe’s abuse without
sounding like she was trying to undermine her fellow
contestant’s chances of winning.

Finally, Mac sighed. "Carmen, can I ask you something
personal?" She directed the question toward the
ceiling, unable to turn her head for fear of
disturbing the hot towels that covered everything but
her mouth and nose.

Carmen’s response was wary. "Sure."

"Do you love Boothe?"

Carmen snorted. "Honey, there’s no such thing."

Mac sighed. She’d expected something like that. "Well,
I guess for most of my life I would’ve agreed with
you."

"Yeah, right. Until your knight in shining armor came
along."

Mac chuckled. The armor was gunmetal gray rather than
shining, and the trusty steed a Tomcat, but it wasn’t
a bad description. "Yep. Pretty much," she agreed.

Carmen was silent for several moments. "I bet you know
lots of nice men." Her voice was full of rancor.

Mac pursed her lips, considering her reply. She wished
she knew what had happened to Carmen to make her so
bitter. She would have a much better idea how to
respond. Finally, she decided just to be honest and
see what happened.

"I work with a few," she agreed cautiously, "but when
it comes to relationships I seem to have really,
really poor taste." She grinned, realizing what she’d
said. "Not counting Harm, of course. He’s definitely
the exception to that rule."

She got another snort in reply. "I hate ta tell ya
this, but nobody’s that good." Carmen’s tone turned
sisterly. "Don’t let him break your heart."

Mac sucked in her breath. It would be so easy to buy
into Carmen’s mindset. 

"He won’t."

Carmen laughed mockingly. "Yeah. You just keep tellin’
yourself that. You’ll see."

Mac closed her hands into fists, fighting for calm.
"I’m a good attorney, Carmen. If you need
representation against Boothe, I can help."

"What, like in a divorce?"

"Yes. You don’t have to let him hurt you."

Carmen’s voice quieted. "Well, now, there you’re
wrong." There was a reflective quality to her words
that Mac hadn’t heard before.

"About what?" she asked, just as quietly.

Carmen sighed. "I signed a prenup."

"A prenuptial agreement?"

"Yeah." The bitter tang returned to her words. "I came
into the marriage with nothin’ an’ if I leave it’ll be
the same way. I don’t plan on leavin’, though."

Mac chewed on her lip. "Isn’t there anyplace else you
could go? Any family? Friends?"

"No." A pause. "What about you? Who’d you go to?"

Mac smiled sadly at the memory. "My uncle. He was the
one who straightened me out in the first place. He was
always there to get me back on the right track."

"He approve of your Prince Charming?"

Mac smiled again. "Yes. Harm impressed him, and he’s
not an easy man to impress." It had been Uncle Matt’s
high regard that had first prompted Mac to look beyond
the arrogant, flyboy façade for the real man hidden
within her new partner. Otherwise, she might never
have taken him seriously.

"What about you, Carmen? Don’t you have anybody?"

"Just Boothe."

Mac sighed, frustrated. She was getting nowhere.
"Well, if you ever change your mind, you can call me.
O.k.?"

Carmen’s only response was a grunt.

#

"I heard a vicious rumor you're going flying with
Nikki Upton tomorrow." Mac stood in front of the
bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on her
hair. Her voice floated out to Harm, who stopped dead
at the harsh note underlying her words.

He paused, then went back to tying his bow tie. The
evening's dinner was a formal event.

"Unfortunately, it's true as far as I know," he
answered when he had his reaction under control.

"Unfortunately?" Mac stuck her head around the
doorjamb, one eyebrow arched in disbelief.

Harm kept his tone light. "Well, not the flying part.
Just the Nikki Upton part."

Mac's expression softened minutely. "She has a crush
on you, you know." Straightening, she emerged from the
bathroom and walked toward Harm. Her evening gown, a
slinky affair of burnished gold, clung to every curve.
Harm watched her appreciatively, enjoying the fact
that he didn't have to hide his interest and could
stare unabashedly at this gorgeous creature without
the least bit of guilt.

"Harm?" Mac stopped in front of him, her voice filled
with amusement.

"Hmmm?" He deliberately didn't raise his gaze to her
face. 

She chuckled, tilting her shoulders to give him a
better view. "You're incorrigible." She reached up to
finish tying his tie.

Harm caught her gaze and smiled one of his famous,
melt-her-into-a-puddle smiles. "That's why you love
me."

"Uh huh." Her tone said she knew exactly what he was
doing. She finished with his tie, sliding her hands
down the front of his shirt before hooking them in the
waistband of his pants. "Don't avoid the subject." 

"Of what? Nikki Upton?" Harm let his hands come to
rest on Mac's hips. The thin material of her dress
scrunched beneath his fingers. "It's not a subject
worthy of much attention."

Mac's expression turned serious. "I just don't like
the idea of you flying with her."

Harm tried not to let his exasperation show. "Why?
What do you think's going to happen?"

She dropped her gaze. "Well, you know how those pilots
are." In contrast to her expression, her tone remained
playful.

Harm tensed. "That's not fair, Mac."

She sighed and brushed a strand of hair out of her
eyes. "I know. It's not. But it's still how I feel."
She turned away, crossing her arms in front of her.

Harm closed his eyes for a moment, struggling with
himself. This was going to turn into a fight. He could
feel it. "What is it about her that makes you feel so
threatened?"

Mac shrugged. "Oh, I don't know." Sarcasm tainted her
words. "She's young, pretty… blond." The look she
flashed him over her shoulder was almost apologetic.

Harm stared to laugh. "You have got to be kidding."

Mac whirled. "Don't patronize me."

Harm sobered abruptly. "Patronize you?" He stared
incredulously at her. "You're accusing me of wanting
to sleep with this girl because of her hair color, and
I'm patronizing you?"

Mac paused and heaved a huge, grating sigh. "I'm not
accusing you of anything." Her gaze narrowed at his
disbelieving look. "Really, I'm not. Look, this is
Woman 101, or at least Mac 101, o.k.? Yes, I have
irrational fears about you and other women. I have
irrational fears about you dying every time you get in
an airplane, too." She spread her hands helplessly. "I
have lots of irrational fears, and even some
legitimate ones. Fear is part of being a woman. Men
just don't seem to understand that." 

She drew a deep breath. "When I get scared all I
really want is for you to hug me and say, 'Honey, I
love you and I'm never going to leave you. You don't
have to worry because everything is going to be all
right.'." 

Harm stared at her in silence as he tried to process
what she'd said. Women didn't make any sense at all,
particularly this one. This was Mac-- fiercely
independent, Marine, aggressive, skilled at
hand-to-hand combat and thoroughly weapons qualified.
And she wanted a platitude?

"That's it?"

Mac gave him a crooked smile that didn't reach her
eyes. "Most of the time."

"It seems… too simple." He said that last cautiously,
uncertain how she might react.

She snorted. "It's just reassurance, Harm. It's not
supposed to be all that difficult."

Harm stared at her. "I don't get it," he finally
admitted.

Mac threw her arms up in the air. "What's to get?" She
gave him a look filled with desperation. "I told you
what I need. I don't know how to be any clearer."

"Just repeat those words verbatim, and everything will
suddenly be o.k.?" His voice echoed his doubt.

Mac's hands clenched at her sides, her dark eyes
snapping in frustration. "Geez! Any variation on the
theme will do!"

"'Honey' and all?"

Mac rolled her eyes. "O.k. Maybe not 'Honey', per se.
You know what I mean." She met his gaze. "Are you
messing with me?"

Harm shrugged, smiling. "A little."

"Well, don't. It's not funny." He was shocked by how
much hurt suddenly shone from her eyes. 

Shaking himself into motion, Harm closed the distance
between them and laid a hand on either of her
shoulders. She said it was what she wanted…

Harm stared into her eyes. "Honey, I love you and I'm
never going to leave you." He felt a little silly
saying it. Shouldn't this be obvious? "You don't have
to worry because everything's going to be all right."

In an instant, Mac's expression cleared. She slipped
into his arms, burrowing against his chest and hugging
him tightly. She sighed, sounding both happy and
relieved. "Thank you."

Utterly mystified, Harm hugged her back. I do not
understand women. "You're welcome." 

He waited a few minutes before speaking again. "…uh,
can we safely go back to the blond part now?"

Mac tensed, withdrawing a half step from his embrace.
"Sure." Her mouth twisted in a sour smile. "I can sum
that one up for you with one word."

"Renee?"

Her gaze darted to his, then away. "Yep."

"Why?"

Mac sighed. Looking down, she toyed with her skirt,
smoothing imaginary wrinkles with her fingers. "I
tried so hard to hate her. I really did. I wanted her
to be the Evil Video Princess so I could justify
wanting to rip her throat out."

Harm stared at her, fighting a smile. "The 'Evil Video
Princess'?"

"Don't laugh."

He couldn't help it. He started to chuckle. Mac
flashed him a genuine smile before growing serious
again. "But, you know what? I couldn't. She's a pretty
decent person and she tried very hard to be my friend
despite all the… complications. And she was good for
you. I think that's what I hated most about her."

Somewhat surprised by the assessment, Harm reached
over to catch Mac's hand. "But not nearly as good for
me as you are," he told her. 

Mac smiled shyly, the expression lighting her entire
face. "Well, yeah," she agreed. 

Harm took that for an invitation and pulled her close.
He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed the inside of
her wrist. Mac gasped softly. Desire turned her eyes
the color of melted chocolate. "How do you do that to
me?"

Harm grinned. "C'mere and I'll show you."

Mac laughed deep in her throat. "We're already dressed
for dinner." But her body was soft and pliant in his
arms, the protest entirely rhetorical. 


Chapter 24

"What time is it?" Harm asked his wife as he snuggled
a little closer to her beneath the covers. With the
drapes in their room drawn, the rosy gray of early
morning barely penetrated the darkness around them,
but Harm didn't need his eyes. Married-- lovers-- for
only a shade over three weeks now, he already had the
feel of her memorized: the perfect way she fit against
him, the softness of her skin, the wonderfully smooth
flare of her hip as he ran his hand along her waist.

She chuckled sleepily, undoubtedly aware of the
direction of his thoughts. "It's… 5:04." He heard the
pause as she translated to civilian time.

Harm sighed. "I guess I'd better get going, then."
Reluctantly, he slipped out of bed and into the
clothes he'd left out. It was time to do a little
investigating. He heard Mac sit up behind him in a
rustle of sheets. She had her own job to do.

"Stay out of trouble," she said softly, her voice full
of a smile he couldn't see in the dim light.

"You know me," he answered with a grin of his own.

"That's what worries me."

Chuckling, Harm left. He closed the door of the
stateroom quietly behind him, then set off down the
hallway. There was no way to avoid the cameras that
coated the ship, so the only option was misdirection.

#

George Laughton stared at the complex tangle of wiring
in front of him, thoroughly intrigued. He stood in one
of the wiring closets, staring at the fiber backbone
that connected the two main computing networks onboard
the Radiant Heart. One network controlled the vast
multitude of cameras filling the ship, the other
stored the data. George had been checking the layout
of the fiber against the documented specification, and
had found a few discrepancies. He crouched in the
narrow confines of the closet, flashlight gripped
between his teeth as he copied down the actual
configuration. Tracing the connections back to their
origins would tell him whether the changes were
mistakes, work-arounds, or something else.

"Ahem."

George started at the sound of a man clearing his
throat. He whipped around in guilty surprise, banging
his head on the unyielding metal edge of the wiring
cabinet.

"Ow." 

Harmon Rabb winced sympathetically. "Sorry, didn’t
mean to scare you." The tall lawyer stood a few feet
behind him, arms crossed as he stared at George in a
mixture of humor and carefully veiled interest. His
keen gaze flicked to the tangle of wiring then back to
George’s face.

George stared back, his throat suddenly dry. Does he
know? was the first thought that passed through his
mind. Would that be a bad thing? was the second.
Pushing the questions away, he removed the flashlight
from his mouth.

"Contestants aren’t really supposed to be in this
area," he told Rabb as he gingerly rubbed his scalp.

The other man waved the protest away with a casual
wave and a guileless grin. "I need to ask someone from
the technical staff some questions."

George felt a stab of alarm, but tried to keep it off
his face. The Navy investigator wasn’t going to give
himself away, was he? George rose to his feet.

"Well, I’m not exactly the resident expert, as
witnessed by the fact that I’m working the graveyard
shift, but I know a few things." He extended his hand
in what he hoped was a sincerely friendly manner.
"George Laughton."

"Harm Rabb." Rabb shook his hand.

"I’m not sure what I can tell you," George continued.
"I’m not supposed to give out information to any of
the contestants that might influence the competition."
He waved toward the camera mounted in one corner of
the room. "It’s all recorded, so don’t expect me to
make an exception." 

Rabb chuckled, apparently not put off by the brusque
statement. "No problem. I’ll ask my question, and you
can decide whether or not it’s information you can
give me."

George wondered if he looked as wary as he felt. "All
right." He didn’t like having Rabb asking him
questions. It jeopardized his own job aboard the ship,
drawing attention to him when he would much rather
have remained unnoticed.

Rabb clasped his hands behind his back, seeming to
consider his words before he spoke. "Do you see
everything that’s recorded on this ship?"

George couldn’t help but snort in mild contempt. "Are
you kidding? We work three shifts with four guys on
the first two, and one on the graveyard. I see maybe a
quarter of the action shots."

"Action shots?"

George nodded. He felt pretty safe explaining a few
technical details. "Yeah. The recording is all
digital, so any time there’s a static scene, the
recording gets compressed. There’s no sense in taking
up all that memory to record hours and hours of an
empty hallway. Everything that’s left is called an
‘action shot’. It just means something’s happening."

The lawyer absorbed the explanation. "But you would
hear about anything interesting, right? Even if it
wasn't on your shift?"

George cocked his head, deciding to push a bit. "Like
you betting with Nikki Upton for a kiss?"

Rabb looked affronted. "Hey, I said no to that." His
gaze narrowed. "But I'll take that to mean you do."

George shrugged. "Sure." He grinned at Rabb. "We poor
working stiffs have gotta do something for
entertainment."

Rabb chuckled, but his humor didn't last. The blue
eyes grew somber. "What about something that's not so
entertaining?"

George paused. "What do you mean?" What was Rabb
after?

"Violent." The other man pinned him with an expectant
gaze.

Phew. Talks like a lawyer and stares like a fighter
pilot. Some combination. George debated his response.
He was pretty sure he understood, but it wasn't
information he could give out without risking the
wrath of some important people in the television
business. "Violent? Like how?" Best to play dumb.

Rabb's expression gave away very little. "Like
domestic violence."

"Oh." Immediately, George knew he'd given himself
away. Rabb's expression sharpened, the intense,
hawk-like gaze skewering him where he stood. Now what?
The idea that jumped to mind startled him. But he'd
always had a secret desire to play Mission:
Impossible.

Very slowly, George gave a discrete nod, the motion
nearly invisible. "No, nothing like that." He forced a
smile. "I mean, you and your wife are probably the
most violent contestants we have."

Rabb chuckled, though the expression didn't quite
reach his eyes. "All in good fun."

They stared at each other in silence for an awkward
moment. The question in Rabb's gaze begged an answer.

"Well, sorry I couldn't be much help." George said.

Rabb shrugged, another of those guileless smiles
appearing on his face. "No problem. Sorry I
interrupted… whatever you're doing."

George shook his head. "Just a little minor
troubleshooting. It gets pretty boring around here in
the middle of the night, especially once all the
partiers have given up or passed out."

Rabb raised an eyebrow. "Things get pretty wild?"

George shrugged. "Oh, sometimes. Unlimited free booze,
what do you expect?" 

"Sounds like you're not into the party scene."

"Not every night." George smiled. "When I need to
de-stress, I usually join in on the HALO competition.
Shooting things helps me relax more than alcohol."

Rabb gave him a confused, slightly alarmed look.
"HALO?"

George nodded. "Yeah, it's a new game. Just came out
on the market a few months ago. It's a first-person
combat sim, essentially. It has a plot, though. And
killer graphics."

Rabb's expression didn't change. 

"It's a video game," George told him.

The lawyer's confusion deepened. "What, like
Nintendo?"

George chuckled. "In the way a paper airplane is like
the Space Shuttle, sure." He looked at Rabb. "I take
it you've never played?"

"I don't even own a television."

"Oh, well you're really missing out, man. You should
come join us sometime." George tried to put some extra
emphasis in his gaze. "I bet you'd have a blast." He
watched Rabb, hoping he'd gotten the hint.

Rabb looked at him doubtfully. Then he shrugged.
"Sure, I guess. When and where?"

George told him the particulars with a sense of
excitement. Ethan Hunt eat your heart out. This cruise
was about to get much more interesting.

#

Mac waited for Tiner to transfer her to the Admiral
with a sense of trepidation. She'd called to talk to
Bud, who often came in that early in order to leave by
mid-afternoon, but had been redirected to the Admiral.
She couldn't help but wonder if something had gone
wrong.

"Colonel Rabb, good morning." The Admiral's voice was
somehow warm and gruff at the same time.

Mac paused, startled to hear herself addressed as
"Rabb" by her commanding officer. Wow. It's really
real, isn't it?

"Good morning, sir," she managed.

The Admiral obviously heard her hesitation.
"Everything o.k. there, Mac?" 

Mac nodded. "Yes, sir. It's just strange to hear you
call me that." She paused. "Nice, but strange."

As was his usual practice, the Admiral didn't extend
the personal interaction. "I'm sure you'll get used to
it. Now, down to business."

"Yes, sir. I was calling Bud to see what he'd gotten
so far on the items Commander Rabb asked him to look
into."

"Lieutenant Roberts is here with me, Colonel. We've
discovered some information you and your husband will
undoubtedly find interesting. Lieutenant?"

Bud's voice came on the line. "Good morning, ma'am."

"'Morning, Bud." Mac smiled as she imagined Bud's
round, cheerful face.

"Commander Rabb asked me to compare Mrs. Antony's
account of the notes she sent with the Naval
reservists' to see what kinds of discrepancies I could
find. It turns out that the only one is the last
note-- the one Mrs. Antony supposedly sent inviting
Mr. Brown and Mr. Rossman to meet her. She denies
sending the invitation. However, the rest of their
stories coincide."

"So they were definitely involved, or planning to be."
Mac found that fact disappointing, though not very
surprising. "That's convenient."

"For Mr. Ariel, anyway," Bud agreed.

"Now here's where it gets interesting, Colonel." The
Admiral took over. "We found a clause in Tony Ariel's
contract for the original show, awarding him a two
million dollar bonus if there ended up being only one
couple left at the end of the cruise."

Mac digested the new information. "That sounds like a
motive, sir."

"Glad the weeks in the sun haven't addled your brain
too badly, Colonel."

Mac ignored the comment, the only safe course in such
instances. "What about the recording quality? Do we
have any new information there?"

"Some, Colonel," Bud assured her. "The poor quality
appears to be due to some kind of interference,
probably from an improperly grounded wire in the
camera. The degradation shows up from time to time on
that camera, but not very frequently. The member of
the technical crew I talked to said they asked about
trying to repair it, but since it was in an empty
cabin and since the problem didn't happen very often,
Ariel decided not to."

"Ariel decided not to?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The pile of circumstantial evidence just keeps
getting higher."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mac ran a hand through her hair. "So he knew about the
camera's problem. Is there any way he could know when
the picture would go bad?"

Bud sounded dubious. "Only if he caused the problem
with the camera in the first place and had a way of
controlling it."

"Is this the only camera that had problems, Bud?"
Ariel couldn't have been that stupid, could he?

"No, ma'am. Several others had intermittent problems.
The worst ones were replaced during the course of the
cruise, but there were a total of three that Ariel
told the technical staff not to bother with."

"Where were they?" 

Mac tried to envision the layout of the ship as Bud
read off the room numbers. All three, she thought,
were unoccupied cabins in widely separated locations. 

Another thought occurred to her. "What about the
hallways? Even if the room camera had problems, the
hall cameras were fine. Can't we see who came and
went, and when?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bud sounded disappointed, like she'd
beaten him to the punch. "We think we've got that
sequence all put together. Jessica Antony entered the
room alone. The Naval reservists are also seen
approaching the room, about forty minutes later. They
left after about an hour. Mrs. Antony remained in the
room until the host and his bailiffs arrived to escort
her to the Tribunal." The Tribunal was the mock court
in which the evidence of indiscretions was disclosed
and couples officially disqualified from the
competition. "She seemed somewhat disoriented at that
point, but didn't protest any of the charges."

"So how did Ariel lure Jessica Antony to the cabin?"
Mac toyed with the ends of the belt on her robe as she
tried to put the events in order.

"Unfortunately," Bud drawled the word, warning Mac of
impending bad news. "It doesn't appear that he did.
Mrs. Antony claims she doesn't know how she got to the
stateroom, but the video definitely shows her arriving
alone and of her own volition."

Mac frowned. "Something doesn't add up."

"Colonel?" That was the Admiral.

"Sir, the reservists claim Ariel set them up to meet
Mrs. Antony, but say the incident was totally
consensual. Mrs. Antony says she didn't make any kind
of invitation and that she was raped, but she can't
explain how she got there. She says she was drugged,
but the hallway video apparently doesn't support that.
Mr. Ariel denies delivering the invitation note, as
well as doing anything like drugging Mrs. Antony, but
most of the circumstantial evidence points to him.
However the explicit evidence-- the hallway video--
doesn't implicate him. But, he's the only one with a
compelling motive. It just doesn't fit together."

"Keep working on it, Colonel." If he was perturbed by
the apparent inconsistencies, the Admiral kept it well
concealed. "What has your own investigation
uncovered?"

Mac sighed. "Do you want details of the other
contestants' private lives?"

"Not really."

"We haven't had much contact with Ariel. It seemed
unwise to draw his attention. Harm is going to try to
get some information from one of the techs who run the
recording system, under the guise of trying to find
evidence that Booth Crossby is abusing his wife."

There was a short pause. "Make sure you stay on track,
Colonel."

Mac heard the warning clearly. "Yes, sir."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

There was a pause, and Mac's stomach tightened. 

"That will be all, Lieutenant," she heard Chedgwidden
tell Bud. After a moment-- no doubt to allow Bud time
to leave the office-- he went on in a more personal
voice. "How are you holding up, Mac?" 

Mac drew a deep breath. "Sir?"

"The last episode we saw, things seemed a bit… tense
between you and Harm." The Admiral's tone indicated he
was growing more uncomfortable by the moment.

"We're o.k., sir."

"Very well." She imagined him clasping his hands
together on his desk, frown in place. "That will be
all." She could hear the smile in his voice. "You two
be good, Colonel."

"Yes, sir." Oddly encouraged, she ended the call.


Chapter 25

After Mac finished her conversation with the Admiral,
she climbed into the shower. Her mind continued to run
through the information she'd received, trying to put
it into some kind of comprehensible whole.
Unfortunately, her brain kept drifting to
inconsequential details. Colonel Rabb. She found
herself trying to imagine what it would be like to be
back at JAG. Now, when the Admiral leaned out his door
and yelled Rabb! would that still mean Harm, or
perhaps both of them? And every time they reported to
an assignment together, what would they say? Sir,
Commander Rabb and Colonel Rabb reporting as ordered.
Every skipper or CO they ever stood in front of would
look at them cross-eyed. They'd waste both time and
good favor with each one, explaining how a couple of
married officers could work together. Eventually, word
would get around, and the wasted time would be
replaced by, Oh, you two. Mac wasn't sure which would
be worse. 

She sighed. Well, you didn't have to take his name.
But she'd wanted to. Growing up, she'd felt reassured
by the fact that her mother was Mrs. MacKenzie. Not
that it had kept her from abandoning the family, but…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the
bathroom door opening and closing. A moment later,
Harm stuck his head around the curtain. 

"Mind if I join you?"

Mac summoned a smile. "Of course not." She cocked an
eyebrow. "Morning meeting?" They often showered
together, both for the entertainment value and because
it was the only place they felt safe talking, certain
the conversation couldn't be recorded.

Harm nodded. A minute later, he joined her in the
water. Mac slipped into his arms for a hug.

"Bad news?" he asked.

"Confusing," she answered, and proceeded to describe
for him the details of her conversation with Admiral
Chegwidden and Bud.

Harm's brow furrowed as he thought. "You're right.
Something doesn't add up. Either Ariel somehow
modified the hall recording, or Mrs. Antony is lying."
He picked up his soap, turning it in his hands to make
lather. Mac wondered what it was about men and bar
soap. However, since Harm generally referred to her
bath sponge as "that poof thing", she supposed she
already knew the answer. 

"I may be able to work the hall recording angle," Harm
went on, oblivious to her thoughts. Mac forced her
mind back on topic.

"You had a productive conversation with Mr. Laughton?"
They'd picked him after a little discreet asking
around revealed that Mr. Laughton was considered the
black sheep whiz of the technical staff. And Tony
Ariel apparently disliked him. 

Harm summarized his encounter with the technician.

"So he knows something-- about Boothe and Carmen, at
least." Mac added the new information to her growing
collection of facts. Right now, each one was like a
puzzle piece, a random part of a whole whose image
she'd never seen. Once they'd gathered enough pieces
and put them in something close to proper order, the
larger image would start to become clear.

Harm nodded. "I'm a little curious about what he was
doing when I found him, too."

Mac frowned. "He said he was fixing something, right?"

"Yeah, but how often do they come in and start messing
with the wiring when we have computer problems at the
office?"

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Never, as far as I've seen."

"My point exactly. It doesn't ring true. Maybe Bud can
tell us what he might have been doing in there."

Mac chuckled. Bud. Sweet, humble, unassuming Bud, who
had more esoteric knowledge stored in his brain than
anyone she'd ever met. 

"Probably," she agreed.

Mac picked up her bath sponge, squirted soap onto it,
and began to wash. The soap's hazelnut smell filled
the air.

"Here, why don't you let me do that." Harm wiggled his
eyebrows suggestively as he held out a hand for the
sponge.

Laughing, Mac surrendered it. "I take it we're done
with the serious conversation."

"I can think of much more interesting things to be
doing while standing next to a beautiful, naked, soapy
woman."

She grinned. "I'll bet." Keeping a hand on his
shoulder for balance, she closed her eyes as the
sponge slipped across her skin. The bath was more an
expression of affection than desire, but Mac happily
submerged her thoughts in favor of the delicious
sensation.

Some time later, Harm stopped abruptly with a low,
angry curse. Mac's eyes flew open. She turned her head
to look up at him, not too terribly surprised to find
his gaze empty, locked on some distant point. 

"Harm?" 

He dragged her into his arms for a tight, slippery
hug, as if suddenly needing reassurance.

Mac bit back a surge of alarm. "Harm, talk to me." She
kept her voice level. "What is it?" Obviously, the
wheels in his head had continued to turn and he didn't
like where his thoughts had taken him.

He heaved a sigh. "Steiner was wrong when he said
Ariel would target us because we're lawyers."

Mac frowned, trying to follow his train of thought.

Harm went on. "Ariel doesn't care about the show's
ratings. His bonus is based on there being one winner,
period. Steiner's too wrapped up in where his own
profits come from."

"Or he didn't know about Ariel's bonus," Mac reminded
him.

Harm's expression said he didn't believe that for a
moment.

Mac shrugged. Neither did she, honestly. "So what are
you getting at?"

Harm didn't meet her gaze. "Why do you think Ariel
picked the Antonys?" He paused, and a hint of sarcasm
crept into his voice. "Assuming, of course, that he is
guilty."

Mac shrugged. The answer was obvious. "Because Mrs.
Antony already had an ongoing… relationship, for lack
of a better word, with two men other than her husband.
She was an easy target." Mac sucked in her breath in
sudden understanding. She pulled back to look up at
her husband. "So if we want to have any hope of
getting him to try the same stunt with us…"

Harm's eyes filled with grim shadows as he nodded.
"…then when the time comes, we have to give him the
same kind of opportunity."

They stared at each other in silence, heedless of the
water that was slowly growing cold around them. Mac
wanted to yell at Harm, tell him he was wrong, but the
words lodged in her throat. Eventually, Harm reached
down to adjust the water temperature, bringing a fresh
burst of warmth. The water did nothing to dispel the
cold fear Mac felt inside. She deliberately turned her
back to him and picked up the shampoo. 

"We'd better finish up," was all she could find to
say. She didn't look at her husband.

She could feel his gaze boring a hole in the back of
her head as she worked the shampoo into her hair.
"Mac, please, be reasonable." She could hear the tired
patience and regret in his voice, and underlying them,
the unyielding iron of his will.

Mac spun to face him, overwhelmed by a flood of
emotions. "No, I will not be reasonable! Not about
this." Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed
him with everything that was inside her-- love,
passion, anger, fear, determination. Harm answered her
with a savage passion of his own, crushing her against
him. Water and suds ran down Mac's face in torrents,
filling her mouth with the taste of soap. She didn't
care. She was his, and he was hers. Nothing could ever
compromise that. She wouldn't let it.

Eventually, they separated. Mac lay her head against
Harm's shoulder, feeling his collarbone beneath her
cheek, as he buried his face against her neck. She
spluttered a bit, trying to spit out the taste of the
shampoo.

"Blech," Harm agreed in her ear. 

Mac couldn't help it. She burst out laughing,
shattering the intensity of the moment. 

"Note to self: Rinse out the shampoo first," she said.

Harm joined her laughter. "I'll give you points for
spontaneity, though."

Mac raked her hair back from her face as their mirth
faded. Harm met her gaze. His eyes were deep and blue
and calm.

She sighed and squared her shoulders. They'd gotten
past the emotions. Now it was time to talk business.
"So, this means I need to cultivate a boyfriend."

Harm nodded, not looking terribly pleased at the
prospect. "Yeah. Slowly, though. We've still got three
weeks left on this ship."

"At least we've got a believable set up going."

Harm gave her a curious look.

Mac returned the look innocently. "You and Ms. Upton,
remember?"

She felt him tense. "Mac--"

"It's o.k., Harm." She cut him off mid-protest,
smiling in reassurance. "I know you're not interested
in her. However, she is interested in you, and the
whole world by now knows I don't like it." She gave
him a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sure we can play it
into reason enough for me to…" Mac's voice faded as
the enormity of what she was saying hit her. "…to be
unfaithful." She bit her lip, forcing herself to meet
her husband's gaze. She saw her own fears reflected
there.

He shook his head slowly. "We don't have to do this,
Mac."

"If we want to catch Ariel, we do."

He didn't try to argue that. "Forget Ariel for the
moment. This is us I'm talking about." Harm captured
her hands in his, pressing them to his chest, over his
heart. "I want you to promise, Mac. If this… charade…
starts to get confusing-- if either of us starts to
doubt that we're acting-- we walk. No questions asked.
We get off this ship and get on a plane and go
someplace totally private, and we work it through."
His fingers tightened around hers until they ached.
"We've had too many misunderstandings already. I won't
lose you to another one."

Mac's heart swelled at the words and the intensity of
his stare. Weak-kneed, she nodded. "I promise." She
licked her lips. "I love you, Harm."

His smile was like a sudden light. "I love you, too,
Sarah. We'll get through this."

Mac smiled back at him. "Semper Fi, Navy."

He touched her face in a tender caress. "Semper Fi."

#

The aircraft turned out to be a Stampe-- a Belgian
aerobatic trainer dating from the mid-1930's. The
plane had been beautifully restored and had a modern
avionics package in the cockpit. Harm wondered whose
airshow Ariel had raided. But, with five thousand feet
of air beneath his wings, he didn't really care. He
was just grateful.

"Ready for another one?" he shouted to Nikki over the
roar of the prop. A small video camera mounted on each
of the windscreens recorded everything.

"Yeah!" She was laughing in sheer exhilaration.

Harm added power and pulled up, putting them in a
steep climb. At ten thousand feet, he tipped the
aircraft over, added rudder, and let the wings stall.
Suddenly unable to generate lift, the biplane turned
into a brightly painted rock. They fell out the sky,
spiraling earthward.

Nikki screamed enthusiastically. 

At four thousand feet, Harm recovered from the spin.
He pulled out at about 2 g's, grinning as he was
shoved back into his seat. It felt so good to fly,
especially after his conversation with Mac that
morning. Things were uncomplicated in the air. For a
little while, at least, he could forget his problems,
his fears, and lose himself in the unadulterated joy
flying brought him. 

Harm banked the aircraft and headed out over the
water. Beneath them, the massive Radiant Heart looked
like a bath toy. The ocean darkened in gradients as
the land beneath the water fell away. They could
clearly see the outline of reefs near the tiny island
hosting their activities that day. The sun gleamed on
the water, making the shallows glow an unearthly
turquoise, and turned the whitecaps golden.

Harm brought them down to the deck. Over the calm
Caribbean waters, he felt safe dropping to twenty
feet. They skimmed across the shallow water near the
beach. Nikki waved to the people who lined the shore,
watching them. Harm performed a ninety-degree snap
roll, completing the pass with his wings perpendicular
to the ground. Nikki cheered. 

"So, are you still being nice to me?" Nikki shouted as
they gained altitude once again.

Harm grinned. "So far. Why? You ready to try some
serious flying?"

Her laughter was torn away by the rushing wind. "Bring
it on, Harm!"

#

To her surprise, Mac was having a great time. Her
escort for the day was a young man named Toby Mathis.
The ironic thing was that Toby could have been Nikki
Upton's twin brother. He had the same deep tan and
sun-streaked blond hair, the same cocksure smile. But
despite being a full decade younger than Mac, he
turned out to be pleasant enough company. They were
snorkeling along one of the reefs, something Mac had
never done before. She was amazed by the beauty of the
fish that filled the water around her. Toby took time
to point out different varieties of sea urchins and
anemones, their puffy bodies decorated in a riot of
pinks, purples and oranges. A diver followed them with
an underwater camera, but Mac rarely noticed him. The
sea itself was too captivating.

Around lunchtime, though, hunger finally drove her to
shore. 

Laughing, Toby followed. "I've heard about your
appetite."

Mac flopped down in the sand, clapping one hand over
her stomach. "It's all true. Oh, I'm hungry." She
glanced behind her to where a small crew was
discretely setting up a small table, complete with
flowers and white tablecloth. "I hope they don't take
too long."

"Nah. They're usually pretty quick."

Mac chuckled. "I see. So I'm not the first woman
you've used this routine on."

He looked down at his toes. "Caught me." His grin was
guileless as he shrugged. "I just love snorkeling."

Mac waved his embarrassment away. "Can't blame you for
that. It's amazing."

They chatted amiably until lunch was ready, then moved
their conversation to the little table. Mac stopped
short when she saw the food that had been laid out.

"Toby, you're my hero." Mac sank into her seat with a
huge grin. Each plate held a monstrous hamburger,
piled high with unhealthy goodies, and a mound of
fries.

"I'd heard you were a major carnivore." He gestured
for her to proceed. Mac dug in with gusto. 

Toby watched her for a moment, shaking his head and
laughing. "Doesn't your husband feed you?"

Mac met Toby's gaze across the table, surprised.
"Usually. He makes me eat vegetables, though."

Toby popped a french fry into his mouth. "Potatoes are
vegetables."

"Point." Mac smiled, cocking her head to study him.
"You know, you're the first of my escorts to
voluntarily mention my husband to me."

Toby shrugged, seeming unconcerned. "Facts are facts.
You are married, and seduction's not really my style.
The way I figure it… I'm here, I'm available, and I'm
a nice guy. If you want to do something about that, go
right ahead." He turned on a charming smile, then let
it fade. "If not, that's o.k., too."

Mac absorbed his explanation, then slowly grinned.
"Deal." She went back to work on her food. "So what's
the plan for the rest of the day?"

"Well, we can keep snorkeling, or I've got a boat
reserved so we can do some water-skiing."

"Hmmm. Choices, choices." Her contemplation was
interrupted by a distant, high-pitched roar-- the
unmistakable sound of a small airplane. Mac looked up,
shading her eyes as she scanned the sky. She spotted
the red and yellow plane a moment later and smiled in
satisfaction. It looked like Nikki Upton was getting
exactly what she'd asked for. If she could still walk
once Harm got her back on the ground, Mac would be
impressed.

"So what do you think of Nikki?" Mac asked her escort
after a moment.

Toby grinned at her. "Why? Is she the competition?"

Mac waited a beat too long to answer. It was too good
an opportunity to pass up. "Of course not."

To her surprise, she saw sympathy in the younger man's
gaze as he answered, "She is pretty hot. Bossy,
though."

Mac had to chuckle. "Well, if there's one thing Harm
can't stand, it's bossy."

"Sounds like you don't have anything to worry about,
then."

Mac sighed. "No, probably not."


Chapter 26

It was nearly midnight as Harm made his way toward the
conference rooms that hosted the frequent HALO
sessions. All things considered, he would much rather
have gone to bed with his wife. Despite George's
claims, Harm didn't find any real appeal in the idea
of staying up all night to play video games. But, duty
calls… Who knows, maybe being able to play one of
these things will win me some points with Chloe. He
grimaced sourly. Yeah, right.

Harm reached the correct room and stepped into a
computer generated war zone. Images were splashed
across two walls in the darkened room. It took him a
moment to realize they were first-person views of the
same location, from different angles. The graphics
were better than the best flight simulator he'd ever
flown. A pile of computing equipment sat on the floor
beneath each projected image. Two pair of speakers
blared with noise-- voices shouting and giving
commands, gunfire, screams and explosions. The weapon
sounds were unrecognizable to his trained ear, but
everything else shouted to Harm that he'd walked into
the middle of a firefight. He tensed instinctively,
fingers twitching toward a weapon he wasn't wearing.

"Pretty real, huh?" 

Harm whipped around to stare into George Laughton's
round face. The other man took a half step back, his
smile dying. Harm forced himself to relax before he
gave himself away. It's just a game. 

"You're not kidding. I almost dove under the table."
He cracked a smile. A table at the center of the room
held the video projection equipment. Others were
scattered about the room. Here and there, people sat
to chat, eat or just watch.

George gave Harm an odd look, but chuckled. "Well,
c'mon. Let me introduce you to some folks and then
I'll show you the basics of the game." They wound
their way through the tables, pausing from time to
time to meet the people sitting there. The Radiant
Heart was a small community, all things considered, so
Harm was familiar with most of the faces. 

They ended up next to one of the players. "Hey,
Geordi," the man said, never taking his eyes from the
screen. Harm was surprised to recognize Don, the
cameraman who'd helped him rescue Nikki almost three
weeks earlier.

"Hi, Don," Harm said, causing the other man to look up
sharply. Then Don's face split in a wide smile.

"Hey, Hero."

Harm rolled his eyes. The ribbing about that little
stunt had finally died away, for the most part.

George chuckled. "Looks like you've already got your
screen name."

"Not likely," Harm told him. He would never live it
down at JAG. "Yours is Geordi?"

George grinned. "Yeah, you know, Star Trek: The Next
Generation?"

Harm just shrugged. When it came to television, he was
pretty much lost.

"Never mind." George gestured toward the wall in front
of Don. "They're playing capture the flag, every man
for himself," he explained. "We have a total of four
systems running, so there can be up to four players in
the same game environment."

Harm watched the screen for a moment, then nodded.
He'd flown multi-pilot simulations, even done a little
dogfighting in that environment, so the concept wasn't
new.

George spent some time giving him an overview of the
game and explaining the various weapons and equipment
available to the video game characters. Then, once
Don's round had finished-- Harm had no idea who'd won,
except that it wasn't Don-- George sat him down in the
player's seat for an introduction to the hand
controller. Under George's directions, Harm took his
character off line for a practice session.

Once he was driving, Harm felt a lot better. As a
fighter pilot, his reflexes and hand-eye coordination
were exceptional, as was his ability to process
information from multiple inputs in a realtime
environment. Once he'd adjusted to the feel of the
controller and started memorizing how to access things
like his inventory, he quickly made progress. 

"Hammer?" George asked at one point, referring to
Harm's screen name.

Harm shrugged. "It was my dad's call sign in Vietnam.
Seemed appropriate."

"Your dad flew in Vietnam?"

In the midst of fighting his way out of a small
ambush, Harm didn't look away from the screen. "Yeah."

"Cool," was George's only response. Harm had to smile.
George's generation was the one after Harm's, and it
was obvious he hadn't lived through the decade of
vicious backlash against that war or seen the deep
rift it had caused in the country. To the younger man
it was just another piece of history-- 'cool' because
America had stood up for something, even if they'd
done a poor job of it. 

"The guy's a natural," Don commented to George a
little while later as Harm wrapped up the practice
round. The other man looked impressed.

George laughed and wagged a warning finger at Harm.
"You aren't supposed to be this good at this." Harm
stared as he continued, "I'm supposed to be bringing
in fresh meat, not serious competition."

Mentally, Harm shook his head. It was just an
innocuous statement. There was no way for George to
know who he really was. George held out his hand for
the controller.

"Here, I'm not going to try to walk you through
joining a networked game. This time, at least, I'll
just do it."

"Fine by me." Harm surrendered the controller. "I'm
trying to memorize too much already."

"You seem to be doing pretty well at it," Don
commented dryly.

Harm shrugged. "I'm a lawyer. Memorization is my life.
You want me to quote you the Constitution?"

Don gave him a strange look. "All of it?"

"It is the basis for all law in the United States."

Don grimaced. "No, thanks. I hated Social Studies."

"There. You're set." George handed the controller back
to Harm. Harm accepted it, and was surprised to feel
something other than plastic along the back of the
device. He gave no sign, however, just palmed the slip
of paper and tucked it in his jeans pocket. Then he
gave all his attention to the virtual combat world of
HALO.

#

Harm got back to the room just as Mac was waking up.
She sat up in bed, looking deliciously tousled as she
tried to gain her bearings.

"Are you just getting in?" she asked, her voice still
thick with sleep. She rubbed her eyes and brushed a
lock of hair away from her face, yawning hugely.

Harm grinned, then knelt on the edge of the bed to
kiss her soundly. He was still running high on
adrenaline and caffeine, and she was just too
beautiful to leave alone.

Mac laughed when he released her, dark eyes dancing.
"I take it you had a good time?"

Harm pushed himself away from the bed. Standing, he
stripped off his shirt, then sat on the edge to take
off his shoes. The jeans he would leave on until he
got into the bathroom and could take a look at
whatever George had passed him. "More than I expected,
actually. I swear, the game's addictive."

Mac watched him as he undressed. "Are you headed for
bed?"

Harm flashed her a smile. "I couldn't sleep right now
if I had to."

She grinned wryly. "I know. You're positively
bouncing." 

He headed into the bathroom. Mac followed him. Once
they were safely away from the cameras, Harm pulled
out George's note. 

Mac raised an eyebrow in silent question, and Harm
nodded. He unfolded the paper, tilting it so Mac could
see it as well. The note read:

There's a secondary recording system in the
contestants' cabins-- sound only. It records while the
cabin cameras are off. Only the bathroom is safe.

Harm frowned. The information wasn't exactly a huge
surprise, but the confirmation only served to anger
him. Such recording was, technically speaking,
illegal, though whether there was enough to make a
case against Ariel, Steiner, or the studio, he
couldn't say.

Mac's brow dipped as she tapped the note. "He didn't
say anything about Boothe and Carmen," she whispered.

"Not explicitly," Harm countered, also in a whisper.
"But he could be implying there's evidence on these
sound tapes. Something that happened when they didn't
know they were being recorded."

"Maybe. Or maybe the warning is directed at us." She
gave Harm a grave stare. "Do you think Webb could have
planted someone on the ship?"

He blinked. That had never occurred to him. "George?
That would be a pretty big coincidence." He shrugged.
"But I wouldn't put anything past Webb. We can ask the
Admiral."

Mac watched him thoughtfully. "We're going to have to
be really careful not to step out of character for the
next few weeks."

Harm nodded grimly. The apparent rift they generated
to give Ariel the opportunity to target them would
have to exist twenty-four hours a day because of the
secondary recording system.

He shoved the thought away. For now, at least, such
concerns remained in the future. They could still
legitimately be a happily married couple until the
opportunity to start destroying the relationship
presented itself. Unconsciously, he fingered the ring
on his left hand, and the miracle it represented.

"Mac, did I ever tell you how sorry I am that it took
something like this insane investigation to shove me
into marrying you?"

Her brown eyes widened in surprise. "No, but--"

Harm silenced her with a finger to her lips. "Then I
should." He cupped her cheek in his hand, lightly
stroking the line of her lower lip with his thumb. It
was getting easier to be honest with her. He took a
deep breath.

"You deserved better than this, Mac. You deserved…" He
faltered for a moment. He had had his own secret
dreams of what their wedding would be. "You deserved
to have your wedding in a rose garden, and to know
that the only reason it was happening was because
there was a man who loved you more than more than
anything-- more than his independence, more than
flying… more than life itself." Harm wasn't entirely
sure when he'd realized that he'd be willing to walk
away from anything else in his life if it meant
keeping Mac.

Mac's eyes filled with tears. "Dress whites and
roses…" She smiled wistfully. "That's how I always
envisioned our wedding, too." She raised a hand to
cover his where it rested on her face, her expression
firming. "But it doesn't matter. What matters is that
we're together."

Harm wondered if she had any idea what an amazing
woman she was. "No, it does matter, Mac. I can't turn
the clock back, and, to be brutally honest, I'm not
sure I would ever have gotten to this point without
being forced into it--" He sighed. It was
disappointing to see this flaw in himself so clearly.
"But with the wisdom of hindsight, I just wanted to
tell you that I wish I'd been able to do it right."

With a crooked smile, Mac raised her left hand to show
him her wedding rings. The diamond that had once
belonged to Harm's mother sparkled and flashed in the
harsh electric lighting.

"Are you so sure you haven't?" she asked him.

He looked at her blankly. Her smile deepened.

"Your mother told me about this ring, Harm." She
looked down at her feet for a moment, her expression
filling with pain. "It was the only thing that kept me
from completely coming apart that last day or so."

A knife to the heart would have been kinder. Harm
pulled her close, feeling the hot sting of tears. "I'm
so sorry, Sarah. I never wanted to hurt you."

Mac sighed softly. "And I forgive you, if there's any
need for it." She shook her head. "We were so messed
up, Harm… As crazy as this whole thing has been, I'm
not sure we could have made it any other way." She
pulled back to look up at him, her gaze firm. "I'll
take the reality over the fairy tale any day."

Harm had to smile at that. "Me, too."



Chapter 27

Harm stood at the bar in one of the Radiant Heart's
dance clubs, quietly nursing his bourbon. Mac had
already gone to bed and the HALO session wouldn't
start for another hour, so he was killing time. Heavy
techno music throbbed through the crowded room, so
loud he felt like his teeth were vibrating. A couple
of women had come by already with invitations to
dance, but he'd turned them down. For one, none had
been Nikki. And even if she had been there, it was a
step he was deeply hesitant to take. There would
always be another opportunity. On this ship, that much
was guaranteed.

He took another sip of his bourbon. Maybe if I
procrastinate long enough, we can come up with a
better plan. One that didn't involve walking the gray
line between fidelity and betrayal.

A hand closed on Harm's shoulder, strong fingers
digging into the joint. Harm turned in surprise to
find Boothe behind him, his face suffused with anger.

Boothe leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Just where
do you get off telling people that I abuse my wife?"
he shouted over the music.

Harm pulled out of the other man's grasp and turned to
face him. "Do you?" he shouted back.

Boothe took a deep breath, then opened his mouth for a
response. Harm braced himself. But then Boothe seemed
to deflate. He gave Harm a look that was part fury,
part disgust, and rolled his eyes. He waved toward the
door as if to usher Harm outside. 

Curious, Harm complied. Leaving his drink, he followed
Boothe out of the club. The main concourse was fairly
deserted at that late hour, giving them some semblance
of privacy.

Once they had walked a short distance from the door,
Boothe stopped and turned around. "Now I'll answer
your question. No, I do not-- and have not ever--
abused my wife." His voice was taut with suppressed
anger. "Where do you get off accusing me? Did you know
Tony Ariel came to see Carmen and me and suggested
that we withdraw?" He made a sharp gesture.
"Apparently they don't want a wife-beater on their
show!"

Harm watched the other man cautiously. Boothe appeared
to be sober. Harm crossed his arms over his chest,
keeping his demeanor casual. 

"Carmen told Mac you hit her." 

Boothe looked startled for a moment, then the anger
returned. "You're lying." He took a step closer.

Harm shook his head, but otherwise didn't give. "I'm
not. Do you deny hitting her?"

"You sound like a cop."

Harm frowned. "No, just a lawyer."

Boothe glared. "Then stop talking to me like a
lawyer!"

They were nearly nose to nose now. Harm smiled in what
he hoped was an engaging way. If at all possible, he
wanted to defuse the situation. "Sorry about that.
It's what I am." 

Boothe stared at him, the menace in his expression
unwavering. "Look, I don't know where this is coming
from, but it's not true. It's some head game of
Carmen's, so stay out, got it?"

Harm raised his hands, palms out. "Hey, Mac was
concerned so we started asking some questions. That's
all. Do you know if Carmen has any abuse in her past?"

Boothe's laughter was hard and brittle. "Little Miss
Rodeo Drive? Daddy would have had them shot."

Harm took a deliberate step back. "Wait-- Carmen grew
up on Rodeo?" Boothe nodded, and his mind started
turning in new directions. Rodeo Drive meant serious
money. "She hasn't been disinherited or anything, has
she?"

That earned him an odd look. "No. Why would you say
that?"

Harm shook his head. "Never mind. You're right. She's
playing some kind of head game with Mac."

Boothe's stormy expression began to fade. He nodded
sharply. "All right then." 

Harm studied him. He was beginning to get the feeling
it was Boothe's position in the marriage that was
precarious, not Carmen's. 

Harm cocked his head. "Her family doesn't like you
very much, do they?"

Boothe gave a derisive snort.

"How'd you two end up on the show?"

Boothe shrugged. "Carmen's idea. I figured it'd be a
lark, though." He looked at Harm. "What about you and
Mac?"

Harm chuckled. "I'm chalking it up to temporary
insanity."

Boothe grinned, and for the first time Harm began to
feel like he had some idea what was going on inside
the other man. He wondered if Boothe had married
Carmen for her family money, or if he really cared for
her. Harm didn't envy him, in either case.

He took his leave then and headed for the HALO rooms.
Now all he had to do was figure out how to continue
the investigation without the excuse of digging into
Boothe and Carmen's relationship.

#

Mac wandered the confines of the stateroom restlessly.
She'd told Harm she was going to bed, but she couldn't
force herself to lie down. Every time she closed her
eyes, her mind conjured another image of her husband--
in the arms of Nikki Upton. 

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Frustrated with herself and
her overwhelming insecurity when it came to her
relationship with Harm, she stalked over to the closet
and began to dress. She would go crazy trapped in
here.

The night air felt good against her face as Mac
stepped out onto the deck. Overhead, the stars were
bright and so numerous they looked like salt scattered
across a dark cloth. She went to the rail and stood
there for a while, watching the water.

"Penny for your thoughts?" a man's voice asked from a
few steps behind her.

Mac glanced over her shoulder to find Toby watching
her, his expression curious. "You wouldn't be getting
much for your money," she answered, and turned back to
the water.

He came forward, leaned his elbows on the rail next to
where she stood. "That's o.k. It's an investment."

Mac couldn't help a small smile.

"So where's hubby?" Toby asked after a moment.

"Playing video games."

"He got sucked in to that, huh?"

Mac nodded, unconsciously clasping her hands together
in front of her. "Third night this week." She sighed
softly.

"Uh oh. Well, he's an idiot for ignoring someone as
nice and smart and beautiful and funny and--"

"Oh, stop!" Mac was grinning widely. Her smile quickly
faded. "Thanks."

"No problem." 

They stood together in silence. Mac watched the dark
water and listened to the soft rush of air past her
face.

"You hungry?" Toby asked suddenly.

Mac flashed a smile. "Always."

"You want to go get something to eat? I hear the
midnight buffet's to die for." After a moment's
hesitation, he offered his hand.

Mac stared at him. I don't want to do this. It's
necessary. It's not worth the price. Harm knows it's
not real. It too easily could be. Mind and conscience
warred over her response.

"Just friends?" she asked, biting her lip.

He grinned and shrugged. "Sure."

Taking a deep breath, Mac slipped her hand into his.

They wandered the length of the ship, arriving
eventually at the buffet. There were a few people
around, and Mac self-consciously pulled her hand away
from Toby's as those nearby took note of their
arrival. 

Together, they moved to the head of the buffet table.
Mac picked her way through the food, wishing she was
as hungry as she claimed. Eventually they settled at a
table near the edge of the cavernous room. Despite
Mac's fears, Toby did nothing overtly suggestive. He
was friendly and lighthearted-- exactly what she
needed to take her mind off Harm. They talked about
inconsequential things, shared stories from their
college days (though his were a good deal more recent
than hers), and had a generally good time.

They'd been there about an hour when a voice she knew
better than her own shattered the small measure of
peace she'd gained. Mac heard her husband's laughter
and looked around, startled. He had just walked in,
along with five or six others. They were all chatting
companionably, but Mac's gut twisted at the sight of a
certain blond head bobbing along beside Harm. Nikki
Upton had apparently figured out where Harm was
spending his evenings.

"Looks like the game crew got hungry," Toby commented.
He sounded as wary as Mac felt. "Do you want to go say
hi?"

Mac started to shake her head, but stopped when Nikki
reached up to lay a hand on Harm's shoulder, leaning
into him as she talked. 

Something inside Mac snapped at the casually familiar
gesture. She rose from her chair like an uncoiling
spring, hands curling into fists at her side. Marines
didn't back down, didn't surrender a position once
they'd taken it. And Harm was hers. 

She stalked toward the group. A small, rational voice
in the back of her mind insisted she was making a
foolish mistake, but the rest simply wasn't listening.
In that moment, Mac didn't care about the
investigation, the Navy, or even the two reservists
waiting for them back in Virginia. All that mattered
was that there was another woman making a move on her
husband, and he was doing nothing to stop it.

The group of gamers was too involved in their
conversation to notice Mac's approach. Even Harm, who
had uncanny spatial awareness, didn't give any
indication he'd seen her. 

Nikki had her back turned, so it was a simple matter
for Mac to walk up, grab the other woman by both
shoulders and spin her away from Harm. Mac caught some
of Nikki's hair in the process, and was rewarded by a
screech that plunged the room into silence. She
stepped into the vacated spot, putting herself between
Nikki and Harm, and glared at the blond co-ed. Very
deliberately, she raised her hand to shake away the
long blond strands that clung to her fingers, keeping
her eyes locked on the younger woman's.

"Mac, what are you doing?" Harm's voice came from
behind her, hard-edged and carrying a clear warning
note.

Mac ignored him. She took a step forward, arms held
away from her sides and fingers spread in an
unconscious fighter's stance. Nikki swallowed hard.
Mac grinned at her discomfort. She leaned forward
until her face was only a couple of inches from
Nikki's.

"Stay away from my husband," she said in a quiet,
clearly-enunciated voice.

Nikki stared. 

Mac studied her for a long moment, then nodded in
satisfaction. She spun on her heel to leave, only to
nearly collide with Harm who stood a pace behind her.
They stared at each other in silence. Harm's
expression could have been chiseled in stone for all
the reaction he showed. Only his eyes were alive,
flashing with indignation and anger.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded. 

Mac raised her chin, her stomach clenched in a hard,
cold knot. "Defending my marriage, which you,
apparently, don't care to do."

Harm's gaze flicked to Toby, who had followed Mac and
now stood a few feet behind her, watching everything
with ill-concealed nervousness. Harm raised an
eyebrow. "Oh, really?" His tone was thick with
sarcasm. "Looks to me like we're on pretty even
ground. Maybe you should go look in a mirror before
you make any more accusations."

"Maybe so," she agreed tightly. "At least then one of
us would still remember what I look like." With that,
she turned and strode away.

"Thanks for the company, Toby," she told the young man
as she brushed past him, her eyes firmly fastened on
the far wall.

"Any time," he answered from behind her, but the
statement lacked conviction.

Feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on her back,
Mac forced herself to keep her steps even as she
walked out. 

Having nowhere else to go, she went back to the room
she shared with Harm. She turned the lights on as she
entered, knowing that she'd turned on the cameras as
well despite the hour, and dropped heavily onto the
edge of the bed.

Reaction set in. She began to shake. Tears quickly
followed. Leaning forward, Mac clasped her hands
together between her knees and let them fall.

#

Harm returned to the room just before 0400. Mac was
still awake, curled up in one corner of the bed,
reading. She'd been too keyed up to sleep and too
afraid of the kinds of dreams she'd have if she'd
tried, so she'd done her best to lose herself in a
halfway intelligent mystery novel she'd bought a few
days earlier.

She looked up when Harm entered. Their eyes locked
across the length of the room. Mac couldn't bring
herself to speak.

After a moment, Harm pulled his gaze away. He headed
for the bathroom, stripping off his shirt as he went
and leaving it in a heap on the floor behind him. Mac
stared at the crumpled pile of cloth. It was such an
un-Harm thing to do that she was momentarily shocked.

Tossing her book aside, she followed him, wondering
with some trepidation what she might find. She tried
not to let her fear show, though. If anyone had a
right to be angry it was she, and to that effect, she
kicked the bathroom door closed behind her as she
entered.

Harm was waiting for her. He leaned casually against
the edge of the sink, arms crossed over his bare
chest. But the cold, impassive face he'd worn since
walking into the stateroom cracked when the door
slammed shut.

"Wow, Mac." The blue eyes suddenly twinkled with
wicked humor. "You're good."

Mac caught her breath in a gasp as everything turned
right in the world once again. 

"You're not so bad yourself," she managed, crossing
the distance between them in two strides. Harm barely
had time to open his arms before she hit him, wrapping
her arms around his neck and seeking his mouth with
desperate need. He pulled her tight against him, one
large hand knotting in her hair as he kissed her
roughly in return.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it began. They stared at
each other for a long, frozen moment. Then Harm's
painful grip on her hair loosened. His gaze softened
as he gently stroked the disturbed locks back into
place and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.
Mac smiled at the feeling of his lips against her
skin.

"Are we o.k.?" he asked, his breath warm on her
hairline.

Mac let out a deep sigh. "Yeah." She kissed his
throat, then tipped her head to touch her lips to the
soft spot just beneath his jaw. The dark stubble of
his beard scraped her mouth, sending a thrill through
her entire body.

He chuckled. "I thought for sure you were going to
take the poor girl's head off."

"I was tempted, believe me." She turned her attention
to the other side of his neck, feeling his skin warm
in response to her ministrations. His pulse quickened
beneath her lips.

The tenor of his laugh changed. His hands came to rest
on her waist. "Mac, I really like what you're doing,
but you've got to stop."

Regretfully, she pulled away. "I suppose, seeing as
we're supposed to be arguing." 

Her comment damped the desire flaring in his eyes. His
lips twisted in a sour smile. "How do you want to play
it?"

Mac gave the question careful consideration, ignoring
the insistent voice in the back of her mind that told
her to bag the investigation in favor of kissing this
man until she couldn't remember her own name. 

While she thought, Harm gave her an amused look from
beneath his brows. "I would love to know what's going
through your mind right now."

Mac flushed, grinning in embarrassment. "Yes you
would," she agreed, but didn't elaborate. She pushed
her thoughts back onto the question at hand. "We both
need some sleep. Do you think frigid silence would be
believable? I'd really like to lay next to you even if
I have to pretend I'm not enjoying it."

He smiled ruefully. "I think we can make it work." He
paused, eyebrows wriggling with irrepressible humor.
"If you think you can keep your hands off me, that
is."

Mac chuckled. "I can if you can."

He bowed with a flourish, gesturing toward the door.
"After you, then."



Chapter 28

Harm sat on the edge of the tub as he waited for the
Admiral to pick up his phone. Water splattered against
the shower curtain, the sound a constant hiss behind
him. One week and six days, he thought. Less than two
weeks left. I cannot wait to get off this ship. Come
on, Admiral, pick up. Harm's thoughts ran in impatient
circles. He'd hardly seen Mac during the last couple
of days, and as much as avoiding each other was
necessary to the case, it was also driving him crazy.

A familiar click told him Admiral Chegwidden had come
on the line. "Commander." The Admiral's tone was
brusque.

"Good morning, sir."

There was a short, ominous pause. "Commander, I have
only one thing to say to you today."

After many years in Chegwidden's command, Harm had
developed an instinctive sense for when to brace
himself. "Sir?"

He heard the Admiral draw a deep breath and tipped the
phone's earpiece away from his head in expectation. 

"Just what in the name of all that's holy do you think
you're doing out there, Mr. Rabb? Have you totally
taken leave of your senses? This is quite possibly the
most shameful display I have ever seen from an officer
under my command, and that's saying a lot, considering
your track record. Don't think I won't yank both your
butts back to Washington for disciplinary action, if I
find it necessary. Do I make myself clear, Commander?"

Harm winced at his superior's tone, but couldn't help
a grin. Temptation Cruise II had aired an episode the
night before. He could only guess what Steiner was
doing with his and Mac's unhappy charade. The Admiral
pretended he didn't care about the people serving
under him, but they all knew better.

"Yes, sir. Perfectly, sir." Harm tried to keep the
smile out of his voice, and failed miserably. 

If possible, Chegwidden's voice grew sharper.
"Something amuses you, Commander?"

Harm bit his lip to keep his chuckle from escaping. It
wasn't often he got to embarrass his superior without
serious repercussions. "Sir, you really shouldn't
believe everything you see on t.v.," he said in his
most reasonable tone.

Silence answered him. Harm imagined the Admiral
collapsing into his chair as he processed the new
information.

"Good grief, Commander."

Harm finally decided it was safe to laugh. "That about
sums it up, sir. I take it we're doing a convincing
job of sending our relationship into a fatal
tailspin?" 

"Convincing?" The Admiral's tone took on a sardonic
note. "Next time, warn me, Rabb, and I won't volunteer
to take over hosting duty for the JAG Temptation
Cruise party. I nearly had a riot on my hands last
night."

Harm grimaced. "Sorry about that, sir. I hope we
didn't cause too much trouble."

Chegwidden snorted. "Well, other than Lieutenant Simms
bawling all over my Parisian couch, I don't think
there was any permanent harm done."

Harm was grateful he was on the phone and didn't have
to face his commanding officer directly. Poor Harriet.
"Will you tell the Lieutenant not to worry, sir? And
Bud, as well."

The Admiral's tone turned thoughtful. "I can do that,
Commander, though it won't help the rest of the world,
if all of the disgusted callers I heard on the radio
on my drive in are any indication."

Harm stared at the floor, trying to absorb the idea.
"People call into radio stations about us?" It seemed
ludicrous.

"Yes, and at the moment they all seem to be a bit…
irate… with the two of you."

A thought struck Harm and he groaned involuntarily.

"Commander?"

Harm covered his eyes with one hand. "It's my mother,
sir. I didn't even think--" He paused, shaking his
head. How many years had she been after him about Mac?
"She's going to kill me."

He heard a muffled noise that might have been laughter
from Chegwidden. "I'll take care of it," he assured
Harm. 

Harm nodded in unconscious relief. "Thank you, sir."

The Admiral returned to the business at hand. "So
what's your plan, Commander?"

Harm collected his thoughts. "Same as it has been,
sir. Catch Ariel in the act. We realized about a week
ago that the Antonys were the target of opportunity--
they were already having significant problems in their
relationship, to the point that Mrs. Antony had made
several overtures toward the two Naval reservists. If
we want Ariel to go after Mac, we have to present him
with a similarly easy-looking target." He paused.
"Anything further on Steiner's involvement?"

Harm heard papers rustling across the Admiral's desk.
"No, not yet. My gut tells me he knew, though whether
that was before or after the fact remains a mystery."

"Are you leaning one way or the other, sir?"

He heard a small snort of amusement. "If I had to
choose, I'd say he didn't know until afterward-- but
has been playing the entire situation for his own
benefit."

"All right, sir. Thank you."

"Carry on, Commander."

"Aye aye, sir."

Harm put the satellite phone back in its case and sat
with his chin on his hands, thinking. It all came down
to catching Ariel in the act, and knowing the camera
system probably had some convenient faults made
getting hard evidence somewhat risky. It was possible
Ariel would use the same rooms as the last cruise, or
that the technical staff would know which cameras were
having problems if the rooms had been changed, but
that would mean giving themselves away to George
Laughton. They would have to have his help if they
wanted to record Ariel making his move.

#

A.J. stared at his phone for some time after hanging
up with Commander Rabb. The political ramifications of
this case had grown far beyond the fact that two
reservists were facing rape charges. Any moment now,
he expected to get a call from the SECNAV, chewing him
out for the Rabbs' behavior on national television.
Because of the popularity of the show, Harm and Mac
had suddenly become the number one source for the
public's opinion of the Navy. A.J. found it ironic
that, in doing their jobs, they might very well cause
more damage to the Navy's reputation than had they
never volunteered for the assignment.

However, A.J. was pretty sure he could fix the problem
without compromising the investigation. The idea that
had come to him while talking with Commander Rabb had
its pitfalls-- namely, trusting Dan Steiner-- but was,
in his opinion, well worth the risk.

He touched a button on his intercom. "Tiner! Get me
Daniel Steiner on the line."

"Yes, sir," came the new lieutenant's response. A.J.
drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited. Now that
Tiner was through OCS, the lieutenant j.g. really
deserved to be doing something more than playing
secretary for an Admiral. A.J. was loath to let him
go, however. Finding someone as easily cowed as Tiner
would be difficult.

"Mr. Steiner on line two," Tiner told him a minute
later.

"Thank you, Tiner." A.J. pushed the appropriate button
and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk
blotter. "Good day, Mr. Steiner," he said politely. 

"Admiral, if you're calling to tell me to lighten up
on your people, don't bother." Steiner sounded a
little harried. "They're digging their own graves out
there."

A.J. ignored the producer's rudeness with an effort of
will. He arched one eyebrow. "Did your rating take a
tumble?"

Steiner made a disgusted noise. "Nosedive is more like
it." A.J. could almost hear him shaking his head. "Do
you know how many people were-- and I stress the past
tense there-- tuning in just to see those two win? I
mean, they had the audience believing in fairytales--
happily ever after, and all that."

A.J. couldn't help but smile. Mac wasn't exactly a
fairytale princess, nor Harm the typical Prince
Charming, but there was definitely something magical
between them.

"What if I told you the dissonance is entirely an
act?" he asked. 

From the abrupt silence on the other end, A.J. knew
he'd captured the producer's full attention. He
continued, "I talked with Commander Rabb this morning.
It is his and Colonel Rabb's firm opinion that the
division is necessary to draw Ariel--"

"Wait." Steiner cut him off. "You talked to Commander
Rabb today? How did you do that?"

A.J. chuckled lightly. "This is the United States
military, Mr. Steiner. We have our ways." He couldn't
help but feel a little smug. "I was going to propose
that you incorporate this new twist into your
broadcasts. It would be good for your ratings as well
as the Navy's PR."

A thoughtful silence filled the other end of the line.
"Can you prove it?" Steiner finally asked, and A.J.
knew he had him. "I mean, do I get anything besides
your word--"

"I'll get you a tape of my conversation with the
commander," A.J. assured him. Properly edited, of
course. "It bounced off a satellite, so I'm sure the
CIA has a copy of it somewhere." Considering Webb had
a whole passel of agents-in-training running the thing
as an op, it'd better. 

"You say that like it's a good thing," Steiner
muttered. Then, louder, "Get me the tape and I'll see
what we can do on this end." 

A.J. nodded in satisfaction. "I'll do that."

There was a pause. "Is there any chance we could get a
live interview?"

A.J. chuckled. Greed would make sure the producer did
what A.J. wanted him to, and the Navy would regain its
prime time heroes. 

As soon as he hung up with Steiner, A.J. pressed the
button for Tiner. "Get me Clayton Webb," he told the
lieutenant, then settled back in his chair. Now all he
had to do was figure out how to break the news to his
own people without creating an unprofessional uproar
in the office.

#

Harm was getting thoroughly sick of Nikki Upton. He
felt like he couldn't turn around anymore without
seeing her. Right now was just another case in point.
He'd gone to swim laps in the deck pool for no other
reason than because one couldn't interact with other
people while swimming and he wanted to be left alone
for a while. But who did he find sitting at the end of
his lane after only a few laps?

Carefully schooling his expression, Harm pulled up at
the end of the lane, catching the edge of the pool
with one hand and bracing his feet against the wall.

"What's up?" he asked casually, shading his eyes to
look up at Nikki. She was dressed in a very scanty
bikini-- the size of the bathing suits seemed to be
diminishing as fast as their remaining time aboard the
Radiant Heart. 

Nikki shrugged and gave him what was, speaking
impartially, a very fetching smile. Pretty as she was,
though, Harm still found her presence annoying.

"A bunch of us are going dancing tonight at
Polyesters. You interested?"

Harm tried not to wince at the mention of the ship's
retro club. He hadn't much liked the 70's the first
time through, let alone wanting to relive them.

"Uh… I don't know. Maybe." Could you show a little
more enthusiasm, Rabb? I'm sure she's positively
overwhelmed. He managed a smile. "Sorry. Too many late
nights recently. I'm a little tired."

Nikki grinned at him. "Awwww." To his dismay, she
pulled her feet out of the water, then lay down on her
stomach at the edge of the pool, bracing herself on
her elbows. 

Harm bit back a sigh. Not that it wasn't a nice view…
just not half as nice as Mac's would have been.
Thinking of Mac sharpened his interest better than any
display of Nikki's possibly could, and he suppressed a
second sigh. Oh well. I'm supposed to be 'interested'.

Nikki had her feet up in the air, ankles crossed. She
gave Harm a coquettish look, rotating one foot in lazy
circles. "So, is there anything I can offer to entice
you into coming with us tonight?"

Time to play the game, Harm thought. He'd been doing
it so long it was almost second nature to grin back at
her, the full-wattage ladykiller smile his father had
left to him. "Why? Are you offering something?"

She leaned forward over the edge of the pool, smile
widening. "Oh, I don't know…"

Harm didn't move-- either forward or back. "You'll
have to do better than that," he chided her.

"Is that an invitation?" She slid forward until her
lips hovered only a few inches from his. He could
smell the combination of suntan lotion and chlorine
emanating from her still-damp skin, and feel her
breath on his mouth. He would have had to have been
dead not to feel the impact of her closeness, but it
was little more than an instinctive response. He
already knew what a relationship with Nikki would be
like-- he'd had too many of them in the past.
Impersonal, mediocre, even in the physical aspects,
and hollow. 

Mac was everything to him this woman was not, and
could never be. He kept his smile in place only with
an effort of will.

"More like a challenge," Harm answered her, hating
every word.

That clinched it, as he'd known it would. Smiling
triumphantly, Nikki closed the distance between them,
and Harm did not resist as her mouth descended on his.



Chapter 29

"You'll have to do better than that." Harm's words,
coupled with that effortless, sexy smile of his, sent
Nikki's heart straight into her throat. After all her
hard work, he was finally starting to fall-- in lust,
at least-- with her. That was what she wanted, what
she craved. 

"Is that an invitation?" she breathed, hardly daring
to hope he'd answer in kind rather than backing down,
as had always happened in the past. A man like this
was used to having female attention lavished on him.
She could only hope that the cold shoulder treatment
his wife had been giving him lately (stupid woman)
would be the little nudge that sent him over the edge.

"More like a challenge," Harm answered with an
inviting grin, his blue eyes threatening to drown her.

Houston, we have lift off! Nikki smiled in triumph as
she leaned in. An electric thrill ran through her at
the touch of his lips on hers. She closed her eyes,
sinking, powerless, into the kiss as the heat of it
speared through her.

And then, suddenly, he was gone. Nikki's eyes flew
open. Harm was staring at her, his expression intense.

"This isn't going to happen," he said in a quiet
voice. The blue eyes seemed to bore straight through
her.

Heart sinking, Nikki tried to catch hold of an
opportunity that was rapidly slipping through her
fingers. "Well, maybe not now…"

"Not now, not tomorrow, or next week or next month.
Not ever." She didn't see even a shadow of conflict
behind the firm statement.

Nikki bit her lip as her dreams of stardom and of
bedding quite possibly the most amazing man she'd ever
met turned to dust. Strangely, she didn't feel angry.
Only sad. She managed a nod.

Harm echoed her, unsmiling. Then, without another
word, he turned and pushed off from the pool wall in a
rush of water, his strokes strong and even. Nikki
watched for a moment, then rose to her feet and walked
away.

#

Mac stood just inside the doorway leading to the deck,
frozen in shock. She was invisible in the shadow of
the bridge structure that loomed above her, watching
as Nikki Upton leaned down to kiss her husband.

It was a short kiss, some rational portion of Mac's
brain told her, followed by an equally short
conversation before Harm went back to his laps. What
it meant, though… 

What it meant…

Mac didn't know what it meant.

Trembling, she turned and retraced her steps into the
interior of the ship.

#

Harm wasn't sure how long he'd been lost in the cool,
silent world beneath the water. He swam mechanically,
needing the simple, repetitive motion to help measure
the pace of his thoughts. He didn't know what to
think, what to do. He'd never really been in a
position like this before, where fulfilling his duty
violated his ethics. His undercover assignments had
never taken him into such gray lands before, nor left
him feeling so… ashamed.

Ashamed. The word conjured memories-- kissing Mac that
night on the Admiral's porch, the first time he'd seen
his mother and Frank together, turning Mac away the
night Renee's father died, waking up in the hospital
knowing Mace was dead, staring at Diane's killer and
realizing he had it inside him to murder a man…

All he knew at the moment was that he couldn't
continue the charade with Nikki, for the sake of his
own conscience. For the first few laps, he'd tried to
convince himself that it was really about not wanting
to hurt Mac-- that there were no deeper issues. But
that wasn't true. Kissing Nikki was simply wrong. And
he'd allowed it to happen.

It was a strange conviction for him, maybe. No doubt
born of a bitter ten-year-old's inability to let go of
his father and watch his mother fall in love with
another man. No matter how good he was for her. But in
finding the truth about his father, and in meeting
Sergei, Harm had finally been able to get rid of the
sense of betrayal that had followed him throughout his
adult life. 

His deep-rooted belief that love required absolute
loyalty, however, hadn't changed. It was fundamental
to who he was. And when he'd kissed Mac on the
Admiral's porch that night… it had shattered his image
of himself as an honorable man. He knew he could have
had her-- taken her away from Brumby with a touch, a
word-- and destroyed everything decent inside himself
in the process. 

He'd almost done it anyway. Only the irrational,
numbing fear of loving her only to watch her die kept
him from stepping across that line. One kind of
selfishness preventing another, worse kind.

That was why he'd had to turn her away when Renee's
father died. Because he'd given Renee a tacit promise,
and was honor bound to be faithful to it until the
promise was dissolved. And because, if he couldn't
find the strength or decency to be true to himself, he
would never be worthy of Mac.

Harm surfaced at the end of the lane and hooked his
elbows over the edge, breathing hard. The
investigation wasn't good enough reason to continue
this horrible, deadly charade. Bringing Ariel to
justice wasn't enough. Even giving Mrs. Antony closure
with what she'd suffered wasn't enough. He'd made Mac
a promise to walk away if it got to be too much. For
him, that time had arrived.

Resolved, Harm hauled himself out of the pool. He
grabbed his towel, drying himself as he walked toward
the nearest doorway. He had to find Mac.

#

He found her on the far side of the ship, standing at
the rail and looking out to sea. The ship's central
structure threw the entire area into deep, cool
shadow. Even the breeze seemed chilly. Still soaked
from his swim, Harm shivered and pulled the towel
around his shoulders as he walked forward. He stopped
next to Mac, who didn't acknowledge his presence.

"You heard." It wasn't a question. Something about her
expression told him she already knew what had
happened.

"I saw, actually." She turned to look at him for a
moment, her dark eyes inscrutable, then went back to
staring at the ocean. "I don't want to talk about it."

Harm bit his lip at her tone. Was she just playing to
the cameras? Sticking to her role with the same
tenacity she showed in both the courtroom and her
personal struggles? Or was this real?

"Mac--"

"No." She gripped the rail tightly in both hands,
rocking back and forth as if torn between strong,
conflicting desires. "I'm not going to talk about this
now." She shot him a single, unrevealing glance. "Go
away, Harm." The expression in her dark eyes turned
pleading. "Please. We can talk later. Just not right
now."

"But--"

"But nothing, Harm. Just go." Her gaze changed subtly
as she looked him up and down. "Go dry off."

His determination wavered. Had they really fallen this
far? Or was it, like her little hair-pulling stunt,
merely a superb act? I guess the answer to that hinges
on what I really think Sarah Rabb is made of.

Harm nodded once, sharply, as he made his decision. He
owed her his trust, and his respect. He would believe
the best and follow her lead on this, if only until
they had the opportunity to talk without other ears.
Then they could decide together what they wanted to
do.

Turning, he left. He wandered aimlessly, his feet
taking to the door of their stateroom without any
conscious direction on his part. He went inside,
closing the door behind him, and leaned his head
against it.

After a bit, he pushed himself away and went to the
closet for clothes and a dry towel. Then he headed
into the bathroom to change.

Something scratched Harm's skin when he started to dry
himself. He paused to investigate, and found a note
pinned to the towel. Harm recognized the paper that
filled the bedside notepad-- several sheets of it--
folded over and attached to the thick terry cloth with
a safety pin.

He stared dully for a moment before detaching the
slips of paper. Unfolding them, he found a long note
written in Mac's blocky script.

Harm sat before he legs could betray him, and began to
read.

Harm,

I'm not sure where to start, so I'll just plunge in. I
don't know when we'll get a chance to talk. So here
goes: 

I think my heart stopped beating when I saw Nikki
Upton kiss you. I mean, we've talked about things like
that and I know it's necessary, but I wasn't prepared
for the reality. I'm sitting here right now, crying my
eyes out and wanting so very much to throw myself into
your arms and tell you I'm ready to walk away from the
investigation. You promised we would go someplace
private where we could talk, and right now I can't
think of anything I want more.

I also know that would be the coward's way out, so I
won't say it.

I'm not going to pretend that seeing you with Nikki
today didn't hurt. It did. But I learned something
important today, too. I learned that hurt is an
emotion. Fear is an emotion (and I've got plenty of
that floating around inside me right now as well). But
trust is a decision. My decision. I'm tired of letting
the past dictate the present. I'm tired of basing my
security on events and the actions of others. I can't
control what happens around me, or what you or anyone
else chooses to do. I can control me. I can make
choices for myself. I can decide what kind of person
I'm going to be.

I trust you, Harm. No matter what evidence I see to
the contrary, I am going to believe in us. 

That said, though, I hope I don't see you in person
any time soon. I'm not sure I could control myself,
though whether I'd deck you or just pin you down and
have my way with you, I can't begin to guess. 

Ha. Who am I kidding? I know exactly which I'd do, and
then where would our investigation be?

I love you,

Sarah

Harm read and re-read Mac's words until he was certain
his eyes weren't deceiving him, and each time his
smile widened. Mac, you're amazing.

Standing, he tucked the note into his pocket, then
finished getting dressed. Afterwards, he went looking
for the pad his wife had used. Surreptitiously, of
course. He found it conveniently left under the
bathroom sink, along with a pen, and chuckled.

It didn't take him long to draft a reply, which he
left tucked inside the cover of the novel she was
currently reading. It was a poor substitute for
holding her and looking into her chocolate eyes while
they talked, but it was better than nothing. And it
was for sure a lot better than wondering what was real
and what wasn't.

Maybe we'll make it through this thing after all.


Chapter 30

George hummed quietly to himself as he worked. He was
crouched inside one of the many maintenance spaces
inside the ship, peering into the gaping hole he'd
created when he'd opened the large steel access panel.
Wiring ran in thick bundles through the space,
branching occasionally. George followed the convoluted
mess with a practiced eye, comparing it to the wiring
diagram in his hands. He was pretty sure he knew what
he was looking at now. Someone had added a separate
set of controls to a few of the cameras and he was
trying to backtrack the additional network to figure
out where the controller was located. So far he didn't
know if it would turn out to be a purely
mechanical/electrical switch, or if there might be a
computer interface as well. 

George was intensely curious. Whatever was going on,
he was certain, would have to do with the military's
undercover investigation of the show and Tony Ariel,
but how the two tied together he couldn't quite
figure. And what Harm and his Marine wife were doing
with the whole fighting routine also remained a
mystery. George didn't think a man who had the
exquisite control to fly fighters, the intelligence to
earn a law degree, and the sneakiness to be involved
in undercover investigation could possibly be a
flagrantly immature as he had been acting. And likely,
any woman he chose to be his partner would be more of
the same. George had barely met Mac, so couldn't
comment from personal contact, but her record would
indicate she, too, was an exceptional person.

Groaning as he backed his way out of the cramped
space, George tucked the wiring diagram away inside
his shirt, then stood and stretched. He was done with
this segment. He'd have to go up to the next level to
continue tracing the wiring path, but that would have
to wait until tomorrow night. His shift was almost
over.

He made his way back to the AV room. Settling at the
computer, he checked the progress of the data transfer
batch he'd started before taking off to look at wire
bundles. It had nearly completed. Perfect timing. He
prepared the next set to be moved over, then leaned
back in his chair.

The morning shift straggled in between ten and thirty
minutes late, as usual. But, since Bob, their
supervisor, was the worst offender, George had decided
early on that discretion was the better part of valor
in this case. He didn't complain. In fact, he never
mentioned it at all except for some friendly teasing
when the supervisor wasn't around.

Unfortunately, today looked to be a bad day for
George's relationship with his boss. The technical
supervisor for the AV crew was a tall, scarecrow of a
man with thinning hair and poor posture. As opposed to
the rest of the techies, who were Geeks, this man was
the quintessential Nerd. George instinctively checked
the man's shirt every day, looking for a pocket
protector. 

"What did you do this time, Laughton?" Bob asked as
soon as he walked in the room. His tone was filled
with disgust.

George's heart leapt inside his chest in guilty panic.
He took a moment to gain control of his reaction
before turning his chair to face his boss. "What do
you mean?" He tried to make the question curious
rather than suspicious.

"Ariel wants to see you in his office as soon as you
get off." Bob gave him a false smile. "Looks like your
mouth is going to get you in trouble again."

George shrugged. "Better my mouth than… some other
part." Bob had developed a reputation for making
blatant and unappreciated advances to a number of
women onboard the ship. The other techs suddenly
became very busy, though George heard a couple of
hastily swallowed laughs.

Bob paled, except for two bright red spots on his
cheeks. "You'd better go see what the producer wants,
Laughton," he said in a cold, barely-controlled voice.

George managed to keep a blank expression until he
reached the hallway, then broke into a satisfied grin.
Bob was just too big a target to resist. His smile
quickly faded, though, as he climbed toward Ariel's
office suite. Whatever the producer wanted wasn't
liable to be anything good.

When Ariel's secretary sent him in, George found the
producer leaned back in his chair behind the chrome
and glass desk, rocking lightly as he stared at his
visitor. Ariel's bulk hardly seemed to fit in the
fragile-looking, ergonomically superior chair. Today
Ariel was wearing a worn black t-shirt decorated with
a yellow smiley face that had a bullet hole in the
center of its forehead. George and a few of the other
gamers had undertaken the task of trying to deduce
just how many t-shirts Ariel had brought on the cruise
with him. So far they'd only come up with four, which
he seemed to wear a couple of days at a time. Slob was
the word that most often came to mind.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Ariel?" George asked
politely as Ariel waved him inside. It wouldn't do to
show the producer his feelings. Disgusting or not, he
was a name in the industry, and George wanted to
continue working.

Ariel gave him a narrow stare. "What are you doing
with the wiring?" he asked without preamble.

George's heart started to pound. He stared at Ariel,
hoping he didn't look too guilty as he formulated his
response. He had thought about what he would say if
someone asked what he'd been doing.

"Uh, I'm investigating a problem with the recording
network."

Ariel kept staring. "Your supervisor hasn't informed
me of any problem with the cameras."

George pressed his palms against his thighs to keep
his hands from trembling. "No, it doesn't interfere
with the function of the system. It's an efficiency
thing." He managed a shrug. "I'm mostly satisfying my
professional curiosity. None of the obvious things are
the problem, so now I'm down to checking hardware
connections to see if something is corroded or
improperly grounded."

Ariel's expression lightened minutely at his
explanation, which George took to mean he was buying
it. 

"Well, quit." Ariel drummed his fingers on the arm of
his chair. "Leave the wiring alone. I don't want you
accidentally breaking something."

George nodded. "O.k."

Ariel sat up in his chair and turned his attention to
something on his desk, dismissing George from his
attention. George took that as the sign to leave.

Once outside the office, he breathed a silent sigh of
relief. When Dan Steiner had hired him, he'd expressed
concern that the recording system onboard the Radiant
Heart had been modified. He wanted George to find out
if it was true, and fix it if it was. Now the only
question was, did he continue with that assignment
knowing that Ariel was on to him?

#

"Does anybody know what they did?" Stacy Anderson
asked the other marrieds as they waited for the crew
to finish setting up the stage for the Tribunal. The
Moleneuxs had, apparently, been disqualified, though
Mac hadn't heard any specifics. The four remaining
couples had gathered on deck a short ways from where
the television and sound crews were busy arranging
equipment, banding together out of some primeval sense
of mutual defense, Mac guessed.

Mac took a moment to surreptitiously take inventory of
the others. Jeb and Stacy looked a bit tired, but
still stared at each other adoringly. They stood with
their arms wrapped around each others' waists, and Mac
felt a stab of jealousy. Though she could feel Harm's
presence beside her, she couldn't afford to do much
beyond glance in his direction from time to time,
carefully maintaining a set distance between them. 

In contrast to Jeb and Stacy, John and Delia clearly
showed the strain the cruise was taking on them, and
on their relationship. Though their hands were
clasped, their faces showed lines of weariness and
defeat. 

Mac glanced toward the final couple. Boothe and
Carmen, oddly enough, looked like they always had. But
then, she didn't think there was much love there to be
lost, so perhaps the cruise wasn't as stressful for
them. Ariel hadn't continued to push them to withdraw
after hearing Boothe's side of the abuse issue. Mac
didn't know what to think about all of that. Bud had
confirmed Carmen's background: her family owned one of
the largest diamond import businesses in the country.
She was, indeed, the spoiled little rich girl Boothe
painted her as.

Carmen tossed her hair, letting the constant ocean
breeze blow it back from her face. "Who knows," she
answered Stacy's question. "But I'll bet somebody
feels like an idiot now. Four and a half weeks--
gone." She snapped her fingers.

John and Delia looked at each other, the gazes
meaningful and a little guilty. When they turned back
to the group, John spoke.

"We might as well tell you guys now… we've decided to
withdraw. We're going to tell Ariel once the Tribunal
is over."

Mac looked over at Delia and saw the quiet relief in
the other woman's eyes. She smiled in understanding,
and Delia echoed her.

Carmen shook her head in disgust. "You're gonna throw
it all away?"

John pulled his wife protectively close. "Some things
are worth more than money." He looked from Carmen to
Harm, his expression challenging. Mac fought a smile.
John and Delia were both so disappointed in them.

Harm held out his hand to John, who shook it firmly.
"We wish you the best."

John smiled for a moment. "Care to join us?" He met
Mac's eyes for a moment.

Mac flushed at the gentle criticism, but Harm just
shrugged it off, grinning. "No thanks. We're still in
the running. But, why don't we agree to get together
after this is all over, the four of us. Atlanta's not
that far from D.C. We can reminisce, and maybe see
what kind of dent we can put in the million in one
night."

Laughing, John nodded. "Sounds good. You'd just better
make sure you bring that million, hear?"

Harm smiled, cocky as ever. "Count on it."

On impulse, Mac hugged Delia. A lump formed in her
throat. "I'm happy for you," she whispered, fighting
to keep her emotions in check. She wasn't even certain
why the news made her want to cry.

"Me too, girl." Delia hugged her back, hard. "Promise
me you'll be good?"

Mac laughed through her tight throat and nodded. They
separated, then Stacy hugged Delia as well while John
and Jeb said goodbye.

Carmen watched them all like they'd lost their minds.
Perhaps, to her way of thinking, they had. Mac
dismissed the thought. She no longer cared much what
happened with Carmen. That the other woman had duped
her made her angry, and doubly so because she'd
managed to use one of Mac's deepest wounds against
her.

One of the coordinators came over to shoo them all
toward their places, preventing Mac from following her
train of thought any further. She glanced up at Harm,
who gestured for her to precede him. Mac bit back a
smile. Being a gentleman was so ingrained in him he
couldn't turn it off, even now. Mac liked that. It
helped her to remember that the man she loved really
was inside there somewhere. He'd left a note in her
novel every day for the last three days, and that
helped, too, but words on paper could be hard to hold
on to despite her promise to trust him. It was an
ongoing struggle, but one she felt she was slowly
winning.

Mac sighed softly. Ten days, three hours, and
forty-six minutes. She couldn't wait.

#

Harm ground his teeth in the dimness. He was never
going to get to sleep at this rate. Mac lay only a
foot or so away on the other side of the bed, and it
was killing him not to be able to reach over there to
touch her. It was the first time they'd gone to bed at
anything approaching the same time in more than a
week, and though he knew the secondary recording
system wouldn't identify a single touch beneath the
covers, he also knew there was no way it would stop
with just one. Hence the reason he was trying, with
great frustration, to keep his hands to himself.

The horrible thing was that he could tell by her
breathing that Mac wasn't asleep either. They lay
there, side by side in the pale, silvery light cast by
a nearly full moon, unable to talk, unable to touch.
He risked a glance in Mac's direction and found her
watching him, dark eyes soft and full of longing.

Harm smiled at the sight, unable to help himself. She
smiled back, one of those wide smiles that were so
rare for her, but it quickly faded. After a moment,
Mac sighed and turned her head to stare at the
ceiling.

She sat up abruptly. "I'm going to put on some music."
She pushed the covers aside and swung her legs off the
side of the bed.

Harm rolled over, propping himself on one elbow to
better appreciate the view as she stood. The moonlight
streaming in through the open balcony door turned her
body into a luscious shadow inside the pale negligee. 

"Just don't pick something twangy." Harm remembered at
the last minute to make the comment annoyed rather
than teasing. She knew he didn't care for most of her
country music. She didn't like his Hendrix, either,
though they did have some tastes in common.

Mac sighed reproachfully. "Don't worry, I'll pick
something we both like." She managed to pack an
incredible amount of bitterness into her voice. Mac's
acting abilities continued to amaze him.

Mac knelt in front of the CD player for a while,
sorting through music. Eventually, she slid a disk
into the tray and stood. As the first strains of a
familiar bluesy tune drifted out, she went to stand at
the balcony door, staring out over the water. The song
was an old one by one of Harm's favorites, the great
Ella Fitzgerald. Her voice felt like velvet as it
filled the darkened room, combining with the moonlight
to make the night over into something magical. 

Harm watched, entranced, as Mac tipped her head back,
swaying gently in time to the music. She seemed to
have forgotten he was there, losing herself in the
sultry, melancholy sounds. Harm held his breath, not
wanting to break the spell.

As the final notes of the song died away, Mac
straightened. She turned away from the window, the
light dusting her hair with an ethereal glow. Harm
wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything so beautiful. Mac
looked at him with limpid eyes, and held one finger to
her lips in the sign for silence.

Harm pulled the sheets back as she returned to their
bed, and took her into his arms without a sound. Mac
slender body molded against his, their lips seeking
each others' as if they couldn't survive another
moment apart. 

And in the darkness surrounding them, Ella crooned a
lover's lullaby.


Chapter 31

Harm walked into the HALO room and was greeted by a
round of hellos. He returned them, making a conscious
effort to keep the exuberant bounce out of his step
and his voice. Making love to Mac had put everything
right with him again and it was very hard not to let
it show.

Harm was early, so the lights were still up. He went
over to the little buffet that lined the wall, taking
a couple of sushi rolls and a pile of fruit to ward
off the midnight munchies. This was about the time of
night Mac started talking about ordering pizza, which
Harm's stomach invariably regretted. Smiling to
himself at the thought, he found a seat at one of the
many tables.

His humor died as George walked in. He and Mac had
agreed they had to bring the other man into their
confidence if they wanted a chance at getting Ariel on
tape. The prospect made Harm nervous-- he didn't like
involving an innocent (not to mention untrained)--
civilian. 

"Hey, George!" Harm waved him over. 

George immediately changed directions. He flopped into
a chair beside Harm. "Hey."

Harm looked at him in concern. George didn't look like
he felt well. "You o.k.?" he asked.

George waved away his scrutiny. "Jut some heartburn.
Had one of those unpleasant meetings with my boss's
boss yesterday."

Harm didn't let his interest show. "With Ariel?"

George nodded. "Yeah. I've been trying to track down a
minor problem with the recording system and I was
looking at some of the wiring… Ariel freaked, like I
was going to break something." George rolled his eyes.
"Yeesh. It's my job to keep it all working. You'd
think they'd trust me to touch it without all the
micromanagement."

Harm made appreciative noises, though he was pretty
lucky in that department. The Admiral probably gave
him more leeway than was really warranted, and Harm
worked hard to make sure he lived up to that trust.
George's statement, however, rang a number of bells in
Harm's mind. Was it just coincidence the other man was
telling him he'd been looking at the recording system
wiring? Could he be a plant? One of Webb's? If so, was
this his way of letting Harm know he'd been looking
into the trouble with the cameras? Or, if not… what
did it mean? His information about the secondary cabin
recording system had been extremely valuable.

"So did you find the problem?" Harm asked after a
moment. 

George shook his head. "No. I'm pretty sure I had a
lead on it, but Ariel doesn't want me looking into it
any more." He shrugged. "Like I said, he's afraid I'll
break something."

Or afraid you'll find something, Harm thought,
suddenly grateful for their decision to bring George
in on the investigation. He had the note in his
pocket, telling George who he and Mac really were,
what they needed to know about the recording system,
and why. All he needed was the opportunity to pass it
to the other man. Hopefully he could do so once the
gaming session started.

Other players trickled in over time. To Harm's relief,
Nikki Upton did not appear. He wasn't exactly sure
what he would have done if she had, but it would have
made his evening far more difficult.

Since George was high in the standings, he got to play
the first round. Harm found himself a seat near George
and leaned back to watch, beer in hand. Don found them
a bit later, along with a couple of other people who
usually used that gaming station.

"So, I hear you told Nikki Upton off," Don commented
as he sat down, earning Harm an exaggerated round of
congratulations from those nearby.

Harm slewed around in his seat, feeling a flush rising
in his cheeks. "Uh, yeah… pretty much." He was
embarrassed to admit it, considering how bad a move it
was for his investigation.

"At least you finally came to your senses." 

Harm cocked his head, eyeing Don in the strobe-like
lighting from the projection screens. "Oh?"

Don chuckled and shook his head. "Man, if I had a wife
like yours…"

"Donny, you couldn't handle a wife like his." George
looked away from his game for a second, grinning. The
smile turned into a grimace as he dug the fingers of
one hand into his side.

Harm smiled at Don, too, trying to look innocent.
"He's got a point."

Don gave them both a mock wounded expression, hands
folded over his heart. "Oh, you got me." He sprawled
in his chair for a moment, playing dead, then sat up
abruptly. "So, what does it take to handle a woman
like Mac?"

Harm chuckled. "If I ever figure it out, I'll let you
know."

Don gave him a wolfish grin and turned his attention
back to the game.

Onscreen, George's character paused in the middle of a
firefight, taking massive damage from one of the other
players. Harm reached over to slap him lightly on the
shoulder.

"Hey, George! You still awake there?"

George's head lolled back like a rag doll's. The game
controller tumbled from his hands to clatter on the
floor. His eyes rolled back in his head, showing the
whites, and Harm saw flecks of foamy saliva decorating
his lips. 

Don jumped to his feet with a cry of alarm. 

"George!" Harm barely managed to get his arms under
the other man as he collapsed sideways out of his
seat. Harm kicked the chair out of the way, making
room to lay him down on the floor. George’s body felt
boneless. His dark skin was the color of ash, made all
the more ghastly by the strange lighting. Harm cradled
the other man's head, searching first for a pulse,
then for a telltale breath between the pale lips. He
was relieved to find both.

"Get the ship's doctor!" Harm looked up at Don,
meeting his frightened gaze and holding it until the
cameraman nodded. Don pushed his way out of the room,
through the gamers that had already begun to gather
around George and Harm.

The lights came up, blinding after the earlier
darkness. George went into convulsions.

Harm grabbed his shoulders, trying to keep him from
slamming his head against the thinly carpeted floor.
He fought down the fear that climbed up his throat. He
knew very little about seizures. All he could do was
hold on. 

The convulsions ended after a few minutes that seemed
like an eternity. George lay still, seeming lifeless
except for the shallow rasp of his breathing.

The doctor arrived at a run with his bag in one hand
and a portable stretcher in the other. Harm moved out
of his way as he checked George's condition. At the
doctor's direction, Harm helped him transfer the
unconscious man onto the stretcher, then took up the
other end to carry him to the infirmary.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Harm stayed with
the doctor, helping him to restrain his patient
through several sets of convulsions. George didn’t
come to, which Harm gathered from what he overheard to
be a bad thing. A heart monitor maintained a steady,
reassuring beat, but George’s open eyes remained empty
and unfocused. The doctor could give Harm no
explanation for the seizures. All he could say for
sure was that George had no medical history of such
things.

After the Coast Guard helicopter took George to the
mainland for further treatment, Harm forced himself to
rejoin the gamers who’d gathered in a frightened knot
on deck. It was nearly 3am. His thoughts continued to
turn with unanswerable questions. Why George? Why now?
His gut screamed foul play, though he couldn’t offer a
shred of evidence to support it.

"He’ll be o.k." Don offered with a half-hearted smile.


Harm glanced over at him. "Maybe." He looked back out
over the dark water. "I hope so." The note he’d
intended for George remained in his pocket, useless
now, and a man he’d grown to consider a friend of
sorts was in serious condition. If Ariel had had
anything to do with that, he would deeply regret it.

"Man, why does this stuff always happen to us?" Don
shook his head. "First Nikki going over that cliff,
now this."

Harm could only shrug. Nikki’s near-fatal fall had
been the result of her own reckless stupidity. He’d
been pretty angry when Bud filled him in on the
details. But that wasn’t something he could tell Don,
nor could he tell him his suspicions about Tony Ariel
or of his renewed fears for Mac’s safety.

Harm sighed. "I’m going to try to get some sleep. We
won’t hear anything until morning, at the earliest."

Don nodded, and Harm turned to go. He clapped Don on
the shoulder as he passed, imparting what little
encouragement he could with the contact.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Harm."

#

As Harm sat on the edge of the tub waiting for someone
on JAG’s end to pick up the phone, he felt utterly
exhausted. It was that bone-deep, numbing weariness of
too little sleep coupled with too much stress. The
assignment had begun to take a heavy emotional toll.
Harm had woken his wife up when he got back to the
cabin, needing to see her, talk to her, even if it was
just within the boundaries of their charade. 

Now, Mac sat beside him on the tub’s rim, her fingers
laced with his and her dark eyes filled with gentle
concern. They’d decided that a little comfort and
sympathy would be believable without destroying their
set up. But not much. Mac would need to leave before
long.

"Lieutenant Roberts." Bud’s voice filled the line.

Harm leaned his head next to Mac’s so they could both
listen in. "Morning, Bud," Harm said. Mac added her
own greeting.

"Good morning, Commander, Colonel." Bud’s tone held an
echo of concern. "How are you doing?"

"We’ve been better," Harm answered honestly.

"Well, we’ve got some information for you on this end,
sir, which may help." His demeanor became
businesslike. "Let me transfer you to the Admiral."

Harm and Mac exchanged looks. The line went quiet for
a minute as Bud put them on hold.

"Good morning, Commander, Colonel." This time it was
Admiral Chegwidden. The two attorneys returned the
greeting.

"I’m putting you on the speaker phone," the Admiral
told them. "We have quite the crowd this morning. The
SECNAV is here, along with Mr. Webb and Lieutenant
Roberts."

Mac raised her eyebrows at that, but didn’t comment.

"How is George Laughton?" Harm asked without preamble.
He had no interest in exchanging pleasantries today.

"He’s in stable condition at Tampa General, Harm."
Webb’s voice sounded a bit forced, as if he were
standing on the far side of the room and projecting to
make certain the speaker phone picked him up. "Lab
results showed a couple of drugs in his system that
account for his collapse. One’s an immuno-suppressive
used in some cancer treatment regimes, the other
lowers blood pressure." Webb’s voice grew louder, as
if he were approaching the Admiral’s desk while he
talked. "It’s a potentially fatal combination, but
your friend wasn’t given enough to kill him. He hasn’t
woken up yet, but the doctors don’t think there’s much
risk of permanent damage."

Much? Harm took firm hold of his anger before he could
say something sarcastic to Webb that the other man
didn’t deserve, and that Harm would later regret.

"Do you have any idea where the drugs came from?" Mac
asked. "Could Ariel have cooked up something like
this?"

"Probably, ma’am." That was Bud. "We uncovered
something interesting about Ariel. His father was a
pharmacist for twenty-eight years. There’s a good
chance Ariel could have learned enough from him to put
together a chemical cocktail like the one Mr. Laughton
was given."

Harm’s anger settled into a cold lump in his stomach.
He did his best to ignore it. He needed to be calm and
rational.

"That lends credence to Mrs. Antony’s claim that she
was drugged." Mac’s nails drummed lightly against the
tub’s plastic rim. 

"It’s not proof, though." Harm met his wife’s gaze.
The risk had just gone up, if Ariel had access to
potentially deadly drugs and had the knowledge to use
them. "And we just lost our inside help. Did you know
George was investigating the recording system onboard?
He claimed he was tracking down a small problem with
the system, but I suspect it was more than that. He’s
not one of yours, is he, Clay?"

"No, he’s not mine." Webb sounded a bit aggrieved, as
if Harm had been lobbing an accusation rather than
asking a simple question.

"I suspect, Commander, that we’ll discover he was
working on Daniel Steiner’s instructions," the Admiral
added. "The investigation is public knowledge—at
least, as public as the legal requirements will allow.
Mr. Steiner is milking the situation for all it’s
worth, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he put George
Laughton on that ship for the express purpose of
finding the problem with the recording system so he
could have footage of Ariel’s crimes for his show."

Mac frowned thoughtfully. "Which could mean he knew
what Ariel was doing during the first cruise."

"Maybe, but we can’t assume that."

"No, sir," Mac agreed.

Harm forced himself to focus on the factual aspects of
the case. "Is there any evidence of Ariel possessing
the drugs that were used?"

"Not yet," Webb told them. "I called in a favor with
the FBI. They’re looking into it with LAPD. They’ve
already got a warrant for his residence. The warrant
for his office is still in work, but shouldn’t take
much longer."

Harm nodded. That was the first good news of the day.
"Keep us informed."

"Sure thing."

"What else?"

"I have something, sir," Bud injected, sounding a bit
hesitant. "I just got the email this morning."

"About what, Lieutenant?" the Admiral asked.

"The hall recording from outside the room where the
incident with Mrs. Antony took place."

That got Harm’s attention. The hall video was one of
many pieces to the puzzle that simply wouldn’t fit
together.

"Believe it or not, it was Lieutenant Singer who
thought of it, sir." Bud was obviously talking to the
Admiral now, with the rest listening in. Mac mimed an
expression of utter shock at his pronouncement, to
which Harm rolled his eyes. They shared a grin, the
antics safely hidden from the eyes of their superior.

"All of the recordings have a digital time stamp on
them," Bud continued. "You can see it down in the
bottom right hand corner of the screen on all of the
raw tape. The Lieutenant suggested checking the
timestamps to make sure the footage of Mrs. Antony
entering the room was legitimate, since the angle of
the camera doesn’t let us see room numbers or any
other distinguishing features in the hallway." Bud’s
speech quickened, as it always did when he was leading
up to something important. "So I had a friend in
crypto take a look. It turns out the timestamp had
been altered."

"So Mrs. Antony probably didn’t meet the reservists of
her own free will." Mac jumped on it before Harm could
put his thoughts together. "Her account is sounding
more and more plausible."

"Nothing ties it to Ariel, though," Harm countered.
"Not conclusively, anyway."

Mac nudged him in the ribs, a slow smile appearing on
her face. "That’s why we’re here instead of a private
beach on Fiji, dear."

Harm raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Fiji, huh?"
Sharing the phone the way they were, their faces were
only inches apart. Mac nodded, parting her lips in
silent invitation. Harm accepted without reservation,
catching her mouth in a sweet, promise-filled kiss.

"Stop it, you two." Webb sounded like couldn’t decide
whether to be annoyed or disgusted.

Harm broke the kiss after a moment and stared into his
wife’s chocolate eyes. "Stop what, Clay?" He could see
Mac biting her lip to keep a laugh from escaping.

"Whatever you’re doing, and before you ask, no, I
don’t want the details."

"Can we get back to the case, people?" The Admiral
effectively cut off any comeback they might have made.
He seemed amused, though.

"Of course, sir." Harm did his best to sound like
nothing out of the ordinary had been going on. It
would get Webb’s goat, if nothing else.

"Are you still prepared to go forward with your plan
to lure Tony Ariel out, Commander, Colonel?" The
SECNAV spoke for the first time. 

"Yes, Mr. Secretary," Harm answered with a familiar
pang. "It’s the only way to positively tie Ariel to
the crime, at least right now. If we catch him
attempting the same thing with Mac, we can use that to
tie all of the circumstantial evidence to him."

"And are you aware of the high visibility of this
case, along with your own... ah, more personal
visibility?" The SECNAV never sounded comfortable
talking to the JAG lawyers, but now he sounded
especially stiff.

Harm and Mac traded knowing looks. "Yes, sir," they
chorused. 

"Good. Then I don’t need to tell you how important it
is for the Navy’s public image that this case be
brought to an unequivocal conclusion."

Translation:, Harm thought, Everybody’s watching, so
don’t screw it up!

"Yes, sir." 

"Just be careful," the Admiral added. "Both of you."
He paused. "I can’t afford to lose two of my best
attorneys. I have cases piled up already, waiting for
your return."

Harm and Mac smiled at that. "Yes, sir."

"We’ll be careful, sir." Mac tucked a lock of hair
behind her ear. "Now, if you gentlemen will all excuse
me, I need to be going. I’m meeting Toby for
breakfast."

"Is that--?" Webb began then broke off in
consternation.

"The boyfriend," Harm supplied. Mac gave him an odd
look. He shrugged. "Well, he is."

Flashing him a seductive grin, Mac slipped off the
edge of the tub and down to the floor. She crawled
around Harm’s knee, coming up between his legs to wrap
both arms around his neck. Harm chuckled. "No that I’m
worried or anything." His free arm fastened itself
around her waist.

"You’d better not be," Mac said before her lips
fastened on his.

"Oh for crying out loud." Webb’s voice echoed through
the phone’s earpiece, small and tinny. "We’re hanging
up now." The line went dead with a click.

Harm and Mac burst into laughter that they hastily
muffled in each others’ shoulders. Harm set the
satellite phone down on the floor, then drew his wife
into a tight hug.

"Get some sleep, o.k.?" she said, her lips brushing
his ear in a caress. 

Harm nodded, drawing back. "I will." He kissed her one
last time. "I’ll see you later."

Smiling crookedly, she stood and walked to the
bathroom door. She paused there to wave, then
disappeared into the cabin. 

Harm stared for a long time at the place where she’d
been. Fiji sounded like a wonderful idea.


Chapter 32

"How are you holding up?" Toby asked after Mac joined
him at the restaurant. Their table sat in a small
corner of one of the upper decks, giving them a
spectacular view of the ocean. Mac could see the green
mound of an island in the distance, but had no idea
which one it might be. She was beginning to feel very
guilty about dragging Toby into their schemes. She and
Harm were, in essence, setting him up to be duped into
rape… though she had no intention of letting that
happen. Hopefully her would forgive her, once all was
said and done. 

Mac sighed. "All right." She brushed a few hairs away
from her face. "Didn't get much sleep. Harm's really
upset-- you heard about George, didn't you?"

Toby nodded. "Yeah. Kinda scary. Has anybody said what
happened?"

"No."

Toby reached over to squeeze her hand, and after a
moment she squeezed back. "I'll bet Harm's lighting a
fire under somebody, then."

Mac couldn't help a smile. "Not yet, but if there's no
news by the time he wakes up, I'm sure he will." She
looked down at their joined hands. "Why are you asking
me about Harm?"

Toby shrugged. "You care about him, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"So why shouldn't I ask? If it's important to you,
then it's worth knowing."

Mac carefully extricated her hand and sat back in her
chair to study the man seated across the table. She
knew without a doubt that she loved Harm with her
whole heart. She had no interest in Toby-- in that
way, at least. But more and more she was seeing in him
a dear and true friend, and she disliked having to add
a sexual aspect to their relationship. 

She sighed. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Now it was Toby's turn to study her. "Do you mind if I
ask you something personal?" he said as a waitress
came by with menus and water. The waitress left again
without speaking, obviously sensitive to the serious
nature of their conversation.

Mac bit her lip, but nodded. "Go ahead."

"What happened between you two? You seemed so happy
there at first."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty personal
question." She sipped her water, staring out at the
ocean as she formulated a vague answer. "I don't know.
Marriage just didn't turn out to be what I expected." 

"So what are you going to do now?"

Mac looked at him quickly, wondering if the intent
behind the question was really as obvious as it
seemed. Toby gave her a sheepish grin. "I mean,
there's less than a week left in the cruise. After
that, what are your plans?"

He couldn't have played his part any better if she'd
written his lines for him.

"I don't know." Mac toyed with her napkin, feeling
uncomfortable with the entire conversation.

Toby wouldn't quite meet her eyes. "Well, if you get
to a point where you're ready to look for something
different… give me a call, o.k.?"

Mac nodded slowly. "O.k." She flashed him a smile,
thinking how sad it was that her relationship with Mic
had given her so much practice at pretending a love
she didn't feel. "I just might do that."

He grinned back.

They sat there for several minutes, just smiling at
each other as they perused their menus. The waitress
returned to take their orders, and no sooner had she
left than another person took her place beside their
table.

Mac looked up in surprise at Boothe. A young woman--
one of the singles-- stood with him, her fingers laced
with his. Boothe looked between Mac and Toby with a
knowing smile, then turned his attention solely to
Mac. 

"Maybe we should have gotten together last night,
Mac-- killed two birds with one stone." He winked at
her, as if sharing a private joke. "Not that I'm
disparaging your choice, of course." He nodded in
Toby's direction.

Mac watched him warily. He seemed far too chipper. 

"This isn't what you're thinking," she told him with a
gesture in Toby's direction. Then, "So are you and
Carmen disqualified?"

Boothe chuckled. "This far into things, I figured it
would really tick Carmen off. What do you think?"

Mac resisted the temptation to shake her head. "I
think you're right."

He winked again. "Well, we'd better go. I'd like to
get some breakfast before they come for me. Bye, Mac."

"Bye, Boothe." Mac watched him walk away, somewhat
stunned. After a moment she turned back to Toby, who
widened his eyes theatrically. Wow, he mouthed.

Mac found she had nothing to say. Already the day had
taken on a bizarre quality, and it was only breakfast.

#

George Laughton had been pronounced able to see
visitors for all of about five minutes before a trio
of men in business suits let themselves into his room.
Two had the unmistakable aura of cops around them. The
third was something different. Government, if George
had to guess.

The head of the trio looked like he might have played
football in college. He was big and beefy, with his
thinning hair cropped down to a nub against his skull.
He smiled politely at George.

"Mr. Laughton, I'm Agent Peters of the FBI." He
gestured to the second man, who George guessed to be
his own age or a bit younger. "This is Agent Fellows.
We'd like to ask you some questions."

"Who's he?" George looked over at the third member of
the trio, a nondescript, sandy-haired man who hung
back near the door.

The man stepped forward. "Clayton Webb, CIA." He met
George's gaze, piercing him with an intense stare. The
ordinariness he projected, George realized, was little
more than a shell. The man behind that mask was
someone to be reckoned with. "I believe we have a
mutual friend."

George could only think of one person who might have
friends in the CIA. "Harmon Rabb."

Webb's lips twitched, as if a smile were lurking
there, trying to get out. "That would be him."

Sudden concern pushed George's curiosity aside. "Is he
all right?" He looked between the three federal
agents. "Nothing happened to him and his wife, did
it?"

"Not yet," Peters answered at the same time Webb said,
"The commander and the colonel are fine."

George breathed a sigh of relief. He'd had a niggling
worry for them in the back of his head ever since
learning about the drug interaction that had landed
him in a Tampa hospital.

Webb's gaze narrowed. "And now I'd like to know why
you didn't even bat an eye when I used the Rabbs'
ranks. You knew they were military."

"Y- yeah." George stared at Webb, thoroughly
intimidated. "I wrote the data upload/download scripts
we use to transfer footage from the ship to the
studio, so I snuck in my own newsfeed when I did it.
Just the top stories off the New York Times website
and the sports scores. I wanted to stay connected,
y'know?"

The young agent-- Fellows-- turned to his superior. "I
knew there was an anomaly in the downloads to the
ship!"

"So you've known about the investigation of Tony Ariel
and the first Temptation Cruise since the story
broke." That was Agent Peters. He had a notebook out
and was making some notes.

George nodded. "Yes."

"But you didn't tell the Rabbs."

"No. I warned Harm that there was a secondary
audio-only system that ran in the contestant cabins at
night, but that's all."

"Why were you checking out the wiring onboard the
Radiant Heart?" Webb continued to watch him
suspiciously. George was beginning to get the feeling
the CIA agent cared pretty deeply about what happened
to Harm and Mac.

George gave him the truth. He didn't have enough
visibility of the larger picture to know what benefit
there might be to guarding his answer, so it could
only get him in trouble. "Dan Steiner told me to--
when he hired me."

Agent Peters paused, pen suspended over his pad. "What
exactly did Mr. Steiner tell you to do?"

"He said he suspected the recording system had been
tampered with and he wanted me to find out-- quietly--
and fix it, if it was. I was pretty sure even then
that it had something to do with the rape case, which
was all over the news." George paused to get his
hospital-issue water bottle and take a sip. His head
had finally stopped pounding, but he still felt
parched.

"Did you find anything?"

"Oh, yeah." George kept the bottle in hand, resting
the base against his thigh. He had the feeling he was
going to be doing a lot of talking. "There's an extra
system onboard that controls the cameras in a couple
of the cabins."

Webb flashed a humorless smile. "Let me guess: A-31
and C-5."

"How did you know?" And more importantly, why couldn't
anyone have told me? Then I wouldn't have had to trace
the wiring the entire length of the ship to figure
that out!

Webb shrugged. "Those are the cameras that had
intermittent problems during the first cruise. Mrs.
Antony was raped--"

"Allegedly raped," Peters reminded him.

Webb waved the correction away. "Whatever. The
incident occurred in C-5."

George looked back and forth between the two men, his
thoughts turning. "So was I supposed to figure out how
to keep those cameras functioning full-time? Why
didn't anybody tell me?"

Peters and Webb traded looks. "Ah… we didn't know
about you." Webb gave him a bland stare.
"Unfortunately, we didn't have enough information to
suspect the camera system had been tampered with until
after the second cruise started, and Mr. Steiner
didn't see fit to share his plans with us."

"Oh." George decided he didn't dare say more on that
subject. It sounded like Steiner might be in some
trouble.

"Let's talk about what happened to you," Agent Peters
suggested.

George's stomach clenched at the thought. He'd come
pretty close to dying, the doctor had said. "Somebody
drugged me."

"Somebody?" Webb asked.

"Yeah, somebody. I don't even know when or how."

Peters tapped his pen against the back of his hand
thoughtfully. "But it was after Tony Ariel told you
not to mess with the recording system wiring."

George nodded. "Yes. The next day."

"Is there anyone else who might have wanted to harm
you?"

"My boss, Bob Schliegler, maybe, but he's pretty
incompetent. The doctor said the drugs they gave me
are hard to get."

Peters made another note, but didn't seem to take the
suggestion too seriously. That was all right with
George. He thought it was Ariel, himself.

"My understanding," Peters said, "from talking to your
doctor, is that you had an unusual reaction to the
drug combination. Most likely, it was only intended to
make you sick."

"That's hardly reassuring, Agent Peters." A steely
note crept into his voice. He'd nearly died.

"About that extra system to control the two cameras…"
Webb rocked lightly on his feet.

"What about it?" George wanted to know.

"Could you have fixed it so those cameras would be on
full-time?"

George frowned. "I hadn't completely defined the
system when this happened, so no. But now that I know
what I'm looking for, I could probably do it in a day
or two. Do you have any idea how Ariel is controlling
the system? That would help a lot."

Webb shook his head. "Sorry." He paused. "What if we
got you back on the Radiant Heart?"

Peters gave his colleague a dirty look. "The doctors
aren't going to release him for at least another
twenty-four hours, Webb. And how could you guarantee
his safety? If Ariel did this, he knows Mr. Laughton
is a threat to him."

Webb voiced a short, frustrated sigh. "I know."

"The AV crew could do it." 

Both agents turned sharply to look at George. He
shrugged. "Except for Schliegler they're a pretty good
bunch of guys. They'd be happy to help if they knew
what was going on."

Somehow, Webb managed to look suspicious and
thoughtful at the same time. "How many people are we
talking about?"

George took another sip of water. "Eight, total, but
they work two shifts-- well, three now. Somebody
would've had to take my shift. You could have one crew
working on Ariel's network while the other is on for
their regular shift. It'd be pretty easy to erase any
evidence of what they were doing if you had both crews
working it, and they'd get it done a lot faster than I
could working alone."

"How do we know we could trust them? What if one of
them went to Ariel? Harm and Mac's lives could be at
stake."

George tried not to feel too insulted. This man was a
strange one, but he obviously looked out for his
friends. "I don't think any of them would do that.
Except Bob, of course. Avoid him at all costs." He
paused. "But the technical crew are just regular guys.
They'd love to have a chance to do something really
important, especially if it'll discredit a lemming
like Ariel."

"A lemming?" Peters asked.

"No original thoughts. Just follows the trends."

The big man cracked a smile. "Oh."

Webb chewed on his lip, oblivious to their exchange.
"All right," he finally agreed. "I'll run it by
Admiral Chegwidden and see what he thinks." He nodded
to George.

The three men took their leave after that, joking as
they left that they'd never live it down if anyone saw
the FBI and CIA playing so well together. George
watched them file out of the room with an odd smile. 

Ethan Hunt, eat your heart out, indeed.


Chapter 33

The first step in bringing the AV crew in on the
operation was to get a note to Baggy-- a thirty-ish
man with the rather unusual name of Sudhanssu Baggs.
He was a British national of Indian descent, and spoke
with a heavy accent. He was the technical lead for
first shift. He was also one of the top gamers, which
gave Harm a simple excuse to talk to him. 

Once that was done, all Harm could do was wait. He got
his answer the next night, when Baggy came over and
dropped into the chair next to him. Since Harm was in
the middle of a game, he could only spare a glance in
the other's direction.

Baggy sprawled in his seat, a bag of Cheetos in one
hand. "The boys and I are going to try to talk Ariel
into letting us send George some flowers or what have
you in the hospital. We're getting together after
things wrap up here--" He gestured toward the game
controller in Harm's hands-- "to figure out what we
want to do. You want in?"

Harm was impressed. It was a completely plausible
story. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Lovely." Baggy grinned, pleased. His smile faded.
"Now all I need to do is figure out how to keep the
boss from finding out about it. He'd probably try to
take over and make it some kind of 'from the office'
thing, and take all the credit." He sighed
dramatically. "Ah well. He's probably off terrorizing
women at La Vida anyway." And with that he got up,
winking at Harm as he walked off to talk to some other
folks.

Harm got the hint, wondering what Clayton Webb would
think of how well these people were playing the
subterfuge game. And they didn't even know what was
going on yet. All he'd told Baggy was that George's
collapse wasn't an accident, and that if the AV crew
wanted to help get the guy who did it, he needed to
talk to them without anyone knowing, and without
cameras.

When the night's session began to wind down, Harm told
Baggy he was going to go back to his stateroom for his
swim trunks so he could take a few laps in the pool
after they decided what to do for George. But what he
really needed was an excuse to talk to Mac.

He found her sleeping when he got to the room. He
stopped for a moment, savoring the unguarded view of
his wife. She lay on her side, with both hands tucked
beneath her chin like a little girl. Mac always tried
to be so tough. In sleep, though, the stern mask fell
away, revealing the luminous, sometimes fragile woman
beneath. 

Harm resisted the impulse to stroke her hair, knowing
she would instinctively turn toward the caress,
smiling in her sleep. That would no doubt be his
undoing tonight. He was desperately worried for her.
Not because she was incapable of taking care of
herself, or even because the situation was all that
dangerous-- but simply because he loved her so much
that it made his chest ache whenever he thought about
how much, and how much it would hurt to lose her.

Turning, he went instead to the dresser, purposely
fumbling about in the dark. Light sleeper that she
was, Mac sat up almost immediately and rubbed her
eyes.

"Harm?"

"It's me." He kept his sentences short, clipped. "I
just came by to get some things. Go back to sleep." He
had his back to her and didn't turn around. Instead,
he grabbed what he needed and headed for the bathroom
to change.

As he'd hoped, Mac followed him. "Where are you going
now?" she demanded, catching the door before he could
close it.

"Out." The open door meant the secondary recording
system would pick up what they said, so a little
arguing was in order.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, giving him a
rather spectacular view considering the lacy number
she was wearing. She blinked as he flipped the
bathroom light on. "With who?" But her smile belied
her tone. It was a wicked, flirtatious smile, one that
sent a heated thrill through him.

Harm grinned back, fighting to keep an angry tone to
his voice. "Not that it's any of your business, but
nobody. I'm going to swim some laps, that's all."

"Harm, I hardly ever see you anymore." She punctuated
the statement with a luscious, full-lipped pout. Her
dark eyes danced.

"You don't seem to lack for company." Harm crossed the
distance to her in a single stride and dragged her
into his arms. "Quit it, Mac," he whispered in her
ear. "You're killing me." He nibbled her earlobe in
retaliation.

Laughing silently, Mac struggled away from him. "Pots
and kettles, Harm. You seem to be doing just fine with
Ms. Upton." For a moment, her eyes turned serious,
begging him not to take offense.

He didn't, though it was his instinctive reaction.
"There's nothing going on between us and you know it,
Mac." This time it wasn't hard to put aggravation in
his voice.

"Well, there's nothing going on between me and Toby,
either, so let's just drop it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

In the ensuing silence, Mac shut the bathroom door,
turning the handle with exaggerated care to make sure
the latch didn't make a noticeable click when it
closed. They both breathed sighs of relief.

Mac slipped into his arms for a kiss, which turned
into several. 

"So what's the story?" she asked when they parted.

Harm stroked the curve of her waist, following it
downward until she squirmed and swatted playfully at
his hand. 

He chuckled. "I'm headed out to talk to the AV crew
now. However… Baggy thinks we need someone to run
interference with Bob Schleigler, to make sure he
doesn't crash the party." He gave her a significant
look.

Mac shook her head emphatically. "Oh no, not me."

Harm raised an eyebrow.

Mac rolled her eyes at him. "The man's a Neanderthal."

"Just keep an eye on him. He's supposed to be at La
Vida tonight."

"What if he asks me to dance?" She managed to look
horrified at the thought.

Harm grinned. "Aw, c'mon, Mac. Where's your take
charge, do or die, anything for the Corps spirit?"

She eyed him dubiously. "I must have left it at home
along with the rest of my good sense."

Harm turned on his most wheedling smile. "Your nation
needs you, Mac…"

She snorted. "Fine, but if he drools on me, I'm
rubbing it off on you."

Harm leaned close. "You can rub anything on me you
like." He wiggled his eyebrows for effect.

Laughing quietly, she smacked him on the chest. 

Harm caught her wrists and pulled her close. "I'd
better go. Until we meet again…" He leaned down to
kiss her deeply.

Mac twisted her hands free from his grasp, then
wrapped her arms firmly around his neck. "I'll be
looking forward to it."

#

Harm grabbed the black case containing the satellite
phone before he left, hiding it under his towel. That
was another reason for the late-night swim. He walked
down to the AV room, feeling underdressed in swim
trunks, a t-shirt, and bare feet. He missed being in
uniform, missed the preciseness of it and the comfort
of knowing exactly where he fit in the larger scheme.
When they got back to Washington, he promised himself
he'd never complain about wearing his uniform again,
not even the whites.

All eight members of the technical crew had beaten
Harm to the AV room. He found them waiting in a loose
circle around the two main camera stations.
Conversation died when he walked in, which didn't
surprise him too terribly much. These weren't Webb's
people. Nonetheless, they were doing a pretty good job
so far.

Baggy nodded to one of the other techs, who
immediately jumped up and went to one of several
floor-to-ceiling racks of electronic equipment. He
opened a metal cover to reveal a panel with dozens of
little switches on it, each with wires attached. The
tech, whose name Harm didn't know, carefully counted
his way along one of the rows, then yanked something
out of the panel. 

That done, the group turned expectantly to look at
Harm. He took that to mean the camera covering the
room had been disabled. He decided not to ask. In his
experience, talented technical people didn't need to
be second-guessed. It would only insult them.

"I guess that would be my cue," he said, setting the
case containing the satellite phone down on the
nearest desk and laying it flat. "I'm going to talk
fast so we don't raise too many suspicions. So here it
is." He took a deep breath. "I'm Commander Harmon
Rabb, United States Navy. I'm a lawyer with the Judge
Advocate General Corps. My wife is a Marine Lieutenant
Colonel, also with JAG. We're helping with an FBI
investigation into rape allegations that were made
during the first Temptation Cruise." 

Eyes widened all around as Harm went on. "The
investigation is focused on Tony Ariel. We believe he
arranged the circumstances of the rape incident, and
that he drugged George to get him off the ship when he
discovered George had been examining the recording
system onboard the Radiant Heart. We don't think Ariel
knows he was deliberately studying the system-- he
just got nervous. However, George had discovered a
second control system attached to the cameras in two
of the empty cabins, one of which is the cabin where
the rape took place. The control system appears to
interfere with the operation of the cameras in some
manner."

"George works for the FBI?" one of the techs asked
incredulously. He looked like he couldn't have been
more than twenty. He sat on the lip of one of the
consoles, kicking his legs like a little kid.

Harm shook his head. "No, but it doesn't really
matter. What I need from you--" he looked around the
group, "--is to disable the extra control system in
such a way as to be undetectable to whoever is using
it. We want a clear recording of whatever Ariel does
in those cabins."

Baggy gave him a long, slightly stupefied look. "It's
a bit much to take in, Harm."

Harm shrugged. "I know, but it's true anyway. Here."
He opened the case and pulled out the satellite phone.
Dialing the number Webb had given him, he waited while
the connection completed. 

"Webb."

"It's me. Put George on."

"And hello to you, too. Are you always this cheerful
in the middle of the night?"

"Jut put him on, Clay."

A sigh. "Let me wake him up. Hang on."

Harm handed Baggy the phone. "George can tell you what
he knows."

Baggy accepted the bulky piece of equipment, and Harm
leaned his hip against a desk as he listened to the
conversation. It quickly turned technical, leaving him
feeling excluded. But by the time Baggy handed the
phone back to Harm, the entire crew had drawn together
into a conspiratorial knot, something he took to mean
they thought they could do it.

Harm put the phone to his ear. "Clay, you there?"

"Yep." Webb sounded tired. "Is there anything else I
should know?"

Harm mentally reviewed their plan. "I don't think so.
My only concern is whether Ariel knows we're on to
him. This thing with George has to have made him
nervous."

"I agree with you there, but I don't know what we can
do about it." Harm could hear the unspoken concern in
the CIA agent's voice. He worried about Mac almost as
much as Harm did. "This isn't my show, unfortunately.
But I know Peters, the lead agent on the FBI's side.
He's a good guy. He's transferring a response team to
the Coast Guard cutter that's shadowing you. They can
be onboard in about fifteen minutes, if you need
them."

Harm nodded, feeling somewhat reassured. "Thanks,
Clay," he told the other man with real gratitude.

"Don't mention it." 

Harm cut the connection and turned to Baggy. "Can you
guys do this?"

Baggy nodded. 

"How long?"

The question elicited a frown. "Not more than
forty-eight hours, I should think."

Harm pressed his lips into a thin line. There were
about four and a half days left in the cruise.
Forty-eight hours would be cutting it pretty close.

"Any way to make it less than that?"

Baggy shrugged. "That's worst case. We'll probably
have it done well before then."

Harm was forced to accept that. He glanced over at the
two consoles. Each one had a large main screen
surrounded by six smaller screens. "Can you view the
feed from all the cameras here?"

"Yes."

Harm nodded. "All right. That's it, I think."


Chapter 34

 

Harm spent a moment at the ship's rail, looking out
over the ocean. He'd taken to running in the early
evening since Mac was still getting up to run in the
mornings. This particular evening-- less than
twenty-four hours since his conversation with Baggy
and the AV crew-- the sun lay low on the horizon over
a calm, flawless sea. The light breeze was fresh and
cool, but to Harm's mind lacked the choking tang of
jet fuel that should have accompanied it.

He sighed. His body had not taken well to having a
twenty-year routine undone. He was staying up until
two or three a.m. every night and sleeping until noon,
and had probably eaten more junk food in the last five
and half weeks than in the previous five and a half
years. And though he had stuck to a regular exercise
regime, it didn't feel like enough.

Harm stretched extensively, cursing his age and
ejection seats, then headed out along the upper deck
track. He liked it more than the lower deck's. Fewer
people came up there, which was worth the price of
having a significantly shorter loop. The short loop
meant there wasn't much of a straightaway, and that
put more strain on his bad knee. Not that he would
ever admit to having a bad knee. It wasn't sufficient
to keep him off flight status, just twinged more often
and tended to stiffen up when it was going to rain.
One more injury, though… Sometimes Harm wondered just
how many more times he'd be able to come back from
something serious. 

Pushing such bleak thoughts aside, he started off. The
rhythmic thump-thump of his shoes on the track made a
perfect counterpoint to the cries of the gulls
wheeling overhead. The birds gave the Radiant Heart a
constant escort, having learned that cruise ship
passengers often tossed food over the rails just to
watch them dive to catch the pieces.

Harm had gone about two miles when he saw a young
woman angling across the deck to intersect him. She
looked like one of Nikki's friends-- the redhead who
often hung around with her. He searched his memory for
a name, finding it after a moment. Chelsea. 

Frowning, he slowed to meet her.

"Hi, Harm." She tucked a lock of deep red hair behind
her ear. She was dressed in a pair of cutoff shorts
and a halter-top, but there was nothing particularly
flirtatious about her greeting.

He nodded in return. "Chelsea. What's up?"

She cocked her head to look up at him. "I'm looking
for Nikki. You haven't seen her, have you?"

Harm put his hands on his hips. He hadn't seen her
except in passing since the incident at the pool, and
was quite content to keep it that way. He shook his
head. "Not recently."

She wrinkled her nose in frustration. "She must be
avoiding me. Well, thanks anyway." With a wave, she
turned away.

Harm watched her go, wondering if he should be
concerned about Nikki. There was no telling what she
might be up to. Finally, he shook his head. He'd
finish his run first, grab a shower and then check in
on her. Mac wouldn't get too upset, he didn't think,
and it would ease his conscience to make sure.

#

Mac sat at a small table in the same restaurant she
and Toby had been going to lately, sipping coffee and
daydreaming as she stared out at the water. Very soon
now the cruise would be over-- the investigation would
be over, whatever the outcome-- and she would be able
to go back to her life. A life that had one huge,
wonderful, fundamental change to it.

She glanced at her wedding rings, then back out at the
ocean. Right now she was fantasizing about changing
out her nameplates at work and getting a new driver's
license. That would be a relief-- she looked downright
shaggy in the current one. Her experiment with growing
her hair out hadn't been very successful.

"Mrs. Rabb."

Mac looked up to find Selena standing beside her
table, her hands folded gracefully in front of her. 

"Yes?"

"Mr. Ariel asked me to find you. He'd like to talk to
you about the last two days of the cruise. There are,
as you probably remember from your orientation, a few
changes to the ship's routine as the cruise nears its
end."

Mac froze as her heart began to pound. This is it. 

"Just me?" she asked Selena, unable to help the
suspicious not that crept into her voice.

Selena shook her head. "Of course not. It is an
individual interview, to make sure all topics are open
for honest discussion." She gave Mac a fake smile that
was probably intended to reassure her. "Mr. Ariel has
already spoken with each of the Andersons."

"What about Harm?"

Selena shrugged. "I believe he's running at the
moment. I'm sure Mr. Ariel will talk with him later
this evening."

Mac rose to her feet, feeling a wave of dread mixed
with adrenaline. Showtime.

She followed Selena to Ariel's office. Stepping
inside, she made a quick review of the room, but saw
nothing alarming. It was just an office, though even
messier than her own. 

"Come in, Mrs. Rabb." Tony Ariel didn't stand to greet
her, but instead waved her forward from where he sat
behind a modern-looking black metal desk. Mac did so,
seating herself in one of the chairs pulled up before
it. Selena withdrew silently, leaving Mac to study
Ariel across the space of a few feet. 

"Can I call you Sarah?" he asked as he swiveled his
chair ninety degrees toward a small wet bar tucked
away behind the desk.

Mac forced herself to lay her hands calmly in her lap.
"I prefer Mac."

"All right. Mac it is." He glanced at her from beneath
thick black eyebrows, the expression in his eyes less
friendly than his voice. "Can I get you something to
drink? Coke? Pepsi? Tea? Frappuccino?" 

Mac wondered what would happen if she refused. He
would have to find some other way to drug her. But she
was the bait for this little trap, and it was time to
play her part. Harm, you had better be out there
somewhere, watching my six.

"Coke, please." She didn't want to admit it, but she
was scared. Everything inside her rebelled at the idea
of voluntarily giving this man power over her,
especially knowing what he would do with it. 

Ariel eventually emerged with a couple of drinks,
handing one of them across the desk to Mac. She sipped
it, detecting a faint bitter tang that might not have
belonged, but she couldn't be sure. 

They spent twenty minutes talking about the last days
of the cruise, and how things would go if both couples
remained faithful. Mac resisted the impulse to ask
Ariel some pointed questions about what would happen
to his bonus if that happened. She would have liked to
have seen his expression, though. The thought nearly
made her giggle. She managed to bite her lip, shutting
away the bubbling laughter.

Phew, there was definitely something in the Coke. She
was starting to feel giddy and lightheaded. She needed
some air. And a deeper instinct told her she needed to
get out of there, and fast, before she was unable to
go anywhere at all.

"I'd better go," she told Ariel, rising unsteadily to
her feet. 

Ariel didn't seem the least put off by her sudden
desire to leave. "Of course. Thank you for your time,
Mac." He watched as she turned away, a small, amused
smile on his fleshy lips.

Mac made it all the way out into the hallway before
her legs started to wobble. She grabbed the wall for
support as the world tilted sideways and threatened to
slide away entirely.

"Mrs. Rabb? Are you all right?" a voice murmured in
her ear. Ariel gripped her arm in one large hand.
"Here, let me help you to your room."

Mac stared at him, unprotesting, as he led her down
the hall. Sounds had taken on strange echoes, like she
was walking through a metal pipe. Nothing seemed
familiar until Ariel opened a door and led her into a
stateroom. It wasn't hers, she knew immediately, but
the bed looked awfully comfortable. She sighed
contentedly when Ariel walked her over to it and let
her collapse onto the soft surface.

She turned her head to look at him. "Tired," she told
him, slurring the word almost beyond recognition.

"I'm sure you are," he answered pleasantly. She felt
the bed sink as he sat on the edge beside her.

The last thing she was aware of as she slipped away
were his fingers on her shirt, slowly unfastening the
buttons.

#

Baggy drummed his fingers impatiently on the AV
console, wishing a pox on Bob Schliegler and all his
kin. The AV crew had taken care of the redundant
control system in the wee hours of the morning, which
he'd let Harm know about in a few hours at the HALO
tourney. Knowing what he did now, though, all Baggy
really wanted to do was to put the two cabins up on
the main monitors and wait for something to happen. He
wasn't entirely certain what that might be, but it was
bound to be interesting.

Baggy looked over at his boss, who sat in his chair
reading his soft porn magazines and occasionally
glancing around the room to make sure the techs were
keeping busy. Baggy muttered a few choice words. As
long as Schliegler was around, the monitors had to
stay on their normal targets.

Who knew what they might be missing.

#

Harm had just stepped out of the shower when someone
banged on his stateroom door. 

"Coming!" Still dripping, Harm wrapped himself in a
towel and went to answer it. One of the techs from the
morning shift stood on the other side, sidling from
foot to foot in fretful impatience. He pounced the
moment Harm opened the door. 

"Harm! Word is your wife went to see Ariel in his
office for some kind of meeting. But when I went by
there, his assistant said they'd both left. She said
Mrs. Rabb didn't look like she was feeling too good."

It's started. The knowledge hit Harm like a physical
blow. Please, let her be all right. 

He didn't let his reaction show. "When was that?" he
asked.

The young man checked his watch. "Twenty minutes ago.
I wasn't sure where you were."

Harm nodded. "All right. Thanks." He glanced down the
empty hallway. "You'd better get out of here."

The tech nodded and took off. Harm closed the door. He
just stood there for a moment, gathering his wits. A
part of him wanted to panic, to scour the ship until
he found Ariel and beat the man's face in if he'd so
much as touched Mac. But the rational part of him
maintained control. Ariel wasn't the key. Toby Mathis
was the critical link in this particular chain. The
set up went from Ariel to Toby, and from Toby to Mac.
So that was where Harm needed to go.

Harm shook himself into motion. He went to the closet,
dressing in a loose shirt, jeans and tennis shoes.
Then he went into the bathroom to retrieve both black
cases, laying them out on the bathroom floor. He
pulled out the Berretta nine-millimeter pistol and
inserted the full clip. He chambered a round, lowered
the hammer and flipped the safety on. The gun went
into his waistband at the small of his back, beneath
his shirt. He also pulled out the satellite phone.
There was no point to hiding it now, and he might need
it.

Thus prepared, he left the stateroom, headed for
Toby's. If the younger man was planning to meet Mac
for Ariel's arranged rendezvous, he would no doubt be
getting ready. He had to force himself not to run
through the hallways, but still used his long legs to
great advantage. It only took a few minutes to reach
Toby's cabin. He knocked.

A few agonizing moments later, the door opened to show
a slice of Toby's face. He stared at Harm in surprise,
colored by guilt. Harm tried not to let himself feel
too much anger toward the man. They were using him as
much as Ariel was.

"We need to talk," he told the other man.

Toby stared at him for another moment, then started to
shut the door. Harm jumped forward and shoved his
shoulder into the gap, forcing it open. Toby stumbled
back. Harm quickly let himself into the room, pushing
the door closed behind him.

Toby backed away, his expression frightened. He raised
his hands. "Hey, look man, I don't know what you
think's going on, but nothing happened. I swear."

Harm stared into the other man's face, wondering what
his own expression must have looked like. He probably
thinks I'm ready to kill him. He made a conscious
effort to calm down.

"It's o.k., Toby." Harm didn't move from his place by
the door. He effectively had the young man trapped.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to know when
and where you're meeting Mac."

A puzzled crease appeared between the blond brows.
"What?"

"When and where you're meeting her." Harm tried to
keep his words slow and calm. "She sent you a note,
probably through Tony Ariel, arranging a tryst. I need
to know when and where."

Toby slowly shook his head, looking mystified. "I
don't have any idea what you're talking about." Harm
could see the truth of the statement in his clear blue
eyes.

He stared at Toby in dawning horror. His link to Mac
had just evaporated.


Chapter 35

Harm hit the AV room at a run, skidding to a ragged
stop next to the two main consoles. Baggy took one
look at his face and turned completely to face him,
his expression filling with alarm.

"Bring up Ariel's cabins," Harm ordered, unconsciously
falling back into military mode. "You got it done,
right?"

Baggy nodded, and Harm felt a small measure of relief.
At the same time, Bob Schliegler jumped to his feet
and came over, his stance indignant. 

"Contestants aren't allowed in this area! You're going
to have to leave." He reached over to grab Harm's arm.
Harm shook him off, his eyes never leaving the
screens. The two main screens now showed the interiors
of the two cabins. Both were pristine and empty.

Schliegler grabbed his arm again. "You're going to
have to leave, Mr. Rabb!"

Harm had neither the time nor the patience to spare.
He whipped out the Beretta, pressing the muzzle
against Schliegler's breastbone. 

"Back. Off." He enunciated each word carefully and
clearly. However, since he didn't really want to shoot
the pompous jerk, he left the weapon's safety on.
Schliegler didn't look like he knew enough about
handguns to know the difference.

Schliegler's eyes turned into saucers. He backed away,
stammering in terror. Harm waved him toward his chair.
"Sit down and stay out of the way. Understood?"

Schliegler nodded and sank into his seat. Harm turned
back to the console.

"What are we looking for?" Baggy asked him after a
moment of stunned silence. The other three techs on
the shift gathered around to watch the screens.

Harm returned the gun to his waistband. "Mac." He bit
his lip against the wave of sick terror that
threatened to engulf him. "Ariel's got her, but he
changed the plan so I don't know where she is, or what
he intends to do with her."

Baggy motioned for one of the other techs to take the
seat in front of the other console. "I'll take A
through D decks, you do E through G and the
maintenance areas," he said.

The other man nodded. Images began cycling through on
multiple screens while the gathered crew watched.

"Look for Ariel, too," Harm added, his voice tight
from the effort of keeping himself under control. "He
can tell me where Mac is."

Baggy nodded. "Right-O."

As the screens flashed, Harm recalled the satellite
phone in his other hand. Growling curses at his own
stupidity, he dialed Webb's number.

After three rings, it picked up. "Webb."

"Clay, I need that response team."

"What?" Webb's voice held a clear note of alarm. "What
happened?"

"Ariel's got Mac, but he didn't follow the game plan.
At the moment, I can't find her. Or him." Harm gripped
the back of Baggy's chair so hard the edge bit
painfully into the backs of his knuckles. He barely
noticed.

Clay didn't waste any time. "All right. We're on our
way," he told Harm. "See you in fifteen."

"We?"

Clay snorted. "Yes, 'we'." His tone said he thought
Harm was an idiot for even asking.

And that, strangely enough, gave Harm a sense of hope.
His friends never let him down when it mattered most.
He cut the connection.

"Anything?" he asked the techs and received twin head
shakes.

Harm went back to watching the camera feeds, his brain
frantically sorting through everything he knew about
the case. The answer had to be there, somewhere. 

"Wait." A small detail lodged in his thoughts. It was
just a hunch, but he'd learned to trust his hunches.
They were rarely wrong. "Have you seen Nikki Upton on
here?" He gestured toward the screens.

The tech at the other console narrowed his eyes
thoughtfully. "Uh… yeah. I think so." He spun his
trackball, sending one of the small screens through a
flurry of images. He slowed the spin, eventually
coming to rest on a single image.

"There," he said, pointing to the screen where Nikki
could be seen lying sprawled on her bed. "Looks like
she's sleeping in her room."

Harm stared at the tiny, peaceful form. Why was this
bugging him? "Put it on the main screen."

The tech did so, and Harm leaned forward to peer more
closely at the picture. He noticed the unhealthy white
caste to her skin and her blue lips immediately. His
breath caught.

"She doesn't look too good," the tech commented. Harm
could tell he didn't really understand the import of
what he was seeing.

Harm closed his eyes for a moment, then straightened.
He felt suddenly old and very, very afraid.

"She's dead."

#

When Mac came to, she found herself lying in a warm
bath. The tub was very full, the water covering her
entire body except for her head and the tops of her
bent knees. She was naked, but that was to be expected
in a bathtub. 

She looked around, taking in details without attaching
significance to them. A showerhead emerged from the
wall opposite her like the head of a metallic snake.
The walls themselves were tiled in white, with sets of
four smaller green tiles forming diamond-shaped
patterns. Two white towels hung from a rack above her
head. She didn't see any bottles of soap or shampoo
lining the edges of the tub.

A small noise attracted her attention. She turned her
head to find a man kneeling next to the tub, his
attention on something on the floor in front of him.
He looked up when she moved.

"Well, hello, Mac. I didn't expect you to wake up yet.
How are you feeling?"

Mac stared at him. She wasn't feeling much of
anything, which she tried to tell him but her mouth
didn't seem to be working. Who was he, anyway?
Considering her lack of clothing, maybe he was her
lover. She didn't think so, though… she had better
taste than that. At least, she thought she did. No,
the word lover brought a different face to mind-- a
strong, handsome face and the bluest eyes…

She was so involved in trying to figure out the
blue-eyed man's name that she almost missed her
companion's next words. He was shaking his head
remorsefully.

"It's really too bad this had to happen," he told Mac
with a short glance in her direction. "If Mr. Laughton
hadn't had his nasty reaction to the drugs, everything
would have been fine." He sat back on his heels. He
held a pair of scissors in his gloved hands.

Mac stared at him in fascination. His form was
beginning to waver, running like watercolors left out
in the rain.

He flipped open the scissors and examined the edges.
He tsked sadly. "It's such a shame." He glanced at her
again, raising both eyebrows. "What's a shame, you
ask? Why, your insane jealousy, Mac. Poor girl." He
stroked her hair in sympathy. "You couldn't take
seeing your husband spending all his time away from
you."

The man reached down into the bath, emerging with
Mac's left arm in his grasp. The air felt cold against
her wet skin, making her shiver.

"See, first it was Mr. Laughton, and then pretty Ms.
Upton. But you couldn't live with the guilt." He
turned her arm wrist up, holding it in a tight grip.
Then he took the scissors, jabbing one of the points
into her wrist just above the bones, and ripping
upward along her arm.

The searing flash of agony penetrated Mac's haze. She
cried out, reflexively yanking her arm out of his
grasp and leaving a splash of scarlet across the edge
of the tub. Her arm dropped back into the bath with a
soft plunk. After a moment, the warm water began to
ease the stinging pain. Mac blinked. Tendrils of pink
snaked through the bath water in convoluted whorls,
beautiful in their own, terrible way.

Mac was a little more alert now. She let her eyelids
sag most of the way shut, feigning drowsiness. She was
in big trouble here, and if Ariel gave her any more
drugs she would most likely be dead before she woke up
again. She was afraid, though, that she might end up
dead even if he didn't. She couldn't feel her body.
She tried wiggling her toes, but couldn't tell if it
worked.

Ariel dropped the scissors into the tub. Smart, Mac
thought. No one would be surprised by a lack of
fingerprints. Of course, he wasn't that smart. The
forensics from this little escapade alone would
probably convict him, even if she weren't available to
testify. And if the warrants the FBI had gotten had
resulted in anything, those would clinch the case. Of
course, if she died, Ariel would never see trial. Harm
would kill him, of that she was certain

And where was Harm, anyway? Why wasn't he breaking
down the door to rescue her? Obviously, following Toby
to her location wasn't going to work. Ariel had
apparently scrapped that plan to cover his mistake
with George. But there were cameras covering nearly
every inch of the ship. Surely the AV people could
find her pretty fast.

Then it dawned on her. She was in the bathroom, the
one place on the ship where there were no cameras.
Fear clenched her stomach and closed her throat. She
was on her own.

Ariel took one of the towels from the rack above Mac's
head to wipe off the blood that had gotten on his
gloves. 

"It won't be long," Ariel told her. Mac had a sneaking
suspicion he was right. He knew enough to cut
lengthwise, and if his cut had gone deep enough to get
the artery, which she suspected it had, it wouldn't be
long at all. 

Ariel dropped the stained towel in a crumpled heap on
the toilet lid as he turned away. "Goodbye, Mac."

Mac watched as he walked out of the bathroom,
disappearing from view as he made his way to the cabin
door. She heard that door open and close again,
leaving her alone.


Chapter 36

Mac didn't feel like she was dying. 

She stared at the water surrounding her. It had turned
an alarming shade of red, dark enough to make her body
into a shadow in the murky bath. She was running out
of time, and quickly.

She narrowed her gaze. Move, arm… Arm, move. She tried
to will her recalcitrant body into motion. Getting her
arm out of the water would allow the blood to start
clotting, for whatever good that might do her at this
late date. It might also slow the rate at which said
blood was draining out of her.

A moment later and much to her surprise, her arm
appeared, breaking the darkened surface of the water. 

Aha! Her triumph was short-lived. Gritting her teeth,
she poured all her effort into raising her injured arm
out of the water and moving it over the edge of the
tub. Water and blood dripped from her in equal parts,
and she had a passing, irreverent thought about the
amount of cleaning work she was creating for someone.

Her elbow thunked on the edge of bath, sending a jolt
of pain up her arm. Mac stared at her exposed forearm
in dismay. She hadn't realized the damage. Ariel's
gash ran from wrist to elbow, deep at first but
tapering off as it went. The edges of flesh were
curled back, ragged and white from the water. Blood
pooled where the wound gaped open, spilling over to
splatter on the floor with a tinkling sound.

Now for the other one. Tearing her eyes away, Mac
concentrated on getting her right arm to move. It,
too, surfaced eventually. With great effort she
managed to get her right hand clamped over the deepest
part of the gash, bringing a fresh wave of pain. She
welcomed it. Right now, pain was her friend. The
searing burn was the only way she could tell her hand
was putting pressure on the wound. 

Unfortunately, putting both arms over the lip of the
tub meant she had to turn onto her side. Now she was
balanced precariously on her hip with nothing but her
unfelt toes braced against the tub's far wall to keep
her from slipping and going under.

Experimentally, she pushed with her feet and felt her
body move against the cool plastic of the tub. O.k. So
my body works…sort of… even if I can't feel it. She
looked around. If I could just get to the doorway, the
cameras would see me. But that would mean leveraging
her entire body out of the tub, something she doubted
she could manage.

Think! There's got to be a way. How would Harm get out
of this mess? Had she been in less dire straits she
might have laughed at herself for that one. Harm
always managed to think, charm or just plain stubborn
his way out of situations that would overwhelm anyone
else. 

Mac didn't think charm would do her any good at the
moment, which left her with the other two. She stared
toward the open bathroom door. The room camera was her
only hope. It was only four feet or so away, but could
have been four miles for all the difference it made.
How could she cross that distance? 

Her gaze fell on the bloody towel Ariel had left on
the toilet. She smiled. Bingo! Mustering her resolve,
she let go of the wound in her arm and reached for the
towel with both hands. The terrycloth felt harsh
beneath her fingertips.

Trembling, she gripped the towel in her right hand,
holding it against her arm until a large, bright red
stain covered it. Then she wadded the towel into a
ball and with the last of her energy flung it toward
the doorway. She watched it fly a short arc, plopping
down just beyond the threshold. 

Exhausted, Mac sank back into the water. Her left arm
remained draped over the edge of the tub, blood
running down her fingers to drip into the growing
puddle on the floor. All she could do now was wait.

#

Harm stared at the image of Nikki Upton with a growing
sense of desperation. She’d bee dead a while—long
enough for the blood to have pooled in the lowest
areas, leaving her visible skin with that snowy,
translucent look. And as much as he regretted her
death, he was more concerned by what it said about
Ariel. There might not be a limit to what the man was
capable of.

He’s got Mac! It was a silent wail. One he would never
voice.

Harm raised the satphone once more. He was pleased to
discover that his hands remained steady. When Webb
picked up on the other end, Harm could distinctly hear
the whine of a helicopter’s engine spooling up in the
background.

"Webb."

"He’s graduated to murder, Clay."

The utter silence on the other end told Harm just how
much Webb cared for Mac, even if he would never admit
it. Brumby had had it right—they’d all fallen a little
bit in love with her. Harm had just had the
unimaginable good fortune to be the one she loved in
return.

"…Mac?" It was little more than a whisper.

Harm stared at the monitor screens, which continued
their rapid sweep of every camera on the ship. "No.
Nikki Upton. Looks like a drug overdose, or maybe
asphyxiation. I didn’t see any obvious signs of
violence."

There was another short pause as Webb recovered. "Any
idea why Ariel would want to kill her?" 

"None. She’s connected to me a lot more than to Mac."
Harm hated the idea that Nikki might have died because
of him, but it wasn’t something he could afford to
deal with at the moment.

Webb pulled away from the phone to talk to someone on
his end. Then he returned. "Harm, I’ve got to go.
We’re taking off. ETA is about eight minutes."

Harm cut the connection and spent a moment figuring
out how to clip the phone to his belt. The FBI team
would search the ship from bow to stern for Ariel and
Mac. They had to be aboard somewhere.

On the tails of that thought, he turned to Baggy.
"There have to be some areas of this ship that aren’t
covered by cameras. Maintenance spaces, engine areas,
the bilges… things like that."

Baggy nodded. "Sure, but most of them have restricted
access. Ariel doesn’t have a passcard as far as I
know." He pulled out a badge that hung on a
retractable cord at his belt and showed it to Harm.
The badge had a shiny gold smartchip embedded in its
surface, along with Baggy’s name and photo. "We have
access to the maintenance spaces and wiring closets,
but not the engine rooms or the bridge, for example."

"So where could he take Mac that they wouldn’t be
visible to the cameras?"

The tech at the second console paused to look up at
him. "Isn’t that what those two cabins are for? He was
supposed to be able to fritz the cameras so nobody
could see what he was doing?"

Baggy gave his companion a disgruntled look. "But we
checked ‘em. They’re empty."

"Put them up again." Harm ran a hand distractedly
through his hair. He felt like he was going in
circles.

The two main screens came up with angled views of the
two cabins. Both empty. Harm stared at the neatly made
beds and sterile, hotel-like furniture.

"Which one is which?" he asked.

Baggy pointed to his own screen. "This is A-31." He
pointed to the other. "That’s C-5."

Harm’s gaze didn’t follow him to the second screen.
There was something lying on the floor in A-31, way
down near the corner of the image.

"What’s that?" he asked, leaning forward to study the
object more closely. Distortion at the edge of the
picture made it hard to make out. The others crowded
around.

"Don’t know," Baggy ventured. "Looks like a… towel,
maybe?"

"Or a piece of clothing," someone else added.

"What’s the dark spot?"

Harm leaned forward until his nose nearly touched the
screen, his heart pounding. He needed a moment to
confirm what his eyes brought him—a small white mound
of cloth marred by a dark stain.

Harm straightened abruptly. "It’s blood." Chances were
good it was Mac’s blood.

Harm turned and sprinted for the door. He ran with his
heart in his throat, and his mind filled with terrible
images. Diane’s lifeless body kept flashing before his
eyes, mocking him. It couldn’t happen again. It just
couldn’t. He didn’t bother with the stairs, sliding
down the rails like the experienced sailor he was, and
shouting for those ahead to make way. Those that
didn’t move fast enough got shouldered aside with
ruthless efficiency, leaving a trail of angry voices
in his wake. Harm neither noticed nor cared.

He paused at the door to A-31 to listen. Hearing
nothing, he drew his weapon then cautiously tried the
door. It opened onto the same pristine room he'd seen
on the monitor. He stepped inside, eyes sweeping the
area for any sign of Ariel or Mac.

It only took three steps to bring him in line with the
open bathroom door. The cloth he'd seen on the camera
lay in front of the doorway, a crumpled, bloody mess.
Harm's gaze went past it after a moment, into the
bathroom, and his entire world shattered.

The bathroom was coated in blood. It filled the tub,
and ran in streaks down the plastic sides, and covered
the floor. Mac lay in the midst of the carnage, one
arm draped carelessly over the edge of the bath. The
thick red liquid dripped from her fingertips.

For a split second, Harm couldn't force himself to
move. Couldn't force himself to go over there. He
couldn't bear to see her cold and lifeless--
everything he loved ripped away, destroyed by a
violent, senseless whim. 

Again.

Then Mac's head turned, her eyes fluttering open. The
corners of her pale lips curled in a shadowy smile.

"You found me." It was less than a whisper. 

For Harm, the world snapped back into place with a
giant shudder. 

"Mac!" He rushed to her, dropping to his knees in the
puddle of blood. The warm liquid soaked into his jeans
as he leaned over, sliding an arm under her shoulders
and knees to pick her up out of the water. The
emotional part of him wanted to drag her into his lap
and hold her, sobbing in relief. The clinical portion
knew better. She was alive, but still in a great deal
of danger. He stood. 

"Ariel--" Mac plucked weakly at his shirt, her
expression desperate.

Harm held her close against his chest as he maneuvered
his way out of the narrow bathroom. "Shhh. Don't try
to talk. Webb's on his way with the FBI emergency
response team. They'll get Ariel."

Mac fell silent and Harm concentrated on getting to
the infirmary as quickly as he could. He burst into
the small facility, startling the doctor who recovered
quickly and waved him over to the single examination
table.

Harm lay her down, instinctively brushing a few stray
hairs off her forehead while the doctor looked her
over. The doctor raised his head after a moment, his
expression pained.

"I can start an IV to get some fluids into her, but
I'm not equipped for this." He shook his head
helplessly. "I don't even have a supply of blood. I'm
going to have to call for a helicopter to take her to
the mainland." 

Harm could read the flat, empty certainty in the other
man's gaze. "She doesn't have that long." He felt like
he could barely breathe.

The doctor shook his head. "No, she doesn't."

Harm stared into his wife's still face. He wasn't a
man to give up-- not ever. He unhooked the satphone. 

Webb picked up on the first ring. "We're overhead now,
Harm," he said without preamble, shouting over the
roar of the helicopter blades. "They're getting ready
to drop the ropes." 

Harm looked upward unconsciously, as if he could
somehow see the hovering aircraft through the many
floors over his head. "Stop them, Webb! Tell the pilot
to land on the deck."

"What?"

"Tell the pilot to land on the deck!" Harm rarely
broke out his command voice, the one that demanded
instant obedience and heaven help the poor slob who
didn't jump fast enough.

Webb wasn't exactly cowed, but he got the message.
There was a short pause. "The pilot says he can try a
soft landing on the upper deck." His tone said Harm
had better have a really good reason for his demand.

Harm figured he did. "Good. I'll meet you there." He
cut the connection and tossed the phone down on a
nearby counter. He didn't need it any more. Scooping
Mac back up in his arms and praying she was still
alive, he headed for the elevators.

#

The upper deck of the Radiant Heart looked like
something out of a movie. The helicopter, a Huey not
too different from its Vietnam-era brother, sat with
its skids barely touching the deck. The rotor remained
at full spin, carrying most of the heavy bird's
weight. Men-- and a woman, Harm noted absently--
dressed in black kevlar body armor and helmets jumped
down from the transport, rifles held ready. The FBI's
response team fanned out as another figure came
forward. Harm headed for him, and the helicopter
beyond.

Webb looked out of place in his suit and tie. He
trotted toward Harm, his sidearm clasped in both hands
with the muzzle pointed down and away. He stopped
short when he spied Harm, his expression one of
stunned horror.

"Holy--!" Webb stepped back automatically as Harm
rushed past him. He turned, yelling for the FBI team's
EMT, and fell in beside the aviator. "What happened?"

Harm spared him a short glance as the EMT ran up.
"Ariel tried to kill her--" Harm's throat closed as he
lost control of the fears clambering inside him. "I
don't know, maybe he has." He forced himself to move
faster. Mac just couldn't be dead. The first tears
forced their way out, blurring his vision. "Set it up
to look like suicide."

They reached the helicopter. The EMT jumped up ahead
of Harm, then helped him load Mac aboard, laying her
out on a stretcher on the metal floor.

Clay grabbed Harm's arm as he started to climb in
after her. "I'll take care of Ariel," he promised, his
eyes fierce.

Harm just nodded. Right now, he didn't care about
Ariel. All that mattered was keeping Mac alive. Once
she was safe, he would have time for fury, for
justice… or for revenge.


Chapter 37

Capturing Ariel turned out to be somewhat
anti-climatic. They found him in his stateroom,
packing, as if he could somehow jump ship as easily as
one would skip town. Clay had stayed back while Agent
Peters read Ariel his rights, smiling slightly at
their less-than-gentle handling as they handcuffed him
and took him to wherever they would be holding him.
Clay was glad the FBI was there to handle it. He
wanted to skip due process and simply shoot the man,
preferably starting at the toes and working his way
upward. He had eleven rounds in his pistol, which
might-- might-- be enough to quench his thirst for
vengeance.

Afterwards, Clay had gone by both of the crime scenes,
now taped off and filled with forensics investigators.
It was the bathroom that had gotten to him. He'd seen
a person bleed out before. It was impossible to
comprehend how much blood the body contained until you
saw it all in a pool on the floor. But that had been a
man, and not someone Clay had known. This was Mac.

Sometimes he wondered why he felt so protective toward
the feisty Marine. She was as tough as they came, and
had courage enough to fly with. She didn't need
protection. True to her credo, she would stand in the
breach without thought for her personal safety if it
would serve justice or her country. But maybe that was
why the men around her automatically stepped in to
shield her-- because they knew she would never hide,
would never back down. And none of them wanted to
watch her pay the price for her courage.

Clay shook his head sharply. It was a bad sign when he
started waxing patriotic.

"It gets to you sometimes, doesn't it?" Agent Peters
stepped up beside Clay.

Clay nodded, eyes never leaving the desecrated
bathroom. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Especially
this one."

"Have you heard whether she made it?"

Clay shook his head. He hadn't been able to bring
himself to make the call.

Peters gave him a minute to collect himself before
returning to business. "We've got the video sorted
out. Thought you might want to see it."

Clay looked over at him, both pleased and grateful for
the development. It gave him something to do beside
stare at Mac's blood and wonder if he was ever going
to be able to look Harmon Rabb in the eye again
without flinching.

Clay followed the Peters to the AV room. The group of
techs that had helped Harm clustered off to one side,
having been ejected from their normal places by a trio
of FBI agents. The three looked up as Clay went to
stand behind them.

"Let's see it." Clay focused on the screen.

"Which one do you want?" one of the agents asked.

Clay sighed. "Let's do Ms. Upton first." That way I
can avoid the inevitable for a little longer.

The agent nodded and went to work at his keyboard. Not
long afterward, a picture appeared on the screen. It
was Ariel and Nikki Upton, walking down a hallway,
cabin doors to either side. They were talking
companionably.

"Ariel and Upton had dinner together just previous to
this," the agent said, narrating the scene. "Now he's
walking her back to her cabin." The timestamp in the
corner put the time at just past eleven o'clock. 

On the monitor, the two stopped. Nikki stepped forward
to unlock her cabin door.

"Here." The agent pointed as the tape froze, then went
forward in extreme slow motion. "You can see her jump,
as if she's been pricked by something." Onscreen,
Nikki started and slapped at her leg as if chasing an
insect. Ariel's reaction was credible, both in
surprise and solicitousness.

"And there it is." The agent froze the scene
completely. His finger pointed to Ariel's right hand,
which was away from the camera and so mostly hidden.
But in this frame, he had turned slightly, revealing
both his hand and the slender hypodermic needle
clasped in it. As the agent advanced the recording
frame by frame, they saw Ariel drop the needle in his
jacket pocket.

"So he drugged her." Clay wasn't terribly surprised.
"What happened after that?"

The agent shifted to the camera inside Nikki's room.
She walked inside then paused, swaying, and put one
hand to her head. Grimacing in pain, she made her way
to the bed and collapsed across it. 

"That's it," the agent told him. "She doesn't move
again. It looks like she simply quit breathing." He
gave Clay a grim look. "Whatever he used, it was
quick."

Clay nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He braced
himself. "O.k. Now how about Colonel Rabb?"

"You sure you want to see this?"

Clay snapped his head around to stare at the agent.
His heart felt like it had turned into a lump of ice
in his chest. "Tell me he didn't rape her…"

The agent shook his head. "No, but he got pretty
friendly." The man shrugged. "It sounded like she was
a friend of yours--"

"She is a friend of mine," Clay interrupted harshly.
"Is." He bit his lip, running a hand through his hair
as he tried to contain his distress. He regained
control in stages, then turned back to the agent who
watched him compassionately. He took a deep breath.
"Just show me."

The agent nodded and turned back to his keyboard. Clay
watched the video in silence, his jaw tightly
clenched, as Ariel removed each piece of Mac's
clothing and ran his hands-- and occasionally his
mouth-- over what was exposed. When he was done, Ariel
donned a pair of gloves then picked up Mac's still
form and carried her into the bathroom. A moment later
they heard the sound of water running.

"He's filling the bath," the agent said unnecessarily.


That went on for a while, then eventually shut off.
They heard a few indistinct noises coming from the
bathroom, but nothing identifiable-- until Mac
screamed.

"We figure that's when he cut her." The agent tapped
his fingertips against the base of the keyboard. Ariel
walked out of the bathroom a moment later, gathered up
Mac's clothes, and shoved them under the bed in
passing. The cameras followed him out of the room and
down the hall-- all the way back to his stateroom.

The screens blanked. The agent leaned back in his
chair. "That's it, unless you want to see Rabb coming
in to get her."

Clay shook his head. "No, thanks. Good work." But it
didn't sound like praise when he said it. He turned
away, wandering aimlessly out into the hall. How in
the world had they let this happen?

After a moment, he drew out his cell phone and dialed
a number. He couldn't avoid it any longer. The phone
rang several times before being answered by a familiar
voice.

"Chegwidden."

Clay sighed wearily. "A.J., it's Webb. How is she?"

#

The first thing A.J. saw when he stepped off the
elevator on the third floor of Tampa General Hospital
was the crowd of reporters milling around in the
waiting area. Beyond them, two armed Marines blocked
access to the hallway leading to the surgery wing. The
reporters took note of his arrival-- and his Navy
uniform-- with great interest. Cameras swung around to
face him as a number of the reporters closed in.

"Sir, who are you?"

"Can you tell us anything about what's happened?"

"Admiral, can you tell us who's been injured? Was it
one of the Rabbs?"

The questions came from every direction. A.J. was
tempted to push past without comment, but at the last
minute he paused. This entire set of events had been
put into motion to help the Navy's reputation with the
public. He couldn’t do anything to ruin that now.

He turned to face the group, squinting against the
glare of the camera lights. "I'm Rear Admiral A.J.
Chegwidden, Judge Advocate General of the Navy. I'm
Commander and Colonel Rabbs' superior."

"Sir, why are you here? Has one of them been hurt?"
The reporter directly in front of A.J. was very young
and eager-looking. But he was also the only one who
had addressed A.J. as "sir". 

He turned to the young reporter. "Yes, Colonel Rabb
was… badly injured." He paused, knowing his own
information was sketchy at best. He'd gotten a
courtesy call from the FBI office in Tampa, but they
hadn't known much beyond where their helicopter had
dropped off his officers. "I don't have any details."
He held up a hand as the reporter opened his mouth.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go see my
people."

A.J. shouldered his way through the crowd. The Marine
guards came to attention as he passed, then returned
to their parade rest stances. They, too, were there to
take care of their own. That was the first thing A.J.
had done on hearing the news.

A.J. stopped at one of the nurses' stations for
directions, then headed to the far end of the wing.
His shoes clicked loudly on the polished floors. Tampa
General was an upscale hospital, existing primarily to
serve the wealthy retirees in the area. The area A.J.
walked through bustled, but had none of the crowding
or desperation he expected of big city hospitals.

He found Harm eventually, seated on a padded bench at
the very end of the hall. A young black man in a
hospital gown and attending IV stand sat next to him,
eyes fixed on the far wall. The commander sat leaned
over with his elbows resting on his knees. He was
covered in blood, now dried. It stained his clothes
and streaked his skin, matting the hair on his arms
into gruesome whorls. There was a dejected air about
him that A.J. had rarely seen.

A.J. walked up to Harm. The other man didn't look up.
His hands rubbed continuously against each other,
thumbs brushing away dark flakes of Mac's blood.

"Commander."

Harm's head jerked upward. A.J. stared into the face
of the man who was more of a son to him than any
other, and his heart went out to him. Exhaustion and
stress had taken their toll, leaving him haggard. Even
Harm's deep tan couldn't hide his pallor, or the
emptiness in his gaze. He stood after a moment,
swaying slightly.

"Admiral."

A.J. feared the worst. "Mac?" he asked softly. 

Harm stared straight ahead, not really seeing his
superior. "She arrested on the table." His voice was
flat, hollow. He took a shaky breath, then went on,
"The doctor said she was down about ninety seconds."

A.J. needed a moment to process the meaning of his
words. "Where is she now, son?" he asked carefully. He
hadn't realized how dire Mac's condition was. 

Harm's gaze moved over A.J.'s shoulder, toward the
wide doors leading into the surgical theater.
"Surgery. They had to repair the artery-- they
couldn't stop the bleeding."

"How long has she been in?"

Harm checked his watch. A.J. watched him struggle to
do the simple calculation. "Two-- two and a half
hours." 

A.J. simply nodded. It might be a while until they
heard anything, then. He shied away from thinking too
hard about the situation. If he did, he'd have to
envision Mac lying on an operating table, fighting for
her life. 

"I called your mother. She and Frank should be
arriving any time. I'm surprised they didn't beat me
here." A.J. paused to unlimber the carryon bag from
his shoulder. "I brought you some things." 

Harm made no immediate move to take the bag, so A.J.
set it on the floor by his feet. 

"Thank you, Admiral."

"You're welcome." He watched Harm a moment longer.
"This isn't a time for formalities, son. Call me A.J."

Harm nodded, but remained silent. 

"There are some fresh clothes in the bag for you."
A.J. wasn't sure how to comfort the other man, who was
very obviously still in shock. "I'll be happy to stay
here and wait for news while you clean up. I'm sure
there's a shower somewhere you can use."

"Hey, you can use the one in my room for all that,"
said the man beside Harm. He looked over at A.J. and
offered his hand. "I'm George Laughton."

A.J. shook his hand. "A.J. Chegwidden."

"Thank you, sir… A.J." Harm shook his head. "But I'd
rather stay here."

A.J. shrugged, familiar with the stubborn expression
on the other man's face. He kept his tone light. "It's
your call, but do you really want to have to deal with
your mother when she sees you like this?" He glanced
significantly at Harm's ruined shirt.

Harm followed his gaze, eyes widening as he took in
the bloodstains that covered him. He looked back up at
A.J, utterly disarmed. "No wonder the nurses kept
stopping to ask me if I was hurt." 

A.J. nodded in sympathy. 

Just then the double doors behind A.J. swung open and
a man in green scrubs walked out. He came over to the
trio, giving A.J. a sidelong glance but keeping most
of his attention on Harm.

"Mr. Rabb?"

Harm nodded, dread filling his gaze. A.J. moved a bit
closer to his officer in an unconscious show of
support.

The doctor folded his arms across his chest. A hint of
a smile appeared on his face. "Your wife is quite a
fighter." 

Harm sagged in relief as the implication hit him. A.J.
hurried to catch his elbow, his own knees weak.

"Will she be all right?" he asked.

The doctor glanced at A.J. "We managed to stop the
bleeding, so from now on she'll be gaining ground." He
returned his attention to Harm, his expression
encouraging. "She's made it through the hardest part.
Like I said, she's a fighter. I can't say she's out of
the woods yet, but her chances get better with every
passing minute."

"When can I see her?" Harm asked.

The doctor glanced over his shoulder at the surgery
doors. "They'll be moving her up to ICU when she comes
out of recovery. I'll have a nurse come get you."

Harm nodded. "Thank you." His voice was faint.

The doctor smiled a real smile. "You're welcome. Now,
if you'll excuse me…" He turned and headed back
through the double doors.

A.J. watched Harm, both perplexed and concerned. He'd
expected the other man to snap back to himself once
they'd heard good news, but he still seemed as dazed
as ever. 

"Harm?" he finally asked. "Are you all right?"

Harm turned. "Not really, sir." He shook his head. "I
honestly… didn't think she would make it." His blue
eyes met A.J.'s, unguarded and full of pain. "I've
been sitting here for the last couple of hours trying
to figure out how I was going to live without her…" He
made an aimless gesture. 

A.J.'s expression quirked. "Well, quit it, commander."
Rabb knew how to wallow better than most, but this was
no longer an appropriate time. The sooner he snapped
out of it, the better.

Harm turned to stare at his superior in surprise, but
then accepted the chastisement. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, A.J. nodded. "Good. Now go get cleaned up
before you give your mother a heart attack." He
paused. "That's an order, son."

"Aye aye, sir." Harm bent to retrieve the bag A.J. had
brought.

George Laughton watched the two officers, his
expression bemused. 

"Do they really say 'aye aye' in the Navy?" he asked
Harm once the two started to walk away. "I thought
that was just in the movies."

Harm's amused snort floated back down the hallway to
A.J., who took it as an encouraging sign. They'd be
all right, he finally decided. As long as they had
each other, Harm and Mac would always make it through.

He was still standing there when his cell phone rang.
A.J. answered it.

"A.J., it's Webb." The CIA agent sounded infinitely
weary. "How is she?"

 
Chapter 38

Mac woke in stages. The dark warmth that cocooned her
gave way to a reddish glow she knew instinctively to
be gentle light shining on her closed eyelids. After
that came voices, rising and falling in conversational
waves. She picked out Harm's resonant tenor after a
minute, finding joy in the intimately familiar sound.
She imagined his face-- the strong, clean lines of it,
framing a perfect smile and sea blue eyes that could
reflect a soul as deep as the ocean they resembled… or
nothing at all. Her first image gave way to a new one,
of the heavy doors slamming shut behind Harm's eyes,
sealing away his overwhelming horror behind an empty
mask. The image frightened her, but for a moment she
couldn’t figure out why. But then she remembered
Ariel, and the scissors, and the blood. Only then did
Mac truly become aware of her body. Pain crashed down
on her, crushing her arm and radiating into her
shoulder and across her chest.

With a gasp, Mac opened her eyes.

Harm was immediately there. She felt his fingers
engulf hers on her uninjured side as he leaned over
her, a worried crease between his brows. "Mac?"

"Is it over?" she croaked. Her throat felt like
sandpaper.

His brow smoothed out. "Yeah, it's over." His fingers
caressed her face, trailing gently down her cheek.
"You're safe."

Reassured, Mac let her gaze wander away from his face.
"Where am I?"

"Tampa General Hospital," another voice told her. A
young man leaned over her, white coat draped over his
shirt and tie. A stethoscope was tucked into the
coat's breast pocket. He smiled down at her. "Welcome
back, Sarah. You've been asleep for--"

"Fifty-three hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-four
seconds," Mac supplied automatically. That was how
long it had been since she'd seen Harm standing in the
bathroom doorway onboard the Radiant Heart.

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

Harm chuckled. "Now I know you're going to be all
right." But the dark shadows that lingered in his eyes
told a much larger story.

Mac felt an odd twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry if I
scared you, Harm."

He just stared at her, blue eyes unguarded, and for a
moment Mac found herself staring into an abyss. She'd
seen similar expressions on disaster survivors and war
veterans-- those who had seen things that would haunt
them forever. She wondered if maybe she'd had the
easier time of it, all things considered. After all,
she'd been unconscious for most of it.

"You gave us all quite a fright, Colonel." Admiral
Chegwidden stepped up behind Harm, coming into her
range of view. With a start, Mac realized that there
were several other people in the room as well. Trish
and Frank were there, and Clayton Webb. All of them
looked tremendously glad to see her.

"Admiral." Feeling self-conscious, Mac tried to push
herself into a sitting position, only to have Harm
gently but firmly press her shoulders back against the
bed.

"At ease, Colonel," the Admiral told her with a smile.
"I don't expect you to snap to for a couple more days,
at least."

"Yes, sir." Mac agreed. She looked over at the doctor.
"Am I allowed to sit up?" She didn't like being flat
on her back with everyone looming around her. 

He nodded and reached for the controller that dangled
near the top of the bed. "Of course." With a sound of
grinding metal, the bed began to fold. Mac's head swam
at the motion and she grabbed Harm's hand to steady
herself. The bed stopped immediately.

"I think that's far enough," the doctor said.

"O.k." Mac agreed, her voice faint. Her stomach
twisted with nausea that began to dissipate once she
quit moving.

"Mac?" Harm asked, his concern obvious.

Mac blew her breath out in a sigh. "Phew. I'm o.k."
When she was able to, she turned her head and smiled
at him. The smile dimmed.

"Did we get him?" That was the one question she needed
an answer to. Had it been worth it?

Harm nodded somberly. "Ariel's in custody. The DA is
talking about asking for the death penalty."

Mac gave him a curious look. "Capitol punishment?"

Clayton Webb approached the bedside. "Nikki Upton is
dead." Mac saw Harm flinch ever so slightly at his
words. "We have Ariel on tape giving her a fatal dose
of the same stuff he gave Mr. Laughton."

Memory overwhelmed Mac for a second, flashing before
her eyes. "He was trying to make it look like I'd done
it--" She met Harm 's gaze. "In a fit of jealousy. And
then killed myself afterwards."

"He very nearly succeeded," Webb told her. She watched
as he and Harm exchanged glances. The communication
was swift and silent, but Mac had the feeling a great
deal passed between them.

Mac squeezed her husband's fingers as remorse and
guilt washed over her. "I'm sorry, Harm."

He stared at her incredulously. "You don't have
anything to be sorry for, Mac."

She shook her head. "Other than wishing that girl dead
from time to time--"

Harm turned swiftly to sit on the edge of the bed. He
drew Mac into his embrace, carefully avoiding her
injured arm, and held her tight. "If it's anyone's
fault, it's mine."

"Harm--" Mac began, at the same time his mother broke
in.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harm. It's Tony Ariel's fault,
and no one else's."

Harm didn't move. His head was tucked again her
shoulder and Mac reveled in the feel of his arms
around her waist and his body against hers. "I just
keep thinking I should have seen it coming," he said
into her hair.

Mac sighed. "Yeah, well… you're not the only one. I
walked right into it, too." She pulled back far enough
to smile up at him. "I'm just glad you figured out
where I was."

The corner of his mouth curled upward. "Tossing that
towel out there was brilliant, Mac."

She had to smile at that. Harm didn't hand out
compliments lightly, even to her. "So what's going to
happen now?" she asked, her gaze moving from her
husband to the Admiral and back.

"Well," Chegwidden drawled, rocking lightly on his
feet, "the Andersons have officially won the million
dollars since you two didn't remain aboard until the
end of the cruise." 

"Will there be any charges against Dan Steiner or the
production company, sir?"

The Admiral shrugged. "Probably not. There's no proof
he knew anything before the fact."

"What about our case?"

Another of the Admiral's light shrugs. "The reservists
will most likely have the charges against them
dropped. Lieutenant Roberts finally figured out the
last piece of the puzzle."

Harm gave him a curious look. "Which puzzle is that,
sir?"

"The hall recording. We knew the timestamp had been
tampered with, but there's no way to know what it
originally said. What the lieutenant finally figured
out is that the hall video didn't mesh with any of the
principals' stories. Remember, the video showed Mrs.
Antony going to the room alone first, and then the two
reservists arriving some time later. She didn't take
anything in with her, nor did they, but both Mr. Brown
and Mr. Rossman said in their statements that she had
created a romantic atmosphere with candles and music--
which the room video supports despite the poor
quality. We know from the ship's manifest that the
room wasn't stocked with candles. It's a fire hazard.
So, the conclusion to be drawn from these events is--"

"That someone had to have set Mrs. Antony up." Harm
finished. Mac smiled at him, shaking her head. Only he
could finish the Admiral's sentence for him and not
get chastised for it.

"I'm sorry to interrupt--" The doctor looked over at
Mac's visitors. " But I need to examine Sarah, so I'm
going to have to ask you all to wait outside for a
little while." He glanced at Harm. "You're welcome to
stay, Mr. Rabb."

Harm nodded. He released Mac and stood, recapturing
her hand after a moment. One by one the others came to
the bedside before departing. The Admiral simply
smiled at Mac, looking a little uncomfortable. He
never had like personal situations. Frank and Trish
each gave her an encouraging squeeze, and a second one
for Harm as they passed him, headed for the door. But
it was Webb who truly blew her away. With an
indecipherable glance at Harm, he bent down to kiss
her on the forehead. 

"Get better, Mac," was all he said. He turned away
before she had a chance to formulate a response.

She looked questioningly at her husband once Clay was
gone. "What was that about?"

Harm's gaze was shrouded. "He took your almost dying
pretty hard."

She blinked, taken aback by his tone as much as the
words.

"What about you, flyboy?"

Harm brought her fingers to his lips in a tender
caress. "Me, too." For a moment she glimpsed his pain,
his terror at the prospect of losing her.

The doctor started his exam then, keeping Mac from
pursuing the subject. She watched with trepidation as
he pulled away the bandages covering her forearm,
revealing the long gash. To Mac's surprise, the ugly
wound she remembered had been replaced by a line of
black spidery-looking stitches. 

"Wow. Is that it?" She rotated her arm, giving the
wound a critical examination. It hardly looked
dangerous.

The doctor prodded the edges with a gloved finger,
eliciting a hiss of pain from Mac. He gave her an
apologetic glance. "It looks to be healing well. No
sign of infection. How's the pain?"

"It's fine," Mac assured him. Her arm was throbbing,
but she was leery of taking any more medication than
necessary. 

"Mac." Harm obviously wasn't buying her claim. "You
had surgery. You're entitled to some pain meds."

She glanced at him, taking in the stubborn set of his
jaw, and sighed. "I don't like being all doped up."

"How about an unlimited supply of Tylenol, then?" the
doctor asked with a smile. "In large quantities, of
course."

"Deal," Mac answered promptly and saw Harm's
expression lighten. "When can I go home?"

The doctor chuckled. "A couple of days, provided no
infection develops." His humor faded. "You've had the
equivalent of a blood transfusion, Sarah. Your body
will need time to recover from the shock. We also had
to reconstruct the artery in your arm, which went
well, I'm pleased to say. However, there's a great
deal of healing going on under these stitches. It's
not nearly as minor as it looks."

Mac swallowed hard as understanding hit her. Ariel
really had almost killed her. She hadn't honestly
stopped to consider how close she'd come…

The tears came out of nowhere. One moment Mac was
thinking about how soon she could get on with her
life, and the next she was sobbing in a combination of
terror and fury for all the things that had so nearly
been stolen from her.

Harm wrapped her in a tight embrace. Mac knotted her
good hand in his shirt, burying her face against his
chest. The tears passed as swiftly as they'd come. Mac
closed her eyes, resting her head against Harm and
listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her
ear. She was vaguely aware of the doctor replacing the
dressings on her arm while she sat there, but
everything else was submerged beneath the flood of
gratitude she felt simply to be alive. And not just
alive, but with everything to live for.

"Harm--" Reaching up, she hooked her hand behind her
husband's neck, drawing him down for a much-needed
kiss. Their lips met, melding in a reaffirmation of
the bond that had been forged between them and would
never be broken.

Not if Sarah Rabb had anything to say about it.