When was the last time Terry Thorne had a holiday? Took a full two weeks to relax … not recuperate from an injury or wound … just relax? Ever? Not in his memory. From uni to the military, from the military to marriage, from divorce to K&R. Even between his arrival in this world and his final acclimation … Terry Thorne worked. Someone always needed to be protected or rescued. He never thought much about it. It was his life. It was what he did. Could he ever stop? Probably not. But for the remainder of his holiday in Madrid, he was bound and determined to enjoy himself.

The problem was … he didn’t know how.

Enter, Dino O’Leary.

Terry took his time showering and dressing for the evening. Forced himself not to look at his watch or concern himself with time. Last reports from Grant indicated there was no need for serious concern there. So why was this relaxing thing so hard for him?

He found himself having to focus on slowing his accelerated heartbeat, something that made no bloody sense to him as he was as calm as he’d ever been. It was a strange anxiety, something buzzing in the back of his brain and responding to the habitual frenetic activity of his life thus far. Nothin’ to worry about, he thought, running aftershave down his face. Just need to retrain, create new habits. Holiday is for emptying and refilling, for inspiration and exploration … fuckin’ bullshit … He didn’t believe all that for a minute. But he did know one thing; he’d promised himself a chance to see a few cities he’d never taken the time to look at. Madrid was on the top of his list.

Beautiful in its contrasts of antiquity and modern, Madrid was a lady demanding attention, quietly and not so quietly. Leave it to Dino to hone in on the wildness beneath the lady’s skirt. That night they dined and drank. The next, they drank even more, leaving Terry with a raging hangover and seriously considering taking a pass on his workout in the gym … which of course he didn’t, suffering through and hoping he could sweat out the alcoholic content in his blood.

The third night they’d somehow skipped dinner all together and it was heading down a road paved with liquor bottles. Terry sipped slowly, swallowing one drink to every three of Dino’s. Facts were facts and it was never gonna change. He could never keep up with Dino in this department. Dino could drink like a fish and instantly snap himself into rational thought at the drop of a hat. Terry had grown to be a cheap date, requiring no more than four beers or three mixed drinks before his head began to swim in the swill and his guard would drop into the pit. Unlike Dino, alcohol didn’t cheer him up. Terry wasn’t a happy drunk … he was a depressed drunk … and he found himself wishing Doctor General Murphy was still around to discuss this particular dynamic of his personality.

But maybe it didn’t need explored. Maybe it was like that with some blokes. Maybe … it was normal. He’d gone the gamut of worrying about if he was normal or even wanted to be. He just was what he was and sometimes the best way to deal with such things was to accept. He never placed judgment on Dino. The man knew his limitations and functioned well. He was his best mate and Terry would always stand by him.

Within an hour it was clear that he’d stand by no one that night. Dino had hooked up early with a pretty American tourist, grunting that at least they could communicate.

“Communicate?” Terry chuckled. “She’s half your bloody age? What could you possibly have in common?”

“The cock, the pussy, the climax. A broad moaning with an American accent always gets to me. See ya on the flip side,” and Dino walked out of the hotel bar with his choice for Miss America on his arm.

Terry shook his head and dropped cash on the table. He needed a walk then he’d probably head up to the room and a bit of room service. This holiday shit was hard on him; he needed some tucker and a kip before he could face trying to do it again tomorrow.

A full moon perched at the tip of a beautiful cathedral steeple, poised there like it had been skewered, looking down at Terry mockingly. The hot summer day had cooled in the darkness and the streets were active with tourists and locals alike. He drew in the air and glanced behind. There were beautiful hills and mountains back there. Rather than face another day of vacation, Dino style, he seriously considered taking the rental and driving up there. Maybe what he needed was a new point of view?

He’d walked several blocks, wanted to sit on the inviting park bench and watch the moon disappear behind the beautiful city, but his belly had other ideas. Fuck all, he needed to eat. A shiver of weakness trembled through him and he rubbed his eyes. Simply not enough nourishment in drinking and they’d been doing it from ten in the morning until they dropped in the wee hours of the next morning. Time for something more substantial.

Time for something way more substantial. His brow curled and he realized that it had been excessive, even for his partner. Was Dino doing everything he could think of to get Terry to relax? Bloody hell, the bloke probably needed a break from it all too, granted the poor sheila would probably get less of him than she hoped; soon enough, Dino was gonna drop into a deep sleep to recoup his energy.

The decision was made; Terry would be going off on his own, maybe for the remainder of their time in Madrid. Sometime a bloke has to find his own way to relaxation.

He looked up and eyed the street. There was a small restaurant, one that seemed not to be a tourist attraction although there were several milling about near the doorway. The scents of delicious foods wafted out to him and his stomach growled viciously. As he stood from the park bench his cell rang and he eyed it. A grin pulled at his lips. Grant. Only one reason the bloke would call on the regular cell.

“S’it over?” Terry asked.

“Yup, smooth as silk. I am one lucky fucker, ain’t I?”

“Maybe not. Sometimes skill makes a case go down smooth, mate.”

Grant had gone silent and Terry could almost imagine the slight glow of pride painting the man’s expression. “Anyway,” Grant cleared his throat. “I’ll be escorting young Richard Augustino home to Dallas then heading back to New York. You guys still coming back in ten days?”

“Yeah,” Terry sighed. “Ten days.”

“Ya know, Flyboy Curry’s getting married at the Inn in two weeks. Debbie said we all got invites to the shindig. You want me to have her RSVP for you and Dino too?”

“Yeah, yeah. Do that.” Debbie was the best Thorne & O’Leary receptionist they ever had and Grant had pulled her in, hook, line and sinker. They were inseparable when he wasn’t on a field case and Terry wondered how long it would be before those two tied the knot. He’d thought to promote her to his personal assistant, but seeing as how everything was about to change, he had to rethink that logic all together. Maybe she’d serve better as Grant’s PA?

“Listen mate, you’ll make your full report when we get back, then we’re all gotta have us a little chat.”

“Fuck, am I about to be the victim of downsizing?”

“Not likely, mate. Nothing to be concerned with.” Terry intended to leave it at that but heard the disappointed huff and grinned. No reason to leave the man in limbo. “Grant,” he said lightly. “What do ya think of that corner office in the west wing of our floor?”

“Why?”

“It’s gonna be yours, mate, but we’ll talk about that when I get back. For now, I need some tucker and some sleep. Report after you’ve delivered the cargo into his father’s hands and we’ll call it a day on this one.”

“You takin’ it easy, Thorne?” Was that concern in Grant’s voice?

“Easy as a man like me can take it. G’night, mate.”

Terry’s eyes were glued to the restaurant. Most of the tourists were staying slightly apart. Sometimes a place is so local, a tourist is foolishly afraid to try it out. Terry wasn’t afraid; he was looking forward to it. He crossed the street and nodded a ‘pardon’, pushed past the gawkers and inside the door.  Standing there all his suspicions were confirmed. By his estimation, there was not one tourist, American or otherwise inside that place. It was dark and noisy, huddles of conversations melting into a din of overlapping laughter and thick musical Spanish words. Finally a pretty young woman neared and smiled.

Terry bent slightly to speak so she could hear. “Posponga para uno, por favor,” he stated, unsure if they’d even permit a single diner to take a table, the place was so crowded.

Her smile became more welcoming and her dark eyes sparkled. He followed her up a flight of steps to a balcony where she waved him to a small table at the edge of an open
space. It was pleasant as he had air around him and wouldn’t feel quite so cramped.

“Satisfara esto?” she asked kindly.

The scents of garlic and olives tantalized him and he grinned. “Si, gracias.”

She beamed and bowed as he sat. “Bienvenido a la Prima de Madrid. Disfrute de si comida.” She handed him a menu and left, looking back once to eye the handsome tourist seated in a position of honor. A brave man deserved such. Tourists were fools, but this one was a man of courage and curiosity.

Terry ordered far more than he could eat and requested a bottle of a fine, robust red wine. Suddenly it was what he wanted, something to counterbalance all the whimsical folly he had been experiencing as of late, something substantial to cleanse his pallet for something … anything that might come his way. Now this was holiday to him, this was the open door leading to a few things he’d denied himself all his life. Beyond the door was surprises and comfort. He had no doubt.

As if on cue, a door near him opened and he chuckled. Out stepped a young man dressed in black slacks, a crisp white ruffled shirt with a colorful sash tied around his waist. He sat on a chair at the far edge of the open space and adjusted the microphone before lifting a fine Spanish acoustic guitar and running a test strum. 

Terry sipped wine and grinned. Entertainment. Could he have gotten any luckier? He leaned back comfortably in his chair and listened as the man performed two wonderful, complex pieces, each receiving a rousing applause. Then the man pushed back his ebony hair and raised a hand for the patrons on and beneath the balcony to quiet. When they finally silenced, he lowered his mouth to the mike and spoke, his voice thick and clear and his arm up, pointing to the door he’d emerged from.

“Eva Menendez!” he shouted and the crowd went wild, bellowing and crying out, on their feet. Terry’s eyes automatically shifted to the door as it swung opened and a beautiful woman emerged. Stepping lithely she reached the center of the space, her arms were high and whipping an amazing colorful fringed shawl around and around, obscuring her face as her heels tapped wildly on the floor, clacking a rhythm that was quickly picked up by the musician. She spun, swept the shawl high then suddenly lowered it and stilled; her stance was elegant, shoulders twisted in a counter turn of perfect hips, feet silent, head and eyes lowered dynamically.

She was a painting, perfection. Her costume flaunted ruffles that moved from just below her knees and ended in a wild trail behind her heels. She stood several moments, a still life of exotic elegance as the patrons shouted and clapped.

Then her magnificent onyx eyes slowly rose and Terry swallowed hard. They were fixed on him and he was frozen, paralyzed at her power. The guitar strummed then sang and Eva Menendez dropped the shawl at Terry’s feet before spinning into another Flamenco that enthralled and amazed.

She performed for twenty straight minutes and Terry didn’t think that he’d blinked or breathed or even swallowed once during that time. When she gave an elegant bow, even he was on his feet, clapping and calling out his appreciation.

And before she left through the door, her eyes once again drifted to meet Terry’s.