Another horrific mission, forty-seven days of negotiations just to end up armed and in combat mode but blessedly, it all turned out well. His mind recited the statistics like a grocery list.

Case number: 6799-08
Hostage: Corbin Roswell, American Tourist
Captivity Duration: Fifty-two days
Location: Columbia
Result: Negotiations, failed. Extraction, successful
Hostage Condition: Excellent
Casualties: One. Terrence Thorne; muscle laceration, chest
Prognosis: Excellent

Just another day at the office for Terry Thorne. Another day? Hardly. Nothing seemed normal or regular ... but what else was new? He’d gone directly from the hospital to his office where he showered, changed his bandages, dressed in the suit that was always hanging in a dry cleaners bag in his closet and went to work. There were reports to write and staff meetings to conduct; strategy evaluations to review and a budget report to examine.

Exhausted, Terry rubbed his eyes and spun his chair to view the city outside the massive wall of windows. His watch said seven PM but his body was screaming for sleep. He gathered his jacket and left for home.

New York City. Home. It was as illusive a concept as ‘normal’ to him. But why was he surprised? Sixteen years in London didn’t make it feel like home; how could he expect eight months in Manhattan to do it? Life had certainly taken a strange turn in those last eight months since Dino’s accident.

No, it wasn’t a hostage extraction, wasn’t even a case. Dino got his sorry arse fucked up on Rt. 405 in Los Angeles, speeding to meet a client in his rented Ferrari. But it wasn’t actually his fault. An eighteen wheeler jumped the median and nearly put Terry’s partner six feet under. It would take years for Dino to fully recuperate. For weeks, it wasn’t even sure the man would walk again and without a doubt, he’d never do fieldwork again either.

Terry wasted no time. As the London office had served mostly as a satellite, he promptly closed it and moved to the States to run things and be close to his partner and best mate at that time of worrisome need. His new apartment looked and felt eerily like the old one. Even the floor plan matched to the square footage. Perhaps he’d subconsciously chosen it by design. After all, in eight months he’d spent a combined six weeks in the place and was comforted by its ugly familiarity. He’d met two of his neighbors, one he had yet to talk with and even the doorman was unsure of his name. To say he was a lonely man when not on a case was a gross understatement.

He unlocked the door and tugged off his jacket. Stretching his tie loose, he pulled it over his head with a groan and yanked the tails of his shirt from his trousers. He’d eaten a burger at four, his stomach still on Columbian time, but he wasn’t exactly hungry. Opting for coffee over a beer and deciding that in a few short hours he’d down pain meds and crawl into bed, Terry began the shitty job of fielding through the mountain of mail neatly stacked on the counter. His mind slipped from the return addresses to the agenda he wanted to implement. He had to call his son, but would rather do it in the morning. After that he’d head to the rehabilitation facility and have a visit with Dino, check on his progress. Beyond that, he hoped he’d see more of the inside of his eyelids than anything else until Monday morning.

A knock at the door brought a scowl. “What the fuck?” he growled and pulled it opened.

“Jesus, he’s actually home!” laughed Marty Shiller, Terry’s neighbor across the hall and only true acquaintance in the building. Beside him stood Genna, Marty’s platinum blond bombshell of a girlfriend. Both were dressed to the nines and glowing with borderline inebriation.

Terry leaned against the doorjamb and chuckled. “G’day.”

Genna pushed the door wider. “Hi, stranger. Ohh, you look delicious, in a rumpled, displaced Aussie sort of way. I thought you might be home. Come on, we’re taking you to a party.”

“Ah … thanks, but not tonight, mates.”

“Shit Terry,” Marty snorted, walking past him into the drab apartment. “You’re never home. It’s fucking Friday night. The least you can do when you’re in town is have a little fun. Come with us … Jesus, what the hell?” He reached out and tugged at Terry’s opened collar exposing the top of the taped bandage and grimaced. “Damn. For an insurance man, you sure get your ass into a lot of scraps, buddy. What was it this time? Bar brawl?”

“Somethin’ like that. I’m gonna take a rain check on the evening.”

“You can’t,” meowed Genna like a pampered cat. “It’s just downstairs and you really look like you can use a few drinks and some laughs.”

“Tenant on the sixth floor is throwing a little holiday bash to meet the neighbors. At least show your face. It’ll be fun.” Marty added and lifted Terry’s jacket from the sofa.

“I’m knackered, mate. I wouldn’t be much fun, I guarantee ya.”

Genna pouted. “Then at least come down, say hello, have a glass of wine then disappear. You do look tired but trust me, you need this.”

Diamond earrings sparkled at her ears and the black silk of her dress swooped dangerously low at her ample cleavage, hinting at the edge of a darkened areola. The nipples were already present and accounted for, pointing right at him, demanding he come out and play. If he could do his social duty and escape free and clear within an hour, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

“Lemme put on a fresh shirt.” Terry rolled his eyes and turned toward the bedroom.

“A tie too” shouted Marty. “Hide that damn bandage … unless you’re looking for a sympathy fuck.”

“Ain’t possible tonight, mate,” Terry called back with a grin. “Just ain’t bloody possible.”

Entering the apartment with Genna and Marty was like walking into another world all together. The floor plan was exactly like his, but this environment clearly stated the personality of the tenant. Their host had great taste. The energy was festive; the décor sparked with flashes of brass and silver and occasional bright color. New York chic, at least what Terry imagined New York chic to be.

What he knew of the host was what was offered during the short elevator ride. Her name was Tamara Fillmore. She was happily divorced. That was it, nothing more. By the look of her apartment, Ms. Fillmore just might be happy because she’d gotten a hefty divorce settlement, probably had a man-choking prenup too. Already he was forming a negative opinion. He was tired and irritable, but even so, he didn’t like women who enjoyed wringing an ex-husband’s balls and draining them for all she could get … no matter what the bloke did. He didn’t like men who did that bloody shit either. Divorce was nothing more than closing an unfinished, unsatisfying book and moving on. At least, it was in his experience. 

At the bar he asked for a bourbon on the rocks. Throughout the cleaning and stitching of his wound he’d refused pain medication and the misery was building across his chest. The bourbon would relax him, keep him from tightening against it. When the drink was gone, he’d make his way upstairs to his prescription and his bed.

The place was hopping but not overly crowded. Comfortable. Nothing too loud, people chatting pleasantly in groups, light laughter. Music wafted over it all, a jazz rendition of Winter Wonderland. He sipped and gazed at the Christmas tree, glittering with white twinkle lights and what looked to be expensive ornaments. Everything around him looked expensive.

Genna was flirting with a bald man wearing a tux and Marty was nowhere in sight. Checking the French doors out to the balcony, Terry was pleased to see them unlocked. He needed a cigarette, bad. The crisp cold was sharp enough to take his attention from the aching pull of stitches beneath his shirt. No one else was out there, but a large crystal ashtray sat on the broad stone railing, welcoming the few and far between smokers. He lit, drew in a drag and groaned delight. Maybe he’d have a few bites of those copious hors d’oeuvres before he cut out; would beat the hell out of making something at his place … even though his cupboards and refrigerator were well stocked. For the first time he wondered what happened to the food when he wasn’t around. Hopefully his maid, a sweet Hispanic woman, took it home and enjoyed it. He shrugged. What did it matter? All he asked was that it was there when he got in, whenever that would be. But he made a mental note to assure that she understood to take the groceries rather than let them rot just because he was off somewhere for God knew how long.

Manhattan glittered and pulsed over the balcony; flashing colors and vibrating the air all around. London had its energy … Sydney had hers … but New York was a creature unlike any other and Terry and seen more cities than he could list in one breath. The bourbon slid warm down his throat, melding with the flavor of tobacco. Heaven. Pure bloody heaven. He glanced back through the windowed doors. It was a nice party and he was almost glad he’d come.

He lit another cigarette, realizing that he’d probably be taking a powder before he even met the lady of the house … but things didn’t always work out like he thought they might.

“You must be Terry Thorne,” the musical voice rolled over his shoulder and he turned. “I’m Tamara.”

Not what he expected. Hell, not nearly what he expected. He’d imagined a woman in her fifties, a little plump with puffy cheeks and eyes that crinkled from appropriately smiling all the time. This woman could have graced the cover of Vogue Magazine. Long, shiny deep red hair, peaches and cream complexion, eyes that sparkled brilliant blue even in the dark. She smiled and he took her hand. “G’day. Thanks for having me.”

She stood beside him and they looked out at the lights, Terry stealing sideway glances at the gorgeous woman and forgetting completely about his exhaustion or his pain.

“I’m glad you came. I understand you just got in from out of town. It’s a monumental effort to go socializing after traveling, I know.”

“You travel a lot?”

“Some,” she sipped white wine and looked into his eyes. “I’m a buyer for Bergdorf’s.”

“Ah,” he sighed, turned and leaned back against the stone, his mind racing with a thousand things he’d like to talk to this beautiful woman about. Again, things didn’t always work out like he thought they might.

“Tam, Charlie’s here,” called one of her guests who added with a shiver. “Christ, it’s freezing out there. How can you stand it?”

“I’ll be right in.” She raised an apologetic expression. “Sorry. I need to greet Charlie, he’s my dad.”

Terry chuckled. “It’s fine.” Again he took her hand but that time there was no shake, that time he just held it warmly. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, simply looked into his eyes.

“We can talk later?”

“Uh …” Terry sighed.

“Oh, I know. You’re probably too tired to even be here. Perhaps I’ll come across you in the elevator sometime, Mr. Thorne.” She slowly freed her hand and turned to leave.

“No,” Terry said, quietly, almost hopping she wouldn’t hear but she stopped to listen.

“No?”

“I meant,” he cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can manage lunch together … over the weekend, maybe?”

What the bloody hell was he doing? Terry had a loaded itinerary over the weekend. For all he knew, a case could blow up and he’d have to leave again. Besides, he’d just asked for a fuckin’ date! What on earth would make this goddess want to have lunch with him?

“Lunch? Tomorrow? Noon is good. Just stop down, I’ll be ready.” Her smile was brilliant and it took an entire third cigarette before his heart slowed.

w

She never did that, never encouraged and certainly never instigated such interest … especially from a man as handsome as Terry Thorne. Tamara had suffered a long, self-imposed dry spell, vowing that until a man crossed her path that truly deserved a decent woman, she’d wait. What made her think this man was that sort of man? All she knew was that he traveled … a lot. Marty told her Thorne sold insurance, was almost never home and seemed like a nice guy. Not a lot to go on. She was moving on instinct, something she never seemed to possess before. Maybe it wasn’t instinct, maybe it was her libido … maybe it was his eyes. Or … perhaps it was the intensity of what was hiding behind his eyes.

Tamara chose not to concern herself. The man had the sense to invite her to lunch, not dinner. The chances of intimacy were little to none. It might be pleasant, but more than that, it might be a chance to understand what about him had stirred her so. If it was a fluke and she didn’t like him as much as she thought, she could just end it there. After all, the man travels … a lot. It should be easy, right? But what if she discovered that she did like him? The man traveled … a lot. It could present a dilemma. Nothing could be determined until noon the next day. She sighed, looked up from friends to see Terry Thorne quietly slip out the door. Something in her soul silenced the moment he was gone.

After it was all said and done, she sat with her father on the sofa, her legs curled up under the hem of her dress and she sighed. The party was her dad’s idea.

Charlie Hartford was a military man, a retired army general but Tamara had luckily (or not so luckily, she was never sure) escaped the rigors of growing up as a military brat, traveling around the world and moving, sometimes twice a year. Mom had left him long ago. But for a whole blessed three years, she lived close to her father. He was stationed in Virginia where she and her mother were residing. She was thirteen at the time. Tamara adored him and he made her feel like a princess, special beyond reason. Mom and the General could hardly be in the same room without the threat of World War III, but when Tamara had time with him, it was heaven. Her sweet sixteen birthday party took place on the base and she’d never gotten so much attention from men in her whole life. Dad told her she was a beauty and even though mom never said such a thing, she started to believe it. Dad told her a lot of things.

It was the General who warned her about men, told her about life and showed her the hard facts of it. Mom was always a lost spirit, never helpful with the tough questions. The woman floated aimlessly though life and was currently molding her fourth husband. It wouldn’t last, it never did. Tamara was sure that marriage never lasted.

A case in point … her own failed marriage. She met David Fillmore in Dallas during a marketing seminar. He came from old money and quickly charmed the silk panties right off of her.  The wedding was elegant and massive, Texas style, but marital bliss lasted no longer than the Hawaiian honeymoon. David swiftly showed his colors and they were dark. Everything about him became rough, dangerous and raw and two years into it, he took his first swing, knocking her lights out and putting her into the hospital. He never got another chance, she never returned to him.

With the General’s help, she quickly filed for divorce and eighteen months later, it was finished. Common property was divided evenly, the prenuptial agreement he’d insisted upon offered her far more than she needed. Before she even signed the final papers, David was in the newspapers, sporting another beautiful woman on his arm at a charitable fundraising event. Tamara thought to warn the poor girl, but never did.

She was too busy with her own adjustments to worry about her ex-husband and his lover. Tamara had stumbled into a buyers’ position with a large chain of high fashion stores in the Dallas, Fort Worth area. It was a surprisingly interesting job that she discovered she was very good at. In June, the offer came for a position in New York. Dad was in New York … it was a no brainer.

“So,” Charlie sighed and lit his cigar.

Tamara slipped into her shoes and collected the ashtray from outside. She thought to toss out the spent cigarettes, but Terry Thorne had been the only guest to use the ashtray. His Marlboro butts mocked her, taunted. At the kitchen trash can, she fished one from the crystal before throwing the others away, hiding it covertly behind the toaster with a grin. Why she wanted it, she’d never know. It was a nasty thing to keep, but it was his. For now it felt like it held magic. If Terry Thorne turned out to be a schmuck, she’d enjoy throwing it over the balcony; until then, it was something she felt compelled to hold dear, like a diamond chip, a gift he left behind.

She set the ashtray on the coffee table and resumed her comfy position, ginning at her father and holding her silly little secret tight.

He smiled, his thick white brows raised and blue eyes sparkling. “Nice party, honey.”

“Yes it was, wasn’t it?” she sighed and pushed long hair behind her shoulder.

“Exactly what I wanted for you. A chance to meet your neighbors, make a few friends. You’ve been doing nothing but working since you got here. It was time, Tamara.”

She nodded, sipped wine and blushed.

“What? You met someone?” The General sat at attention.

“Sort of. I have a lunch date tomorrow.”

“A date? Well I’d say it was a successful evening, wouldn’t you? Who is this man?”

Tamara shrugged; her blush intensifying as embarrassment rose. She was a thirty-four year-old woman; she shouldn’t be so damn excited about a lunch date. “I just met him tonight, don’t know much about him. He travels a lot I understand.”

“Tam,” the old man groaned. “Maybe you should have talked a little more before you accepted a date. The man could be married.”

“He could be, I guess. It’s just lunch. No big deal.”

His hand patted hers. “Be careful, honey.”

“I try to be,” her eyes lowered, watched the few drops of wine remaining in her glass.

“David wasn’t your fault,” grunted the General, setting his cigar in the ashtray.

“I know.”

“You better know. Now, maybe we should start cleaning up this mess.”

Tamara, usually thrilled to spend any time with her dad, instead stood and pulled his coat from the closet. Holding it up and she tilted her head. “The housekeeper will be here in the morning. Between the two of us, we’ll have it done in no time. Go home and get some sleep, dad.”

“Alright. I know when I’ve worn out my welcome. Sleep sweet, honey,” he kissed her cheek and left the apartment.

Tamara was alone with a hundred half-filled glasses of booze, the scent of her father’s cigar and the knowledge that Terry’s cigarette butt was behind the toaster. Why did that comfort her? She slipped the thing into a zip lock bag and walked through the rooms, switching off lamps along the way and yawning wide. Hiding her little treasure in the nightstand, she stripped and crawled beneath the sheets. And she tried to ignore her excitement over a stupid lunch date that could turn out to be a disaster.

w

A half pain pill and the residual effects of the bourbon had done its job and Terry slept like a baby. It wasn’t usual for him after a case; his mind and body reacquainted with the rigors of a difficult assignment, accustomed to light cat naps during the dry periods awaiting contact or the tense hours during reconnaissance. But that night, he simply dropped like a rock … and he dreamed.

Dreams require reaching REM and a deep level of relaxation. Surprised he’d gotten there, he strangely knew he was dreaming too, and it was a good one; the kind sure to end up wet and sticky.

Heated flesh under his palms, soft curves and rolling orgasms. He could even taste the musky fluids in his mouth as one moment he was at his dream lover’s core and the next at a quivering breast. It was pleasant, it was intense and satisfying. And … it was Tamara Fillmore. He knew even before the confirmation of her hair, that ocean of dark copper that seemed to caress and embrace him. He woke with a start at seven AM, just as he expected … wet and sticky. Terry actually chuckled before even opening his eyes.

He started his day on a positive note; he called his son and talked casual as any father. Henry was at uni, doing well and making him proud. But, Henry was also just a young bloke.

“You sound bloody relaxed dad, never hear you like that much. Everything go well in Columbia?”

“Yeah, very well. I even met a pretty sheila last night. Gorgeous redhead I’m takin’ to lunch.”

Henry laughed. “Better be on guard, dad. Redheads can be a handful, got one myself.”

“Just one?”

“Yeah … this week.”

Plans were tentatively made for the New Year when Terry hoped to fly across the pond and visit, but plans were always tentative and Henry had come to accept and expect changes.

“Just let me know if you’re off again,” the young man said. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Henry?”

“You okay? I mean, ya got through this one unscathed, right?”

“I’m fine, mate. I’ll call next week.”

“Or sooner if you’re goin’ off to parts unknown … dad … I worry about you.”

Terry grinned sadly. “Makes us even.”

His next call was to the rehab facility and included a long conversation with Dino’s therapist. Progress was being made, but slowly. Dino was booked until evening with a series of new x-rays and tests to do a quarterly analysis of his recuperation and Terry wouldn’t be able to visit until then.

“He might not be up for company, you know, Mr. Thorne. It’s gonna be a rough one for Dino.”

“Won’t stick around long, mate. Just wanna see his shining face.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you too. But honestly, tomorrow would be better.”

Terry discounted the therapist. Ronald Griffin was a good bloke, worked Dino hard and took extraordinary efforts to assure his patient’s progress. But he didn’t know Dino that well; didn’t know Terry that well either. Terry was going to see his partner right after dinner, rain or shine. He needed it, and so did Dino.

At eleven he showered and noticed that the stitches were drying, pulling miserably at bruised flesh. No matter, meds were not in the cards that day. Splashing aftershave his mind started to wander. Tamara Fillmore was a delight to look at and his suspicion was she’d be just as entertaining to talk with. If he played his cards right, close to his damaged chest, he could get through the lunch. He knew no women in New York he’d be interested in perusing intimacy with. She was the first one he’d stumbled across that had taken his fancy. If they hit it off, he could find enjoyable time with a new friend during his downtime. If he reached her mind, it could be stimulating. But, if he reached her heart … well … then it could get complicated. In Terry’s life, it was always best to draw the line carefully, keep a woman just far enough to protect her from his work, but close enough to find mutual satisfaction. 

At her door he hesitated, instinct telling him that this woman was going to test his resolve. But his decision was made. The less she knew and understood about his life, the easier it would be to maintain at least a good friendship. He wanted that; compromise would only make it hard. He sighed and tapped.

“Terry, you’re right on time.” Her voice was like honey, sweet and smooth, the slight lilt of a southern accent. Her smile, so inviting, he almost reached out to taste it.

He grinned, hoping too much of his deep pleasure wasn’t showing. “Here to escort you to lunch, love.”

He entered as she gathered coat and purse. The apartment was clean as a whistle. One would never guess a party took place there less than twelve hours earlier. The housekeeper came from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish cloth. She was older, grey with a motherly mannerism. Mum wanted to know what was up, but Tamara managed with finesse.

“I’ll be gone for a few hours, Carla. Your check is on the desk, just lock up when you leave.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sure you don’t want me to wait? I can; got nowhere else to be this afternoon,” she said, eyeing Terry suspiciously, making him grin again. Tamara’s father was an important guest at her party, and now the housekeeper was openly protective. He was beginning to like this woman more and more.

“No, no. Enjoy your day, Carla.” Tamara turned to Terry, flipping a long silk scarf over the shoulders of her coat. The silk was printed with elegant, intertwined swirls, all picking up the colors of her hair and brightening her face. “I’m ready.”

But was he? Terry cleared his throat and turned a smile to the old woman before they left.

Lunch was more than he expected. What she said didn’t seem to matter; the fact that their conversations rolled and vacillated, covering a wide variety of subjects and emotions, told him more about her. She was very intelligent, soft and strong at once, as brilliantly beautiful talking about happy things as exploring serious issues.

He found himself far more animated than usual, easily sliding the conversation from subject to subject and enthralled with her responses.  Oh yeah, they were on the same page. They had similar work ethics and backgrounds, although Terry was careful to keep his slightly vague. Their values were common. Both had suffered a rough marriage and divorce. Both passionately loved their work … at least Terry was passionate about his. There were so many sacrifices involved he could hardly say he truthfully love it. He was good at it. It was what he did.

“So,” Tamara sighed over a second glass of wine. “Insurance.”

“Yes.” Terry felt his gut tighten but her smile was so enticing it lit in her eyes.

“You don’t strike me as a nerd, Terry.”

“Ah, then my cover is successful.” Fuck all, he didn’t want the meal to end but it had. Check in hand he raised a brow and shrugged to which she chuckled.

“We have been here a long time. I guess its time to go back. Have you things to do this afternoon?”

Terry was holding her coat, thankfully not facing her or surely she’d have seen the hope in his eyes. It was an invitation. Pure and simple.

“Not till this evening, visiting a mate in rehab.”

“Drugs?” she turned concerned eyes.

“Ah … no. Physical rehab. An accident, eight months ago. He’s got a long, hard road ahead. Just wanna check up on him.”

“Since you’re in town so little, of course,” she said softly.

Was she disappointed he’d be busy that evening? Or concerned for Dino? Tamara was a conundrum. Either she was masterfully manipulative … or unnaturally open, so transparent he wanted to shelter her from everything. They walked out of the restaurant and Terry raised an arm to hail a cab.

It happened so fast he almost didn’t have the chance to correct it. A purse snatcher charged the moment he released Tamara’s arm. He slammed into her, scooting off with the purse and Terry was on a feverish sprint after him. The bloke was brutal once he had him by the arm, swinging hard and catching Terry’s chest with a harsh blow. They were less than fifteen yards from Tamara and Terry freed the man into the custody of the restaurant doorman and scrambled back through gathering onlookers.

Tamara was on her butt, one of her shoes had flown across the walk. He retrieved it, lowered to one knee, handed her the purse and slid the shoe onto her lovely small foot.

She was breathless. “It was just a purse, not worth all that … thank you … thank you.”

He let her sit a moment and looked into her eyes. “You okay, darlin’?”

“No, not at all. Just,” she shrugged, “embarrassed, I guess.” She reached a hand for him to help her up then gasped. “Oh! Oh Terry! You’re hurt!”

His overcoat and jacket were opened and a line of blood had oozed from behind bandages and right through his pale blue shirt.