“Let’s get ya home, love. You’re a little shaken.” Terry helped her to her feet. An uncharacteristically kind New Yorker had hailed a cab for them and they climbed in. He said nothing during the fifteen block ride. What was there to say? He held her trembling hand, hoping with all his might that she was shaking about the attempted purse snatching and not the silly blood on his shirt. At her door, she quickly unlocked it and went inside, pulling his arm to follow. She shed her coat, dropping it carelessly on the sofa and reached to remove his.

“Tamara, it’s nothing.”

“You’re bleeding, let me at least clean and cover it for you.” Her fingers moved fast, unbuttoning his shirt and he grasped them tight, looking at her concerned expression with a sigh.

“I’ll do that upstairs. Come on. It’s nothin’.”

She wasn’t taking orders, no matter how gently he was giving them. His jacket and shirt were off and she had tugged his tee shirt up, pulling it over his head. Bloody hell, this wasn’t how he wanted to be undressing with her. Fuck no, not even close. His body had gone still, permitted her what she demanded and finally, spying the large blood stained bandage she gasped.

“Oh good God!”

Another attempt to stop her hands but he couldn’t seem to fight her. It wasn’t that she was strong or determined … it was that she was so bloody gentle. She pulled at the tape and finally exposed the entire wound.

“Jesus! This is … ten stitches?”

“Twelve,” he groaned. She was intent on taking care of it and he was resigned, following her to her bathroom where she pointed to the makeup chair and he sat. Peroxide in hand … bloody hell, he hated that shit … she drenched a cotton ball and carefully, tenderly cleaned the blood away. He looked down.

“See, nothin’. One pulled loose, nothin’ more. Not even bleeding anymore.”

She continued her ministration and he sat still. The scent of her mixed with the peroxide almost intoxicating him; he clenched his fists on his knees to keep from gripping her, pulling her close and kissing her the way he wanted. Everything in him buzzed to touch her. Not a good idea. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She finally taped new bandages over the stitches and went to work on his blood stained shirt. He’d replaced the tee shirt, a red spot bold over his heart as she rushed water through the fabric of the dress shirt then tossed it into the dryer conveniently hidden behind the door in her master bath.

“Come, Terry,” she said, not looking at him. “I need a drink.”

He was feeling like a bit of a sad dog, walking at her heel to the lounge, accepting a bourbon then sitting on the sofa. It wasn’t until after she sat and sipped half her glass that she finally cleared her throat. Perhaps now they could get on with it. Perhaps now he could find a way to make a graceful escape, call it all a wash, begin the process of trying to forget about the beautiful woman living on the sixth floor. It didn’t go down like that. She didn’t throw him out or demand answers. She danced around the subject, slithering so close to it he thought he was going blind; she was good, clean, direct in ways he didn’t expect.

“You don’t sell insurance, do you, Terry.”

“Yes, I do sell insurance. It’s … well … I also … take care of the insured.” Good, he thought. Evasive but not a lie.

Her brilliant blue eyes met his. Her face was slightly flushed and she bit her bottom lip. “What you do … is it legal?”

One side of his mouth raised a lopsided grin. “Yes.”

Tamara nodded. “And … doing your … insurance selling work … you sometimes get hurt?”

He had no answer, none he wanted to give her. How the bloody hell did they get to this point so fast? Usually he could get at least a few dinners in, perhaps a roll in the sheets before a woman bothered to ask those questions. He looked off into the distance. “It’s just a cut, darlin’.”

“And,” she said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her. “The old wound in your shoulder? A bullet?”

His chest deflated and Terry huffed, rubbed his eyes and figured he’d try just a little harder to save this. It was something he wanted to save. “Tamara … I don’t really wanna talk about this shit. I don’t like talkin’ about it when I’m having some quiet time. I don’t get much of it … and when it’s like this,” his eyes captured hers, “I just kinda … look for … I dunno … normal. I know that’s a lot to ask.”

“No. Actually it’s pitiful little to ask. I’m prying and I’m sorry. It’s just that I like you, Terry. I like you a lot. I have no right to think this, but I feel like I know things about you. Something about you is … good … right.”

She sighed, struggled with her thoughts and Terry was desperate to hear what she had to say. Was he waiting for the axe? That point where she subtly told him to hit the road, buried somewhere beneath compliments? Was it his ego that needed to hear nice things? Or was it just her voice that seemed to hypnotize him. She was settled at one end of the sofa and he at the other, his knee drawn up, giving her his undivided attention.

“Not a saint, love.”

“No. No one is. But,” she curled her legs up and faced him. “I like that you want to visit your friend, recovering from that terrible accident … even though that’s not really being normal. I like that you would come to meet a neighbor at a silly party, even though you were so tired last night it was written all over your face. I like … I like that you would chase a purse snatcher … that you put my shoe back on. It all feels,” she shrugged, “noble.”

He relaxed on the sofa. Let her ramble on and on.

“I don’t have many friends in New York; I’ve only been here as long as you have. I’m … I guess I’m lonely and I feel so comfortable with you. I sense that you’re lonely too. So, I won’t pry anymore. I just,” she said, blinking as her eyes glowed with mounting tears. “I just …”

“There are other things to talk about, ya know,” he grinned. “For example, I got a son. He’s in university, back in London. I’m very proud of him.”

She smiled and frowned and listened as he talked of the rough road between him and Henry, how they’d managed to work around the fact that he was basically an absentee father, working all the time. He spoke of his amazement that Henry could forgive him for that. And he talked about missing the important milestones in the young boy’s life.

“I never had a chance to have a child,” Tamara said when he quieted. “I’d have loved that though.”

He bit his tongue and she read his thoughts.

“You can ask, it’s okay.”

“Alight, love. What happened?”

“We were married three years. It just never seemed like the right time to consider having a baby; always something big going on in David’s important life. And me? I was just a middle management marketing executive. It was a disconnected life for the most part. Then … he hit me. Hard.”

“Bloody hell,” Terry hissed.

She shrugged. “I left him. End of story. End of marriage. But … it’s really hard not to feel that failure, you know?”

“You didn’t fail, Tamara. He did. It was the end of his story, the tosser.”

The dryer buzzed and she left, returning with his warm shirt. He stood and pulled it on, smoothing it down his chest, tying his tie and finally reaching for his jacket and coat. “I should let you go. Been takin’ up your whole afternoon.”

She smiled. “It was fun.” She wanted to ask him what he was doing for dinner, if she could cook for him; anything to hold him from leaving.

“Gotta get to see Dino. I’ll pick up that shitty fast food he likes, sit with him a while, see how he’s comin’ along.” She was standing so close he thought he’d jump right out of his skin. His hand took hers and held it, wanting to pull her into an embrace, still unsure of where they stood. “Can I call ya later?”

She brightened. “Yes! I like having a friend in the building. I’d like it if you call later … or you can stop by … if you like.”

His hand cupped her face. Terry couldn’t hold himself back another second. His mouth lowered, could feel the heat of her lips and the doorbell rang. He sighed, stepped back and she blinked. The spell was broken. She reached around and opened the door.

“Daddy,” she ginned wide and the old man entered, eyeing Terry from head to foot. “Daddy, this is Terry Thorne. Terry, this is my father, General Charles Hartford.”

 “D’gay, General,” Terry said respectfully, shaking the man’s hand.

“Retired army, Thorne. Nice to meet you.” He looked to Tamara. “I’m sorry honey; I thought your lunch would be long over. I can pop by another time.”

“No worries,” Terry grinned. “I was just leaving.”

“A pleasant lunch, I assume?” The old man’s bushy white brows rose.

“Very … sparked with a bit of purse snatchin’ to keep a bloke on his toes. I’m sure Tamara will tell ya all about it. Gotta run, love.” And he leaned down, pecking a chaste kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call later.”

w

After changing his shirt, splashing cold water on his face and wondering if a cold shower was in order, he hailed a cab and headed for Dino. His mind was disjointed, clacking about in his head. It had all started with a not so positive impression of the party host and had since vacillated into something else all together. Tamara was a conundrum, an enigma. Every moment spent with her pushed him into areas of his locked heart he hadn’t seen in years. Was it wise to continue? To want this so much? He groaned, watching Manhattan slide past the window. What he dared to think he wanted was sure to crash and burn. His marriage had, every relationship he ever had did that. Friendships were rare; real friendships, the kind where a bloke could talk freely and let out frustrations about work and women, life in general. The lack of those sort of interactions left Terry to feel incomplete. Beneath the word ‘friend’ was more when Tamara spoke it, much more. Could he handle … more? Oh yeah, he wanted it, but was he up to the task?

Task? He huffed and shuffled in the cab. It was a woman, not a case … not a test of his mettle. Or … was it?

Over MacDonald’s burgers and fries, he sat and chatted with Dino, swallowing down the terrible food along with his observations of his once physically powerful best mate. The damage was deep, far deeper than a snapped spine. Yes, the therapists were working miracles and Dino was proud to say he actually walked … holding strong against two railings but it was vertical mobility, all the same. And all this after only eight months.

“Eventually, eventually,” Dino grinned, stuffing fries into his mouth.

“How can you eat this bloody garbage?” Terry chuckled, pushing his meal aside and looking around. The facility was top notch, the best money could buy but there are things money can’t buy. They hadn’t once talked about the business since the accident. Hadn’t explored the obvious new dynamics they’d need to put in play. He and Dino were the top negotiators and primary field operatives, taking the lead with every important case, bringing about positive results at a staggering eighty-eight percent rate. But … with only one of them working the serious case load, things were bound to deteriorate. Why the bloody hell hadn’t they taken this sort of possibility into consideration? Of course, he knew why. To think about failure was to invite it. Neither partner was good at inviting failure.

“Alright,” Dino pushed his wheelchair back and turned it. “Push my sorry ass, I’m beat. We gotta talk, buddy.”

Terry positioned himself behind the man and gripped the handles. A wave of misery pummeled him, disappointment, fear bordering on devastation. They should’ve planned for such a thing; it could have easily been him and not Dino in a bloody wheelchair. Things should have been prepared; it’s a contingency any smart businessman would have considered. And now? To have put it off for so long? It was almost laughable. “The lounge?” he asked just outside the dining room.

“Nah, my room.” It was s silent trip up in the elevator and into the room.

Terry braced himself to lift the man onto his bed. It wouldn’t be the first time, and after the rough day Dino had, it seemed only right.

“Don’t fucking coddle me. Sit down, Terry. We need to talk.”

“Sure. Sure, mate. S’up?”

“Stupid question.” Dino eyed his partner and Terry sighed. “You got through the Roswell case unharmed?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You’re a fucking liar. I might look like a goddamn cripple, but I can dial a damn phone. Enough with this shit. I’m not a woman you need to protect from the details. I already know the details. And … I know it shouldn’t have happened.”

Terry shrugged, stood to look out the window. Dino continued, he was irritable from all the tests and manipulations, and he was on a roll. No point in even trying to stop him.

“We’re getting old, Terry. Carrying double duty just isn’t smart and that’s what you’ve been doing. A knife wound to the chest? Jesus fucking Christ, man. Where was your goddamn Kevlar?”

Terry didn’t answer. The extraction came hard and fast. He had his Kevlar, but … it wasn’t even strapped on. He deserved the lecture and he’d take it. Needless to say, coming from Dino it hurt more than the bloody wound.

“Things have got to change.” Dino continued. “We’ve got several damn good negotiators and at least six field operatives that are ready to move up. Bring Dancer in from London, that guy’s gotta be looking for work, he’s an adrenalin hound and damn good. Utilize Wallace and Simpson.”

Terry turned to look at his partner. His hands were animated as was his expressions. “What’re ya sayin’ mate?”

“I’m saying … you’re grounded for a while. That casualty should have never happened. You’re overstretched, buddy. Good for nothing but a disaster in the making. I’ve instructed the office to keep you out of the field for a while.”

“A while?”

“Yeah. Six weeks, two months, whatever it takes to get your head and your body sharpened again.”

“And, you made this decision alone? I own the bloody business too, Dino.”

“I said …” he turned the wheelchair and managed in one flip of arms and nearly dead legs to mount the bed. “You’re grounded.”

“Why are ya doin’ this, mate?”

“Friendship … practicality. You need some fucking downtime. I’m not going to risk you, Terry. End of story.” He shuffled and tugged sheets over himself. “Beside, if the tables were turned, you’d do the same thing to me. Buck up and take it. Now, who’s the woman?”

Terry blinked, lowered into a chair. “What makes ya think there’s a woman?”

“I can smell it all over you.” Dino grinned. “Who is she?”

“Just met her.” He was suddenly protective of a relationship he didn’t even have yet.

“Ah, I see. I got an interesting phone call just before you got here. A General Charles Hartford.”

“Bloody hell,” Terry groaned, realizing that any good father, especially a military father, would nip this thing in the bud without a second thought. “Her father.”

“That explains her attraction to your ugly mug,” Dino chuckled. “Army brats like soldiers.”

“She doesn’t know what I do, Dino. I guess she will now.”

“Nope. The General’s an up front sort. He asked the questions then said he wouldn’t say a word to his daughter. That’s your job. But, I don’t think he’s gonna like it much if you wait too long. She pretty?”

Realizing that sex was a remote possibility for Dino unless a miracle happened, Terry avoided elaborating. “Yeah, real pretty.”

“Good, get some for me. Now … you sticking around New York or what?”

“Thought you gave me an order,” Terry teased.

“Answer me, you sticking around?”

“Yeah.”

“At least six weeks, right?”

Terry blinked, realizing there was an ulterior motive at play. He cleared his throat. “They schedule another surgery?”

“Yeah, another magical mystery tour through my spine.” The men were silent, looking at their hands. Finally Dino spoke quietly. “You’re the only friend I have, Terry. Got no family, no wife. Be nice to know someone’s going to be here when I wake up.”