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Connor awoke early. He’d spent a restless night, ashamed of himself for his unkind words to Calla at dinner the evening before. He dragged himself into the kitchen to make coffee and noted on the way that her door was closed. He’d heard her prowling around during the early hours of the morning. As he sat on the porch, sipping the dark brew, he regretted his attitude toward her. He wasn’t trying hard enough to be nice to her because he didn’t want to succumb to her...charms. And every time he felt drawn to her, he struck out. He watched a bird fly from one branch to the next, listened to the sound of the land waking up, and tried to be happy about the beautiful setting. But he couldn’t. Because his integrity had been dented by his behavior.

After two cups of the strong brew, he was fully awake. He glanced out at the walking trails. A couple of squirrels scampered down one. Hmm. Some light exercise would be the best for him right now.

He dressed, put on sneakers and went outside. Brisk air surrounded him, refreshed him. The sun was peeking out, too, and the juxtaposition was pleasant. Cognizant that he’d had a concussion a little over a week ago, he went at a slow pace. He didn’t see any agents but that didn’t mean they weren’t around. A variety of wildlife peeked at him through trees: a doe and her fawn rustling in the trees, a fleeting image of something that could be a cat.

No bears or vultures, though.

God, he wished his brothers or Whitney were here with him. He thought about when they were little, playing outside in the backyard, enjoying television in the family room. As teens, they confided in each other about most everything. Their bond had gotten him through a lot of hard times. He remembered one specific event when they’d taken care of him...

He and Whitney were freshmen in college and had come home for Thanksgiving. Declan was back, too, though he was out with Lila. Gabe was already in the Secret Service in D.C. and Nick had joined up only months after. But they’d made it to Lakeville for the holiday. They were at the table in the dining room, playing cards when the phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Mama called from the kitchen. They still had a landline. She answered, but when his mother said, “Oh, my God, what happened?” the four of them raced out of the room.

“Yes, yes, I am...how is he? All right. I will.” She hung up and turned to them. “Your father was in a car accident. That was the police. They asked us to come to the scene to get him.”

“How is he?” Nick asked.

“I-I don’t know. He wasn’t able to talk to me.”

Gabe fished his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll take you to him.”

“I’m coming.” This from Whitney.

But suddenly she grasped her stomach and then bolted out of the room. Connor followed her, knowing what was happening. She made it to the downstairs john and dropped down in front of the toilet. “Aw, Whit,” he said and held back her hair. She vomited violently.

As he helped her to her feet, Nick came to the doorway. “You okay, agra?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. Take Mama to Pa.”

“Gabe and she already left. I stayed for you two.”

Always the protectors, Connor thought.

“I want to go, too.”

“No, not now, Whit. We’ll wait here.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She’d lost so much in her life, Connor only had an inkling of how she was feeling.

“Let’s go into the living room.” Nick put his arm around her and led her out.

“I’ll get you some seltzer.” Feeling sick himself, Connor retrieved the drink and joined them. Nick had pulled her close and she lay her head on his shoulder.

“I’m such a baby,” she said. “I should be more mature.”

“You can let loose with us,” Nick told her.

“No. I’ll be okay if I can just stay here.”

Nick studied Connor. “You look a little peaked yourself, buddy. You okay?”

“I am.” Images of Pa hurting or worse invaded his brain.

Patting the seat next to him, Nick said, “Come close, too.”

Needing his brother—hell, he couldn’t believe he was acting this way either—he sat.

Easing back into the cushions, he pulled them along. “There, we’ll wait together.”

They sat like that for twenty minutes. When Nick’s phone rang, Whitney eased away from him. He drew it out of his pocket. “Hello... Yeah I will.” He put his phone on speaker.

“Whitney, Connor, Pa’s okay.” Gabe’s strong, sure voice came across the phone lines. “He managed to swerve when an oncoming car came into his lane and hit the median. He’s shaken, and I want him to go the hospital, but he won’t go. We’re bringing him home.”

“Thank God,” Connor said.

Whitney stared blankly at the phone.

“Whit?” Gabe again.

“Yeah, I heard you. I’ll be fine. You know me.”

“See you soon.”

“Hug Pa for me,” Whitney added. “I love you.”

“I love you too. All of you. We’re going to have a great Thanksgiving with everybody safe.”

After Nick disconnected, the three waited with lighter hearts for their parents...

Comforted by the memory, Connor headed to the golf hole, with three tees. He practiced putting. One ball...two...five...ten. After a half-hour, he considered hitting line drives, but thought he’d better not, so he went back inside to eat breakfast. When he reached the kitchen, he saw Calla sitting out on the terrace with her coffee—she liked it obscenely black—so he poured a cup for himself and walked out the back door.

“Good morning,” he said, still behind her, so as not to startle her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him. “Good morning.”

She was a vision this morning in a satiny full-length robe, white with peach flowers. Her hair was out of the braid, brushed and flowing all the way down her back.

Her hand clasped the front of her robe. “I’m sorry, I should have dressed before I came out here.”

Man, his expression must be salacious.

He smiled. “That’s a far cry from the rags we wore in Syria.”

“It is.”

“Your real clothes were some of the things you missed most.”

“Not when I got home, though.” She lifted the cup. “But this I missed. They must have asked Brie what I liked because they brought in food and drink that I prefer.”

“I found the tea I favor in the cupboard.”

“And all the ingredients for an Italian dinner.” Again, a smile, an easier one now. “Thank you for cooking for me.”

He felt like a heel again for what he did to her. Despite how much he didn’t want to revisit this, Connor needed to confess or he’d never get on the right path. Never be kind enough to her. “About that.”

A frown marred her brow.

“I was insensitive to you last night. And probably all the other times I’ve been with you since I came to D.C.”

“You have a right to your feelings, Connor.”

“Nobody has a right to unkindness. I need to stop behaving that way. But it’s hard.”

Her eyes widened. “Hard to be nice to me? Why?”

“It’s armor.”

“Armor?”

“Against you. I strike out when I’m feeling particularly vulnerable to your...charms.”

She laughed and the sound startled him. He realized he hadn’t heard it since he met up with her again in the U.S. “I’m vulnerable to your charms, too, Connor.”

“Maybe by admitting that vulnerability, it won’t be so powerful.”

“You sound like a therapist.”

“Probably Whitney’s. That’s her mantra.”

“A good one.”

Not for everything . Connor thought of the man who saved him. And how he’d stuffed it for so long. “So I want a truce. Let’s try to ignore each other’s charms, be as kind as we can be, and maybe have a little fun.”

“Fun?”

“There are a gazillion things to do here.”

“All right, but I have to check your vitals.” At his sour expression, she said, “Only one more time.”

As she went through the routine again, he talked. “It’s getting warmer. Maybe we can swim.”

“I didn’t pack a suit.”

“Neither did I. But I found a bag in my suitcase with two suits in it. Whitney must have bought them and put them inside.” He didn’t mention what else she’d sneaked in: a box of condoms. Jesus!

“You need two suits?”

“No, one’s for you. And it’s your size.”

“I see. How thoughtful of her. Well, then, let’s swim.”

“Later, I need to eat.”

Her face brightened. “I’ll cook breakfast.”

They gobbled down cheesy scrambled eggs and fried ham, then Connor’s cell buzzed. The agents had gotten them phones that couldn’t be traced. “Hello.”

“Hi, Con. It’s Whitney.”

“Any news?”

“Yes. Is Calla nearby?”

“Yeah. We just finished breakfast. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Hi, Calla,” she said. “Here’s what we know so far. No commercial flights show evidence of anybody from Casarina coming into the states recently.”

“Lorenzo wouldn’t take a commercial flight, Whitney,” Calla put in. “He has his own plane.”

“We know. But we have to be thorough. The first thing we always check is the obvious. Then we dug into the private flights on record. Still no evidence of him entering the country.”

“Can someone get through who’s not on record?” Con asked.

“Probably. We’re going deeper. We should have more news soon. But I promised frequent updates.”

“I’m glad you called.”

“This means you’re staying at Camp David for a while, cuz.”

Connor and Calla spoke simultaneously.

“That’s okay...”

“No problem...”

A pause from Whitney. “Neither of you sound very disappointed about that.”

Again, together,

“No, we are...”

“Of course we are...”

“Whatever you say. I’ll check in as soon as I have something.” She added, “Con, be careful.”

“We’re fully protected from the outside.”

“That’s not what I mean. Talk to you later.”

They faced each other squarely after he disconnected. “We didn’t sound disappointed, Calla.”

“I guess we didn’t.”

As if to bless their fragile agreement, the sun came out in full force. Connor was sitting on the edge of the slate which surrounded the pool when Calla walked out to the area. He gave her a once-over worthy of a teenage boy, though he tried to control his reaction.

“It’s a little big.”

His gaze strayed to her breasts. “Not everywhere.”

She smiled at the teasing. “I like the red.”

“She probably thought it would go with your hair.” A soft sigh. “It does.”

Calla was grateful that he was so relaxed. She dipped her toe in the pool. “It’s like bathwater. Our pool at home was like this.”

“Do you miss home, Calla?”

“More than I can say.” Her voice cracked on the confession. “I’m sorry. I hated being away from my family in Syria.”

“At least we were busy there.”

And they had each other. Neither made that observation.

“Hmm.”

She took the steps down, sighing with each immersion. When she was up to her knees, she sat on a step. “Connor, you should get in. This is wonderful.”

In answer he slid off the side into the water. “Oh, God.”

For a while, they lounged in the soothing properties of the very warm water. Then Connor stood. “Want to do some laps?”

She touched her pinned-up hair. “Yes. I’m ready.”

They both started out with a slow crawl. After several laps, he stopped in the shallow end and said, “What other strokes do you know?”

She arched a brow. “All of them.”

“Okay. Breast stroke.” Again they took it easy, due to his condition.

After the side stroke and the butterfly, she noticed his breathing was heavy. “No more laps now.”

“Sure, Doc. Whatever you say.”

They swam to the shallow end and exited together. She let down her hair. The thick locks were damp. She caught Connor looking away. Was he remembering what it was like when he threaded his fingers through it?

She studied him as they got out of the pool and dried off. “You’re a bit flushed. Maybe you should take a nap.”

Loss invaded the lovely day. “I am tired. Think it’s okay if I sleep out here in the shade?”

“Sure, if it stays warm enough.”

“What will you do?”

“Call Gabriella.” He sought out a chaise under a tree. Far enough away probably so she wouldn’t disturb him, she dropped in a chaise with her cell.

Calla phoned Brie. It was Saturday so she wouldn’t be at work. Her sister’s breathing was escalated when she answered, “Calla, hi.”

“Did I interrupt something?”

“I just got back from running.”

“Did you go alone? Connor was mugged just outside your house.”

“No, with Eddie. But honey, I’m safe. Tell me more about you.”

“This place is like Masuria Park, only ten times bigger and with lots more to do.”

“Ah, sounds great. What’s going on with the case?”

“Not much. We’re at a standstill now.” She glanced over at Connor. He’d turned on his side, with his back to her. The sun peeked through the trees and she hoped he remembered to put on sunscreen. “Brie, can we talk about something else? We’ve been so consumed with my situation and it’s making me ill.”

“All right.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and our sisters.”

As usual, Brie started with the others. “Francesca went back to Baltimore. She’s got an opportunity to be on a high-level task force.”

“At twenty-nine. Isn’t that unusual?”

“That one usually gets what she wants. She’ll be out of touch for a while if she does some undercover work.”

A deep, heartfelt sigh. “Somebody else to worry about.”

“She’s been a cop for nine years. She came to the States because she couldn’t be one in Casarina. She’ll be fine.”

Brie went on to say that Evangelina was dating a doctor.

“That’s nice. I hope he’s as gentle as she is.”

“He’s a pediatrician.”

Mariella was gearing up for final exams. “Oh, and Ravenna bought a condo. Lexy called and is mad at Papá.”

“What about Gabriella?” she asked teasingly. “Fill me in on Eddie.”

A pause. “He’s a really great guy, Calla. A little macho for my taste but he’s a jock, so I guess that explains it.”

“A jock who saved Connor.”

“Connor is not my favorite person right now, Calla.”

“Then talk about Eddie.”

“We do things together. He visits his mother, who’s in a nursing home, three times a week. I went with him once. She’s fragile but sweet.”

“That’s doesn’t sound macho.”

“I know. He’s devoted to her. He’s an only child, and she raised him with almost no help.”

“Then I’m glad he takes care of her.”

“We’re seeing a movie together tonight.”

After chatting about ordinary things, Calla disconnected and felt a yawning emptiness. She hated not seeing her family. God, she needed more in her life. Telling herself not to wallow in pity, she rose and checked on Connor. His bathing suit had slipped down, revealing a tan line. His face was relaxed in slumber, and she soothed back his hair. When her longing changed to something else, she stepped back. She wanted that something else in her life but she knew it wasn’t going to be with him.

“Hmm. Ten letters, including a z, triple words score.” Calla’s tone was disgusted. “Zygote, a fertilized ovum.”

In order to keep themselves busy, he and Calla sat outside playing Scrabble. He was beating the pants off her, which tickled him. Sitting back, pleased with himself, he was also glad she finally relaxed. “Yep. Do you give in?”

She didn’t take the bait. Instead, sadness flashed across her face as she studied the board.

Shit. That had been thoughtless. So he tackled it head on. “Calla, how long did you and that bastard try to conceive?”

“About five months.”

“You didn’t start right away?”

“No, we did. But by the last month, he was...impotent.”

So he liked hearing that. He was only human. But he knew the whole sordid thing must have been hard for her. “Did you see a doctor?”

“I got an appointment out of town, though the palace has its own physician. Nothing was found. Lorenzo wouldn’t get tested anywhere along the way. He said the infertility was my fault.”

“Five months isn’t a long time to try. As a doctor you know that.”

“I do.” She sighed. “And there was more to it. He got rougher each time. I lost my temper and threw that at him once.” She touched her cheek and he knew she was remembering a blow.

“Jesus.” Connor waited. Then he reached over and squeezed her hand. “You’ll have a zygote someday.”

That made her smile. “You know I believe that. Mariella’s daughter is a doll. We’ve spent time together since I came back here.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lilliana.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She’s like Mariella—demure, friendly and so good-hearted.”

“But girls can’t be heirs, right?”

“No, they can’t. When I was little I asked Papá why I couldn’t inherit the throne. He’s steeped in tradition, he could hardly believe the question.”

“So he picked your husband?”

“One for each of us.” The corners of her mouth turned up. “It backfired on him with Mariella. He made the arrangement when she was very young. Mariella and Arturo fell in love and eloped when she was seventeen. My father could hardly complain, though he was furious. She sweetly told him that her relationship with him was a fait accompli so why wait? She was also pregnant.” Calla looked down at the board. “Thank you for asking about my family, but all the talk of arranged marriages makes me sad. Let’s get back to the game.”

They played in earnest.

She got queen, behead, and kabuki.

He got jewel, vixen (triple word) and cremate.

They stopped when her stomach growled. “I’m done. I need food.”

“My turn to cook. You can stay out here.”

“I can be the sous chef. I like to prepare food.”

They worked together like they were normal people. She made a salad and dressing that was both vinegary and sweet. He grilled fish outside on the terrace. She let her mind fantasize about living in a suburb of the U.S. with two zygotes running around, her and Connor kissing in between sipping from the same glass of wine. But in the middle of eating the fluffy fillet of sole and crisp asparagus and warm rolls, Connor’s phone rang. “We should get that. It’s probably Whitney.”

It was. After he put the cell on speaker, she said, “I have news. No planes from your country landed recently, but we checked the back logs. One arrived from Casarina two weeks ago at a small landing strip outside of New York City. I have a picture from the cameras.”

So much for fantasy. Calla’s eyes widened. “Was it Lorenzo?”

“No, but he could still be here, Calla. We can’t identify the man. I’ve got a photo I want you to see.” Her phone buzzed. “Pick it up.”

She pushed answer. And gasped.

Lorenzo’s fist connected with her jaw, knocking her back. She went down and he fell on top of her. She turned her head and caught a glimpse of a man standing by. He said, calmly, “Lorenzo, this isn’t helping.”

“Please,” she begged the onlooker around a split lip.

“You think he’s going to help you?” Her husband’s hands circled her throat. “He knows the ways of men and their cheating wives...” A snarl. “Maybe I’ll let him have a go at you...”

“Calla, what is it?” Connor’s voice brought her back to reality.

She practically melted into the chair.

“Calla?”

From the phone, Whitney asked, “What’s wrong, Con?”

“Calla went white. And weak. Hold on.” He flew around the table. Cradling her cheek, he whispered, “You’re safe. I’m here.”

The trembling got worse. He didn’t know what to do so he drew her up and encircled her with his arms. “Whitney, she’s   inconsolable.”

“I’ll let you take care of her. But Con, I’m staying on the line. I need to know why she had this reaction so I can protect both of you.”

They stood there for what seemed an interminable amount of time. Then, “I’ll get you water.”

“Don’t let me go.”

“I won’t.” He dragged her to the sink, poured water, and made her sip. “Better?”

She nodded like a little girl who’d had a nightmare. In a way she had. “I can talk now.” They went back to the table.

“We’re back, Whitney. I’m sorry I’m so weak.” Her voice was stronger. “Yes, I recognize him. He’s Lorenzo’s guard. He stood by and watched as Lorenzo beat me one night.”

“What?” This from Connor.

Whitney ignored his question. “What’s his name?”

“Adolfo Vittorino.”