Selfish Ambition by Donna B. Comeaux

Selfish Ambition by Donna B. Comeaux

Published as a digital document by Ruby for Women December, 2014

Selfish Ambition Donna B. Comeaux

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2014 Donna B. Comeaux

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Published by Donna B. Comeaux Smashwords Edition 2014

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

Dedication: This is dedicated to my grandmother, Gracie Lee Coleman, who died at the time of this publication. Thank you, Grandmother, for creating heartfelt childhood memories. I will never forget your hard work and sacrifice to help me become everything I hoped to be.

SYNOPSIS Shortly after Sherelle Lindsey transmits her dissertation to the Journalism Department heads at the American University in Cairo (“AUC”), a bomb blasts through her classroom. When she awakes, she’s frantic to know who’s captured her. To her surprise, Army Special Forces and Major Laurence “Lennie” Williams are responsible. How does she thank this wounded soldier?

Betrayal. Twisted by aspirations to become managing editor of a Washington, D.C. newspaper, Sherelle struggles to come clean.

For Major Williams, rescuing someone from the throes of danger is not only his job, but the adrenaline rush he needs to survive a lonely life. After he’s wounded and loses his wings to this lovely beauty, it doesn’t take long to know he’s in love. Though Lennie can’t explain it, he unequivocally believes God has put them together. But can he convince Sherelle of that? Or has he misinterpreted God's plan?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I’d like to take this time to thank Shari Cross of Tulsa, Oklahoma for proofing this novel in its early stages. Thank you for being a true friend for so many years, Shari.

To the www.CritiqueCircle.com organization for providing a platform for writers like me to expose their work and receive much needed (and still in need of) critiques and advice.

To my youngest son, Aris Joseph, for taking time out of your busy schedule to proof the military aspects of this novel. You know how much I love you. I'm proud to be your mother.

To my eldest son, Gerren Earl, for the countless times you’ve picked my self-esteem off the floor and saved me from many nights of tortuous agony. There is no way I could have made it this far without your presence, encouragement, and love. I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you.

To my dear and beloved husband and friend for making sure I had all the resources I needed.

You listened endlessly, offered crazy advice (most of which I never took, but it was fun), you laughed, and you always always always believed I could do this. No way I’d make this journey without your unconditional love and support.

To God be the glory. Amen! Thank you, God, for approving I take this journey. You lit my path and made sure I planted my feet in the right place at the right time. Without your guidance and strength, I’d surely give up my dream and fall to despair. I love you, Lord. Amen.

Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Epilogue Thank You Acknowledgments Synopsis / Book Jacket Dedication A Sneak Preview of Another Romance

Chapter 1 It was exactly four thirty. Students at the American University in Cairo (“AUC”) would end their spring semester in fifteen minutes. But the minute hand seemed stuck by a single drop of petrified molasses. No matter how often everyone eyeballed the black and white disk on the wall, time lingered.

Sherelle Lindsey was anxious. Like many foreigners at AUC, she wanted to get as far away from Egypt as possible. She never thought she’d say it, or think it, but she missed Seattle’s rainy days.

Once she made it home, she promised to stand in the middle of the street until rain drenched her clothes. To fulfill that promise, she had to remain calm and get through the next fifteen minutes.

As Sherelle walked all three aisles of her classroom, she tromped her heels onto AUC’s linoleum flooring. Though she kept keen eyes on the clock, her sharp ears stayed attuned to the escalating riots in Tahrir Square. She pressed praying hands to her lips and said another prayer as someone yelled for help. Then she waited. With steel patience, she waited.

All eighteen of her graduate students shared her concerns. Their writing utensils tapped desktops and gravitated through test papers at rapid speed. They heard feet scurry through hallways.

Shadows flickered under the door. Periodically, someone twisted the door handle before letting go, inflaming fear on everyone inside. They almost jumped out of their seats when someone opened the door then slammed it shut.

Until a half hour ago, it seemed as though most might escape without incident. But protesters’ scuffle with government authorities rose to incredible levels. Yelling intensified. Pipe bombs exploded. Bottles broke. Shots fired. People screamed.

“Stay focused. We’ve gone through this before. It’ll all be over in . . .” Sherelle checked the clock, “. . . ten minutes,” she said in a calm voice, a striking contrast to her frayed nerves.

Sherelle squeezed her biceps until they burned and radiated pain to her shoulders. That did nothing to extinguish her growing anguish. Why hadn’t she heeded the United States’ warning six months ago and boarded a flight home? What excuse would she use for ignoring another warning last week?

With nine minutes left, Tahrir Square erupted and brought the semester to an abrupt halt.

Sherelle rushed to the window and pulled on Venetian blinds. She saw relentless young protesters fight with the aggression of full-armored soldiers. Someone screamed “Fire!” Ignited in flames, an Egyptian soldier fell to the ground. Sherelle clamped one hand on her mouth then jerked when she heard thumps of tear gas expel in the air.

Books hit the floor as her students tried to exit the classroom all at once. Sounds of the mass exodus pulled her away from the window. “Be careful! Please be careful! Go straight home,” she warned. She feared many wouldn’t make it. She pondered her own safety, but had to suck it up.

She’d made the conscientious choice to stay and finish her dissertation. If she got hurt, she had no one to blame but herself.

Sherelle slipped her purse strap on her shoulder then leaned on the wall and stared at the door.

Should she make a run for it? Should she stay? She wanted to go home in the worse way. It’d be

nice to smell bacon and hear fluttered activity coming from the kitchen. With eyes shut tight, she imagined her mother setting the table; her father gnawing on his fireless pipe while reading the morning paper.

Tempted to weave through the crowd and head for the airport, she looked at the menacing mob once more. Sherelle grimaced. She had to wait it out.

“Sherelle! Get out of here!” a professor shouted as he rushed to the door. Jammed in his arms, a black leather folder stuffed with papers threatening to spill to the floor.

“Have you seen this crowd? We’ll never make it. Sanjay, stay with me. We can wait this out just like before.”

“This is bad. This is really bad.”

As she started to plea with Sanjay one last time, he left.

On the brink of despair, she forced herself to reexamine the streets. She recognized no one.

Various people lie in Tahrir Square cloaked in plumes of soot. Riot police and military personnel hurled runaways into vans then searched the carnage for more survivors. A policeman jostled one body with his boot. Another man lay flat on his belly with smoke emitting from his back. He squealed in pain and tried to crawl to safety. Sherelle strained to identify him, reminded a month ago one of her female students had died, while two others sat in jail, if not already dead.

Today had a different feel to it from the very beginning. In the predawn hours as her feet hit the floor, the warm April morning seemed lifeless. Almost no one moved. Sherelle woke, perplexed.

She didn’t understand why persistent silence had replaced daily squabbles over the shower. Even more disturbing, mothers had soothed wailing babies to mere whimpers. Doors that squealed and woke her before sunrise didn’t move at all.

On her way to class, Sherelle had dashed through an empty but eerie Tahrir Square. She quickened her pace, unfailing to look left then right. At one point, she walked backwards. Had she been followed? Though she saw no one among its many dark portals, she’d kept acute eyes on the AUC building anyway. No doubt somewhere in the shadows piercing eyes watched her.

Rising tension made her stomach feel as warm as the early morning heat. She thought it’d do her good to spew her guts. Sherelle had resisted. Too risky.

Once inside her classroom, she had turned on lights then her computer. After settling in, she proofed her dissertation one last time. Often, she’d stopped for a moment and looked into the empty square, curious about the spooky feel of the day and that annoying clicking reverberating through the air. Sherelle tried to convince herself those late nights she’d spent finishing her dissertation had created her nervous tension. Still, something hadn’t felt right.

As she had studied the vexatious scene, she noticed a police car sitting underneath an arched portal with no one inside. And a strange man stood alone smoking a cigarette as he leaned against a large column. When she heard wheels squeal, Sherelle cocked her head. Pumping as fast as he could, a barefooted young boy hurried his bike across Tahrir Square. His shirttail fluttered in the wind. That clickclickclicking she heard earlier sounded again and pulled her gaze from the boy to a room only visible when a door opened to a soft-lit room. She craned her neck

and soon saw a man going in and out the door.

Now, in this late afternoon hour, she speculated if all that she’d witnessed earlier had been a preamble for the debacle in the street. She may never know. She only hoped Sanjay and her students had escaped. However, the body count in Tahrir Square exposed her greatest fear.

Hardly a soul that left the building had survived. Even if they had, the military police had assuredly hurled them into a vehicle and took them away to who knows where.

In a hurry, Sherelle attached her dissertation to an e-mail addressed to the Journalism Department. She paused. Had she spell-checked it? Was the formatting correct? On impulse she hit the send button.

Relieved, Sherelle couldn’t wait to lay in her own bed. She planned to sleep late for the next two days before giving any thought to pursuing a managing editor position. That reminded her, she needed to phone her parents and give them her arrival time. She retrieved her phone and started to dial. Nothing. She tried again. Nothing. She attempted to type: Mom / Dad, be home tomorrow at . . ., but nothing happened. After staring at the cell phone for a moment, Sherelle threw it in her handbag and bit her lower lip.

The Egyptian government had disrupted the phone service.

Sherelle sat straight when tanks rumbled and vibrated the building. Her hands and knees shook.

She rose, removed the cell phone from her purse and shoved it inside her left pants pocket. Her charger—where had she put her charger? She looked on bookshelves, in drawers, underneath papers, and next to her computer. Then she realized she didn’t need it. Service was down.

She pawed through her purse again and felt along the lining for one of many safety pins she kept handy. After she unfasteneed the pin, it fell to the floor. Her shaky hands couldn’t pick it up.

Sherelle placed her tiny New Testament Bible inside her right pocket, but replaced it with her passport and driver’s license. Several times she tried to fasten another pin to her right pocket to secure her ID, but Sherelle had a hard time closing the pin. With her body slumped forward, her hands between her thighs, she prayed. “Oh God, please get me through this one last time.”

Sherelle held her breath, pinned the right pocket then exhaled.

After gunshots fired, Sherelle lifted one slat of the Venetian blinds. The same man who’d tried to reach safety lay motionless in Tahrir Square. A policeman had put a bullet in his head. Horrified, Sherelle turned away. When she looked again, someone emerged from a dark portal on the ground level and stared in her direction. Fear pushed her to the wall. She had to get out. Fast!

As she reached for her purse, a blast bolted through the building and threw her onto the floor, landing her face down onto shards of glass. Dust and debris consumed the room. To breathe, Sherelle pressed her nose into the armpit of her cotton blouse and drew air in slow deliberate breaths.

Her head hurt. She felt heat somewhere behind her. It took every ounce of determination to anchor her forearms to the floor and move away from electrical wiring threatening to singe her clothes. Voices in hallways got louder. Glass crackled under foot. People cried out. She had to hide. Where? The only place in the room where her one hundred and twenty pound frame might fit was a supply closet at the other end of the room.

She tried to reach the closet, but distorted images rotated above her and obscured everything. She felt dizzy. Her head hit the floor, her breathing slowed, her eyes burned. Sherelle’s blurry lens searched for a more accessible way out. But in her line of vision was the computer monitor, face down, sparks flying almost in slow motion like a Fourth of July celebration. After the monitor popped and sputtered, it died. She stared at a snaky rise of smoke as her best efforts to stay awake failed. Had she hit the send button? Would she graduate? Unsure, she blinked once then twice before something clawed and lifted her from the floor. She gasped. Then everything went dark. ### Major Laurence “Lennie” Williams emerged from the shadows just in time to grab Sherelle’s attention. Had she seen him?

He checked his watch. Four minutes to move her. After the rescue, he’d use the stolen police car as his quick escape. If everything went as planned, he’d take her to an undisclosed area where a helicopter crew awaited. They’d fly her to the nearest Army Forward Operating Base (“FOB”) then on to the United States.

His military file revealed Sherelle Lindsey had a Ph.D. in Journalism. When he examined it, he hadn’t overlooked her high honors, high class ranking, or that her features made him pause— twice. He weighed the possibility of finding a fighter behind all that beauty. It might even help if she knew how to use a gun. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Regardless, with sixteen rescue missions under his belt, Major Williams felt confident he and his unit could handle any scenario.

If Sherelle Lindsey fought like a tiger, Williams was okay with that. If she acted like an abused animal, he’d handle that too.

It stunned him when the trigger-happy Egyptian Army fired without provocation. Heavy armed soldiers had decimated most of the crowd. Major Williams ran through Tahrir Square less worried about the female’s demeanor and more concerned with finding her alive. Once he reached the destruction on the second level of the AUC building, he saw a policeman standing over Sherelle Lindsey’s lifeless body. Major Williams suffocated a rage of terror rising inside him. At once he pushed the policeman aside. He pulled the female by the hair then hurled her against the wall. She gasped. Thank God! She’s alive, he thought.

“This one is mine,” Major Williams shouted in Arabic. “Back off!” The policeman frowned, but stood at a distance. Major Williams tied thick roping tight on her wrists then placed a sack on her head. One hard tug and she flung into his arms then over his shoulder.

Chapter 2 Sherelle woke to discover her hands tied behind her back. The musty, itchy cloth on her head nearly smothered her, making her breathe, at times, through her mouth. Ringing in both ears exacerbated a headache. She waited a moment for it to subside then she leaned forward and tried to remove the sack by shaking her head—to no avail.

Her throat felt as if someone had scrubbed it with sandpaper. She grunted, licked her dry lips then wiggled and tried to get free. Twine tightened rather than loosen its grip. With fear overpowering her courage, she collapsed against the chair.

Sherelle rocked back and forth as she retraced her movements during the week. Had she violated any Egyptian rules? She’d paid her rent and remembered with distinct clarity she’d worked on her dissertation every waking moment. So what did they want? Would she die? Here? Alone?

No! She had to get free. Sherelle tried to remove the sack again, but failed.

Her father’s voice screamed inside her head, “Fight!” Sherelle knew better than to give up. She’d have to answer to Eric Lindsey if she did. With slanted eyes, she tried to see through small openings of the sack. She saw nothing but light. Where had they taken her? Who were they? The Egyptian police? The Egyptian Army? Protesters? Terrorists? Tears streamed and soaked her neck. Moldy fumes from wet burlap made her gag.

If this was the end for her, she’d not see her parents or be greeted at the door by her twelve-yearold chocolate Lab. If she must die, she wanted to read her bible first. She tried to retrieve the New Testament from her pocket. Twine cut through flesh and burned her wrists. Fingertips touched but never reached the inside of her pocket. Determined to try again, a dire realization struck her. She’d left the bible on her desk.

Could she remember the words? Sherelle squeezed her eyes and concentrated on the twenty-third Psalms. She must remember. Sherelle rocked back and forth as her mother’s voice echoed, “You can do it. Try it again. Let’s say it together.” Seven-year-old Sherelle had once tugged on her mother’s hem and in her tiny voice repeated: “The Lord . . . is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie die . . . no, no, no baby . . . He maketh me to lie down . . . yes, lie down . . . lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside the still waters . . .”

Sherelle broke down.

“I should have listened daddy. I should have come home months ago.” Still, she couldn’t give up. Sherelle stomped in rapid succession then pulled hard on the ropes, lunging forward, backward, to the side, wiggling, bouncing in the chair, frantic to get free, desperate to get home.

“God, please get me out of here,” she pleaded. “He restoreth my soul . . . He restoreth my soul, He leadeth me in the paths—of righteousness—for his name's sake . . . .”

Then she heard voices.

“Can we get her out any sooner?”

“We must wait until . . . .”

When the two male voices hushed, the silence ripped her apart. This was it, Sherelle thought. She

would die in this wretched place. She was sure of it. To avoid torture, she wanted her captors to aim for her head. She thought again. No, aim for my heart.

Feet shuffled closer. Someone removed the sack. Sherelle squinted then shied away. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw a man in a gray military uniform. On his right arm, an American flag. Above his pocket—Williams.

“Y-You’re American?” she asked, surprised. Apprehensive, she pulled away, not trusting her eyes, not trusting the red, white, and blue patch on the man’s arm.

“So are you. I apologize for leaving you tied up like this,” he said as he removed the ropes.

For ten minutes, Sherelle cried then rubbed the deep red circles on her wrists.

Williams patted her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Hungry?” another soldier asked.

“Sherelle, this is Lt. Nielsen.”

“Evening ma’am.”

Sherelle glanced at Lt. Nielsen then landed a timorous gaze on Williams.

“I’ll get her something to eat,” Lt. Nielsen said. “I’ll let Ops know we’re on for 0100.”

Williams grabbed a chair, turned it backwards then straddled it. He rested his hands on the top rail then crossed them at the wrist. “I’m Major Laurence Williams. Army. Special Forces.” He patted the airborne insignia on his left upper arm.

Sherelle moved to the other side of the room where she moaned while stretching her back.

“I’ll have Lt. Nielsen bring you something for pain. The scratches on your face won’t take long to heal. They’re better left untreated for now.”

Sherelle touched puffy scars on her cheeks then took a good look at the underground bunker. No more than eight feet wide and six feet long, she thought the deep ruts looked as if her chocolate Lab had clawed through it. She wondered how long it might take to get home.

“We’re a rescue mission,” Major Williams continued.

Sherelle’s eyes widened. “A rescue—what?”

“We have orders to bring you home.”

Sherelle’s knees buckled. Major Williams ran to her side and placed her in the chair.

“Here are some MREs.” Lt. Nielsen stared at Sherelle’s pale face. “Is she alright?”

“She’ll be fine. Bring more water. She’s probably dehydrated. And some aspirin.” Within moments, Lt. Nielsen set aspirin, hand sanitizer, and several bottles of water on the table then left. As Sherelle finished one bottle, Major Williams handed her a second, then a third.

“A rescue mission?” Sherelle asked between gulps, hoping the liquid might cool her flush face.

To her shame, her bullheaded determination would become hometown folly. She felt certain of it.

“Many in the state of Washington are concerned. You’ve got a huge fanfare out there.”

“I do? Who?” “The whole state. From the governor on down.” Major Williams paused. He had a bewildered look in his eyes. “Why are you still in Cairo? Our records show you were supposed to be on a flight to Seattle a week ago. What happened?”

“I wasn’t finished with my dissertation. Besides, I had to preside over my students’ final exam.”

“You had to do what?” Stunned by her temerity, Williams shook his head in disbelief.

“I needed to finish my dissertation and—” “Are you telling me you let a Ph.D. take priority over your safety? Are you serious?”

“I thought I had time.” Sherelle bowed her head in shame. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You got that right." He wanted to scold her, but the look of remorse on her face made him change tactics. "Look at it this way," he began in a milder tone, "if everyone did as they were told, there’d be no need for us.” That’s the best he could do to lighten her guilt. “I’ll give you time to eat. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Wait. Where are the facilities?”

“Hang a right. There’s a latrine around the corner. I’ll see to it that no one bothers you for the next half hour. And no need to worry. There’s a guard posted a hundred feet away. You’re safe.”

Sherelle captured the full effect of his tall stature, broad shoulders, large hands, and handsome face. She noticed a dimple in his left cheek. Sherelle couldn't ignore his light brown satiny eyes.

For six years, she'd brainwashed herself into not looking at a man and have wedding bells go off in her head. But Major Williams’ baritone voice and handsome features challenged her way of thinking.

She exited the bunker, looked left until she felt certain she’d not be interrupted then went to the latrine. Back in the bunker, she rubbed her hands with sanitizer then drank half the water from another bottle before pouring the other half on her face and neck.

She took two aspirins then ripped through MREs and sucked them dry before rummaging through peanuts and trail mix. Two slender packets changed her water to a tart raspberry. After she ate, she crammed the extras in her pocket, one of which had her passport and driver’s license pinned inside. Her cell, however, had vanished.

“There’s been a change of plans," Major Williams announced as he barged in. "We have to move you. Here, put these on.” He dropped boots at her feet. “Hurry!”

“What happened?”

“I’ll explain later.” The instant she slipped into the second boot, Major Williams pulled her by the hand and out the bunker. Two men waited inside a jeep, their rifles aimed and ready to fire.

Before she sat, the vehicle took off and knocked her backwards as Major Williams grabbed and pushed her into a tight crouched position.

She heard gunshots firing behind them. “What’s going on?” she yelled.

“Keep your head down. Do exactly what I tell you,” Major Williams commanded.

Soon American soldiers fired back. Sherelle’s eardrums vibrated with each pop. She peeped around Major Williams and noticed the jeep traveling away from a helicopter she assumed would take her home. Sherelle panicked, tried her best to sit straight and ask for an explanation, but couldn’t.

“Can we make it back to the helicopter?” Major Williams asked.

“We have to,” one soldier responded, shouting over the gunfire.

“Make this ambush look good. It may be our only hope. I want to get her out of here!”

“Everyone is in position. Don’t worry. We’ll get her out,” a second man yelled.

The jeep caromed in the air as the sky lit up in a sea of fireflies. One bullet grazed a soldier’s cheek. Small puffs of grayish-blue muzzled smoke dissipated in the atmosphere. Twenty minutes later, the driver turned the jeep around and drove several hundred yards before he stopped and shut off the engine.

Major Williams threw Sherelle over his shoulder and rushed inside the helicopter. Gunfire sounded behind them. He heard rotors; saw no lights except high-definition colored screens in the cockpit. Major Williams snapped Sherelle’s shoulder harness into her lap belt then secured himself in the seat across from her.

“How long to clear Egyptian airspace?” Major Williams asked the pilots.

“Not long, sir.”

Moments before lift-off, Sherelle saw Major Williams pull a mangled flag from his jacket then he unfolded a document and flashed a light on it. As he read, Sherelle sat bewildered, but grateful. Once the helicopter took off, she gripped the edges of her seat so tight she had no feeling in her fingertips.

“Major!” Sherelle yelled over engine noise. “I just want to thank you—” At once Sherelle held her breath. The light in Major Williams’ hand showed a pool of blood on his jacket, blood on his hand. “Major! You’re hurt.” Sherelle tore from her seat.

“Get back! Get back! It’s not safe,” Major Williams shouted.

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. Now get back!”

Lt. Nielsen leaned over Major Williams. “Williams, let me take a look at it.”

“As soon as we clear Egyptian airspace, Nielsen, you can do whatever you want to me. Until then, everyone stays put.”

Lt. Nielsen turned on a light attached to his helmet and examined him anyway. From a bag, he removed several items to compress the wound and start an IV. “You’re losing a lot of blood, Williams.” Lt. Nielsen looked toward the cockpit. “Radio in! Wounded soldier aboard! Need an ambulance! Tell them don’t delay! He’s shot up pretty good.”

“Yes sir!”

Lt. Nielsen took his eyes off Williams for a moment and stared at Sherelle. His helmet light unveiled a frightened woman. Her lips quivered. Tears fell like a waterfall. “It’s alright, ma’am.

The major will be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes ma’am. He’ll be okay. He ain’t gonna like sitting around recovering, that’s for sure.”

“It’s a flesh wound. I’ll be fine,” Major Williams countered.

“This is no flesh wound. You need to prepare yourself. You’ll be out of commission for a while.

No foolin’.”

Major Williams grabbed Lt. Nielsen’s arm. “Whatever you do, Nielsen, don’t let them keep me on a foreign base. Take me straight to Walter Reed. Promise me. Promise!”

“I promise.”

Major Williams let go of Lt. Nielsen’s arm. He struggled to stay awake, tried to imagine being on another mission, but Lt. Nielsen’s light faded.

Chapter 3 “Your—flying—days—are—over.”

The doctor released those words as though he had a longstanding vendetta against Major Williams. He was too matter-of-fact about it. Showed no emotions, offered no apologies, no sympathy, and no hope. Those cruel, punctuated words catapulted Major Williams into a silent fury. If he had enough strength, he’d call the liver-spotted, baldheaded man back and land a right against his pudgy jaw.

Major Williams couldn’t believe a single bullet had annihilated his career. With part of his left kidney severed, the doctor decided to recommend the Army not send him back into combat.

“Give me a break!” Major Williams shouted in his empty room. He moved his head from side to side as he tried to cope with the news. If there's a way to get back into the cockpit, Major Williams declared he’d find it. He had to. But his medicated mind wouldn’t allow him to come up with a reasonable plan. Out of frustration, he pushed the bed tray and a pitcher of iced water tumbled to the floor. Major Williams gathered bed sheets in both his hands and squeezed tight as his pain intensified.

“Major, how are you?”

Major Williams stretched his eyes and looked toward the door. “General Carter. Good morning, sir.” Lennie tried to straighten in bed, but one wave of pain after another anchored him in place.

General Carter kicked an ice cube then spread his arms. “What happened here?” He left and returned with a nurse who had an armful of towels. They wiped the spill then General Carter placed a chair next to the bed and sat. He had a florid complexion, deep set gray eyes, and a distinct Kentucky twang.

“Lennie, I heard you took one in the gut. Pierced your kidney, is that right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. We got a nice desk job for you. As soon as you’re out of here, we’ll put you to work.”

“That’s just it, sir. I don’t want a desk job. I want to return to Special Forces.”

General Carter leaned close to Lennie and spoke as though his next words might breach national security. “Let me ask you somethin’, soldier. If you could do anything you wanted, other than fly that is, what would it be?”

“Flying is all I know, sir. What else is there?”

“C’mon. Think. What’s your ideal situation?”

Lennie faced the window and tried to stifle a myriad of emotions. For the past hour, he’d struggled to find ways to circumvent the system and get into a cockpit. He couldn’t wait to navigate a plane or helicopter or jump thousands of feet into enemy territory. General Carter’s pessimistic, Lennie thought. And the doctor’s got it all wrong. Lennie had to fly. He needed it as

bad as—well, as any lonely man needed it.

General Carter crossed his legs. “Lennie, where’s your family?”

“My mother and father live in Germany. I've got five brothers scattered all over America. One is in Paris.”

“Yeah, I looked through your file and discovered you’re the youngest. Seems every one of ya graduated from college. You’re a well-educated bunch, I’d say.”

“But I’m the only pilot, sir.”

“I imagine your individuality is important to you. I can understand that. If I had six brothers ahead of me, I’d want to make my mark, too. But listen to me, son. You’re earning this survivor’s pay and no one is benefiting from it. You went out on sixteen missions. Sixteen! Hurt once. A broken finger I believe. Did it ever occur to you it’s time to hang this up? I’m sure like any soldier you’re sitting here trying to figure out ways to get yourself back in theater. Don’t push your luck. Next time you might not be so lucky. I think it’s time you sail into the sunset with a pretty woman and start a family.”

“Retiring had never entered my mind, sir.”

“I’m not exactly talking ‘bout retiring, soldier. How ‘bout this? Why don’t we put you on leave for a year? At least until you figure out what you want to do.”

“A year, sir? The Army never does that.”

“It’s a bit unusual, sure, but we’re making an exception. You’ve served your country well, son, and I don’t see the point of making you retire if you aren’t ready. The country owes you, soldier.

And I intend to see to it that we pay up. Right now family is what you need more than ever. Until your parents get here, Major Butler— You know Harold, don’t you?”

“Yes sir. We’re good friends. But sir—“ “He and his wife have agreed to put you up for a while . . . until you can travel.”

“But sir, I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.”

“Soldier, hiding from your family, whether it’s your Army brothers or blood brothers, ‘cause you can’t fly no more ain’t solving your problem. As soon as the doctors give you the okay, Butler will see to it that you stay at his place to recover. We’re giving Butler extra time off to help tend to you. Man’s got a nice ranch north of D.C.” General Carter stood and patted Lennie on the shoulder. “I got other soldiers to visit this morning. I’ll see you later. Think on what I said. It’s not good for a man to be alone. It’s time to settle down and get married, soldier. That’s the way I see it. If you decide you want a desk job, we could use you in counterintelligence. An opening is coming up. Think on it. And call your parents. They have a right to know. And don’t give Butler no trouble.”

Before General Carter cleared the door, he turned around. “Major Williams, you did a fine job out there. You made America proud. Made me proud. None of you should have come out alive.

That rescue will be remembered for quite some time, soldier. Dag gummit, you might have made me a candidate for president, son.”

Lennie did everything in his power to avoid the subject of marriage. It’s the last thing he wanted to think about. Ever since Angela broke off their engagement four years ago, he didn’t see the point. He had no intentions to live celibate a year after the breakup, but it fit well with his patriotic duties. He remembered all the temptations dressed in skimpy dresses and stiletto heels.

Just as he’d contemplate his vow, he’d get another assignment that thrusted him into a parched desert or a swarm of mosquitoes in the middle of swamp land.

He hated to admit it, but he knew if Angela hadn’t called off their engagement he’d still be in what he secretly considered a miserable relationship. Lennie crinkled his nose as he imagined her lecturing him to get well so they’d attend functions with the who’s who on Capitol Hill. Lennie sighed. He never seemed at ease with her, but didn’t fully understand why he remained in the relationship so long. Or why it hurt so bad to lose her.

He relaxed his shoulders and let out a heavy sigh before repeating General Carter’s last words.

“It’s time to settle down and get married, soldier.”

“Is that due to the drugs or have you gone mad?” someone asked.

Lennie faced the door and found himself bereft of words. “Miss—” “Sherelle . . . Sherelle Lindsey.” She laid flowers on Major Williams’ bed table then patted his swollen left hand.

“Did you hear that?”

“Something about getting married,” Sherelle said.

“If you don’t mind, can we keep that between us?”

“I think I can come up with a better solution than marriage.”

“Oh, yeah. What would that be, Ms. Lindsey?”

“Chocolate.”

Lennie started to laugh, but pain traveled through his body and pressed his shoulders deep into the mattress. Wide crooked veins bulged in his neck. His face fluctuated from a rich chestnut to a brassy brown. He felt hot.

Sherelle poured the remains of the pitcher of ice into one of two towels sitting on the bed tray.

She rubbed his brow, face, and neck.

“What are you doing here? You should be on a flight to Seattle.” He forced the statement between clenched teeth as he maneuvered his shoulders to get comfortable.

“The government had to debrief me. Here, let me help you.” Sherelle adjusted his pillows. “Is that better?”

Lennie closed his eyes and enjoyed the sweet scent flowing through his nostrils. He stared at her when he felt her touch. She patted his feverish hands and forearm with the cold towel. He had two scrapes on his left knuckles; a large purple bruise at the point of the IV on his right hand.

Sherelle placed the cold towel on his hand and held it there.

“Thank you,” he said, shivering from the cold. Lennie noticed how the morning light beamed on her skin. A bright aureole surrounded her petite frame, making her look not only beautiful, but angelic. “Tell me something, why aren’t you bolting out the door to your boyfriend?”

Sherelle moved away and stood at the foot of the bed. “I’ve never been in love.” She shuffled her feet a time or two then silently counted tiled squares in the floor.

Startled, Lennie lifted his head. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’ll be twenty-four this month. May twelfth.”

Aah, yes. Born May 12th in Seattle, Washington to Eric and Charlotte Lindsey, Lennie recalled.

“Really? That’s in a . . . uh . . .” Lennie shut his eyes and tried to remember today’s date.

“A week and a half.”

“What’s today?”

“May second.”

How long had he been in the hospital? Lennie remembered he left in late April to rescue Sherelle. He peered at his wristband, but he couldn’t read the tiny print. The medicine flowing through his veins made everything fuzzy. When he looked again at Sherelle, his tension eased.

Today’s date no longer mattered. Had he pressed the pain button and hadn’t realized it? He felt sedated, either by his medication or this woman’s warm smile. He strained to keep his eyes open so he'd memorize details of her face, the length of her hair, her smile. He desperately wanted to see the color of her eyes.

“You’ve never ever been in love? Are you trying to say there weren’t any available men in Cairo?”

“Daddy taught me that I shouldn’t rely on a man to take care of me. I can do that myself. But to accomplish that, I needed two things—good grades and a profession worth something.”

“Ookay. But what does that have to do with dating and marriage?”

“I didn’t have time to date. Now that I have my Ph.D. I can take care of myself.”

“I see.”

Sherelle felt a lump form in her throat. She took a step forward. “I want you to know, Major Williams, that I am truly sorry. I feel guilty leaving you like this.”

Lennie thought she looked attractive with her head down, struggling with her words, her hand whisking strands of hair away from her face. “Leaving me like what? We've spent enough time together don’t you think?”

“You weren’t good company,” Sherelle teased. “Besides, being by your side didn’t come close to compensating you for putting your life on the line. I’m so sorry, Major Williams. Really, I am. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be back in the air doing what you love.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. If a soldier goes into the field often enough, this is bound to happen.”

“That may be, but I still feel responsible. If there is anything I can do, please tell me.”

“Once you board your flight home, you’ve given me all that I need. Now, get out of here and go home to your family. I’m sure they can’t wait to see you.”

Sherelle headed for the door before she remembered the flowers. “Here. These are for you.” Like a shy schoolgirl, she removed the flowers from the table and laid them on his chest.

From the window, a ray of sunlight brushed her face then disappeared when she moved, but not before Lennie noticed her eyes resembled an early fall morning. Lennie felt trapped in those irises painted in thick heavy strokes of red and brown and gold. His heart skipped a beat.

“What if I have allergies?”

Horrified, Sherelle snatched the flowers and stepped back.

“I’m just kidding.”

Sherelle breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Major Williams, for everything.”

“Lennie. Call me Lennie.”

Sherelle shuffled her heavy feet through the door. On impulse, she returned and kissed him on the cheek.

That one touch changed everything.

Chapter 4 Despite the doctor’s orders to rest, Lennie hadn’t slept. He had too much on his mind. He also had too many interruptions. Nurses disturbed him every hour. Then General Carter spent thirty minutes doling out directives that challenged Lennie's secret plans to return to Special Forces. A premise Lennie still hadn’t fully relinquished. And only one word fit his last interruption: Beautiful.

Thoughts of Sherelle Lindsey relaxed tension in his neck. He remembered how the sun kindly disregarded the scars on her cheeks and indulged him in her warm amber glow. Bangs swept over her forehead in thin layers. Soft, long, black hair puddled on her shoulders. Lennie thought she had the decorous manner of a queen with a choir girl’s innocence hidden behind her eyes.

Her touch changed his body chemistry. His heart of steel and twisted determination to remain celibate fought with her tenderness. Wherever this beauty came from, Lennie hoped she’d reappear. He couldn’t resist picturing her in a guest-filled ballroom in a beautiful white gown dancing in his arms. He hated losing his wings. Grind his teeth every time the thought crossed his mind. But if he had to lose his wings, he didn’t mind at all losing them to her.

Melancholy overcame him as the idea of marriage lingered in his thoughts. Ever since he’d given up his right to be a common man, he had one difficulty after another finding the right woman.

Where had he gotten the idea to change a sexually-oriented world one man at a time? Angela.

Yes, he had Angela to thank for his celibacy.

He readjusted himself in bed and regretted it. He pressed the pain button hoping he’d sleep and not think about Sherelle, or Angela, or about marriage and being alone. Just as he dosed off, he heard someone enter the room.

“Heeey, man. How you doing?”

“Harold, I had a feeling I’d see you today,” Lennie said after the familiar voice disrupted his need to sleep.

“I can’t leave my best friend in this depressing place all by himself.”

“It’s good to see you. But I must warn you that I may not be awake much longer.”

“Just took your meds?”

“This pain is kicking me. I’ve never hurt so much in my life.”

“Taking a bullet might be noble, my friend, but it’s painful. When they got you scheduled to get out of here?”

“Tuesday.”

“Take it easy and maybe you’ll get out sooner. Victoria can’t wait to get you to the house.”

“Harold, I’m so sorry for bothering you like this. I promise I’ll call my parents. I tried to explain to General Carter that he didn’t need to call and bother you.”

“Don’t mention it. I don’t fly out for another two months. They gave me extra time off to take care of your rusty butt. All jokes aside, you know we’re happy to have you. Last night I heard Victoria on the phone with the other military wives. They’re planning to pounce on you. So get ready. You’ll definitely have to repair your relationship with the guys when this is over. Jealous husbands will be fuming, no doubt, including me.” Harold winked. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t so good-looking.”

“Why do women make our lives so hard?”

“They’re just having a little fun, that’s all. Women balance us, Lennie. That’s one more reason why you should reconsider dating.”

Lennie shook his head and looked away.

“Okay, what’s on your mind? You seem bothered by something. Are the drugs working?” Harold sat in the same chair General Carter left beside the bed.

A tear puddled in Lennie’s eyes. “I’m out of ’mission. Ca’miss . . . .” Lennie slurred.

“Are you trying to say commission?”

Lennie nodded.

“What does that mean?” When Lennie didn’t answer, Harold leaned over him. “Are you saying you can’t fly anymore? C’mon, talk to me, Lennie.”

“My career is over.”

Harold frowned then took a step back. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you think the doctor rushed things a bit? Don’t you have to recover first and wait to see what you can do before the doctor makes a call like that? He’s talking about ending your career, man. He can’t do that! What is he thinking? You need to get a second opinion. Get a second opinion, Lennie.”

Lennie strained his neck and took a deep breath. “Part of my kidney is gone. Even if the doctor gives me clearance, the Army won’t. General Carter practically said so when he was here earlier.

I can’t imagine fighting him and going through all the red tape . . .” —Lennie breathed deep before he closed his eyes— “. . . only to have the Army come back and say I can’t fly. It’s bound to be my health or my age.”

“Lennie, you’re twenty-seven. That’s not old. Your age is the least of your worries.” Harold expanded his chest then rubbed his face several times. “Lennie, I had no idea you were dealing with something like this. I heard you were shot, but I didn’t think it was that bad.” Harold collapsed in his chair. “All over a woman. Was she worth it?” Lennie didn’t answer. Harold shook Lennie’s arm. “Lennie?”

Chapter 5 Lennie wrestled with the decision long enough. After eight months, he made a call to General Carter and they agreed the counterintelligence position in Washington, D.C. fit him perfect.

Lennie hated the idea of a desk job, but he needed to move forward. He hoped it might help him recoup connections with his friends.

But seeing his buddies with their families rekindled desires to find a love of his own. Lately, he’d acquired a particular fondness for the children. Seeing the small creatures took him back to days when he and his six brothers were kids. He saw himself, a tiny tot with small hands, trying to help repair wheels on a go-cart they had made from scrap wood. Lennie massaged his thumb as he remembered how it hurt every time he tried to shoot marbles in the school yard during recess. To dismiss memories of their large Thanksgiving dinners and happy Christmas mornings would be akin to cutting out a part of his heart. With his family scattered throughout different parts of the world, Lennie didn’t even have a dog to keep him company.

He rented an apartment on 6th and M, blocks from the White House. Harold and Victoria helped him settle in, pestering him the entire time to find a steady girlfriend. They accused him more than once of brooding over Angela, but quick to add Angela had played no viable role in his life.

“All she wants to do is shop and cling to the rich and famous. Too materialistic,” Harold had said. Victoria had less kind things to say. “I’d like to be in a room alone with her. I promise she’d come out a lady, Lennie. I’d have her waiting on you hand and foot in no time.” The perturbed look on Victoria’s face convinced Lennie she’d use her own military tactics to persuade Angela of her hollow and deceitful ways.

On more than one occasion, he expressed a need for more time to consider dating. He had no opposition to the chase, but he knew weeding the lemons from that one good apple took an enormous amount of fortitude. Dinner invitations to Harold and Victoria’s ranch produced blind dates anyway. Reluctant, Lennie took the beauties to a movie or to military dinners, but he never phoned after the third date. To escape trappings of lust, beauty, and dreadful, lonely weekends, he removed the dusty cover from his silver and black motorcycle and road the hills of Virginia where he camped and mused at the stars. ### Sherelle had a host of job opportunities in Seattle. After numerous celebrations at high profile political venues—dinner with Faye Bonner, one of Washington’s U.S. Representatives; dedication ceremonies; participation in the Christmas parade; several paid television interviews—she just needed to choose one. Instead of pursuing an editor’s position, Sherelle accepted a job at the library where she relaxed in peace and solitude. She welcomed the relief— no photo ops, no interviews, no questions about the rescue.

Nine months later one phone call changed everything.

“What? Where? Mr. Osborne, I don’t understand. You’re offering me—what?” Sherelle asked, squeezing the telephone until her hand cramped.

“As executive editor, I’m offering you a copy editor’s position and opportunities to work alongside our foreign affairs editor with The Nation’s News in downtown D.C.,” Randall

Osborne said. “There’s plenty of room for advancement. After your harrowing experience in Egypt, I have no doubt you’ll be an asset to our foreign affairs editor. Why don’t you come join our team? We’d love to have you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Pack your bags and come explore Washington. We really want to work with you.”

“Can you tell me why there’s an opening?”

“My foreign affairs journalist took a job with one of our competitors. After moving some people around to fill his spot, we have a copy editor’s position open. Look, we’re not a huge company, but we’re growing. I think with you added to our team, we can’t help but make it to the top. It’s one of the reasons why I took time out to personally call you. I think you can add a lot of value to our team. In other words, Ms. Lindsey, I’m trying my best to snatch you up before some bigwig out there comes along and hires you. It’s not often a company of our size can grab someone that’s been at the top of their class for the past four years. So, what do you say? Will you come work for us?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. When do I need to be there?”

“In three days.”

“But I have no place to stay.”

“My assistant will call you this evening. Give her your e-mail and she’ll forward you an apartment listing and any other particulars you might need.”

“Thank you, Mr. Osborne. I appreciate it.” Long after the dial tone sounded, Sherelle stared at the phone.

“Who was that?” Eric asked.

“Dad, that was The Nation’s News. I’ve got a job as an editor.” Sherelle looked at her father with tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

Eric held his daughter close. His emotions soared then plummeted. Only home nine months, he hated to lose her again. “When you get there, the first thing I want you to do is make sure you get your retirement fund started. Okay? That’s important.”

“I remember, daddy.”

“Okay then.” Eric patted his daughter on the shoulder. “Now let’s track your mother down and go out and celebrate.”

“Dad, I want the three of us to relish this one at home.” Sherelle pressed her palms against her cheeks. “I’ve got to pack,” she said in a whisk of excitement. “Where’s mom?”

“She went to the store. Remember to give your notice to the library,” he reminded her.

“Do you think they’ll be mad at me for not giving them two weeks’ notice?”

“When do you report for work?”

“In three days.”

Eric let out a deep sigh. “That’s quick,” he whispered in disbelief. He cleared his throat.

“Sherelle, I don’t think a soul will be mad at you for that. Even so, what on earth can they do? If you worked the next two weeks, there’s no way you’d be able to keep your mind on anything but Washington. They might as well let you go. Look at it this way, if they get too upset, I’ll work in your place.” They laughed. “Tell me, what can I do to help?”

### The hectic move to Washington, D.C. frightened Sherelle. No family, no friends, and only moments ago she’d signed a year’s lease on an apartment she hadn’t seen until now. During a twenty-minute phone call two days ago, she’d put her life in a tailspin by making the decision to move from one end of the country to the other.

Sherelle sat her bags inside her new studio apartment then gazed at the combined bedroomkitchen area. The rooms smelled of fresh paint. Its cream walls and white wood trim reminded her of a hospital emergency room. She thought of Major Williams. Had his wounds healed?

Sherelle shook the thought.

She noticed the maple hardwood floors, nice granite countertops, and spacious maple cabinets that made up for the small bedroom and tiny bath. To the right of the kitchen, black wrought-iron encased a four-by-four cement slab that served as a patio.

She didn’t have a bed, or table and chairs for the tiny dining area. Sherelle breathed deep. Minor details, she told herself.

Her mom, the smart one in the family, insisted Sherelle pack an iron. Though she didn’t need one, her father pressed her to rent a car. She refused. Without a rental, she’d force herself to learn the train routes.

Sherelle turned on the faucet and let water run until she saw steam then she shut it off. She opened her bags and tried to decide what she’d wear for her first day on the job. Sherelle chose the color first. Gray. After pulling out a gray pantsuit and a dark blue cowl neck blouse, Sherelle placed a beautiful fake sapphire choker and navy blue heels next to them.

After ironing her clothes on the kitchen counter, she showered. Ready for bed, she stood in the middle of the floor eyeing separate piles of pajamas and underwear, sweaters and blouses, skirts and pants, and a bare floor. No mattress. No television. Not even a wall clock.

First thing tomorrow, she’d buy a bed.

Chapter 6 Within weeks Sherelle learned to weave through Washington, D.C.’s train stations and pedestrian corridors with ease. Months later, at The Nation’s News, she moved from copy editor to assignment editor, bypassing the customary two-year wait for a promotion. Because of intense protests in Egypt and her terrifying experience there, her boss and executive editor, Randall Osborne, encouraged more of her involvement in the foreign affairs area.

By mid-July, he teamed her with David Schiffer to operate the managing editor’s desk while Vivian Cassius recovered from breast surgery. Rumors spread that the White House press secretary had decided to resign at the end of the year. All of Washington expected the president to choose Vivian as his next press secretary. If he did, Sherelle thought she might have a shot at Vivian’s position.

Before long, Sherelle worked weekends and ate on the run. Due to mounting pressures of working two positions and Randall Osborne’s hesitancy to hire additional staff, Sherelle’s days stretched from eight hours to twelve. She skipped meals. Many evenings she couldn’t stay awake long enough to wait on pizza deliveries.

Soon, word came Vivian had died from complications. Randall Osborne informed Sherelle she had inherited the position. Her big break, she thought. Then grumblings sparked over her zeal and high ambitions. As much as she hated it, Sherelle shared her concerns with Randall. Sherelle suggested she and David Schiffer share the managing editor’s responsibilities until he found a replacement. Randall praised her for the way she handled the promotion and promised he’d not forget it.

After Vivian’s funeral, Sherelle headed to the office and cleaned out the former managing editor’s desk. Boxing Vivian’s personal things made her feel cold and heartless. Was there a waiting period to do such things? Should Randall’s secretary be the one to do this? Or was Sherelle so career-driven that she’d lost all compassion? With a thread of defiance, Sherelle reached across Vivian’s desk and scooped all Vivian's belongings in the curl of her arm and let them fall into the cardboard box. To shut the lingering voices inside her head that she had become cold and heartless, Sherelle either threw anything that remained in the box or placed them in the trash can.

The pressures of assignment and managing editor forced her to ignore any guilty feelings and move on. Fatigue became a constant irritant. A week ago she overslept two days in a row. That prompted her to get up at three forty-five a.m. On days when she’d awake too early to take the train, she called a cab.

After several grueling weeks of this tortuous schedule, Sherelle decided to set the alarm on her cell phone five minutes before arriving at her stop. She’d sleep on the train with her elbow anchored to the window and the phone pressed to her ear. On her way home, slouched in her seat in that precise position, she heard someone call her name.

“Ms. Lindsey? Sherelle?”

Sherelle grunted, bobbed her head, but didn’t open her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, but we need to get this article done or we won’t make our deadline. Randall

will be furious.” Sherelle smacked her lips then leaned her head on the window.

“Ms. Lindsey.”

Sherelle opened her eyes then looked at the hand clasped to her shoulder. She wiped her mouth and sat straight. “Yes,” she whispered in a raspy voice, inching away.

“Remember me?”

She looked out the window to see if she had missed her stop. Then she read the train’s marquee and breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't missed her stop.

“You dropped your phone. May I?” Sherelle took her phone then placed her hand in the vacant seat. “Who are you?”

“Major Williams. Remember? Cairo?”

Sherelle rubbed her eyes with her forearm then took another look at him. “Major Williams?

What are you doing in Washington?”

“I work in the downtown area. And you?” After Sherelle moved her hand, Major Williams sat and slid his briefcase between his feet.

“I moved here six and a half months ago, on January 31st to be exact. I got a job as an editor for The Nation’s News.”

“You’ve been here six and a half months?” Major Williams’ narrowed his eyes. “You know, I thought I saw you in April. Here on the train. I waved it off. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. It was the first anniversary of our ordeal in Cairo. The papers had printed all kinds of stories on it. People were hounding me for another interview. I did my last one pretty much under the general’s orders so he’d stop feeling the heat. Now, I realize I hadn’t imagined it. It really was you.”

“Was I slumped in my seat sleeping?”

“You were fully awake. I do remember you looked a little scared.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Sherelle placed her phone in her purse then rubbed her eyes again before turning away to yawn.

“Maybe, like me, you were thinking about Cairo.”

“That could be,” she said patting her lips. “I remember it rained that day. Big, cold raindrops.”

“Are you sure? I thought it was cool and sunny.”

“It was that morning. That afternoon it poured. I stood in it until I was soaked.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I think that was my way of celebrating my escape from Egypt.”

“I see.”

“I’m grateful our newspaper was focused on another White House scandal. Of course, when they asked, I told them I couldn’t do an interview or write a column. It was too soon for me. As a result, we didn’t put much emphasis on the story. But our executive editor warned me that he wanted a story in the near future. I’m hoping that day never comes.”

“Which White House scandal diverted their attention?”

“The one about the press secretary cheating on his college exam.”

“Aaah, that one. There’s always a little truth to every story, isn’t there? It’s too bad small truths get buried and marred by the press.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“No! Of course not. ” Sherelle rolled her eyes. “We report the news. We don’t create it, slant it, or bend it the way we think it ought to go. We follow wherever the story leads. But I’m sure that’s too simplistic for you to understand.”

“Really? One day we’ll have to sit down and have a healthy debate. Tell me, how are you? You look like you’ve recovered from Egypt quite well.”

Annoyed by his assertions, she couldn’t hold on to hard feelings, not with those gorgeous eyes staring at her. “Yes, I have. For the first three months, nightmares kept me up half the night. I still have them, but less frequent. Now that I’m working long hours, whenever my head hits the floor, I’m out. Half the time I can’t remember if I dreamed or not.”

“What are your hours?”

“I get up at three forty-five and don’t get home until sixteen hours later.”

Lennie frowned. “Is this every day?”

“When I get overwhelmed, which happens once or twice a week, I’ll leave work at four or five and go home and sleep. But if we have a pressing story, I’ll wake at one o’clock to finish it, or I’ll send out e-mails.”

“It seems unreasonable to work so many hours. What do you do on Sundays?”

“Sleep. I get up to eat, go to the bathroom, and that’s it. Do you ever think about Cairo?” she asked, trying to break her concentration from the soft woodsy smell creeping through her nostrils.

“All the time. You?” “My nightmares are consumed with Cairo. But since I took this job, I don't dream as much.”

“Tell me about your dreams.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’d sit here and cry.”

“You’re safe now. What’s there to cry about?”

“I have many regrets. It was foolish to stay in Cairo. I know that now. I’d do anything to take it all back.”

“Ms. Lindsey, do you know the—” “Please, call me Sherelle.”

“Sherelle, do you know the definition of a gift?”

“Of course I do.”

He raised one eyebrow that expressed doubt. “Let me explain. A gift is something you receive that you may or may not deserve. It’s especially precious when you can’t pay it back. Would you agree?”

“Yes, I do. But—” “There you have it. Since you and I can’t go back in time and change the events we experienced in Cairo, what do you say we both be happy with the outcome?”

“That’s a good speech, Major Williams, but it’s a hard thing to do. All I can tell you is that I’ll try.”

“Good enough. Now, I want to know what you do for fun?”

“Did you not hear anything I said? I work twenty-four seven. I haven’t seen any sights or even taken time to visit the White House. My life is kind of pathetic right now.”

“You’re a journalist and you haven’t been to the White House? That is pathetic. I warn you, if you get too caught up in the business of Washington, you’ll look up one day and be eighty years old.”

“Too late,” she quipped. “I’m twenty-five and I feel like I’m sixty.”

Lennie tilted his head and laughed. “What neighborhood you live in?”

“I have a studio apartment on 4th and K Street.”

“That makes us neighbors. I live at 6th and M. We get off at the same stop.” His excitement escalated.

Sherelle surveyed his dreamy eyes, his rich, creamy chestnut face, and pearly white teeth. He wore a deep blue suit, white shirt, and a silk navy and yellow tie. She’d like nothing more than to feel the fabric between her fingers. It had the characteristics of raw silk—tiny gnarled threads in

various places with a light sheen. Sherelle loved the way he pushed his head back and laughed.

He had a Lamman Rucker kind of smile, evenly filed fingernails, and a razor sharp hairline.

“What type of editing do you do at The Nation’s News?”

“I was copy editor for a short time then promoted to assignment editor. My co-worker and I share the managing editor position now.”

“Sherelle, an assignment editor shouldn’t work twelve- to sixteen-hour days.”

“Did I fail to mention I’m working two positions, not just one? I’m working as assignment editor and managing editor.”

Lennie’s brow pleated with concern. “That’s crazy. Why?” “After our managing editor died, I was promoted. Co-workers grumbled about my advancement so I requested that my co-worker and I continue to share the managing editor position, that is, until they hire a replacement. Hiring a managing editor has dragged on for months. I think if there’s a way to bleed a dime out of a dollar, Randall Osborne will find it.”

“That’s too much responsibility. Why don’t you speak up?”

“I’ve got my eye on the managing editor position. It’s my dream job.”

“Well, if my theory is correct, you won’t get it any time soon so you might as well take time to sit back and relax.”

Sherelle felt disheartened. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s the nature of things. You’ve got to pay your dues like everybody else. Didn’t you say you were twenty-five? Didn’t you also say there was grumbling about your promotion?”

Sherelle lowered her shoulders, but not her high expectations. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right. I really thought Randall promoted me because I was good at my job. I realize now no one wanted that huge responsibility. It’s a lot of work.”

“And your co-workers don’t want you to have the position either. That’s one of the main reasons most employers hire from the outside. Managing people is the hardest part of office work. You also have to deal with the fact people have other things to do beside work all day. Believe me, you won’t find many who will put in the hours you do.”

“For now my life is my job. But I’m glad I roped my co-worker, David, into this with me. I think it worked out for everyone.” Sherelle looked up when the train stopped. “I get off here.”

As Lennie stepped off the train, he motioned to his left. “I’m headed this way.”

“It was nice seeing you, Major Williams.”

“Why don’t we do dinner?” he asked, hating to see her leave.

“Oh, I’m not sure Major—Laurence.”

“Lennie. It’s Lennie.”

“Sorry. Lennie, most evenings I don’t get home until late.”

“And you don’t eat? Look, why don’t we meet this Saturday? I’d like to hear what you think of Washington. Maybe get into a debate about the press. Six o’clock?”

Sherelle hesitated. “O-Okay. Sure. Six o’clock is fine. Where?”

“I can pick you up if you’ll tell me where.”

“Mount Vernon Apartments. Fourth floor.”

Chapter 7 Since General Carter’s lecture on marriage, Lennie found it difficult to forget about Sherelle Lindsey. He’d not gone a day without thinking of her. As much as he resisted temptations to hold her responsible for ending his career, he still fought with it as he’d sit on a park bench and watch military helicopters fly over the Capitol. In wee hours of the night, he heard rotors throb through layers of darkness. His dreams hurled him into an imaginary world where he’d rush to save others. But he always woke confused. Someone had rescued him.

According to his friends, post-traumatic syndrome had leeched onto him and wreaked havoc on his peaceful nights. “One of those missions was bound to get to you, man,” one Army buddy blurted out. Others said his misguided emotions stemmed from his attraction to the woman he’d pulled out of Cairo. Every man had his limit, Lennie thought. He just hadn’t expected a woman to draw his line in the sand.

Last April he thought he saw Sherelle Lindsey on the train. He had dismissed it and declared he needed something else to do. As a consequence, he spent too much time in theaters, sometimes mindlessly watching the same movie twice, barely remembering movie titles or actors’ names.

Blind dates didn’t take the edge off either. He’d drift into another world while ignoring a lithe blonde’s babbling about the latest fashion; an over-tanned young brunette’s constant rambling over a new tattoo; or a curvy drama queen’s rant concerning her dead-end job. His indifference granted him early dismissals from those overwrought females’ turgid sermons. Many times he didn’t have to walk his dates to the door. They washed their hands of him and said as much after slamming the car door. Most had childish tantrums out of frustration. Some slapped him. Others arranged another date before leaving the car.

As expected he got an earful from Harold and Victoria. He didn’t care. Lennie refused to pour all his time and energy into someone who valued a relationship by dollars and cents. Last time he violated his first intuition, he ended up engaged to Angela. A poor choice he vowed never to repeat.

He thought taking the supervisory position in counterintelligence would fill holes in his life. To some degree, it had. He stayed busy, oftentimes too busy, but his soul yearned for more. On several occasions, Lennie thought he’d quit his job and head for New York to build a house and raise horses. But each time he sat on the brink of following through with the move, he’d change his mind, blaming his indecisiveness on the hassles of moving. In reality, he didn’t like change.

His broken engagement bothered him. It involuntarily thrust him into a solitary world where he had no purpose. He envied his friends. They had homes and families waiting for them. His family lived in various places, leaving him at a young age to conquer life all by himself. When his oldest brother left, it didn't feel so bad. However, when the last two departed, loneliness became an unwelcomed companion. Being the youngest child of seven became an emotional hardship.

From time to time, he thought about getting a dog, but changed his mind. He didn’t know what he’d do with the poor thing when he traveled. However, being alone made for longer nights. He knew that’s why he held on to Angela. Thought he’d hold on even longer had she not called off the engagement.

Lennie’s visual acuity helped dispel any serious notion of Angela being anything but selfcentered. He had come to accept her pompous ways. She set her eyes firmly on the rich and famous. No denying that. If Lennie’s conversations didn’t involve someone of importance, Angela either changed the subject or found excuses to leave the room, or the house, whichever was more convenient.

When Lennie needed to talk, he’d share heartfelt matters as Angela drifted off to sleep. Morning came and so did reality. Angela never heard a thing Lennie had said, and he knew her ability to listen had nothing to do with the hour of the day.

She made it easy for Lennie to become celibate. Heartbroken for nearly six months, Lennie soon found his days tolerable. Within a year, he felt free, though not entirely. The way Angela phoned him and spit out dry, callous, rehearsed words of incompatibility stung him and kept him trapped in time. She never returned for her clothes, never phoned again, never gave him room for rebuttal. The breakup left a bad taste in his mouth. Though Special Forces gave him time to heal, he’d never feel free until he understood the underline reason for the breakup.

But tonight he pushed all that aside. He felt lucky. To his relief, he hadn’t imagined seeing Sherelle on the train last April. She actually lived in Washington, D.C., and within a three-mile radius of his apartment. After seeing her tonight, Lennie went inside his apartment and tried to keep his mind on dinner and watch television. However, her beautiful image interrupted everything. Before he stopped to think it through, he searched the Internet for her phone number.

No home listing for Sherelle Lindsey, but he found an office number listed under The Nation’s News. He’d call her first thing tomorrow morning. Then he had a thought. He’d do something she’d least expect. He’d send flowers.

Chapter 8 “Ms. Lindsey, these are for you,” the receptionist said as she sat the roses on Sherelle’s desk.

“Are you joking?” Sherelle asked.

“Someone has a secret admirer,” one co-worker sang.

“I doubt that,” Sherelle countered.

“Is there a card?” someone asked.

Sherelle weaved through the long-stemmed roses and pulled out a typewritten note.

Just wanted to say good morning and not lose touch again. I can’t tell you how nice it was to see you last night. Looking forward to Saturday. –Lennie Sherelle almost missed her chair.

“Well, who are they from?” someone asked.

“Laurence,” Sherelle responded, her eyes fixed on the roses; her emotions suspended light years away.

“You’ve never mentioned Laurence before,” one co-worker stated.

“So, who is he?” someone else asked.

“A guy I met a short time ago,” Sherelle replied with a wide smile.

“Well, that’s informative,” another co-worker smarted off.

“You can’t get anywhere with her when it comes to her private life,” someone said.

Sherelle beamed. After she placed the card in her drawer, she smiled through conflicting deadlines, errors that slipped into the paper, at a subordinate coming in late from lunch. Each glance at the beautiful bouquet heightened her plans to leave the same time she did last evening in hopes of seeing Major Williams—Lennie—again.

In between a number of phone calls, several questions entered her mind. She wondered why he preferred Lennie instead of Larry. Why did he have one dimple instead of two? Where did he work? Did he get his good looks from his mother or his father? Or could he be a perfect blend of both? Was he required to wear nice suits to work? Or was he a man of brawn and stature no matter what he wore? She hesitated to answer the next telephone call as another question loomed over her.

Was he married?

Randall Osborne, executive editor of The Nation’s News, stood in the middle of the office and made an unexpected announcement. “I want each department editor in the conference room.”

As soon as everyone jammed inside, Randall began his tirade. “Listen up! We need meaningful

stories, and soon. I heard moments ago that The State’s Chronicle is shutting down. As you know, the economy is in a slow recovery and many companies have held on as long as they could. Whether the economy fully recovers this year or next, news will always sell. I need each of you to ruffle whatever feathers you have to. Just bring me news! I want something fresh.

Something no one else has. I don’t want our paper being the next one on the chopping block.

You have families, right? Mortgages to pay?” Everyone nodded. “Then get it done people. We’re not going to make news by standing around. Let’s get to it!”

As soon as Sherelle returned to her desk, she sifted through files for story ideas sent to her over the past three months. Then she shoved several files in her bag and hoped she'd run across several interesting stories worth pursuing before she went to sleep tonight.

At the end of the day, she left the office much later than she'd planned. Hopes of seeing Lennie faded. After boarding the train, she slumped in a seat and kicked off her shoes. Sherelle pulled her toes forward then squeezed her sore heel. She tried to remember the last time she went to the spa. Wished she had time to spend a half hour to not only soak her feet but also get a facial.

After Randall’s speech today, it didn’t seem possible she’d have time for such luxuries. And the thought of getting eight hours of sleep any time soon was preposterous. Even if she had time to sleep she’d only toss and turn all night. The hardwood floor took a toll on her body. Once again Sherelle vowed to get a bed. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Hello.”

Sherelle smiled so wide she was too embarrassed to look at him.

“Mind if I sit down?” Lennie asked.

Sherelle lowered her foot to the floor and tried, but failed, to contain her excitement. “Please,” she said, inching closer to the window, hugging her handbag as though it might protect her.

From what? She wasn't quite sure.

“Here, let me do that.” Sherelle’s quizzical frown prompted Lennie to grab her ankle and place her leg across his knee. His thumbs penetrated deep into her sole then he worked his fingers to her toes and heel then back again.

At first Sherelle flinched from the pain then she moaned and leaned her head back. “Oh, that feels good. Thank you. Thank you.”

“You look tired.”

“When I get home, I’m going straight to bed,” she said, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I won’t even order take-out. I just hope I can get in and out of the shower without passing out on the floor.”

“It’s that bad, huh?”

“Afraid so.”

“Tell you what, why don’t we pretend tonight is Saturday and I prepare dinner.”

Sherelle pulled away and straightened in her seat. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that. Surely you don’t think I said all that to get you to prepare my dinner, do you?”

“Is that what you’re doing? You’ve got a lot of nerve!” Lennie pressed his fist against his lips to conceal an incorrigible smile.

“I am so sorry. Honest, I wasn’t trying to swindle you out of a meal.”

No longer able to suppress his amusement, Lennie laughed. By the time he gathered himself, Sherelle’s beautiful skin paled to that of boiled hamburger meat. Her sullen expression transformed her pretty amber eyes into the semblance of tidal waves. Lennie felt swallowed up by those eyes, yet he’d imprecate a curse on the first man who offered him a rope. And if he wasn't afraid of scaring her off, he'd pry her pursed lips apart with a kiss.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. You sounded so serious.”

Sherelle looked at his delightful dancing eyes. She shook her head, made a fist, and tapped him on the arm. “That wasn’t fair.”

“You need to know I’d never think you’d swindle me out of anything.” Together they laughed.

“So, how about it? Let me cook for you,” he pleaded.

“Nope. We can wait until Saturday. I do this all the time. I just had a rough day that’s all. I always get through it.”

“All the more reason for me to do the cooking. If you’re more comfortable with me coming to your place, I can. Or I can drop dinner off. Either way, you won’t have to worry with dinner tonight. You can eat then go straight to sleep.”

“You’re sweet, but I think I’ll pass.” She crinkled her nose.

“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll bite?”

His dreamy eyes made her feel warm. Effortless, his dimple deepened whether he smiled or not.

It fascinated her how his shrewd, clean-shaven jawline commanded attention. If she dare touch the cleft in his chin with her fingertip, she felt certain it’d fit perfect.

“I know you won’t bite, ” she said, a bashful smile emerging. “I just feel you should have other things to do than deal with my madness. I’ve been too preoccupied with work and I need to stop and take better care of myself.” Sherelle sighed and tightened her arms around her handbag then stared out the window. “And if I don’t take time to shop for a bed, I’ll end up with back pain,” she mumbled as if speaking to the tinted glass.

Lennie eyed her reflection in the window. “You mean to tell me you don’t have a mattress and box spring? Did I hear you right? For six months, you’ve slept on the floor?” Lennie bumped Sherelle’s arm. “You—don’t—have a bed?”

Sherelle cowered in her seat and winced as she looked into Lennie’s eyes. “No,” she whispered.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

“I’m glad you did. Instead of dinner Saturday, I think we need to do lunch and spend the rest of

the afternoon getting you a bed.”

“You have a truck?” Sherelle sat straight.

“Not exactly, but furniture stores deliver. If not, the hardware stores have trucks we can rent.”

“I didn’t know hardware stores rented trucks.”

Lennie laughed. “What do you say? Dinner?”

“On Saturday?”

“Tonight. Let me prepare dinner tonight. On Saturday we’ll have lunch at eleven-thirty then shop for a bed. Sounds good?”

“Major— I’m sorry. Larry. Wait.” Sherelle cocked her head. “Isn’t Larry short for Laurence?”

“I have six brothers. One is named Larry. My brothers started calling me Lennie before I could walk. And it stuck.”

“Six? ” Sherelle stretched her eyes. “Brothers?” Sherelle pushed against the seat. “Wow!” “Yep. Six.” “If you don't mind my asking, where are you in the food chain?”

“I’m the last one,” he said with a smile.

“You’re the baby? But you don’t have the characteristics of a younger child.”

“And what does that mean?” Lennie choked with laughter.

“I babysat as a teenager. It always seemed to me the youngest child is the one who caused the most trouble. You’re nothing like that.”

“Thank you!” With prayerful hands, Lennie looked toward the ceiling. “I’d hate to know what that looks like.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know. I could tell you horror stories. The whining, crying, and the tricks they play not only on you, but also on their parents. I’m glad I never lived in any of those homes. What chaos. Whew!” Sherelle waved a dismissive hand. “I want you to know I appreciate your offer to cook. I seem to be more indebted to you every time I see you.”

“If you want to look at it that way, that’s on you. I’d like to think I’m helping out an old friend.”

“If my dad were here he’d have a fit knowing I slept on the floor. Momma would be horrified.”

“So you haven’t told them.”

“Are you kidding? They’d show up unannounced if they knew. Matter of fact, I’d enter my apartment and find my bed made, dinner cooked, and I’d have a kitchen filled with groceries.

And they’d demand I take a day off from work. No, I promise you, Eric and Charlotte Lindsey

have no idea.”

The train stopped.

“My place or yours?” Lennie asked.

“Lennie, I don’t know—” He gently lifted her hand and placed it on his arm and guided her left toward his apartment. “My place it is.”

### Sherelle thought she’d see a typical bachelor’s pad with clothes scattered on the floor, a messy bathroom, a half-filled refrigerator, and boxes of all sorts stacked in the front room. But the first thing she noticed—an apartment twice the size of hers and, dare she admit it, much cleaner. He had a full refrigerator, clean countertops, a nice dinner table set as if he expected guests at any moment. Soft beige china trimmed in gold sat in the middle of red chargers, complemented by silver and gold flatware. Rose colored goblets accented the table. Napkins with marbled shades of dark rose and ruby red lay atop plates.

Photographs of toddlers, teenaged boys, graduation ceremonies, and weddings hung on walls and dressed coffee tables. A large distinguished, basilic portrait of two people hung above the fireplace.

“Your mother and father?” Sherelle asked.

“Yes.” “I love the headdress.”

“She's from Nigeria.”

Nigeria? “Hmm.” Sherelle took a closer look at the portraits and decided that Lennie indeed looked more like his father.

Sherelle sat on the couch, prim and proper—her knees pressed together and her hands in her lap—until Lennie insisted she relax. Too tired to argue, Sherelle curled her legs under her, rounded her shoulders, and allowed a well of hair to hide her face. Within moments Sherelle’s eyelids glued together.

Lennie moved around the kitchen as quiet as possible while he prepared the meal. He grilled three chicken breasts then made a chicken salad filled with lettuce, spinach, green olives, tomatoes, onion, snow peas, walnuts, apples, mandarin oranges, and dried cranberries. While crescent rolls heated in the oven, he woke Sherelle.

“Dinner’s ready. You can freshen up in the bathroom if you like.”

Sherelle stretched her arms and yawned. “Thank you.”

A left turn landed her in a dim-lit spare bedroom where everything inside resembled an

espionage scene in a movie. She looked over her shoulder and watched as Lennie opened and closed cabinet doors. Assured Lennie hadn’t seen her at the wrong door, her curiosity pulled her farther into the room where she noticed a dark computer screen. Powerless to resist, she moved the mouse and watched as “CIA” scrolled across the monitor. Startled, she stepped back. Though curious about what Lennie did for a living, she never expected he worked for the CIA. Sherelle looked around and saw a gun holster dangling from a hat rack. A drafting table with a lamp shining on several sheets of paper caught her attention. Pink, green, and yellow tabbies stuck out from their edges. Three paperweights anchored corners of a map. Circled in a heavy red marker—Europe.

She started to leave, but stillness inside the apartment kept her feet firmly planted. She rubbed her dank hands along her thighs and contemplated what to do. Then she heard something slide on a rack and a dull thump sounded. Perhaps Lennie had closed the oven door. She grabbed her hair and kept it tucked behind her back as she leaned forward for a closer look at things on the table.

A black Sharpie. A compass. A clear plastic ruler. A cell phone charging in its cradle. Sherelle read the bold print on several documents scattered on the table: Top Secret. Concentration Camp.

Soldiers infiltrated at 0700. One agent down. Main target on the move. Order – ASSASSINATE. She started to move the papers to see what was underneath, but she pulled her hand back. What if Lennie found out she'd been in his office? Instead, she opened the desk drawer and saw the remains of a mangled airline ticket and a conference brochure.

“Are you okay in there?”

Sherelle flinched and stood at attention. After a second or two, she closed the drawer then peeked out the door. It relieved her to see Lennie standing at the sink with his back facing her. She slipped out and went into the room across the hall. Upon locking the bathroom door, she squeezed her shaky hands together then splashed water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror didn't come close to revealing the woman she once knew. A wave of fear ran through her. Had she meant to snoop? A definite mistake, but her lingering unequivocally deliberate. What gave her the right? And who was this person looking back at her? Where was her integrity? Sherelle couldn’t quite grasp where she got the nerve to impose on Lennie’s privacy. She snapped her eyes together. “Shame on you, Sherelle. Shame on you.”

She held her breath for a moment then emerged from the bathroom to find Lennie pouring green tea in their glasses. Onions permeated the room. Sherelle pressed her abdomen as hunger pained her. Or was it fear?

Lennie pulled Sherelle’s chair from the table as she approached.

“Thank you,” Sherelle said.

“No problem.”

“This looks nice.”

“I failed to ask if you had any allergies.”

“I’m allergic to burlap,” she teased, wishing they’d laugh out loud so she’d relieve the stress

building inside her.

“So, you didn’t like my scarf of choice?”

“Not particularly.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

Disturbed by his response, Sherelle realized the joke didn’t have the effect she’d hoped. Instead of relieving her stress, she had inadvertently added to it. “Let’s hope there’s never a ‘next time.’”

“No plans to return to Cairo?”

“Can we change the subject?”

“You brought it up.”

“I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“After we’re done, let me know when you’re ready and I’ll walk you home.”

“I appreciate that. You know I’ve never strolled through the streets of Washington at night. I never expected August evenings to be so mild this year. This wouldn’t be a bad night for a walk.” She reached for her glass and spilled the iced tea. “I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed, Sherelle moved away from the table.

“Here, let me.” Lennie raised Sherelle’s plate and cleaned the spill.

When she sat down again, her hand hit the lip of her bowl and tumbled her salad to the floor.

“Goodness! What’s wrong with me tonight?” After seeing those papers in Lennie’s office, she wanted to skip dinner and go home. And then what? Would she get on the phone with one of her contacts? If so, what would she tell him? Sherelle tried to reason with herself. She didn’t know the depth of her find. She couldn’t even tell her contact where the assassination would take place.

No, she’d stay put. She needed a nice engaging conversation with the opposite sex, not concentrate on another story to publish. But at the same time, she couldn’t get Randall Osborne’s voice out of her head or quash the sudden need to investigate the Europe assassination.

Lennie touched her arm. “It’s okay. There’s more. I think you’re just tired,” he said as he went to the refrigerator. “Once you get a good night’s sleep, you’ll be fine.”

“You’re right.” Sherelle bit her lip and tried to remain calm as she watched Lennie’s every move.

He didn’t have the typical characteristics of an assassin. But what did she know? Though he seemed to have muscles of steel, in this setting, she realized, Lennie looked more like a business executive than a member of the Army Special Forces. But not once had she questioned his fitness in Cairo. Neither did she think he’d hesitate to shoot to kill. She remembered how he handled his gun and, in spite of his injuries, how he’d placed her over his shoulder and carried her inside the military helicopter.

What made him tick?

Sherelle dug into her salad and at every opportunity concentrated on the beautiful waves in his

hair, the even color of his skin. His lips moved with ease. The English language flowed from him like an orchestrated ballet as he enunciated each word with precision. No slang. No fluff—with a hint of something foreign mixed in.

“Are you listening?”

“I’m sorry.” Sherelle shook her head. “My mind was somewhere else.”

“I said you shouldn’t walk the D.C. streets alone. We have our share of crazies out there.”

Sherelle wiped her mouth and reached for the iced tea, careful not to spill it.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You really do seem to be somewhere else.”

“I’m just tired. More than I thought.”

“How’s the salad?”

“Good.” Sherelle sat straight to relieve tension in her back. To combat her nerves and get Europe off her mind, she tried to think of something to say, but Lennie interrupted her thoughts.

“Why don’t you want to talk about Cairo?”

Sherelle swallowed then paused and mused over the question before ignoring it. “Who are the teenage boys in the photographs?”

“My brothers.”

“I like the idea that your mother had some of the pictures done in black and white. You have a nice family. Is everyone married?”

“Three aren’t. If you weren’t working so much, what would you do for fun?”

Sherelle pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “Go horseback riding. As a young girl, I showed horses for the 4-H Club. It didn’t last long.”

“Why did you give it up?”

“I had to concentrate on my education. What do you like to do?”

“Motorcycles are my thing. I was really into them as a teenager.” Lennie laughed. “One day when my dad found out I raced on the weekend and hardheads were placing bets, he made me sell my bike. I was sixteen at the time. I didn’t get on a bike for almost six years after that.”

Lennie looked at Sherelle’s empty plate. “Want more salad?”

“No. I can’t eat another bite. You’re a good cook,” she said after patting her stomach. “I better get home while I can still stand. I’ve got a feeling I won’t have any problems sleeping tonight.”

Chapter 9 Saturday morning Sherelle slipped into black wide-legged slacks and a matching blazer belted at the waist. In front of the bathroom mirror, her eyes widened with approval at the yellow and white checkered scarf around her neck and the white one on her head. She tilted her head side to side and made various facial expressions to ensure she looked good at any angle. After the doorbell rang, she opened the door then froze.

Lennie didn’t look anything at all like the soldier who’d rescued her in Egypt, or the gentleman on the train, or the hospitable cook who’d fed her dinner nights ago. A tall specimen with an adorable smile, he first shocked then debilitated her.

The opening in his white button-down shirt exposed a sliver of his clavicle. For a split second, she had a strong urge to run her index finger across it in hopes his chestnut flesh collected on her fingertip. His shirtsleeves folded up his forearm. A black-faced silver-trimmed watch with its numerous gadgets flaunted his masculinity. Fresh-pressed jeans sported a sharp crease before it formed a slight fold right above his shoes.

Lennie bent his knees and leaned forward until their eyes met. “Is everything alright?”

His inadvertent movement disturbed a wonderful aroma that impeded Sherelle's concentration. A touch of his hand dispelled her look of surprise and prompted her to grab her black and white square tote off the kitchen counter.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she snapped. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

### Inside the restaurant, Lennie pulled out a chair for Sherelle then they ordered iced tea and toyed with items on the menu. Lennie suggested chocolate cake and French fries. Sherelle proposed a child’s grilled cheese sandwich with ice cream. Their antics resembled elementary kids at a lunch table—a perfect antidote to relax their nervous tension.

“Ready to place your order?” the waitress asked.

“What do you recommend? And be serious,” Sherelle warned. At every opportunity, she watched him. His cologne had seeped into her jacket sleeve and on her right hand. He had placed his hand on her arm then clutched her right hand to help her in and out of his black SUV. “Try the lobster bisque. All my first dates like it.”

Dates? Sherelle’s heart almost stopped. She readjusted in her seat several times before she finally spoke. “I don’t think so,” her tone sharp. “I’ll have chicken noodle soup with the Waldorf Salad.” She shoved the menu into the waitress’ hand.

“I’ll have the same.” Lennie handed the waitress his menu. “So, you’re not in the mood for lobster bisque.”

“It occurred to me that we’re not really on a date,” she said with a great deal of emphasis. “So, why bother with your little rituals.”

“Are you jealous?” he teased, finding her displeasure charming.

“Aren’t you being presumptuous? I’m more curious than anything.”

“Curious? Why concern yourself with two dozen mindless women?”

“How many first dates have you had?” she asked, alarmed.

“In my entire lifetime?”

“If you want to go back that far, yes.” She reached for her tea.

“Three before I got shot in Egypt. Two or three dozen since then.”

Sherelle choked on her tea. “Two or three— Are you serious? So the rescue brought you fame.

And to think I felt sorry for you.” She folded her arms, indignant at Lennie’s impropriety. “Why so many?”

“Why feel sorry for me?”

“Because you almost got killed in Cairo. Now I find out you’ve used your wounds to attract women.” She leaned forward and whispered. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“That’s not quite how it happened.” Lennie crossed his legs and sat back, a mischievous grin on the verge of exploding into boisterous laughter.

“There’s a better explanation?”

“Of course there is.”

“This should be good. Let’s hear it.”

“Every time my best friend and his wife invited me over to their ranch they had a beautiful woman there to keep me company. Against my will, of course.”

“Ha! Of course it was against your will. I’m sure you hated that.” Sherelle smirked.

“I didn’t like it at all. But I felt obligated—” “Obligated? Humph! Of course you felt obligated. The last thing you want to do, Mr. Williams, is disappoint someone.”

“Like I was saying,” Lennie said, smiling, “I felt obligated to take them out before I finally said ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ Before that, I hadn’t dated much.”

“C’mon, Lennie. You appear to be the kind of man who has a contact list for every day of the year.”

“So, you think of me as a loose cannon? Really?”

“If you recall, when I first met you I was in distress. I noticed and thought nothing except you’d risked your life for me. Now that you tell me about all these dates,” she raised bent fingers to mimic quotation marks, “what am I to think?”

“Are you telling me you never gave me another thought after the rescue?”

“Of course I thought of you. I felt bad you got wounded. I think of you every night when I go to bed.” Sherelle’s shoulders drooped. She sighed. “Matter of fact,” her voice softer, trailing, “I have nightmares about not being able to save you.”

“Did you give me one thought after I saw you on the train the other day?”

“You are, shall we say, an intriguing acquaintance.”

“So you do think about me. What interest you?”

Sherelle leaned forward. “First of all I’d like to know what kind of man goes around the world risking his life for people he doesn’t know. And why?”

Disappointed, Lennie had hoped to get more insight into her personal feelings toward him, not his profession. “Couldn’t I just be a Good Samaritan and we leave it at that?”

“Sounds too simple. I’d also like to know why this Good Samaritan is single. With as many women as you’ve dated in the last year, none of them appeal to you? I’m not buying that. And why are you using your free time to help me shop for a mattress and box spring. Seems to me you should have washed your hands of rescuing people and moved on.”

“You have quite a list. Tell you what, why don’t we let our relationship develop by sitting here and enjoying our first lunch then we’ll go from there. How ‘bout that?”

“I warn you, don’t make me wait too long for those answers.”

Lennie grinned and shivered at her words. “What’s the punishment if I do?”

“I’ll find myself a new hobby.”

Lennie tilted his head back and laughed. “So, I’m a hobby now?”

Sherelle shrugged and pursed her lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He reached for his water. Before he sipped, though he knew the answer, he asked, “You’ve lived in Seattle all your life?”

“Born and raised. It’s a fabulous place. The fishing is great.”

“You fish?”

The waitress laid their soup and salad on the table and Lennie dug in.

“Are you implying that because I’m a woman I can’t possibly know how to fish?”

“I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. I took you for a bookworm.”

“I’m that too, but dad and I go fishing a lot.” At the memory of time spent with her father, she lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I should say, we used to.”

Lennie cast Sherelle a curious look. “You two sound close.”

“We are. He and mother planned for a boy. But daddy took my birth in stride and taught me everything a man could possibly teach a girl. I even know how to change a flat tire,” she said with pride. She watched as Lennie’s shoulders bobbed. “Stop laughing. I’m serious.”

“I can see that.”

“You can’t always judge a book by its cover.”

Lennie raised one eyebrow. “Touchè.”

Sherelle remembered how she’d judged his so-called dating practices moments ago. She covered her face then conceded. “I fell right into that, didn’t I?” “Yes, you did.” Lennie noticed her winsome nose, thick and highly arched eyebrows above almond-shaped eyes beautifully accented with butterfly eyelashes. He reached across the table and pinched a corner of her white head scarf and pulled it nice and slow until it spilled to the floor. God, she’s beautiful. As Lennie curled the scarf in his hands, he searched the restaurant for a distraction, but found nothing to pull him away from the gorgeous creature sitting before him.

He had to say something, anything. “I take it you’re an only child?”

“I am. And you?” She reached for the scarf, but he stuffed it in his pocket.

“I have six brothers, remember? I’m the youngest.” Lennie rubbed his fingers together as he envisioned sliding his hand through her thick curls.

“That’s right.” Though she’d easily name twenty things off the top of her head that set him apart from other men, she’d missed something. “Where were you born?”

“Vienna, Austria.”

Sherelle pointed her finger at Lennie in a playful manner and narrowed her eyes. “That’s what I hear in your voice, that—that accent.”

“You probably hear a number of them. I’ve lived in three different countries—Germany, Austria, and America. And I’ve done a lot of traveling. On many occasions, I’ve tried to lose the accents, but I only seem to temper them at best. They’re especially prevalent when I’m tired.”

“What languages do you speak?”

“For one, I’m fluent in German. My father is a chemist and he worked in Germany for years. I spent most of my adolescent years there. My mother is a doctor from Nigeria.”

“Your father is German? How can that be?” she asked as she remembered the portrait of a dark bald man with handsome features in the arms of a woman wearing a colorful headdress.

“No. No. Dad grew up in California, educated at Columbia.” Lennie smiled as he reminiscenced.

“Our father told us the story of how grandfather convinced him to leave the country. Grandfather thought dad had a better chance abroad than here in the states. None of us is sure why dad chose Germany, but after he landed a job there he immersed himself in their culture, learned the language, and became a successful chemist. Like my grandfather, he stressed education, but he also felt a need for us to communicate with the world. So, he and my mother saw to it that each of us be fluent in at least two languages. I went overboard and learned five, if you count English.”

“Are you kidding me? What are they?”

“English, Spanish, Russian, French, and German.”

“When I lived in Cairo, I could barely speak enough Arabic to get food from the market. I think it’s wonderful you know so many languages. Your grandfather would be proud. Have you ever considered tutoring? Would you be willing to teach me a sentence or two in each one?”

“Sherelle, I don’t want to spend precious time teaching you a language,” Lennie said in a soft even tone. “I’d rather invest time getting to know the woman inside you.”

Sherelle dabbed her lips with the white napkin, holding it there, conveniently using it to give her face time to cool. She considered Lennie’s tone, not his words, and that expression on his handsome face, that dreamy look in his satiny globes.

“Now, tell me about Cairo. I know I’ve asked you this more than once, but I need help understanding why you didn’t leave sooner. I still don’t get it.”

Thoughts of Cairo dumped a load of guilt at her feet. She didn’t want to discuss the rescue, or recall the bloody images she’d seen in her dreams of Major Laurence Williams bleeding to death.

In a swarm of emotions, she looked away.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” Lennie said as he watched the joy in her eyes darken into a quiet demented torture. From Lennie’s vantage point, two things stood between them—Cairo and his inability to fly. If they failed to break through those barriers without dealing with them, then he might as well treat her like all his other dates and take her home.

He cringed at the possibility of never seeing Sherelle again. He tried to rub the ache rising in his chest, but he received no relief. He stuck his finger in an opening in his white shirt and rubbed harder. He still couldn’t reach it. At that moment, Lennie knew his need for companionship far outweighed his desires to strap on Army gear and fly dreadful hours across the oceans to rescue people he didn’t know, and soon forgot. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, that maybe, God had sent Sherelle to save him.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk,” Lennie said, apologetic, “but we need to get pass this. In the end, I think it might come as a relief for both of us.”

“Will you hold the reasons against me?” Sherelle dabbed moisture from her eyes.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t want you to think that I’m some mindless bimbo determined to commit suicide. I didn’t

use any common sense. I was downright reckless.”

“Let me hear your story first. I’ll let you know if I resent sticking my neck out for you or not,” he teased, trying, but failing to lighten their mood.

Sherelle stiffened. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course not. Please, go on. Tell me.”

Sherelle pushed her shoulders back and tried to find room to settle the guilt scrambling to the surface. “I am a bookworm of sorts,” she began. “You were right about that. I ended up going to college then abroad for the summer. I tried to get as much experience and exposure to the world as I could.”

“When did you have time to have fun?”

“I went out . . . in small groups. I had a good time. But I never went on a single date alone.

Daddy warned me that young boys don’t become men until they’re thirty.”

Lennie raised one eyebrow. “You always believe what your father tells you?”

“I’m aware his ideas are a little old fashion. So, no, I don’t always believe him. He’s always tried to protect me. He didn’t want me at the mercy of anyone.”

“And yet that’s the very state you were in when I pulled you out of Cairo.”

“I never looked at it that way, but you’re right. Why do we always keep ourselves entangled in the very things we’re trying to avoid?”

“It takes time to get life figured out. The way I see it, though your father didn’t mean to, he practically forced you into becoming a social misfit.”

“I can’t blame daddy entirely for that. My quest to be the best made me self-absorbed and selfcentered. Though I know this, I can’t seem to get off that Ferris wheel.”

Lennie leaned forward, a pensive look of concern in his eyes. “There’s something else driving you. What is it?”

Sherelle latched onto the worry in his eyes and leaned toward him. “To tell you the truth, I thought if I stopped I’d quit.” She sat back and let her languid arms fall to her side.

“You did all this for your parents?”

Sherelle tossed her napkin on her plate. “I can’t put this on my parents. I knew the danger if I stayed in Cairo. I had lived in that chaos for nearly a year. But I was more terrified of failing than getting killed.”

“So, you risked your life for a degree?” Lennie’s surly tone also sounded curt.

“You make it sound so callous, so insignificant,” she said as a doleful gaze set in her eyes.

“I really didn’t mean it that way. I apologize.”

“You must understand that I had no idea I’d be risking someone else’s life. I hope you believe me. It never occurred to me that I’d put you or anyone else in danger.”

“You never considered your parents would worry and demand something be done? You were a young female in a hostile environment, Sherelle.”

“I knew they’d worry. They told me so. But that didn’t translate to a rescue for me. Like I told you in Cairo, I thought I had time. I never meant for anyone to put their life on the line. I didn’t think it’d come to that.” Sherelle thought Lennie had a look of disgust and dismay and felt a strong need to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Lennie. You almost died. After losing your wings, I’m sure a part of you did die. I took away your career. I can’t begin to tell you how that haunts me. I owe you my life.”

The pain in Sherelle's eyes was more than Lennie could bear. To ease her burden, he had to make her feel she was easing his. “What you owe me is a happy face. This is our first lunch together and you’re sitting there crying all over my food. You keep that up and you’ll depress me. Do I deserve that?”

Sherelle wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “You’re right,” she said, holding her hands up. “No more talk of rescues, being shot, and feeling bad. You deserve so much more.”

Relieved, Lennie asked, “What kind of bed are we looking for? Full-size? King?”

“Queen.”

“Then let’s go.”

### Late that evening after a full day of shopping, Sherelle prepared for bed. Though tired, she was happy. The furniture store had fulfilled their promise to deliver the bed at six o’clock. She tipped the two delivery men twenty-five dollars for putting it together.

When her head hit the pillows, she reflected on Lennie’s help to choose a beautiful headboard, mattress and box spring, a nightstand, sheets, a bedspread, and an electric blanket. They laid on at least ten mattresses before deciding on one, teasing and taunting one another over their decisions. Either he thought the bed too soft or she thought it not wide enough—switching from a queen to a king then back again.

Sherelle turned on her side and stared out the window. She had forgotten to lower the blinds. It didn’t matter. The light August rain relaxed her and Lennie’s face reappeared in her mind. She wanted to know his history, his childhood, more about his six brothers, what led him to Washington, D.C. and Special Forces.

She hadn’t noticed, but she patted her pillow as though it needed soothing. Dampness cooled her face. After she wiped away a tear, mounting conflicts with her personal life and her professional career became clear. Is that why she cried? Was she mourning? Was fate destroying her excess baggage and breathing new life into her? She had only known one goal. That goal had settled so deep within her that she no longer had to think it through. It seemed automatic. No veering off course. No detours. This week, however, a shift had occurred. And fate hadn’t asked permission.

Chapter 10 Many weeks passed and Sherelle heard nothing from Lennie. As she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, she made up excuses for him. Maybe he had to work late, she thought. Or perhaps he switched jobs and moved away. But why hadn’t he phoned? How could he? He didn’t have her number.

What she saw of other courtships, men had a way of using whatever resources available to win a woman’s heart. Why hadn’t Lennie done the same? Sherelle rolled over, punched the pillow a few times then shoved it under her head. Maybe he wasn’t interested in her after all. Perhaps he had another date.

She tried to exert more time and energy into various managerial duties at The Nation’s News.

Nothing helped. On numerous occasions, ladies at the office boasted about their pursuit of men with potential. Though Sherelle thought most went too far with their chase, she considered the idea. When images of her parents flashed before her eyes, Sherelle buried her face in the pillow.

Her mother would frown at such behavior. The first thing her dad would ask: “How old is this fella?”

Frustrated by her lack of dating experience, Sherelle stared at flickers of light reflecting off an adjacent building. Late October winds rattled the windowpane. She pulled the covers to her chin and tried to reason that a relationship with Lennie didn’t seem practical. The negative side—it’d take too much time and energy and conflict with her job. Did a positive side exist? Sherelle shook her head. “What am I thinking? This will never work. I’ve got to stay focused.”

Next time she had a chance to talk to Randall Osborne, she’d bring up the managing editor position and express interest in it. Though The Nation’s News planned to solicit outside applicants, Sherelle didn’t care. Fighting for that position seemed easier than strapped with the onerous task to court a man. Anything proved easier than that.

But as she drifted into a deep sleep, in her dreams, she struggled to keep Major Laurence Williams alive. In the end, a soldier’s dark stare indicated Major Williams had died. Shivering from cold and rain, blood dripped from her hands. Sherelle woke from the dreadful dream and bolted up, her chest heaving, her eyes searching the dark for comfort. ### Lennie lay in his hotel bed with hands pleated behind his head. He’d leave for Arizona tomorrow for another seminar. He didn’t want to go. He’d rather take Sherelle out on a date, maybe cook for her, take her sightseeing or to a movie. One thing was certain—he didn’t want a mere friendship, or hear another word about being acquaintances. He had a mind to hop a plane and return to D.C., tonight. Lennie scoured through his vocabulary for words he’d use as an excuse to knock on her door. No matter how kind or apologetic the words rolled off his tongue, he knew she’d send him away.

At some point, he had to step out on faith and do something. Soon. Or, God forbid, someone might seize the opportunity.

His first day into a second seminar, Lennie’s attention waned. The three-month mock military

exercise bored him. He’d teach this class with his eyes closed if they’d let him. He'd make it more interesting and less time consuming, too. In times like these, he yearned to fly. He made tiny paper airplanes instead.

Several times while taking notes, he scrawled Sherelle’s name on a separate piece of paper. He searched for the best way to describe her then wrote the descriptions next to her name. Regal.

August. Charming. Sensitive. Sophisticated. Lovely. What made her lovely? Lennie closed his eyes for a moment then wrote the first thing that came to mind: “Innocence. Pure unadulterated innocence.”

Lennie gathered his things, left the seminar, and stood near a hallway window overlooking Arizona’s mountains. He entered D.C.'s area code in his cell then remembered—he didn’t have her number. Lennie phoned The Nation’s News and within minutes he dialed Sherelle’s landline.

“Hello.” Sherelle said, annoyed.

“I can’t begin to tell you how nice it is to hear your voice.”

“Excuse me. Who is this? And how did you get this number?”

“It’s Lennie.”

Sherelle put her pad and pencil aside and tucked her left hand under her breast. From a deep breath, she exhaled a long, “Hi,” and smiled. “How are you?”

“Lonely.” Afraid he sounded desperate and pathetic Lennie cleared his throat then added, “I’m out of town.”

“Where?”

“Arizona. At a seminar.”

“You know, I’ve never asked what you do for a living.”

“I’m a counterintelligence supervisor.”

At once, Sherelle thought of the European assassination plot. “When I think of counterintelligence, I think of secrets. Have you dug through my files?”

“I did that before I rescued you.”

“Oh.” Twice Lennie cleared his throat. “I’m returning Thursday and I’d like to know if you’d ride with me through the country?”

“In Washington?”

“You haven’t been out much, have you?”

“Go easy on me, Lennie. I’m working most of the foreign affairs section of the paper. So, I know more about Middle East geographies than I know about Washington.”

“Let’s change that. Come with me.”

“Lennie, I’ve got deadlines running together. I can’t spare the time.”

“I know your work is important to you. What can happen if you leave it for a day?”

“I might get fired. My boss is pushing us for fresh stories. And as I told you before, we’re working shorthanded. If I lost this job, Lennie—” “Then I could take care of you.” Lennie’s face seemed to go up in flames. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He pulled at his tie. When he didn’t cool off fast enough, he took off his jacket and let it fall to the floor.

“Lennie, I don’t need you to take care of me. You should know that by now.”

“I hardly know you at all. That’s what I’m trying to do here. Will you at least meet me halfway?

Say you’ll come with me.”

If Sherelle said yes, and she had no idea that she would, Sherelle estimated her work hours between now and Thursday had to increase in order to get everything done. On the other hand, if she said no, Lennie might not call again. Asking her to give up a day of work made her wonder if he should call at all.

For once, she decided to be deliriously foolish. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“If I fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, you promise not to hold it against me.”

Lennie pumped his fist in the air. He bit down on his excitement before he spoke. “We have a deal. Think you can take off Friday, or at least leave early?” Lennie squinted and held his breath.

“That’s pushing it. If I don’t work, I don’t eat.”

Lennie relaxed and toyed with his goatee. “Understood.”

“Are you picking me up or do I need to meet you somewhere?”

“I’ll pick you up Saturday afternoon at one o’clock. Dress warm. Wear pants.”

“Why?” “You’ll see. I’ll see you at one on Saturday.”

Lennie put his hands in his pockets and fixed his eyes on Arizona’s mountainous skyline. Then he pumped his fists several times in the air. “Hot dog!”

He left first thing Thursday morning, earlier than his scheduled afternoon flight. He phoned the garage where he sometimes kept his bike and requested they gas it, oil it, and clean it. He promised Karen, the receptionist who practically ran the garage, extra money if she’d see to it that his instructions were followed. When he arrived and inspected the bike, he slipped Karen seventy-five dollars.

Lennie parked his two-wheeler in the underground parking area of Washington Apartments then he phoned Sherelle with plans to leave a message on her voice mail.

“I thought I’d get your answering machine. Why are you home so early? I didn’t think you’d get in before seven,” Lennie said.

“I have a bad headache. I needed to lie down. Someone is helping with the paper, but I’m worried.”

“Afraid they can’t fill your shoes?”

“Oh, you’re a smart one today. No, that’s not it at all. There’s so much to juggle, so many calls to make. My biggest concern is the validity of two stories we plan to run next week. The last thing I want to do is put a retraction in the paper. That would be embarrassing.”

“Tell you what, I’ll bring dinner over tonight for the both of us.”

“There’s no need to do that.”

“You have food in the refrigerator?”

“Of course not. I planned to order pizza like always.”

“I’ll be over at six. With dinner.”

Shorter than Lennie anticipated, the night ended the instant Sherelle greeted him at the door. She took the food, mumbled a few apologies, and bid him goodnight.

Late Friday morning he reserved two rooms at a cottage in Richmond, Virginia for Saturday evening. Then he packed rain gear then made a call to Maria Vasquez. He explained he had a date and if she’d pack him that picnic lunch she’d promised. He made a final call to General Carter who arranged for a private tour of the White House.

On Saturday, prior to picking up Sherelle, his phone rang. Lennie panicked. His first thought— she’d phoned to cancel their plans. Afraid to look, he closed one eye and squinted at the phone.

Then he breathed a sigh of relief. Harold Butler’s name appeared.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while. Been out in the field?” Lennie asked.

“This one lasted one day too long. I’m glad to be home. We’re getting together this weekend. We want you to come out to the ranch. Can you make it?”

“Afraid not. I’ve got plans. I’m going to the country this weekend.”

“Aren’t you tired of making that drive by yourself? You stay alone too much. It’s not good. You see, that’s why I called you. To get you outta that rut you’re in. C’mon out Lennie so we can beat your butt in dominoes again.”

“Who says I’m going alone?”

“Whoa! You got a date?” Harold laughed.

“Yep.” “Who is she?”

“You don’t know her.”

“C’mon, Lennie. Spill the beans.”

“Nope. I don’t want you or anyone else to ruin this for me.”

“It’s that serious?”

“No, it’s not serious.”

“But you want it to be?”

“Yes, I do. Now, get off the phone. I don’t want to be late.”

“Let’s get together next week. I want to hear about this special lady.”

“I might be tied up.”

“Are you kidding me? Wow! Are you that strung out over this girl? When did all this happen?

And where was I? I need to call you more often.”

“Harold, I gotta go. Talk to you later.”

“Victoria will be mad that I didn’t get this mystery woman’s name.”

“If all goes well, she’ll get to meet her soon enough.”

After Lennie hung up, he checked the stove again, locked the doors then left. ### Lennie stood in Sherelle’s doorway with two helmets in his hand.

Sherelle stopped wrapping her hair in a ponytail and stared at the monstrous-size headgear. “II’ve never ridden a bike before.”

“I wanted to surprise you. I hope it’s okay.”

“I do, too. I’m a little nervous. Motorcycles have always scared me.”

“Whenever you want to turn around and come back, we will. I promise.”

“You really want to do this, don’t you?”

“You’re safe with me. You’ll be fine.”

“Let’s hope so.” Sherelle looked him over. He had a thick goatee. She decided she liked it.

Sherelle took a deep breath and picked up her purse. “Well, here goes. My first bike ride.”

Chapter 11 Gruff rumbles of the motorcycle ricocheted off the Blue Ridge Parkway and hung in the air.

Whistling autumn winds sprinkled fall leaves like precious jewels onto asphalt.

Sherelle stuffed much of her hair into the crevices of her helmet before they left D.C., but stubborn strands escaped and flitted in the breeze. Impossible to bury her head in Lennie’s back, she gathered as much of his leather jacket as her hands could hold and she refused to let go. Once the bike bumped and collided with the road enough to lull her into a sweet peace, her fears subsided.

Lennie slowed on several occasions and allowed them time to absorb rustic sceneries. Twice he stopped to view rushing rivers, waterfalls, and gurgling rocky rivulets that resembled postcards rather than God-given wonders. They dismounted at the Rock Castle Gorge Trail, their last stop before they reached Richmond.

“Whoa! Steady.” Lennie grabbed Sherelle from behind after she got off the bike. “By the time we get back to D.C., you’ll be a pro at this.”

After regaining her equilibrium, she removed her helmet and dropped it on the ground. With her index finger, Sherelle pulled the silk scrunchie from her hair and placed it on her wrist.

“How did you find this place?”

“One day I just kept riding.” After Lennie picked up her helmet, he rubbed a small nick in the headgear then locked it to the bike. Out the corner of his eyes, he watched Sherelle use both hands to rake her hair. Once again, he imagined her in a white gown, her pretty face hidden behind a veil, her hair pulled up and covered with tiny white flowers.

“Ever got lost?”

“All the time. Almost ran out of gas once. Now, I think I can ride this stretch of highway in my sleep.”

“You come here often?”

“When I’m lonely or I need to think.” When Sherelle turned to marvel at the landscape, Lennie wandered off.

“This is a nice place for a picnic. It’s a little too cold, but still nice. I wish you’d told me where we were going.” When Lennie didn’t answer, Sherelle looked over her shoulder then followed him. “We should come here in the spring and have a picnic.” She stopped when he picked something up and moved toward her. “Are you kidding me?”

Lennie sat the box on the ground, spread out a blanket, and removed its contents.

“Before you go thinking I’m a genius, I have a confession to make. I had help. I have an old friend who promised me that if I ever brought a date to these parts, she’d make me a picnic basket.” With a sheepish grin and open palms, he shrugged. “You are the first person I’ve brought here.”

“How did she know where to place the box?”

“Each time I made this trip, we’d come here to make sure we had the right spot." Lennie pointed at the blanket. "Shall we?”

Sherelle sat and helped unload the basket. “Weren’t you afraid animals might rummage through the food?”

Lennie handed her a thermos. “Here. Sip this.”

Sherelle frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Go on. Drink.”

Sherelle sniffed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had apple cider. Then she swallowed.

“Hot! Did she just leave?”

“I suppose so.”

“The two of you had this timed perfectly, I see. Who is she?”

“There’s a little café in Ashland, Virginia where I stop and have coffee. The lady who runs it is Maria Vasquez.” Sherelle’s dour expression disturbed him. “She’s married, maybe fifty years old, with two grown sons and a twelve-year-old daughter,” Lennie added. Sherelle smiled.

Lennie relaxed.

After they ate, Lennie lay on his back. Sherelle did the same, in the opposite direction, their heads almost touching. Both gaped at the sleepy sky. It’d be dark soon.

“Lennie, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“I felt something in the middle of your back during the ride up here. What is it?”

“A gun.”

“You always carry it?”

“I’m never without it.”

“Part of your training I suppose.”

“You could say that.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Anything.”

“You miss flying?” For several long minutes, Sherelle only heard the euphony of forest melodies and fluttered wings overhead.

The question dropped Lennie in the middle of a heated battle. He wanted to fly again; blamed

Sherelle for his inability to do so. He remembered the many jumps from helicopters and fixed wings into hostile territory. His many disguises that provided the right amount of camouflage.

The scary time he spoke the wrong Russian dialect. How he once navigated his plane ten miles off course. And that faraway look in the eyes of those he rescued. Four straight years he lived and breathed Special Forces. Had no desire to do anything else. Until Sherelle.

Despite the fact he held her responsible for ending his career, he also wanted more than a friendship with her. Sherelle had consumed his dreams and suffocated his need to fly each time he laid eyes on her. She’s the first person who might say the sky is green and he believe it.

Everything about her calmed him—ramblings about her job; childish defenses against a commitment. When she looked at him, though he knew she hadn’t realized it, she brought him to his knees. If she wanted the moon, all she had to do was ask. He’d rope it nice and tight then place it at her feet.

But what he wanted conflicted with what he needed. Without a doubt, he needed Sherelle.

“I miss flying a lot. It’s been an adjustment for me.”

“What do you miss most?”

“My comrades. The adrenaline rush. The thrill of beating the odds to come out alive.”

Lennie watched Sherelle walk away and tuck her hands inside her pockets. He strolled with her along a rutted trail, trying to find words to explain his pain.

“Matter of fact,” he continued, “I’m surprised I didn’t get hurt sooner. We experienced a number of volatile missions. Went into places we shouldn’t have escaped. It’s amazing our unit only lost two men in those four years. We went through some grueling experiences.” Lennie stopped and watched as Sherelle moseyed ahead of him. “But you know what hurts more?”

When she turned and looked into his eyes, for a brief moment they shared an unspeakable tenderness. Drawn to him as though he had physically outstretched his arms and pulled her in, she strode toward him. Found it impossible to avoid the longing lurking behind his gaze.

“Lennie, what could possibly hurt you more?”

“The thought of not seeing you again.”

“How can you say that? I took something precious from you. Though I didn’t mean to, I hurt you. I’ll never be able to get over that. I acted irresponsibly. I can’t forgive myself for the pain I’ve put you through.”

“I’ll help you with that.”

“How?” “I’ll love your guilt away.” Lennie took a step forward and reached for her.

Sherelle stared at his hand and tussled with salty droplets landing in corners of her mouth. She fought even harder with his forgiving heart.

Lennie placed her hand in his and kissed her palm. “I don’t mean to scare you when I say this,

but when I told you I only had three steady dates, I failed to say I never loved any of them. Not the way I’m falling in love with you.”

Sherelle jerked her hand away, folded her arms then faced a large gap in the trees.

“Love seems to come easy for you. For me? If I’m not putting out fires, I don’t know how to function. I can’t even offer you enough of my time. Lennie, what on earth can I give you?”

“Give me your love. I don’t need anything else.”

Sherelle lifted one hand, pleading to walk alone for a while. She followed a trail for at least a half mile, stopping several times to wipe tears. She questioned her feelings. Declared if this misery resembled love, she could do without it. What she felt had no similarities to tales she’d read as a little girl. Joy seemed afar off. Happy endings, nonexistent.

Sherelle made a fist. She had to get a hold of herself. The second this weekend came to an end, she’d do everything in her power to concentrate on nothing but work. Randall Osborne wanted news; something compelling, something no one else had.

Her entire psyche gravitated to the assassination plot and wouldn’t let go. Sherelle’s cloudy eyes scanned the terrain as her journalistic juices leaked questions. She needed to know who the United States planned to assassinate and where. She thought of trying to worm her way back into Lennie’s apartment. Uncomfortable with that idea, Sherelle shook her head. There had to be a better way. Surely someone at the Defense Department knows about the plot. She needed to call her source and have him . . . .

Sherelle stopped and turned around. What was she doing? Lennie had rescued her from death.

Death! She declared. And here she stood plotting to expose a story that might end his career— again. The bitter realization she was no more than an overzealous journalist made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t let go of the job for one waking moment. Without an ounce of strength to control it, a torrential downpour covered her face. If she didn’t stop crying, all that she’d given up for this thirty-two hour excursion would end in ruins.

Gone long enough, she dried her eyes and returned to Lennie. She didn’t know how, but she had to give everything she had to quell her need for a story, and her growing affection for Lennie.

That was a tall order, but she told herself she could do it. She must.

After they mounted the bike, Lennie grabbed Sherelle’s hand and kissed it. When he first saw her tear stains, he wanted to scoop her into his arms. Something told him not to. He knew she needed time.

They drove through the Virginia countryside until they reached Richmond where they stayed the night. They said goodnight, promising to meet for breakfast at eight. Fifteen minutes later as Lennie placed his gun inside the drawer and slipped off his shoes, he remembered something.

“Sherelle, are you still dressed?” he asked after tapping on her cottage door.

“Yes. Why?” “Can you come out for a minute? I’ve got something I want to show you.”

“Lennie, it’s getting late,” she said, peeping through a crack in the door.

“Come with me. This will only take a minute.”

After she stepped onto the porch, he reached for her hand then led her several hundred yards across the complex until he came to a hill.

“Look out there.”

Along the horizon, band after band of colossal mountaintops stood enshrouded in heavy fog. The night sky was infused with moonlight and unveiled mountain peaks that looked like toes peeking through worn socks. Forestry remained hidden behind layers of darkness. There was no disturbance in the air, on the ground, or between Lennie and Sherelle.

“What do you think? Beautiful isn’t it?” When Sherelle didn’t answer, Lennie looked at her moonlit face. He’d give anything to see her eyes.

“Breathtaking. There are no words. It’s so . . .” “. . . romantic,” Lennie interjected. “I thought so too when I saw it months ago.” After standing in awkward silence for several minutes, he asked, “How did you like your first bike ride?”

“I enjoyed it very much. Lennie, thank you for this trip. No way I’d stop and enjoy this peace and solitude on my own. It was kind of you to bring me here.” She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she remembered the roses. “You know, I never thanked you for the roses.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said, his eyes now transfixed on the chivalrous scene.

“Lennie.”

“Yes.” “Thanks for the roses. They were beautiful.”

“I’d give you the world if you’d let me.” The words came from the depth of his soul. He never moved, never looked at her. Felt no fear or a need to rescind his words. ### Sunday morning Lennie dressed then knocked on Sherelle’s door. He looked at his watch.

Seven-thirty. He knocked again. As he walked toward the office, he saw Sherelle sitting in the grass not far from the cottage.

His slow approach gave him time to savor her radiant beauty. She looked at peace sitting there, knees up, a light breeze toying with her hair. He pulled out his cell phone, captured the moment then slid the phone back in his pocket.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning. How do you feel?”

“Good. I thought I’d be the early bird.”

“Sorry. My body won’t let me sleep past six.”

“Ready for breakfast?”

“Not yet.” She patted the ground. “Come sit. Look at that. Can you see how the sun is rising between the trees right above that mountain?”

It was a brilliant dawn smothered in a cool fall mist, overwhelmed by amalgamated odors of decay, purple asters, anise hyssop, Russian sage, and sharp fumes of fall mums. Eagles soared.

Squirrels scampered through trees. Fall colors in spectacular gold and red and orange and green and brown resembled an overworked artist’s weary hand.

Sherelle thought about walking through the wet humus and kick through the leaves. She wanted to pretend to be a kid again. She reneged. The cool weather hindered enjoyment of the childhood folly. A warm fire seemed more appropriate. But thoughts of the two of them cuddling in front of a fire tortured her soul. No matter how hard she tried, the image stayed etched in her mind. She inhaled, hoping to dispel thoughts of romance, but Lennie’s scent filled her lungs.

“It’s so peaceful and beautiful here. You ever sit and wonder where the sun comes from? Or where it sleeps? This time of year is so special. Though everything is dying, new beginnings are sprouting everywhere.” Sherelle didn’t have a clue what she meant. All she knew was she couldn't stop talking.

“I remember walking to school on days like this and kicking leaves,” she continued, “and dropping my books more than once. I tried to keep up with my friends, but I was fascinated by the clear cold days of fall.” When Lennie didn’t respond, Sherelle rubbed her knees then faced him. “I think fall is my favorite time of year. Don’t you think it’s beautiful here?”

“You’re beautiful.”

A delicious tension locked their eyes. She wanted something to save her from drowning in his bronze prisms. Sherelle tried to look away, but couldn’t.

He’d already incinerated in her amber fire. Even his ears felt ablaze.

“Has anyone ever told you how kind you are? How you make a woman feel energized? I’ve never met a man so gentle and kind.”

“I’m not sure how to take that. You’ve never dated. You have no one to compare me with,” he teased.

“I’d like to meet your mother,” she said, ignoring his banter. “They say you can always tell what a man’s like through his mother. What is she like?”

“Kind, but assertive. Patient. I’d like to think I’m a lot like her.”

“Then you’re more than a woman can ask for.” Sherelle quickly pressed her lips against her knees. She’d intended to think it, not say it.

“When I think of you, I think of royalty. A queen.”

“Ha!” Sherelle laughed and relaxed her shoulders. “With my work hours, I’d say I’m definitely a queen ant.”

“Ants don’t possess your poise and elegance. You’re . . . lovely. I’m beginning to think God sent you to rescue me rather than the other way around. I-I’m falling so deep in love with you.”

Sherelle fell silent. Her shoulders tightened.

Love. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d heard that word thrice. This time it swirled in the air and landed at the base of her neck. Sherelle felt it tiptoe across her lips and set them afire. For a moment, she thought Lennie had somehow wrapped her in a warm embrace without ever moving from his seat. She felt hot, almost feverish. Desperate for ice, a chill, a splash of water, anything that might cool the heat, she spread her fingers and pressed them into the ground. She clawed deep, shivered at the feel of cold earth between her fingers. At last, when all fantasies dissipated, she could breathe, as long as Lennie didn’t mention love again.

Sherelle found this new emotion complicated. It posed questions. Demanded answers. It required time then completely dissolved it. Offered choices then requested a commitment. Sherelle wanted nothing to do with it, but had no power to control her need for it. She enjoyed the challenges of her job—getting up at ungodly hours of the morning. Her fights with Randall Osborne over a layout or debates about a headline felt invigorating. Could love do that?

But could Lennie be right? Had God put them together? And didn’t she want to fall under Lennie’s spell? Her arms stung from the force with which she used to push her hand deep into the soil. After letting go of the earth, she slapped her hands together then shook off the dirt, grass, and dew. Somehow, she had to build enough courage to also slap away distractions threatening her career. She didn’t come this far to leave all she’d worked for blowing in the wind for someone else to chase.

“I guess we better eat. I’m starved,” she said.

After Lennie rose, he pulled her forward, their stare piercing and unnerving. He didn’t remember doing it, but he slid his hand around her waist.

Sherelle dare not stay in his embrace and feel his strong arms chip away her fight. In a fitful hurry, she brushed herself off and made a beeline for the cottage.

Lennie thought he saw a familiar face as he trailed behind, but he shrugged it off. After they found a table in the cottage dining area, a voice matching the face he saw earlier unleashed old feelings.

“Lennie, you sweet thing! Nice to see you again.” When the woman opened her arms, her wool poncho brushed Sherelle’s face.

Lennie folded his lips then threw his napkin on the table and stood. “Angela,” he said, followed by a deep groan.

“And who do we have here?” Angela wrapped her arms around Lennie’s neck as she stared at

the pretty woman sharing his table.

“Angela, this is Sherelle Lindsey. Sherelle, Angela Healy.”

“Good morning—” Sherelle extended her hand. Angela turned away.

“Baby, I haven’t heard from you in four years. You look good. We need to talk.”

“There’s no need to talk, Angela. You’re married now.” Lennie tried to pry Angela’s hands apart.

Angela stepped back and stuck out her hand. “Not anymore handsome. We need to go out some time. I’m free next weekend.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I’m seeing someone.”

“Really?” Angela batted her false eyelashes, protruded her puffy, bright, red lips. “Somehow I don’t believe that. You’re not one to get around.” A horn sounded and Angela cast a wicked look at the tan Jaguar sitting out front.

“I better get back to my breakfast,” Lennie said.

“Call me next week. We need to catch up. I’d love to hear of your adventures.” Angela grabbed Lennie by the collar and kissed him. “That’s so you don’t forget to call me. Talk to you next week!”

Sherelle watched as Angela whisked away and landed in the arms of a tall well-dressed gentleman. She sandwiched her nervous hands between her legs. “Wow! She’s gorgeous. Who is she?”

“My ex.” Miffed, Lennie forced his words between clenched teeth as he made frantic attempts to remove grime from his lips.

Sherelle’s amber eyes ignited into a turbulent volcanic fire then cooled to a translucent gold before turning cold and black. She pushed her shoulders back as though someone might land a right hook across her jaw. “Your ex? You never told me you were married,” Sherelle exclaimed with a great deal of indignation.

“We were engaged.”

“Oh.” A look of dismay washed over her. “You failed to mention that, too. Why?” “Can we discuss something else?” Lennie picked up his glass of orange juice, drank it then asked the waitress for another.

“What happened between you two?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me. I want to know.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Well, you don’t have to be so snippy.” His words stung sharp as needles. Sherelle threw her napkin on the table and proceeded to leave.

Lennie reached for her. Sherelle slipped from his grip. He ran after her. She freed herself again and slammed the cottage door in his face. With his back against the door, he sat and recanted the breakup.

“Sherelle, she only wanted someone of stature. A month after Angela broke our engagement she married the CEO of a car company. Heard it was an elaborate wedding,” Lennie mumbled.

“What a waste of money.” He shook his head. “She only told me we were incompatible. It still bothers me because I didn’t see it coming.” Lennie almost fell through the door when Sherelle opened it.

“So why were you so irritated when I asked about her?”

“I’m angry! I never had a chance to fight it out. She called me on the phone, spat out some jargon about we would never make it together, and hung up. I never heard from her again until today. When I saw her, my first inclination was to ask the real reason for the breakup? My second,” Lennie laughed, “to not say a word. Just let her chatter away. That would have incensed her.”

“I imagine she’d be quite peeved with you for not responding to her. Still, she’s beautiful.”

Lennie stood and placed his curled index finger under her chin. “Not as beautiful as you.” Lennie watched as Sherelle looked away. “You really don’t have any idea the amount of power you possess, do you?”

Sherelle stepped off the porch. “Where are we headed today? Sightseeing?”

In disbelief, Lennie watched her walk to the motorcycle and put on her helmet. “We’ll go into Richmond then drive back early afternoon so we can capture more of the landscape. Later, I have a surprise for you.”

“Then let’s get on with it.”

Chapter 12 Lennie parked his bike in Washington Apartment’s underground garage then persuaded Sherelle to stroll with him toward 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. On the way, they stopped at a newsstand where Sherelle bought a Look Magazine. It had a black and white picture of J. F. Kennedy’s motorcade on the cover and an inset of Jackie Kennedy Onasis. Sherelle tucked the magazine under her arm then squeezed herself tight.

“Cold?” Lennie saw her bristle against the cool October air.

“A little.” She looked at the dim afternoon sky. “Winter is almost here. Can you believe Thanksgiving is just around the corner?”

“Here.” Lennie covered her with his jacket then squeezed her before he let go.

“What about you?”

“I’m good.”

Handsome and reliable, thoughtful and caring, Sherelle couldn’t help ruminating over what made Angela end their engagement. A man of immeasurable charm and elegance, he also personified grit and bravery while exuding enormous control. He’d not imposed himself on her or spat out directives of what she should or shouldn’t do. He never whined or voiced a need for her to change. And not once had he inflicted guilt for her obsession to succeed.

Sherelle never required a man to open a door for her or thought of the gesture as a passage into manhood. She could open her own door. But when Lennie did it, his confidence lacked the overbearing ego often displayed by men who needed constant approval. He needed no thank you’s or special recognitions. He opened doors and pulled out chairs for Sherelle because he wanted to. What was there not to love about Lennie?

But it occurred to Sherelle, if Angela no longer loved Lennie, did Lennie still love Angela?

“Lennie, can I ask you something about Angela?” she asked as they hurried across the street.

“If you must.”

“Do you still love her?”

Lennie stopped after he landed on the sidewalk. He stared into the streets. “I never loved her,” he said after a prolonged silence. “I didn’t know how to get out of it. But I didn’t want to let go either.” Lennie sighed. “Confusing, but that’s the truth.”

“Would you have married her had she not broken off the engagement?”

Lennie walked with measured steps as he distilled important truths from one year of lascivious behavior.

He admitted Angela made him crazy. She talked too much. She dismissed everything not in line with her agenda. Yet, her beauty silenced a room. Educated at Harvard, she impressed many foreign dignitaries with her knowledge. French ambassadors, taken aback by the elegant manner

in which she spoke their language, fell for her charm. She disagreed with their political views just enough to prove she understood their position.

Lennie remembered how she exerted great effort in getting her hands on a list of attendees to White House functions so she’d form a tactical approach to heads of states, prime ministers, and foreign presidents. However, he felt none of that attentiveness existed in their relationship on any level. Lennie thought Angela saw their pairing as some sort of business transaction she’d renege on if any part of it failed. Knowing this hadn’t created an urgent need to leave her, nor had it buffered the pain when she ended the engagement.

He didn’t know how to explain any of that to Sherelle. It pained him to try.

“Would you? Would you have married her had she not broken off the engagement?” Sherelle asked again.

“I’m not sure. I’m just not sure.”

Sherelle and Lennie slumped into a deep silence. They kept a cautious distance until their walk led to a gated area in front of the White House.

“What are we doing here?” Sherelle asked after Lennie showed the security guard his identification.

“You’ll see.”

Once inside, Lennie held Sherelle’s hand and led her through several pristine hallways before they stood before portraits of U.S. presidents. Sherelle loved the bold red and blue and green rooms, exquisite drapes, spacious halls, and marbled floors. She looked in awe at fine china, gazed with much amazement at portraits of first ladies. Lennie opened the door to the White House Briefing Room where Sherelle insisted she be allowed to sit in its theater-like seats and stare at the podium. “It’s smaller than I imagined,” she had said, squirming and pretending to be attentive to a make-believe press secretary.

After the tour, they stood on the Lincoln Memorial steps and decided it was too late to go any farther.

“You liked the tour?” Lennie asked as he descended one step at a time.

“You’re amazing.” Losing herself in the moment, she tiptoed and kissed him. At once she placed her hand over her mouth. “I am so sorry.”

Under the cover of darkness, Lennie shut his eyes and sank under the smell of her perfume and the feel of her lips. He kissed her palm then squeezed it. “I better get you home. It’s getting late.”

As he moved forward, she pulled back. Able to see him in silhouette, she thought about kissing him again, this time with no fear of hearing, feeling, or saying words of love. “Lennie, I want you to know I had a great time. This is probably one of the best days of my life. Thank you.”

Lennie slid his arm around her waist, walked her home, kissed her on the forehead, and whisked away before he broke his vow.

### Off in the distance, wicked streaks of lightning lit the sky. Sherelle heard no thunder, saw no rain. She lay between cool sheets and wondered if she possessed enough strength to juggle romance and a promising career. She couldn’t wrap her arms around this still-nascent longing for Lennie. It was as new to her as skydiving, and she had never gone skydiving a day in her life.

She liked Lennie. A lot. But was that enough?

Sherelle remembered the many conversations her co-workers had about courtships and tried to apply their discussions to her dilemma. Before she knew it, a stark reality put her make-believe romance into a tailspin then it took a nosedive. Like many of her co-workers’ relationships, she and Lennie seemed headed in different directions. No matter how her co-workers’ relationships ended, the reasons were the same—incompatibility. Without warning a chill disturbed every hair follicle on her body.

She and Lennie had nothing in common. He seemed less ambitious. She wondered if there was any truth to that assumption. It didn’t matter. They had other differences that caused concern. For instance, he came from a large family and he seemed anxious to start his own. As an only child, Sherelle spent too many years self-absorbed and ambitious. She sat up and chiseled through her emotions only to discover, like so many their age, Lennie had fallen prey to the idea of marrying before thirty. Next on his agenda—a house filled with children.

Sherelle’s eyes bulged like a hungry dragonfly confused by so much on the menu. She wanted to become managing editor and seemed bent on the idea no matter how disgruntled her co-workers became. In secret, she disregarded the notion to continue sharing duties with David Schiffer. She wanted to build credibility and share that title with no one. To get it, she’d work even longer hours to develop lead stories for The Nation’s News. Pages and pages of notes crammed her briefcase. She had one cabinet filled with pitches she’d organized by subject, along with a few ideas of her own to pursue. Sherelle enjoyed her job and had learned the newspaper business so well people groaned at the mention of her name.

Settling down didn’t appear as a line-item on her career path. She had no room for children or household chores. Sherelle considered the idea of attending office parties or fancy dinners donning as Lennie’s trophy-wife absurd. Before Lennie, she had one goal in mind. Sherelle rolled her eyes then stared at the ceiling. How quick she forgot becoming managing editor took precedence over everything else. If she didn’t ditch these warm fuzzy feelings for Lennie, she’d jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard for. After all, what good was an education if she didn’t use it?

As her temper cooled, it became apparent the temptation to fall in love wasn’t her only obstacle.

Sherelle grabbed the cell phone, rubbed it with her thumb and contemplated calling her contact to verify brewing trouble in Europe. Above everything she was a journalist first. Though uncomfortably cool inside her tiny apartment, she wiped her damp brow and defied temptations to be swept off her feet by Lennie or anyone else. With a sudden burst of energy, she pressed “Secret Contact” on her cell phone then paused. Was this her perfect escape from fairy tale endings and romantic fantasies? Never mind that, she thought. She had a job to do and she needed to get on with it.

“Remember, no names,” Sherelle said after making a calculated decision to make the call.

“Alright.”

Lightning crackled and lit the room. Sherelle flinched. “I need you to nose around and see what you can dig up about a possible assassination in Europe.”

“Where in Europe?”

“I have no idea,” Sherelle replied.

“That will be difficult. You can’t narrow it down to a state, city, perhaps a particular country?”

Light drizzle splattered the windowpane.

“That’s all I have. Be careful, ” Sherelle warned. “This could be big.”

“Can you say where you got this information?”

“I can never tell. You know that.”

Thunder shook the earth.

Chapter 13 Too weary to put in another hour, Sherelle packed her briefcase and left the office at two p.m.

She didn’t want to hear from The Nation’s News unless God had broken his promise and submerged the earth in water for a second time. For the past two weeks, everyone put in extra hours to accommodate those needing time off for next week’s Thanksgiving Holiday.

At home, Sherelle barely kicked off her shoes before rushing to the bathroom to take a shower then crawl into bed. When her landline rang the first time, Sherelle never stirred. Five minutes later, it rang again and she fumbled around for it before pressing it to her ear.

“Hello,” her voice muffled and groggy.

“Sherelle. It’s Lennie.”

Sherelle propped herself on one elbow and rubbed her eyes. “Lennie?”

“I woke you?”

“It’s okay. What time is it?”

“Eight.”

“Eight? I slept six hours?” Sherelle tousled her hair.

“How did you manage to leave work so early?”

“My body couldn’t take anymore.”

“Sherelle, have you thought about the Thanksgiving Holiday? I thought we might have Thanksgiving dinner together. I was thinking we could go out to dinner on Wednesday and maybe cook at my place on Thursday.”

“Ooh, Lennie, I planned to sleep all day. There’s hardly four weeks left in the year and I think we’re trying to milk every hour out of them. We’re still working shorthanded. I’d really like to spend my day off resting before I have to face another grueling week.”

Aware of the possibility Sherelle might reject his offer, he still felt disappointed. “Have you eaten?” he asked, holding on to hopes of seeing her.

“Not since eleven this morning.”

“Why don’t I pick up Chinese?”

“That sounds good.”

“I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”

Sherelle trudged to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and applied a touch of rouge and a thin layer of lipstick. She pinned her hair up then slipped in a pair of sweats and warm socks. Sherelle tugged on the sheets. Good enough. She’d only return to bed after she ate dinner anyway. She planned to sleep all day tomorrow, eat vegetables right out the can if she had any in the pantry.

Or she’d order pizza. Then she’d sleep the day and night away.

Not much of a coffee drinker, she filled her one cup with hot water from the faucet then stared out the bedroom window. The cool November breeze flirted with storefront awnings. Moonlight betrayed everything—empty alleys, vacant cars, bus stops, sidewalks, stray cats. Sherelle saw nothing of significance until her eyes landed on a tan car. Next to it two familiar people stood talking then hugging and kissing below a streetlamp. Fortified with more control than she’d ever imagined, she took a sip of water and watched as the male figure left then returned.

Sherelle rotated the hot cup with her palms. In quiet desperation, she made feeble attempts to meld hurt with anger; disgust with disappointment; hate with longing. She had a harder time, however, reasoning why it felt as though a cruise ship’s anchor had ripped through her chest. ### Giddy as a school boy, Lennie put on one shoe and hopped around his apartment with the other one halfway on and dragging to the floor. He slipped into his jacket before he thought to brush his teeth and comb his hair. Forget the hair, he thought. He’d put on a hat.

After he picked up his to-go order, he rounded the corner on foot. A cream-colored car slowed then stopped in front of him.

“Lennie. Darling. I’ve tried to get in touch with you. Why won’t you pick up?”

Lennie stopped, pushed his head back, and stared at the nocturnal tarp above him. If he could push that voice as far away as the stars, he’d feel no remorse. He buried his chin in his chest, breathed deep then turned around. “Angela, haven’t we said all that we needed to say?”

“Why haven’t you called me? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, but all I get is your voice mail. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were preoccupied with little Miss-What’s-HerName.”

“Her name is Sherelle Lindsey.”

“Where did you meet her? Never mind that. I need to see you. I’ve missed you.”

Before Lennie backed away, Angela kissed him. Instead of resisting, Lennie decided to make his point once and for all. He placed the bags on the ground then kissed her long and hard.

“Wow! Why don’t we finish this in your apartment?”

Lennie picked up his dinner. “Angela, I’m not the man you met five years ago. I’ve grown up in ways you couldn’t possibly understand. So, no, you can’t come up, not tonight, tomorrow night, or any other night.”

“Then what was that?” She pointed to her lips.

“I needed to remind you of what you left behind. Goodbye, Angela.” He walked away, but returned and stood toe-to-toe with her. “So you don’t lose any sleep at night, there’s something else I want you to know. I never loved you.” All of a sudden, Lennie felt as if a burden had lifted. He started to walk away again, but stopped and looked over his shoulder, unable to resist

one last stab at revenge. “How did you put it, Angela? ‘We’re just not compatible,’” he said, mocking her. “You were right. We aren’t compatible. Thanks for helping me see that.” ### Lennie took a deep breath before he rang Sherelle’s doorbell, rubbing his lips to make sure he’d remove all traces of lipstick. He pressed the doorbell at the precise moment he noticed Angela’s perfume had settled in his jacket.

“Aaah, food!” Sherelle grabbed the bags and sat them in the middle of the floor. Lennie remained at the door, his arms outstretched with curled fingers still serving as hangers for their meal.

“No, ‘hello you. Nice to see you. Thank you for the food, sir.’” Lennie twitched his body in different directions in a poor rendition of a mime.

Sherelle laughed then waved him inside. “Come on in. I have no furniture so we’ll have to sit on the floor. I’ll get you something to drink.” She paused. “Rats! I don’t have anything to drink.”

“Drinks are in the bags.” He took off his jacket and laid it on the floor.

“Lennie, I owe you big time.”

“I had to eat, too. How’s the job?” Lennie split the meal in half. “I have Coke and sweet iced tea.” Sherelle grabbed the Coke.

“The job is fine. I’m investigating a superintendent accused of pilfering funds from the school district. The local stuff is usually not my area, but it’s a nice change. I’m working ten to twelvehour days . . . sometimes fourteen. Other than that, it’s more of the same.”

“Sherelle, what are you chasing? A title?”

“I know I’m too ambitious for my own good. What about you?”

“Same as you, but not for the same reasons.”

“Then what’s the point?” Sherelle leaned back and dropped a noodle in her mouth.

“Although I’ve barely been on the job a year, my career is solid. Promotions come in time. I don’t need to sit around stressing about it. And unless America tanks, my retirement is on track. I just need someone to share it with.”

“Well, I’m not ready to settle down,” she said as she bit into a tuna roll. “Becoming a wife would stretch me too thin. Motherhood would scare me. I can hardly keep my apartment clean and groceries in the refrigerator. I don’t know if I could juggle a kid, a career, and a husband.”

Sherelle groaned. “My mother would be upset if she saw this place.”

Lennie looked at the rumpled bed linen, clothes stacked knee high along the wall, takeout boxes and trash stacked in a corner. “Maybe I should give her a call.” Lennie winked.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Now that I know it means that much to you, yes I would.”

Sherelle wiped her hands on a napkin then tossed it at him. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on me.”

“I’m not allowing you to buy dinner. You’ve taken care of the bill three times. Not this time.”

Sherelle grabbed her handbag, pulled out a twenty, stuffed it in his upper jacket pocket then patted his chest. “There you go.” She held her breath until she turned away from the disgusting fumes.

“So, why can’t we have Thanksgiving dinner next week?”

Sherelle stopped in the middle of placing an Edamame bean pod in her mouth. After what she saw, she couldn’t believe he’d ask such a thing. He claimed he never loved Angela, yet how could she dismiss the affection displayed outside her window? Whatever their relationship, Sherelle thought he needed time to redefine it, rekindle it, or perhaps take one of his dates on this joy ride while he handled it. As far as she was concerned, she was done with it.

Sherelle had a sudden urge to shave his sexy goatee clean and fill that cute little dimple of his with rice. She wanted to burn his ears with a torrent of hateful lectures, give him back his food, turn him around, and push him right out the door.

“It just can’t happen,” she said between clenched teeth.

“Why not?”

She tossed the bean pod in the trash. “Lennie, I saw you and Angela moments ago.”

“What? How?” He looked toward her bed then over at the window. “I need to explain. What you saw was deceiving,” he said, pointing behind him.

“You should’ve leveled with me. You’re still in love with her. But look, you don’t have to explain it to me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes I do. You’re important to me and—” “No, I’m not,” she snapped. “We hardly know each other. Besides,” she chuckled, “I’m much too busy to contemplate marriage and a family and be on this wild goose chase you call love. I’m not sure I ever want those things. I think Angela did us both a huge favor. You get what you want. And I can move forward with no distractions. You couldn’t ask for a better outcome than that.”

“Sherelle, what you saw out there wasn’t what it seemed. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Lennie, you’re taking this all wrong. You talk as if I might care. Come now. You saved my life and I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean we have to fall in love. Or date. Or ever see each other again. I’m happy for you. Honest. It’s obvious you and Angela still have things to work out.”

Sherelle stood, jammed fists against her hips, and nodded toward the door. “You better go. And you must do a better job of wiping that disgusting lipstick off your mouth. Couldn’t she wear any other color besides red? And please buy her better perfume. The cheap stuff stinks.”

“Sherelle—” Lennie began as he continued rubbing his mouth.

“Just go. Please. Go!”

Chapter 14 Downcast, Lennie didn’t think his night could get any worse. He fell back on his couch and considered why he didn’t walk away—no, run—after he heard Angela’s voice. In the span of two hours, he had gone from longing, to happy, to utter disappointment. He closed his eyes and fretted over the possibility Sherelle spoke truth. They had no obligation to fall in love, or date, or ever see each other again.

Lennie asked himself if he’d ever win Sherelle’s heart. No, he thought, he’d misread too many mixed messages and ignored a number of red flags in the process. To fall in love with a woman who’d destroyed the nuts and bolts of his existence had disaster written all over it. He should’ve aborted the idea of a future with her a long time ago. He knew that now. She’d nearly got him killed in Cairo—his first red flag. She had ruined his chances of ever navigating a fixed wing— his second red flag. And he got all tongue-tied and breathless whenever she came near—his third red flag. Subtract Sherelle from the equation and he’d still be sitting inside an Apache firing at enemy targets, or hovering over dangerous terrain in a Kiowa OH-58D. Maybe he'd maneuver through a hot muggy jungle and hurl hostages to safety. Certain of one thing, he’d not sit here and sulk over a woman for a second time in four years.

“But isn’t all this friction and disappointment part of what makes a relationship?” Lennie mumbled in the dark as he pounded his chest. He wasn't afraid to tackle the highs and lows of courtship, but he didn’t think in his wildest dreams pursuit of a good woman would be this complicated. Lennie hit his thigh with his fist. No! Being tongue-tied and breathless meant he loved her. And nothing would change that.

Once the butterflies calmed inside his stomach, he’d experienced an unimaginable happiness any time she came near. Could he be confused? Lennie shook his head. He didn’t think so. Though he hadn’t known Sherelle a year, she never left his thoughts. He prayed to see her on the train.

Wished she’d accept his invitation to dinner, to a movie, or another bike ride through the foothills of Virginia. When her face lit up after he surprised her with a private tour of the White House, he’d wanted to stay in the moment for a lifetime.

No chance of that now.

Lennie got up and sat alongside the bed. He envisioned going to the jewelry store then rushing to her side and asking for her hand in marriage. Lennie's hand washed over his face as his daydream faded. With no hope of a steady courtship, and definitely not a marriage, he had nowhere to turn.

He couldn’t jump from airplanes to escape his agony. And he dare not torture himself by riding through the hills of Virginia. Maybe, Lennie thought, he had misinterpreted God’s plan. Perhaps Sherelle’s sole purpose was to save him, not love him.

Tell that to his heart. ### The day before Thanksgiving Sherelle closed and locked her office door. Then she sat and turned her chair on its wheels and looked out her office window to watch the busy Washington streets.

A deep hurt had settled in her chest for almost a week. No matter how many hours she worked or how many documents she read, Lennie consumed her thoughts. If she’d go one moment without

thinking about him, she’d consider it a victory. Sherelle longed to feel his hands around her waist and wanted to caress his face so bad her fingertips burned. She looked at her fingers. Neither red or on fire, her pale and dimpled fingers felt cold.

Sherelle had ten articles needing her immediate attention, all with conflicting deadlines. She had written two, but they did nothing to satisfy Randall Osborne’s thirst for more news. The European assassination plot had the potential to satisfy his hunger for news.

In spite of working her source over the course of several weeks, Sherelle’s contact came up with nothing. She watched the news for any word of a revolt. A skirmish alarming enough to lead to an assassination attempt never surfaced. If she told Randall what she’d found in Lennie’s office, he’d leap at the chance to put his sources on it. Not thrilled with the way she’d obtained the information, she didn’t feel comfortable disclosing it to Randall. Besides, if legitimate, she had no plans to share credit for the story. This might land her a managing editor position, if not with The Nation’s News then with a competitor.

She often considered Lennie’s reaction if he knew what she’d done. She needn’t worry about ruining their relationship anymore. In her mind, they never had one. Whatever connection they had, it dried up with the arrival of Angela.

Sherelle couldn’t disregard the fact Lennie had saved her life. His heroic sacrifice demoted her zealous ambitions to that of a mindless, selfish child. At twenty-five, Sherelle made strong efforts to convince herself she’d grown up. In actuality, she concluded, she hadn’t acted any better than the squabbling children she had babysat years ago.

Someone tapped on her office door. Sherelle opened it then returned to her chair and stared out the window.

“What is it, Mary?” Sherelle asked.

“The Colorado dam story is ready for print,” Mary said, holding the door halfway open.

A man stuck his head in the doorway. “Sherelle, Randy wants to meet with you this afternoon to go over the Korean crisis. Looks like both sides are at it again.” The man darted away before Sherelle responded.

“Sherelle, you think it’d be okay if I take off Monday?” someone else asked. With Thanksgiving hours away, Sherelle vented a casual “Sure” without bothering to identify the staff making the request.

Another co-worker barged in and brushed past Mary. “Sherelle,” she whispered, “I’ve got a wardrobe malfunction here.” The woman had a firm hand cupped to her breast. “My bra broke.

Someone said you keep safety pins. Can I have one? I’m coming undone.”

From her purse, Sherelle retrieved a pin and handed it to the woman, all in silence, without looking at her. Then she gazed out the window once more.

Tourists on the streets reminded her of the White House tour and the walk on Lincoln Memorial.

Lennie had kissed her palm and protectively wrapped his arm around her waist. She rubbed her palm and allowed the memory to marinate in regret. She couldn’t decide which she regretted

most—spending time with Lennie, or not kissing him again when she had the chance.

“Sherelle, did you hear me? The story is ready for print. You want to check it one last time? Can we print it?” Mary asked again.

“Run it.” After Mary left, Sherelle locked her door then skimmed through the ten documents and marked them for corrections. Her office phone rang a number of times. She unplugged it. When her cell phone sounded, she turned it off. She took another thirty minutes to go over the documents, tweaking the layout, deleting a paragraph here and there before calling her staff together and doling out last minute instructions.

“And when that clock strikes five-thirty, I don’t want to see a soul on the floor. I want you all to go home. It’s Thanksgiving. No one is working late tonight, including me. So, I suggest you guys work as a team and do whatever you have to do to get this done. I’d like to go home and actually cook a meal tonight. Now let’s get to it.”

Her team didn’t finish until six-fifteen, but Sherelle refused to be disgruntled over forty-five minutes.

Exhausted, she opened a turkey sandwich bought from a nearby convenience store and sipped on a can of ginger ale. She listened to three voice mails from her parents, deleted them, and proceeded to prop herself on pillows and thumb through the Look Magazine in hopes of falling asleep. She ignored the large, grainy, black and white photograph of J.F.K. riding in a limousine.

Rather, she focused on the inset of Jackie Kennedy Onasis adorned in a single strand of white pearls.

Sherelle admired her, even felt a tad of envy of the former first lady. With every turn of the page, Sherelle thought Jackie O. possessed more than a powerful last name. Dignity, honor, and respect placated the royalty and deep humility she’d exhibited during her lifetime. No need for flamboyancy, indignities over her murdered husband, or dependence on the world’s praise to validate her greatness. Her firm place in history thrived five generations because Jackie O. embodied a lady.

“To mimic her kindness and authenticity . . .” Sherelle allowed the phrase to hang in the air, much like the unfinished business between she and Lennie, much like her unfulfilled life. She looked out her bedroom window and remembered the night she saw Lennie hold Angela in a tight embrace. What would Jackie O. say to Lennie? Would she forgive him?

Sherelle shook her head. Forgiveness didn’t apply. She and Lennie had never been a couple. “I made sure of that, didn’t I?” Sherelle whispered. “If I had returned a drop of his love, none of this would have happened.”

Sherelle flipped through the magazine with enough force to rip its pages. Then she stopped and gave full attention to an Egyptian model promoting a new cosmetic line. Squeezing the magazine did nothing to ease her anxieties for letting Lennie go. It seemed she’d only known him for a minute, but that minute had all the earmarks of a steady courtship.

She pressed her abdomen with her fist, but failed to slow panic rising inside her. Efforts to become a successful journalist exposed her inability to put anyone above herself. All she ever did

was live to work and work to live.

She reflected how quick she’d left Vivian Cassius’ funeral and took a taxi to the office to clean out Vivian’s desk. She hadn’t taken the time to mourn. No tears for Vivian. No time to shake the family’s hand.

She wouldn't take time to grocery shop, cook a meal, or read a good book. She even halted pursuits to find a decent beautician. Her hair was a matted mess and she’d lose most of it if she didn’t take better care of it. Sherelle ate on the run, took quick showers, and reviewed documents all day. No time to date. No holding hands. No I love you’s. No tenderness exposed, exchanged, or exhausted through endless efforts.

Lennie maneuvered around her work schedule so they’d spend time together. Never at her initiation unless, of course, she needed a meal brought to her doorstep. Even her parents had taken on the persona of strangers anxious to take up more of her time.

Sherelle’s fear of depending on others had a strong hold on her, not to mention that ever-eluding retirement fund her father always talked about.

Sherelle covered her face as it became clear Angela had nothing to do with her determination to turn Lennie away. She’d win Lennie’s heart in spite of Angela. But dare she give up a career in exchange for love? That sounded downright ludicrous. But hadn’t people done crazier things to feel this emotion?

After spending nearly an hour in mental anguish, Sherelle came to terms with the fact her all or nothing approach to life had failed. How she’d change, she didn’t know, and she hadn’t the slightest idea where to start.

She flinched when the cell phone rang then moaned when Randall Osborne’s name scrolled across the screen.

“Sherelle, I just received your e-mail. The layout for the Syrian story looks great. ‘The Death of All Men’ is a great title.”

“Thanks.” Sherelle reached for a wadded napkin off the nightstand and blew her nose.

“You never told me how you got wind of that hate crime in Texas. The pictures are too graphic so we’ll need to choose better ones when you get in on Friday. ‘A Repeat of History’ is a good title. I like it. Good job!”

“Those titles came to me at one o’clock one morning. I probably thought of them during a state of delirium.” Sherelle blew her nose again. “Randall, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me during the Thanksgiving Holiday.”

“I know, I know, I know. But something’s come up. We need another story for February and I’ve come up with an idea.”

“And this couldn’t wait until Friday? I’ve given you twelve- to fourteen-hour days for nine months straight. I have one day off and you call me about a story that won’t be published until February? Randall, it is November.”

“You’re right, but let me at least tease you with this idea. You can sleep on it and let me know what you think on Friday.”

Sherelle released an audible exaggerated sigh. “What is it?”

“I want to do a story on your rescue from Cairo.”

“Wha— What?"

"We never covered your rescue in Cairo. This would be a fine time to do it. What do you think?"

"No! Absolutely not! That's not gonna happen.”

“Earlier in the year you said you would do this.”

“I said no such thing, Randall. I don’t want to do that story. I’m not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”

“Think about it. You can argue with me on Friday. The second anniversary of your rescue is in April so we’ll be ahead of everyone else. It might be a good idea to write it up as a three-part series. This is the kind of stuff that sells papers.”

Sherelle felt as if a hand grenade had exploded in the pit of her stomach. “No. No. No. Nononononono. No! This isn’t happening.” Sherelle snatched the Look Magazine off the bed and released her anger and frustration by twisting, bending, and folding it.

“C’mon, Sherelle. It’d be a great story.”

“That rescue has been spun to death. Let it go, Randall.”

“You don’t have a choice. Sherelle, don’t make this hard. Good stories are hard to find. They come in waves. We need to ride this one. We need this.”

Sherelle massaged her temples then stared into space. She thought of the assassination plot in Europe. Did she have the nerve to do it? “Maybe there’s another way,” Sherelle said as she silenced a nagging voice telling her not to do it.

“You got a better story?”

“I do.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“Friday. I’ll let you know first thing Friday.”

“Why not tonight?”

“It’s too complicated. I’ll come in early. We’ll talk then.”

Sherelle tossed the phone on the nightstand then eyed the crumpled pages of the Egyptian model with indignation. She picked up the mangled magazine and threw it hard against the wall. She

shuddered at the cold, callous, and ruthless person she had become. For two hours, she walked the floor and tried to build the courage to call Lennie. After tonight, she’d no longer concern herself with him falling in love with her. After tonight, he’d hate the sight of her.

Chapter 15 Sherelle dialed Lennie’s number. After four rings, the call went to voice mail. She paced the full length of her studio apartment and wished for a better way out of this debacle. But she knew being a coward about this had the potential of making the situation catastrophic. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“I’ve gotten myself into this, now I need to ‘fess up, no matter how embarrassing it is.” Just once Sherelle wished the walls would talk back to her—tell her what a fool she’d been; tell her the many things she hated to admit about herself.

From her bedroom window, silver garland gleamed in a pool of moonlight. Large green and red glittery bells fastened to streetlamps swayed in the wind. Sherelle paced again as she tapped the telephone in her palm. She hoped for peace and understanding, but anticipating such grace only exposed her self-centered heart.

Sherelle wanted to erase the past six months of her life. If she hadn’t met Lennie on the train she’d be content flourishing in her career. But that’s not how things had happened. Lennie had disrupted her life. Hadn’t she also disrupted his? If she’d left Cairo earlier, Lennie might still be rescuing poor souls from danger. However, she’d miss the pleasure of knowing him.

Unafraid to admit it, Lennie made her smile. He was the one bright spot in her day. He gave her what she needed without casting judgment. He never lectured her about not having toured the White House. He simply arranged for the private tour and spent hours walking her through American history.

She never once asked him over for dinner, and she'd only paid for one meal. Yet, he had not only bought dinner on several occasions, but had also cooked. Their ride through the Blue Ridge Parkway afforded her a peace she’d rarely experienced, and no one knew how bad she needed that moment of peace than Lennie.

“And this is how I repay him,” she whispered into the dark. “When have I ever thought about anyone else?” Sherelle didn’t know how this would turn out, but she had to make things right.

That meant she had to speak truth.

Her hands shook. She pressed them between her legs before attempting to dial Lennie’s number again. When she felt ready—who was she fooling?—she’d never be ready. She tapped the keypad as if someone had hotwired the nerves in her finger.

“Lennie,” Sherelle said, fear and worry in her voice, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I have missed you so much. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up the phone and started to call you,” Lennie replied.

“I’ve got a confession I need to make.”

“I want to see you. I’ve got a thousand things I want to say. Can I come over? I know it’s late, but if I could see you just for a moment.”

“Lennie, after I tell you this, I’m not sure you’ll want to pass me on the street.”

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad. Why don’t you tell me in person? Let me come over.”

“Lennie, it’s hard enough to do this on the phone,” Sherelle snapped.

For a moment, Lennie fell silent. “O-Okay. What is it?”

“Lennie, you remember that night I was at your place for dinner? I believe it was in August.”

“How could I forget?”

“Remember when I fell asleep on the couch . . . You woke me up . . . I went to the bathroom.”

“And?” “I’d mistaken your spare bedroom for the bathroom. I saw papers on your desk and . . . Lennie, I don’t know how else to say this but to tell you that I acted like the overzealous reporter that I am and—” “You sound as worried as my housekeeper. Those documents don’t mean a thing to an untrained eye. You saw nothing more than a fictitious exercise from one of the seminars I attended. And not all the materials were there. Sherelle, if you ran a story based on what you saw, it might ruin your career, not mine.”

Sherelle moved her lips, but nothing came out. She tried again. “Lennie, I can’t tell you how embarrassed and ashamed I am. I had no right.”

“No, you didn’t. Don’t you know life is more about people and relationships? I’m trying to build a relationship with you. I don’t care about money and promotions, politics and world affairs. I care about you. Can’t you see that? If you had questions about what you found, why didn’t you tell me sooner? Don’t you remember what I told you?”

“No. What?”

“You can ask me anything.”

Sherelle’s bottom lip quivered. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“Let me come over, Sherelle.”

“Are you kidding me? Can you not see what’s happening here? Don’t you see what I almost did to you? Don’t you know who I am? I’m a selfish, self-centered moron. How could you want to be in the same room with me? I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a moron. You’re better than that. Believe me. What’s important is that you see what you did then move on. How many times must I say this? I care about you. Not my career. Can’t we discuss this in person?”

“No! I can’t handle seeing you right now. Not after what I’ve done. I’m too ashamed.”

Sherelle hung up and collapsed on the bed, half numb and fully disgusted and ashamed she'd set out to ruin Lennie’s career. Haunted by her selfishness, she refused to sleep.

### On Friday, Sherelle drank three cups of coffee and chased them down with hot water before the first staff member arrived. The caffeine had thrown her into a nervous frenzy. She paced her office so many times she became nauseated. She vomited once in the bathroom, then again in the trash can. Not only had she overworked her body with fluids, she also had a headache and a backache. Last night she hadn’t slept. When her parents phoned, she hadn’t answered. She returned their phone call at midnight and left a message pleading with them not to call back for a couple of days.

She walked the floors all night, worried how she’d tell Randall she had no story. Matter of fact, she never had a story.

As soon as Randall’s office lit up, she barged in.

“I can’t do the story,” she exclaimed, wringing her hands, her voice louder than intended.

Randall hung his coat on a hook behind the door, amazed at Sherelle’s high anxiety so early in the morning.

“Why not?” Randall asked.

“I just can’t.”

“Sit down and tell me about it then I’ll decide.” Randall eased in his leather chair, unbuttoned his suit coat, and tugged at his tie several times before casting Sherelle a peremptory glance.

“I can’t sit down.”

“You know if you don’t come up with a story of your own, we have to go with the Cairo rescue, don’t you?”

Sherelle folded her arms and bowed her head.

“Is there something about the rescue I should know? Are there parts that haven’t been revealed . . . parts you’re afraid will come out?”

Sherelle slid all ten fingers through her hair and kept shaking her head.

“What is it then? I’ve never seen you like this. What’s wrong with you?”

Sherelle covered her face. “Randall, I—” “Sherelle, sit down. You’re scaring me. I mean it. Sit!” Randall locked his office door then returned to his seat. “I’ve never seen you this emotional about anything.” He spread out his arms.

“This . . . This is something else. What is it?”

After a moment, Sherelle dried her eyes and sat straight, looking dazed and afraid. “It’s nothing.

Really.” She stood and walked to the door. “Randall, I’m tired. That’s all. I’ve acted unprofessional. I apologize.” Sherelle squeezed the doorknob, straightened her back then took in a deep breath. “I’ll do the interview.”

“Just like that?”

Sherelle nodded. “Who’s conducting it?”

“I’m putting David on it.”

“I want Elizabeth to do it.”

“Oookay. It goes to print on January 30th and hits the streets February 1st. You ready for this?”

“Sure.” Her response, weak and pathetic.

Randall grabbed Sherelle by the arm. “Come with me.”

“What are you doing?”

He stopped outside her office door. “Get your things.”

“Are you firing me?”

“You need time off. You look scared out of your mind.”

“But Randall, I’ve got several stories I need to run by Monday.”

“I’m the boss here and I say you’re going home. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I need you fresh for that interview. You need to calm down before you relive that nightmare.”

“You should have thought of that after you came up with this ludicrous idea.” She yanked her arm away. Randall grabbed Sherelle’s coat and helped her into it. “Randall, this isn’t making any sense. It’s late November. We have plenty of time to—” Randall turned Sherelle around and squeezed both her arms. “I want you to go home and I don’t want to see you until the Christmas Party on December 20th.”

“But Randall—” “Out!” Randall stood in the middle of the office and clapped his hands. “People, listen up! I don’t want one phone call patched to Sherelle. Is that clear? Not one. Not until I say so!” He turned to Sherelle. “Get some rest. You look awful.” Sherelle inhaled to further challenge him, but he blurted out, “One more word and I’ll have you pack all your things and you won’t have to worry about coming back. Have I made myself clear?” ### On the train ride home, Sherelle sunk in the seat. Frightened, she now had to approach Lennie for an interview. Neither of them wanted to relive the escape. And to encounter him after she’d almost ruined his career for a second time seemed too much to bear. But even under these extreme circumstances, she’d give anything to touch the dimple in his chin or smell his cologne.

He had no idea how bad she missed him. Not seeing the way he pushed his head back in laughter after one of her ridiculous statements made her miss him even more. If she had one more chance,

she’d wrap her arms around him and not let go. But Sherelle knew she had no right. Lennie in no way belonged to her just as she hadn’t belonged to him.

Sherelle scrambled to retrieve her cell phone from her purse. “Hello.”

“I got word I’m conducting the interview. Interviewing a hero is so exciting. Are you excited?”

“Elizabeth, why are you whispering?”

“Randall told us not to call you, remember?”

“Oh . . . that.”

“Sherelle, what’s wrong?”

“Do you know how traumatic this is for me?”

“I don’t think any of us know how traumatic it was for you. Was it really that bad?”

“Ever been shot at, Elizabeth?”

“We had a shooting in my apartment building many years ago. We were all scared out of our minds. The police had the building locked down for nearly eight hours.”

“Try being crouched down in a jeep with gunfire streaming above your head or pipe bombs blasting outside your window. Or not knowing how many students will show up for class the next day or how many you lost in the last bombing.”

“Sherelle, I had no idea.”

“That’s the problem. No one does.”

“Did you ever see Major Williams again?”

“Look, I have a lot to do," Sherelle responded, avoiding the question. "I’ve got to clear my head so I can be fresh for the interview.”

“When you want to do it?”

“Two weeks out.”

“Want me to call Major Williams?”

Sherelle sighed. “No, I’ll do it. Won't he be surprised to hear from me?” she mumbled.

“What time?”

“Eleven o’clock at the Ritz Carlton on 22nd Street. Elizabeth, have you done your research?”

“No, but I promise I’ll be up to speed before the interview. You want to see my outline before then?”

“I trust you.”

Chapter 16 Eric and Charlotte Lindsey refused to spend another day in Seattle for the Christmas Holidays without their daughter. For months they had lengthy talks regarding Sherelle’s unwillingness to come home for a visit, and her refusal to permit them to come to Washington. After her returned phone call at midnight on Thanksgiving, they knew things had turned for the worse. Despite her best effort, Sherelle couldn’t disguise her despair. For that reason, and their desperate need to know if she was as bad as she sounded, Eric and Charlotte made plans to arrive in D.C. unannounced.

Chapter 17 Sherelle hated Randall had forced her inside her cramped studio apartment to face her wretched ways head-on. Her darkness had layers and she didn’t have much stamina to fight through them.

Thoughts of seeking a managing editor position with another newspaper waned. She didn’t want to craft another story, look at another layout, perform another interview, or scramble to meet another deadline. With her energy spent, her professional career at a standstill, and her personal life in shambles, she thought of escaping to a remote island. No chance of that.

By her second week off, she appreciated Randall’s wisdom. Finally able to sleep, she’d only wake to go to the bathroom, order take-out, eat, and return to bed.

With newfound energy in her third week, Sherelle began to write again. She sat in the middle of her bed and put together a story of a teenage boy abandoned by his relatives. She encountered the story several months ago while investigating a superintendent’s alleged mishandling of school funds. The young boy had slept in an empty warehouse for nearly a year. On more than one occasion, his teacher smelled a foul odor coming from the fourteen-year-old and reported it to the principal. When the young man couldn’t give a valid home address, the principal phoned the Department of Human Services (“DHS”). Sherelle had conducted several interviews with the principal and DHS by phone.

She struggled with a catchy ending to the story when someone knocked on the door. Dressed in a black tee-shirt, no bra, flannel pajama pants, and clad in thick fuzzy socks, she felt clothed enough to at least crack the door open, if necessary. She checked the time on her cell. Five p.m.

“Who is it?”

“Eric and Charlotte Lindsey,” a voice boomed from the other side of the door.

Sherelle hurried and pulled at latches, unlocking and locking and unlocking the door in a rush to open it. She stayed in their embrace for what seemed ten full minutes before either of them let go.

“Can we come in?” Charlotte asked.

“Of course. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Because you’d have talked us out of it,” her father said. Eric looked around. Identifying that foul odor in the room was the first order of business. He rolled his eyes at three pizza boxes underneath a trash bag and a sink full of Styrofoam boxes, paper cups, and plastic utensils.

Charlotte took off her gloves, looked for a place to lay her mink hat and coat. She drew a sudden breath. Three one-liter ginger ale bottles sat in the bedroom window. Piles of clothes lie in separate corners.

“What happened here?” Before Sherelle spoke, Charlotte made her way to the bed and gaped at the bare white walls then meandered through the short hall and peeked in the bathroom before returning to the front door. No dining room table, no chairs, no dresser, no pictures on the walls, no curtains. No plants anywhere.

During Charlotte’s examination, Eric mustered enough courage to open the refrigerator then the pantry. He found nothing edible. Eric shoved his hands in his pockets and settled his weight against a wall.

Charlotte stared at Eric’s disgruntled face. His lower lip firmly fixed atop his upper. His mind doing somersaults, Charlotte concluded, and voicing, assuredly, his disgust at the sight before him. Charlotte touched Eric’s arm then faced her daughter. “Baby, we need to run a few errands.

We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Wait. I can explain. You see, I’m working long hours and haven’t had time to clean.”

Charlotte patted Sherelle’s face. “We’ll be back. You shower and get dressed.” She leaned closer to her daughter’s face and whispered, “And put on a bra.”

While her parents shopped, Sherelle managed to take a shower, straighten her bed, put out the trash, and wash and dry two loads of clothes. She had no dish soap; a broom, but no mop.

When Eric and Charlotte returned, they brought with them two men, all of whom had tons of groceries, wall hangings, lamps, rugs, dishes, even a thirty-seven inch television, a cheap end table, two body pillows, and a Christmas tree.

After the men placed groceries on the floor, Eric tipped them enough to compensate for their time and fill their tanks. Eric then took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and scrubbed the cabinets, cleaned the refrigerator, and put groceries away. Afterwards, he and Charlotte switched places. Charlotte lit a lemon-scented candle and prepared dinner while Eric swept the floors.

“Momma, why don’t you let me cook?” Sherelle asked.

Charlotte nodded toward bags sitting along the wall. “In that yellow bag on the floor you’ll find nails and a hammer. Hang those pictures wherever you like. Before I forget, help your father out by digging under your bed for anything that’s found a home. I’d like to get the floors mopped before dinner. Whatever you do, don’t disturb the fresh bed linen.”

“We could skip all this and go out to eat. Besides, I don’t have a table and chairs.”

“You see that ugly, green, square thing against the wall . . . that disgusting card table with four chairs. Well, that’s our dinner table.” Charlotte patted her daughter’s arm. “Before we land in Seattle, promise me that you’ll get more furniture in your apartment.”

Sherelle buried her head in her mother’s chest. “Momma, I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”

Charlotte’s brows snapped together. “Who have you disappointed?”

Sherelle pushed away and wiped her eyes. “I better get started,” she said, avoiding the question.

“There’s a lot to do.”

As soon as they finished dinner, Eric slid two body pillows across the floor. He removed his shoes, loosened his belt, and got comfortable. Charlotte and Sherelle sat on the bed, turned on a lamp, and watched Eric squirm until he found “his spot” as they called it. Then he nodded off.

“Where did he get the pillows?” Sherelle whispered.

“From a store chain we’ve never heard of. You should’ve seen him stuffing those monstrous things into the cab.”

“Daddy’s just not one to miss his nap after he eats, is he?”

“Can you girls quiet down?” Eric mumbled.

Charlotte lowered her voice. “He’ll never change.” Charlotte grabbed her daughter’s hand and looked at her hard and long. “What’s going on with you, Sherelle?”

“What do you mean?”

Charlotte reached for her purse and pulled out her compact mirror. “Look.” Sherelle turned away, but Charlotte insisted. “I mean it. Take a look.”

Sherelle studied her dry skin then pulled at her brittle hair. Though she’d pinned it up, her mossy strands looked like bales of hay gone bad. Charlotte didn’t give Sherelle time to explain.

“What are you doing to yourself? What is a career if you’ve run yourself into the ground?” After Sherelle explained her boss had given her several weeks off from work and she’d committed to rest, Charlotte reached for Sherelle’s laptop. “You call this resting? This is what you do with your time off? I bought you two bottles of bubble bath. I want you to get in the habit of drawing a bath and sitting in it until it gets cold. Stop taking so many showers and always being in a hurry. You need to learn how to relax. And I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

The doorbell rang. Everyone looked toward the door then at each other.

Sherelle had a doleful look about her as she made her way to the door.

“Who is it?”

Eric raised his head. “There isn’t a peephole in that door?”

“There is,” Charlotte responded.

“Why doesn’t she use it?”

“I wonder why she doesn’t do a lot of things, Eric.”

They heard Sherelle open the door and watched as she talked to someone in the doorway.

“It was nice of you,” they heard, “but I can’t accept this. I didn’t buy you anything.”

“I didn’t expect anything, Sherelle. You do have a problem with accepting gifts, don’t you?” the voice sounded.

Charlotte and Eric looked at each other. Charlotte stood and straightened her clothing as Eric whispered his opposition to her interference. Charlotte swept hair from her eyes then strode across the room in her bare feet and stepped in front of Sherelle.

“Good evening. I’m Charlotte Lindsey, Sherelle’s mother.” Charlotte reached to shake the gentleman’s hand and pulled him inside. “And you are?”

“Lennie Williams. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lindsey.”

Eric sat up and furrowed his brow as he rehearsed the name over and over again in his head.

“Major Williams?”

Lennie looked toward the other side of the room and saw an older gentleman standing next to the bed. The men walked toward each other. “Yes sir,” Lennie said, extending his hand.

“Charlotte, this is the man who rescued Sherelle in Cairo.”

“Are you serious?” A stunned look appeared on Charlotte’s face. Before she stopped herself, she turned and stared at Sherelle, who, to her dismay, stood with her hand still gripped to the door handle.

“Does he have anything to do with the disappointment you spoke of earlier?”

Sherelle ignored her mother and closed the door.

Eric grabbed another pillow and invited Lennie to sit. They rehashed the rescue, spoke of Sherelle’s foolish decision to remain among the hostility, and Eric poured out praise for Major Williams’ service and rescue of his only child. Afterwards they talked sports, Lennie’s parents, and of Lennie’s childhood. For a lack of anything else to do, they unpacked the thirty-seven inch television and placed it on the cheap end table and scrambled to find a sports channel.

Sherelle, on the other hand, tried to avoid most of her mother’s questions. She became too preoccupied with Lennie showing up without calling first and overly concerned with the gift she had placed on the counter.

Lennie startled her when he asked, “Aren’t you going to open your gift?”

“Christmas is tomorrow,” she said.

“But looks like you guys are celebrating today.”

Charlotte winked at Eric and within five minutes they had gathered their things and left, kissing Sherelle goodbye and promising to return in the morning. With a keen sense of what had transpired, Charlotte asked Lennie to help Sherelle decorate the Christmas tree.

“You promise?” she had asked.

“I promise,” Lennie had said.

Now alone Lennie thought of telling Sherelle how much he’d missed her.

“I like your mother.” Lennie thought that was a good opening to help ease tension.

“I like yours, too.”

Sherelle had overheard stories Lennie told her father. One of Lennie’s brothers had gone on a

two-year missionary journey to Italy. Another still lived in Paris. One planned to move his family to D.C. soon. Two worked as teachers. And another had plans to run for governor. His mother and father had retired and traveled across the world at least six months out the year. She also learned his mother had sang to him at bedtime until he turned thirteen. And for Christmas every year, she sent each child a scrapbook page of pictures from their youth.

“What do we do now?” Sherelle asked.

“I promised your mother we’d decorate the tree.”

Before the decorating process begun, Sherelle picked up the eight-inch box and handed it to Lennie. “You might want to return this and get your money back. I don’t have the words to fully explain right now, but as much as I want you to stay, I can’t allow it. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what I almost did to you. This gift only complicates things for me. Lennie, you’d do me a great favor if you’d just leave.” She shoved the eight inch box towards him. “I’m sorry.”

Lennie stopped when he reached the door. “I’ll go because you asked me to. But there’s something I want you to remember. I’ll always love you. Nothing will change that. I want your love of your own free will. And I’m willing to wait for it.”

After she closed and locked the door, she pressed her back against it and sobbed uncontrollably.

She’d missed him. When she stopped crying, it dawned on her that she’d made asking for an interview that much harder.

Chapter 18 The New Year brought about change. Sherelle promised her parents she’d call every weekend.

While in the mood for new beginnings, she also decided she’d put other changes in place. From this day forward, she’d leave work at a decent hour, get more sleep, and at least be kinder to Major Laurence Williams, an idea she thought might meet with her parents’ approval. How she’d be kind to Lennie without melting under his gaze, she had no idea, that’s providing she’d ever see him again. For all she knew, those same gorgeous eyes might spit bricks into her chest once she got around to asking him for an interview. She didn’t want to think about that now. Sherelle decided to reserve that dilemma for another day.

She beamed after rising at six a.m. on the first Saturday since her parents’ departure. She opened her new curtains to let the early sunlight in then she read Psalms 23, 37, and I Corinthians 13:48. The Apostle Paul had a perspective on love she craved to understand. Her scripture reading reminded her that she needed to call the cab company to arrange for someone to pick her up at ten thirty sharp on Sunday—every Sunday. She planned to go to church whether it rained or snowed. She had more repenting to do.

After her reading, she phoned her parents and allowed their conversation to drag on for thirty minutes without a need to end the call. During the weekday, she rose no earlier than six fortyfive to prepare breakfast, sometimes cooking her favorite, Eggah, an old Egyptian recipe.

For lunch she power-walked at the park. At four-thirty sharp, she cleaned her desk and walked out the door by five fifteen. If someone on her team had a hard time meeting a deadline, everyone pitched in, including other departments. This reduced overtime pay. Randall Osborne loved Sherelle’s revamped leadership role and he didn’t hesitate to compensate her for it. They soon made a deal. Anytime she worked extra hours, she’d bargain for and he’d grant a day off instead of monetary compensation.

On the train ride home, she saw Lennie three times, but hid from sight to avoid contact. She still had a hard time dealing with the fact she nearly ended his career. Nightly dreams reminded her that she had grown too weak to deny she loved him. No way she’d tell him that. She had a nagging fear that in the end all she’d do is hurt him all over again.

Lennie, however, didn’t make it easy on her to forget the pain she’d caused. Shortly after he left her apartment on Christmas Eve, he started leaving food at her door. Always hot, she couldn’t understand how he’d gotten the food to her apartment in what seemed like minutes before she arrived. Days later he started leaving voice mails at the same time Monday through Friday. “I’m calling to remind you that I love you,” he’d always say. She felt relieved if that’s all he said.

But on days when he’d leave longer messages, she’d barely get through the night. His words stuck in her head all day long. “All this time, I’ve been a coward. A fool. I never should have left that night without explaining myself. There’s a hole in my heart without you. I want to see you,” he had said on one voice message. “For some reason, today was harder than yesterday. No matter what I did or where I went, I thought about you. With each passing day, I’m dying inside.

I never told you this, but I took a picture of you when we were in Richmond. I look at it every night before I drift off to sleep and wonder if I’ll ever get to hold you, kiss you, or run my hand through your hair. ” After a short pause, he said, “Sherelle, I love you.”

When his messages didn’t grant him an audience, he came by. She’d hear his light tap on the door, but she never answered. Sometimes, in her stocking feet, she’d tiptoe to the door and quietly sit and listen to his pleas. Then she’d spend the rest of the evening crying herself to sleep.

He would inevitably call the same night, saying, “Since I can’t get you on the phone, I came by your apartment today. Guess you weren’t home. Maybe you just didn’t want to answer the door.

Still, I want to see you. Please give me an opportunity to explain.”

One day her overloaded recorder stopped working. She dropped her bags to the floor, sat on the bed and patiently listened to each message to determine which she’d delete in order to make room for new ones.

Today, after she got off the train, she decided to brave the bitter cold and walk two blocks to the dry cleaners to pick up a dress. Matter of fact, she’d bought several new dresses—four arrived this week. She loved showing off her legs, but soon learned she had to supplement her wardrobe with several pair of wool slacks if she wanted to avoid catching pneumonia. Sherelle had already worn the dress twice. One of her favorites, she planned to wear it for the interview scheduled to take place in another week. Still without the courage to ask Lennie for an interview, she toyed with the idea of Randall Osborne firing her if Lennie suddenly became unavailable. For reasons unknown, of course. Sherelle shook her head. “That wouldn’t be right,” she said to herself.

Grocery shopping taxed her patience, but as long as she was out she might as well pick up a bottle of ginger ale on her way home from the dry cleaners. Although her parents had done a fine job of stocking her cabinets, once at the grocery store she loaded the cart with meat, vegetables, and anything else she thought might keep her from venturing out into the cold again.

At checkout, the lines tempted her to forfeit everything inside the cart, except the ginger ale, and move to the Express Lane. Her mother’s voice chimed in her ears, “. . . stop taking so many showers and always being in a hurry.” Sherelle tousled her hair a time or two, smiled, and waited.

Though Lennie stood some distance away, he recognized Sherelle by the way she tilted her head and ran her fingers through her hair. He also noticed the dry cleaning draped on the cart. Did she have a date? The thought chilled him. He asked the lady behind him to save his spot before he moved up the line. He touched a man on the shoulder then slipped him a twenty to switch places.

He expanded his chest before he decided to make a move, stifling his need to hold her. Lennie buried his face in her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Hello beautiful.”

The familiar voice warmed her. In her mind, she eased inside his arms and opened her mouth to kiss him. But the minute her eyes landed on his handsome face, reality replaced her joy with dread.

“I didn’t expect to see you.” Sherelle sounded smug. She stepped to her right to put more distance between them, and perhaps more distance from the problem at hand.

“I can’t believe you’re in a grocery store,” Lennie teased. He looked at her dry cleaning straddled across the shopping cart then pulled lightly on the garment. “Going somewhere fancy?”

“I just came in to pick up a few things.” Sherelle ignored his question about the dress. She didn’t think it appropriate to put him on the spot in a public place and ask for an interview.

“You must be desperate,” Lennie said, smiling.

“Not as much. I made New Year’s resolutions and things are going well.”

“Is this all ma’am,” the clerk asked.

“Yes,” Sherelle replied.

“How are you?” Lennie asked.

“Not bad. You?” “Not sure you want to know.”

The clerk gave Sherelle her change.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know?” Sherelle asked as she grabbed her groceries and waited for Lennie to check out.

“It’s a long story. No need to discuss it here. You’ve been getting my messages?”

Sherelle looked down. “Yes, I have.”

“Can we talk?”

“I’d rather not. It’s still uncomfortable for me. If I didn’t say it before, I want you to know I’m sorry.”

“Let’s talk.”

“I can’t. I just can’t.” Sherelle tried to wipe her eyes, but her groceries spilled to the ground.

Lennie scurried across the sidewalk and grabbed the ginger ale, then scooped up a cucumber and several tomatoes and placed them inside her bag.

When they both stood face to face, Lennie reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

“You’ll catch a terrible cold if you don’t stay dry.”

“Thank you.” Sherelle nodded in the direction of her apartment. “I need to go.”

“Yes. Of course. January has turned out to be a cold month. Stay warm.”

Several times Sherelle started to turn around and ask if he’d do the interview, but the question stuck in her throat. When she finally built up enough courage to look behind her, Sherelle stood in the middle of the sidewalk and wondered if she'd ever see him again. Bustling against the cold, she headed home, trying but failing to keep tears from falling. ### At the corner, Lennie looked behind him, regretting his inability to persuade her to give him ten

minutes of her time. He'd promised himself the next time he saw her, he wouldn’t be so tonguetied. But he’d been naïve regarding the power she had over him. Had he kept his wits about him, he would ask her out to dinner. But as he looked at his cold shaky hands, he realized Sherelle had once again rendered him defenseless. ### Sherelle thought about Lennie as she put groceries away. She knew there was no way out of the interview. If she called him right now, maybe his anger over the idea would simmer by Saturday.

Then perhaps they’d perform the interview and somehow go their separate ways and get on with their lives.

Thoughts of the interview frazzled her nerves and suppressed her appetite. She decided to shower. Afterwards, she sat on the bed and grabbed the worn Look Magazine she had read four or five times and flipped through the pages once more, her mind never wavering too far from thoughts of Lennie.

When her landline rang and interrupted her thoughts, she glanced at the caller ID. “Hi,” she said with the gentleness of someone in love, ignoring the fact she needed something from him, something he had every right to deny.

“I can’t get you off my mind. I had to call,” Lennie said. “It was nice to see you today. Please let me explain. Just give me ten minutes, Sherelle.” Lennie fell silent for a brief moment. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” Lennie laughed nervously. “I wanted to tell you that on the street. But for some reason, I couldn’t get that out earlier.”

On the brink of caving in and finally admitting her deep affections for him, Sherelle rubbed her eyes. “I need to do this,” she blurted out.

“Do what?”

“Okay. Here goes.” She sighed then stuck out her chest and forced the question out. “Can you do an interview with me on Saturday?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our executive editor wants me to conduct an interview with you regarding the rescue last year.”

“What?”

“We need the story. The anniversary is coming up in three months and Randall seems to think there might be spinoffs from it. He wants to run the story February 1st. Will you do it?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’m dead serious.”

“Sherelle, I’ve recanted that story so many times that I hear it in my sleep. I can’t do that again.

Can’t they find another story to tell?”

“Sorry. Randy’s bent on this one. I tried to talk him out of it.”

“That’s not hard to believe. I’m sure I’m the last person you want to see or do an interview with.”

“How can you say that? I was thinking of how you felt. Not myself. I knew you didn’t want to go through that again.”

“You thought of me alright. How come you didn’t ask me this on the street?”

“I didn’t think you’d do it.” Sherelle paused and thought again. “Alright! I didn’t have the nerve to ask you.”

“And all of a sudden you’ve got the nerve now?”

“No. My knees are knocking. The truth is I felt I didn’t have the right to ask you. Lennie, I perfectly understand if you don’t want to do the interview. I’ll call my boss and tell him to find another story. I respect your decision.”

“Respect my decision? Cancelling the interview would work in your favor. It gets you off the hook. You won’t have to see me, remember what we went through, or remember what we had.

You can’t deny you felt something for me. That’s the part that stays buried in all this.”

“Lennie, we were two lonely people who shared something traumatic. That’s all. Not everyone who shares a traumatic experience falls in love.”

“I did,” he said, his voice steady. “I love you, Sherelle and nothing is going to change that. Not your stubbornness or your dreadful work hours or your pursuit of a job title.”

Sherelle slammed the phone on its cradle. Lennie’s words made everything stand still. Trying to work or sleep or think with his voice lingering in her ear every day seemed impossible.

Frustration knocked her to the floor. She cupped her warm face in her hands, denying then admitting she had always felt something deep for Lennie.

Those feelings first crept inside her while she paced Germany’s hospital hallways as doctors frantically tried to get Lennie’s bleeding under control. She’d clung to his side and prayed for hours, crying, spilling out regrets. When he finally opened his eyes, she kissed them, praised God for his stable blood pressure, for the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Those same feelings teased her during their October motorcycle ride through the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Her feelings deepened the moment she opened the door on Christmas Eve. His voice mails replayed in her mind all through the night.

Having no idea how long it rang, she gazed at the telephone then snatched it off the nightstand.

“I’ll do the interview,” Lennie said.

“You will?”

“When and where?”

“Saturday. Eleven o’clock. At the Ritz Carlton on 22nd Street. Lennie, you really don’t have to—” “See you there.”

Chapter 19 “Is everyone comfortable?” Elizabeth asked.

“Meaning that neither one of us wants to be here, I think we’re as comfortable as we can get,” Lennie said, sitting with his legs crossed. He tried to avoid staring at Sherelle, but he couldn’t help it. He noticed how she gracefully smoothed out the skirt of her dress. How her eyelashes batted endlessly as she struggled to avoid eye contact. How her amber skin diluted to a frosty champagne against the harsh bright camera lights.

At the sound of his voice, Sherelle looked up then turned away. In the span of a few seconds, she noticed things about Lennie that she had forgotten. Like the tiny scar above his left eyebrow or his large manicured hands. They resembled nothing of the aggressive soldier who’d rescued her from a chaotic city and protected her through rampant gunfire. How those same hands had gently held her close and wrapped around her waist on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. She’d forgotten about his smooth face and shrewd jawline. Or his moist lips that kept moving and spewing out words she didn’t understand. Could they be soft and solvent as cotton candy?

“Sherelle? Sherelle?”

“Huh? What?”

“You ready?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, I’m ready.” Sherelle tugged at her blouse to ensure buttons were fastened, ruffles in her collar straightened. Before she finished, someone hovered over her.

“You missed one. The ruffle of your collar is stuck in the side of your neck,” Lennie said.

A woodsy scent emitted from his body and lingered when he returned to his seat.

“Shall we get started?” Elizabeth asked.

“What’s that cologne you’re wearing?” Sherelle asked.

“Lagerfield.”

“Hmm.” “If you’re planning to buy me a bottle, they discontinued it.” Without answering, Sherelle turned away. He couldn’t help smiling at her smug expression.

“Are we ready?” Elizabeth asked. No one answered. “Okay. Today is January 17 and this is an interview with Major Laurence Williams and Sherelle Lindsey.” Elizabeth turned and spoke to someone behind her. “Taylor, is that sound bite okay?”

“It’s fine Liz. Go ahead.”

Elizabeth: Major Williams, let me first say how happy we are that you decided to grant us this interview.

Major Williams: You’re welcome.

Elizabeth: Can you take us back to that day in April almost two years ago . . . the day you rescued Sherelle Lindsey?

Major Williams: My team checked their equipment several times then we checked each other’s clothing.

Elizabeth: Why was your clothing significant?

Major Williams: We had to make sure we blended in and looked like everyone else. We knew the location of the American female, but feared the spot was too hot.

Elizabeth: By hot you mean—what exactly?

Major Williams: There was too much terrorist activity in the area.

Elizabeth: Was the rescue quick?

Major Williams: Yes. She helped us out a great deal.

Elizabeth: Did you have contact with Ms. Lindsey beforehand?

Major Williams: Oh, no. I’m afraid if we had, she’d probably have blown our cover.

Sherelle: There’s no truth to that.

Major Williams: Matter of fact, she probably would’ve thrown us out and told us she’d leave when you felt good and ready.

Sherelle: I assure you that wouldn’t have happened. Sooner or later I’d have figured the whole thing out.

Major Williams: Probably much later if you ask me.

Sherelle: No one is asking you.

Elizabeth: Major Williams, tell me, how did Ms. Lindsey help you rescue her?

Major Williams: When we arrived in Tahrir Square, I saw her through the window. Things got hot really fast. Students were in the streets in a standoff with police and the Egyptian military.

They were throwing anything they could get their hands on. After a tank fired through the building, I entered the AUC building and found a policeman standing over Ms. Lindsey. I pretended to be part of the military unit, even though my Arabic wasn’t that good. I covered it up with a lot of yelling and throwing Ms. Lindsey around.

Elizabeth: Why throw Ms. Lindsey around if you were there to save her? Was the force necessary?

Major Williams: I had to play the part. I had to pretend I hated her.

Elizabeth: I take it you found Ms. Lindsey in a timely manner.

Major Williams: Yes. Elizabeth: Did you and your team encounter gunfire as you took Ms. Lindsey to the bunker?

Major Williams: No. That came later. Once we got to the bunker and Ms. Lindsey became conscious, we gave her something to eat. We were due to leave at 0100. But an hour or two after we brought Sherelle—Miss Lindsey—to safety, our team spotted police and military units approaching our location. We couldn’t go directly to the helicopter.

Elizabeth: Why not?

Major Williams: The Egyptian Army would blow it up.

Elizabeth: So, what did you do?

Major Williams: We created a diversion while another unit traveled west for maybe six hundred yards. The Egyptians didn’t realize they were in an ambush until it was too late. Once the enemy encountered our military fire, we headed toward the helicopter and flew out as fast as we could.

Elizabeth: And that’s when you got hurt.

Major Williams: Some time during that process, yes. I’m not sure when I got shot.

Sherelle: He never moaned. None of us knew he was hurt until the helicopter took off. I don’t know how he did it, but he kept quiet about the pain. I remember trying to help him, but he ordered me back to my seat.

Major Williams: But you were hardheaded.

Sherelle: We needed to stop the bleeding, Lennie.

Elizabeth: Did you? Stop the bleeding?

Sherelle: Not completely. Another soldier who had accompanied us on the plane placed something inside his shirt then stuck him with a needle. There was so much blood.

Elizabeth: Major Williams, how bad was the wound?

“Bad,” Sherelle interrupted. “Because of me,” she said slightly above a whisper, “he’ll never fly again.”

“It’s not your fault I took that mission, Sherelle. I made that decision all on my own.”

“And if I hadn’t decided to be so bullheaded about staying in Cairo, you’d be on your next mission right now.”

“And if that had happened, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. She placed her pad on her lap. Elizabeth took one look at the cameraman then stared back at Major Williams and Sherelle. She quickly picked up her cell and began texting.

“We’re not in love, Lennie,” Sherelle said, tears forming, her voice quivering. “We’re just two people who've had a horrific experience. That’s all.”

“Will you stop saying that? You and I both know there’s no truth in what you’re saying. I am in love.” He leaned forward and buried his elbows in his thighs. “I fell in love with you the moment you walked into my hospital room.”

“And not before?” Sherelle teased.

“Before, you were just a pretty picture. Once that morning light placed a halo over you, there was no turning back.”

“How could you know that?”

“When your heart hurts more than your wounds, you know.”

“I’ve tried so hard not to love you, but I can’t help it. If I go one more day without seeing you, I don’t know what I’ll do. Work doesn’t help. And to think I almost ruined you by publishing that story. I misinterpreted everything I saw in your apartment . . . I . . . I—” Sherelle choked.

“Sherelle—” “No! Let me finish. Even if those papers held no secrets, I had no right. Lennie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Every time I go to the grocery store, I think of you. Every time we run a military story in the paper, you enter my mind. Can you ever forgive me? I don’t know what to do.”

Lennie stood and took her hand. “We’ll figure this out together. What do you say?”

Sherelle broke from his embrace, turned away, and cupped her hand over her mouth. When she faced him again, she had fear in her eyes. “What about Angela?”

Lennie took her into his arms. “There’s something you don’t understand. I should have found a way to tell you. Even after you asked me to leave, I should have found a way. That night you saw us on the street . . . Well, that was my goodbye to her. I’m not proud of the way I handled it.

What I did was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I gave her one last kiss then I told her I never wanted to see her again. Please believe me, Sherelle. There wasn’t an ounce of affection behind that kiss. I thought I was taking out my revenge. I had no idea my spiteful behavior would grab me by the throat. I’m in love with you. Only you.”

Lennie slid his fingers through layers of Sherelle’s thick freshly processed mane. A chill went down her spine. He brushed his nose against hers then gently tilted her head and kissed her. They pulled inches away and looked in each other’s eyes—her volcanic fires dissolving; his satiny light browns dilating and latching onto every ounce of her love, refusing to let her go.

“I almost lost you,” Sherelle said.

“You could never ever lose me.”

“This could get complicated.”

“Please, complicate me.”

“And messy.”

“I was a soldier with the United States Army. Special Forces. I’m accustomed to messy.”

“But how will we ever get over Cairo?”

“We don’t have to. We’ll get married there instead.”

Sherelle’s eyes lit up. “Next week?”

“What about your parents? I’d hate to start off on the wrong foot with them.”

“In two weeks then.”

“In two weeks.” Lennie pushed her an inch away and gazed into her translucent amber eyes.

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll never leave me, no matter how complicated or messy things get or how old and decrepit I become.”

“Lennie Williams, I will never leave you. Ever.”

EPILOGUE It took much cajoling from the United States’ Ambassador to Egypt and a letter from the President of the United States to convince Cairo dignitaries to allow Lennie and Sherelle to marry in the middle of Tahrir Square. The happy couple had to wait fifteen months to perform the ceremony before a crowd of three hundred. After the beautiful festivities, Lennie and Sherelle made a stunning announcement.

“We are happy to tell you that we were actually married seven months ago in a quiet ceremony on the White House lawn. We couldn’t wait,” Lennie said as he held his wife close and nibbled on her ear.

The crowd gasped.

“And we have another announcement,” Sherelle said with a wide grin. Lennie and Sherelle looked into each other’s eyes for a moment then together they said, “We’re five weeks pregnant.”

The crowd erupted and everyone rushed toward them and extended their congratulations.

Lennie’s best man, Harold, had to sit or his weak knees would give out and he’d plummet to the ground. A constant flow of tears ruined Victoria's makeup. Lennie and Sherelle’s parents beamed. Lennie’s six brothers got into an intense debate over the sex of the child. One brother, Larry, promised to give up his love for cookies and ice cream if Sherelle didn’t have twins. Each sibling tapped him on the head and shoulder for thinking he could overcome the main reason for his bulging stomach.

Filled with excitement, Sherelle patted her flat tummy and shared her hopes for a girl. Lennie wanted a son and another six if he could get Sherelle to agree.

Throughout the ceremony, several of The Nation’s News’ staff took pictures, interviewed guests, snooped on private conversations, then texted Randall Osborne this headline: The Nation’s News Managing Editor Marries Hero! Twice!

Randall Osborne reclined in his chair, rubbed his chin, and smiled. “This is the kind of stuff that sells papers.”

THANK YOU! Thank you for taking the time to read "Selfish Ambition." I hope you enjoyed it and were able to experience Sherelle and Lennie’s emotional rollercoaster ride to happiness. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review for my book at your favorite retailer. Reviews are a big part of a writer's success. The more we acquire the more doors are opened for us. So, please, share your thoughts.

For inspirational devotions, please visit my website at http://www.awriterfirst.wordpress.com.

Look for other short stories to be published soon on http://www.Smashwords.com.

For questions or more information, contact me at creativefiction@hotmail.com. I’d love to hear from you.

Follow Donna B. Comeaux: Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/donna.comeaux Website: http://www.awriterfirst.wordpress.com For a sneak preview of my next novel, scroll to the next page.

A Sneak Preview of Another Romance

Donna B. Comeaux

Red Satin Ribbons

Turn the page for a first look at Donna B. Comeaux's new stand-alone novel that reveals how an ugly duckling and a handsome widower find love through a common misfortune.

Red Satin Ribbons Chapter 1.

“Hey! What are you doing? Get out of there before you drown!”

If he inched away from the stony riverbed and got closer, he might lay a hand on her arm. But he slipped. He eyed the raft behind him, but couldn't decide whether to go for his paddle or lunge for her. Water rafting required a raft, a life jacket, and headgear. This woman had neither. She stood in frigid waters wearing a sheer sleeveless dress with a jacket hanging off her shoulders.

Pale fingers looked icy cold. In slow motion, she lifted her hands waist-high and stepped into the river until knee deep.

If he didn't hurry and do something, rough currents would sweep her downstream. “Lady, don't do it!” He rushed to his raft and grabbed his paddle. "Here, grab hold. I’ll pull you in."

She looked over her shoulder. Locked her deep-set eyes on his. Her beardless Van Gogh stare almost devoured him. All of a sudden he felt weak. It was as if the shadow of death in her eyes threatened to grasp him by the throat and take him under. He knew that look and the power generating it. Her inability to cope with life ramped up enough energy to shove her over the edge. This power had anesthetized her so she might better cope with death. Her death. It gave people like her the courage to step off ledges; shoot or hang themselves. How did he know this?

His own hand-to-hand combat with life placed him in a tightly sealed garage with the motor running while he waited for death to arrive. But the car ran out of gas. He felt embarrassed over what he had almost done to himself, but he got through it. He wanted to help her—to tell her that if he could make it so could she.

He balanced his footing on the rocky bank then got close enough to latch onto her arm. Just as he reached for her . . .

She plunged forward.

"Nooo!" he screamed as she slipped out of his reach. One bad footing after another plummeted his knees on the river bank before he was able to push his raft in after her. Although he scanned both sides of the canyon, the female had disappeared. Powerful waters dipped and propelled his raft upward then slammed it too close to shore. In frantic attempts to find her, he stabbed his oar into the waters and maneuvered to the middle of the river. Currents blindsided him then catapulted the raft high in the air. The raft bounced so hard on the turbulence he almost went overboard.

At last he saw the woman's body wedged between two boulders along the river’s edge. Her arms and legs bobbed. A sheet of dark hair gleamed in the sun. For ten minutes, he fought the currents before he got out and brought her ashore.

On one knee, he lifted her hand and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He pressed two fingers on her neck.

Nothing. He rubbed his cold wet hands together then extended both arms and found enough courage to perform CPR. He had to be careful. He didn't think she weighed a hundred pounds. If he applied too much pressure, he'd crack her sternum in two. But after three failed attempts, could he save her? He told himself he had to keep trying. "Come on! Breathe. One . . . Two . . .

Three." He stared at her chest. "Don't you die on me! Don't you dare die on me! One . . . Two . . .

Three. Come on!" He couldn't go through another death. Not now. Whoever this woman was he had to save her. He just had to. "One . . . Two . . . Three. Come on lady. Breathe. Breathe! One . . ."

The moment she coughed he let out a deep sigh of relief. She never opened her eyes. Other than a small rising and falling of her chest, she lay lifeless. Lips, purple. Nail beds, pale. Fingertips as deeply rutted as dried prunes.

As he dug in his waterproof waist pack to retrieve his cell, he stared at a mop of unruly strands that covered half her face. Parallel folds in her dress led him to bare thighs, white panties, and the skinniest legs he had ever seen. He tugged at the soggy garment and covered her thighs before he noticed she had on one shoe.

After he dialed 911, he looked at the cloud-cluttered sky. Colorado's mountain air would soon get colder.

“Glenwood Emergency Dispatch. What’s your emergency?”

“A woman jumped in Glenwood Canyon.” He placed the call on speaker phone then lifted the woman’s eyelids, mimicking what he once saw on television.

“Someone jumped into the river? Where about?”

“The Shoshone section . . . near the highway. I think she tried to commit suicide. She’s unconscious.”

“How long has she been unconscious?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes. Twenty.”

“Do you have flares?”

“No, but like I told you, I can see the highway from where I am. Please hurry.”

“I’ve dispatched emergency personnel, but I need you to stay on the line. It's important to keep her warm. Sir, what’s your name?”

He hurried and took off his life jacket, knelt beside the woman, and covered her. “Robert Jaeger.

My name is Robert Jaeger.” Robert wondered why she wanted to die. To leave life without fully living it somehow seemed selfish. But hadn't he contemplated suicide six months ago after his wife's death? Robert shrugged off the thought. He had an off day, that was all. He'd never meant to go through with it.

“Mr. Jaeger? Mr. Jaeger!"

"Yes. I'm here."

"How long ago did this happen?”

“Twenty— Twenty-five minutes.”

"Does she have any other injuries?"

"She has a bruise under her left eye." Robert removed the life jacket and rolled the woman onto her left side then her right where he discovered her blood-soaked back. "She's bleeding."

Overcome with fear, he tore open her dress. "Oh, my God!" "What is it? What's wrong?"

"She has a large cut across her stomach. It extends from her naval to her right side." Robert got up, took a couple of steps then spewed on the bank.

“Mr. Jaeger? Mr. Jaeger? MR. JAEGER!" "I'm here." With the cell phone still gripped in his hand, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Is the woman still breathing?”

“Yes. What should I do?”

“I need you to remain calm. You're doing fine, Mr. Jaeger. Help is on the way.” ### Robert sat in the hospital waiting room wrapped in a blanket, holding a cup of coffee. Ever so often when he tasted leftover gall, he'd swish the hot brew in his mouth. Robert tried to sit still, but couldn't. He walked the halls every five minutes, his boots sloshing water onto the floor with each step.

Six months ago he'd paced another hospital hallway while he waited to hear of his family’s condition. After a horrific three-vehicle pileup, they'd reported that his wife was in critical condition. Hours later the physician had laid a firm hand on Robert’s shoulder and encouraged him to sit. “Your wife didn't make it . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Jaeger. . . I'm sorry, Mr. Jaeger. . . I'm sorry . . .”

Robert sipped the tepid cup of coffee then wiped his moist eyes with the blanket. He did everything he could to reserve memories of his dead wife for another time.

On the television screen in the far corner of the room, a local news anchor announced the woman's suicide attempt and the rescue by “. . . the computer mogul, Robert Aaron Jaeger. Mr. Jaeger first came on the scene in 2009. He was fresh out of college when he launched his computer empire. As many of you know, Mr. Jaeger is not only the owner of RJ Enterprises, the second largest computer company in the world, but he is also known for his charitable contributions. It doesn't come as a surprise that he would risk his own life to save someone else.

They haven't been able to identify the young female and we've been told by our sources that she has extensive injuries. They're not even sure she'll make it. We hope to have an update to this story at ten o'clock tonight. In other news today, . . .”

Robert turned away from the newscast and watched a physician, two police officers, and a woman gather in the hall several feet away. After a police officer pointed at Robert, the doctor walked toward him.

“Robert Jaeger?”

“I'm Robert Jaeger.”

“Evening. I'm Dr. Patrick Crane, the attending physician here at Valley View Hospital. I understand you’re responsible for saving the woman’s life.”

“How is she?”

“We almost lost her. She’s still unconscious. I’m afraid the river took a lot out of her. I’m very concerned, Mr. Jaeger. Can you give me your best estimate as to how long she stopped breathing?"

"It took me at least twenty minutes to get to her, maybe longer. I had to administer CPR six times before she finally breathed."

Dr. Crane rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. "At this point, all we can do is hope and pray. The next twenty-four hours are crucial. We should be able to better assess her condition in the morning. The police tell me you witnessed the whole thing. You have no idea who she is?”

“Like I told the police, the first time I saw her was right before she fell in the river. I pleaded with her not to do it. Next thing I knew she was facedown in the water. It happened so fast.”

Robert closed his eyes and rubbed his brow.

“The police found an abandoned car on the highway. Let's hope it belongs to her. If so, they might be able to identify her soon.”

“How long will she be in the hospital?”

“It’s hard to say.”

Robert reached inside his waist pack. “Here’s my card. Please, call me. I'll help in any way I can.

That includes flying her family here, or returning her home. Whatever she needs.”

The doctor slipped Robert’s card in his pocket. “You get some rest, Mr. Jaeger. This has been an eventful day for you. I’ll call you as soon as she regains consciousness.”

Robert dumped his cup and blanket at the nurse’s station then left. ### Inside his lodge, he started a fire then took a shower. He stood in the steam fighting the last words the physician had spoken when his wife died. “Your wife didn't make it . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Jaeger. We couldn't stop the hemorrhaging . . . hemorrhaging . . .”

Clad in plaid drawstring pajama pants, Robert slipped into an oversized tee-shirt. With a quick sweep of his hand, he wiped the foggy mirror then examined those Italian features so many women raved about. Like most who lived in Montefalcone, Italy, Robert had cinnamon skin, bright brown eyes. Wavy pitch-black hair made him appear younger than his twenty-seven years.

And though he knew he was remarkably handsome, his strict Italian father had told him long ago that good looks don't make the man. Robert dried the mirror with a towel and took a closer look

at his stubbled face. He thought about shaving. Not tonight. He was too exhausted. The river had spent all his energy.

Barefooted, he walked into the kitchen as he towel-dried his hair. Robert draped the cloth around his neck then started to put on a pot of coffee, but made tea instead. His wife had enjoyed hot flavored teas with honey. Those memories caused anguish and discomfort.

He sat in front of the fire in a lotus position. He had to think of ways to salvage his computer business from prodigies with better computer skills and less business sense. He fooled himself into thinking his business woes had motivated this trip to Colorado. In reality, he not only needed to stop the downward spiral of sales, he also wanted to drown in his sorrow. He gave himself permission to cry twice—the day his wife died and the day of her funeral. From then on, Robert immersed himself in his work and made every effort to get home at a reasonable hour to spend time with his four-year-old daughter.

The woman he saved today had nothing in common with his wife. Twenty pounds heavier, Christina had fuller hips, a voluptuous chest, and eyes that resembled the Maldives waters.

Taller, with porcelain skin, she had cropped hair the color of midnight, burgundy highlights, and serrated bangs.

Flecks of fiery light glistened in Robert's tear-filled eyes. He needed to poke the wood to even out the burn, but he was too tired to move. His eyes toyed with the blaze until a smoky image of Christina impaired his vision. "Dance with me," he said with a smile. Clumsy at it, she'd always danced to R&B soundtracks a second or two off beat. Place her on a ballroom floor, however, and she'd glide with ease. Robert stretched his eyes to see the contours of her face, but she disappeared. His heart ached.

All he had left of her was Mary Elizabeth. Robert held his breath as he reflected on Christina's four hours of labor. He'd told her, "Push! Christina, push. You can do this." She'd strained until her face turned radish-red. After several tries, Christina delivered a healthy six-pound baby girl.

“Mr. Jaeger, stay focused. Your little girl needs you. It’s a miracle your daughter is alive. If that semi had hit the rear of your wife’s car, you’d have lost them both . . . lost them both . . . lost them both . . .”

Robert wiped away his tears and again tried to avoid details of Christina's death. He had Mary Elizabeth to think about. His thoughts drifted to the many afternoons he and his four-year-old played in the sandbox. He oftentimes watched her throw sand in the air. It always took several washings to remove the tiny particles from her hair. Robert didn't care. Mary Elizabeth loved playing in the sand. She giggled the entire time. Put up a fuss when she had to take a bath.

Robert smiled. He wouldn't trade one moment spent with her for anything in the world.

After placing his cup on the table, he rubbed his sore knees then relaxed. Before long his eyelids opened and shut as though the moisture inside had altered to a warm sticky resin. He soon fell asleep.

During his nightmarish dream, Christina's image emerged then drifted away. As he reached for her, he fell in a hole then landed on wet asphalt. Dozens of wedding bells sounded. White rose petals fell to the ground. Long loud tolls followed. The sun hid itself. Amid a pool of darkness

Robert heard someone rubbing what sounded like two pieces of sandpaper together. When the ground lit up, he realized it was black shoes pounding a gravel road. Soon the sky gave off a faint light. Someone pushed him. He looked up and saw a funeral procession climbing a hill.

Ahead of them were six men carrying a charcoal casket decorated with chrome handles.

Everyone was dressed the same—men in black suits, black shoes, white shirts, and a black tie.

Women wore black dresses, all had long, brown, razor-cut hair. No one had a face—just handsewn stitches in place of eyes and mouths. Robert tried to run, but bodies pressed against him until he was in step with the others.

Black and white cars lined the street. Somewhere off in the distance a wolf howled a dreadful cry and for the first time Robert noticed everything around him was black and white and grey. Even the sky. Without warning water gushed from unforeseen places. Once it receded, a clammy body slammed against his shins. Black hollow sockets frightened him. Fear pushed him back before pulling him forward. He didn't want to touch the dead wet body, but he picked it up anyway and carried it to dry land. It had long, flowing, dark hair. Lips the color of eggplant. Its flesh resembled drenched brown paper bags. As he breathed into the swollen body, air escaped through its ears, mouth, and a large cavity in its abdominal wall.

Robert woke, jerked forward, and stared at a flameless mound of cinder glowing in the dark.

Panic-stricken, he looked around the room in search of Mary Elizabeth. Then he remembered.

He had left her in Seattle with his housekeeper. Robert ran his trembling hands through his hair numerous times. Then he wept for his wife.

Selfish Ambition by Donna B. Comeaux Published as a digital document by Ruby for Women December, 2014

Selfish Ambition by Donna B. Comeaux

SYNOPSIS Shortly after Sherelle Lindsey transmits her dissertation to the Journalism Department heads at the American University in Cairo (“AUC”), a bomb blasts through her classroom. When she awakes, she’s frantic to know who’s captured her. To her surprise, Army Special Forces and Major Laurence “Lennie” Williams are responsible. How does she thank this wounded soldier? Betrayal. Twisted by aspirations to become managing editor of a Washington, D.C. newspaper, Sherelle struggles to come clean.

For Major Williams, rescuing someone from the throes of danger is not only his job, but the adrenaline rush he needs to survive a lonely life.

After he’s wounded and loses his wings to this lovely beauty, it doesn’t take long to know he’s in love. Though Lennie can’t explain it, he unequivocally believes God has put them together. But can he convince Sherelle of that? Or has he misinterpreted God's plan?