

STORM SURGE

by

Connie Chastain

Published by Smashwords and Brasstown Books

Copyright © 2019 by Connie Chastain

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, October 2019

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Publisher's Note

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover design by Word Slinger Boutique

Cover image by Michael M. and Unsplash

Author photo by Tommy Ward

This book is available in print at Amazon.com

Also by Connie Chastain

Southern Man

Love in Smallfoot Alley

Dedication

To the unsung heroes of emergency management and disaster preparedness,

the first responders, the volunteers, those who donate equipment and supplies,

and neighbors who help neighbors, when disaster strikes.

The world is a better place because of you.

Prologue

Birmingham, Alabama

Spring 2002

Moonlight shone down on the steep roofs of the gabled and turetted Victorian mansions in Dutton Heights.

He shivered from the chill in the air. An April cool snap had rolled in. Blackberry winter, he'd heard it called since he moved down here from upper Michigan.

Humph. These hicks and rednecks don't know what winter is.

A glance at his watch told him it was going on two a.m. Everyone in the neighborhood was flat in their beds, dead to the world. Even the dogs had been silent when he parked seven blocks away and trod soundlessly in soft-soled shoes to this particular house.

Fish scale shingles of cedar weathered to dark silver covered the roof and front gable above light maroon wood siding. The many windows were dressed up with dark blue shutters, and cream-colored gingerbread trim encrusted the mansion from top to bottom, which comprised two stories plus attic and basement.

Ostentatious structure. Yes, a structure, not a house and certainly not a home. A status symbol. Been in his wife's family for generations. Her father had lost it to a gambling addiction decades ago, and he, dutiful husband, had got it back for her. Took everything he had to do it -- and now she wanted to leave him? Take it all and leave him empty handed while she sneaked around and frolicked with her lusty eyed divorce lawyer?

We'll see about that.

He headed down the driveway and melded with the shadows.

The second story was the logical place to begin. From containers he had stashed earlier in carefully chosen hiding places, he sloshed kerosene on the beds and furniture and poured trails from the doorway of each room to the stairs. He repeated the task on the main floor where pricey antiques hulked in the front rooms and the latest imported appliances anchored the kitchen.

When the fuel cans were emptied and waiting for him on the back porch, he ascended the staircase -- the beautiful workmanship of unknown craftsmen and artisans who lived a hundred and thirty years ago -- and halted a few feet from the top. He flicked the starter of a long-necked barbecue lighter and gazed at the small golden flame that jumped to life.

Smiling, he leaned forward to touch the flame to the puddle of kerosene. His stomach clenched from the wild blending of distinct and intense thrills -- fear and pleasure.

But he didn't stay to watch the flames dance along the trails to the bedrooms, as much as he would have liked to. He had to repeat the performance, and quickly, on the floor below.

By two-thirty he was back in his vehicle, streaking eastward on Interstate 20 headed for Logan Martin Lake, not far from Pell City. As his destination neared, he detoured down a road to a bridge that crossed over a narrow finger of the lake.

He removed his clothes--they reeked of kerosene--tied them to the handles of the fuel cans and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt he had waiting on the front seat. It took only moments to pound gashes into the fuel cans with a hatchet, to insure they'd fill with water quickly. That done, he stepped to the rail and dropped cans, clothes and hatchet into the water, watched long enough to assure himself they were sinking and resumed his drive.

Half an hour later, he slipped through the door of a pseudo-rustic waterfront cabin. In the living room, he crawled under a granny-square afghan on the sofa.

He lay awake a long time, trembling, listening for sounds from the bedroom where his wife slept. The cabin was silent. He hadn't awakened her.

A multi-class regatta was scheduled for tomorrow -- no, today -- sponsored by the Birmingham Yacht Club. He'd spent a lot of time conspicuously preparing the Lightning for it.

But long before the race began, word would come of the tragic fire that had destroyed the beautiful, historic home in Dutton Heights where he and his wife resided.

He thought about the payoff in the form of a big, fat check from Sunbelt Property and Casualty \-- half of it his. He would not be left with nothing to show for the time, money and effort he had wasted on her.

In the darkness, he smiled and his trembling ceased.

Chapter One

Pensacola, Florida

Spring 2008

Crook. Cheat. Liar.

The words flashed through Briana Farrior's mind as she looked across the desk at the man seated behind it. She resolutely pushed them down, buried them. It would ruin everything if her thoughts showed on her face.

"Your résumé's impressive," he told her. "Pertinent coursework in school, solid work history."

"Thank you. I've had good counselors and mentors." Her voice sounded scratchy and she cleared her throat.

The secret mission that brought her to this small office in Pensacola, Florida, a few blocks from the city's deepwater bay, gave her a mild case of nerves. But the fellow interviewing her was the real cause of her discombobulation, no doubt about it, and it related as much to his handsome face and lean, muscular form as it did to his possible history of insurance fraud.

Of all the things Briana's boss had told her about Justin Adair, founder and owner of Gulf States Insurance Services, it was unbelievable that she had forgotten to give a description of him.

Never occurred to me that criminals could be so good-looking.

When he looked down at her résumé again, his eyelids lowered and shielded his eyes with spiky lashes...dark, honey brown eyes that turned to amber when the light hit them just so. Conservatively styled brown hair fell at a slant across his forehead.

He reminded her of someone but she couldn't place who and she didn't have the luxury of mulling it over. The interview required her full attention.

Discussing her qualifications and work experience with him earlier had inflated her apprehensiveness. Some of the information on her résumé had been fudged to give her an added advantage in landing the job. But there were no outright lies, and she had made it through that part of the interview above suspicion.

Adair raised his head to make eye contact and her stomach fluttered faintly.

"You know this interview is for a secretary and administrative assistant to me as the head of the company, but also for me personally."

Native Southern accent in a voice...not soft-spoken, precisely, but perhaps toned down for the climate-controlled quiet of the postmodern business environment.

"If you're hired, I wouldn't think you'd have a problem making out checks for my signature, to pay company bills. But there may be times when I will hand you my checkbook and a stack of personal bills and expect the same thing."

Briana looked thoughtful a moment and shook her head. "That wouldn't bother me."

"Good. I'm not going to ask you to do my laundry--" his smile was charming and fleeting "--but I'll occasionally ask you to pick up my dry cleaning or fill up my car. I don't foresee personal chores becoming habitual, but they will be a part of the job. You think you'd have a problem doing things like that?"

Briana gave a slight lift to one shoulder. "No, I don't think so. I haven't heard anything objectionable. They just sound like errands to me."

It also sounded like he was a bachelor. Or divorced. Or living alone, for whatever reason. She had already noticed that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"Yes, pretty routine ones. The candidate who gets the job will cross train to back up my office manager, Dottie Parker, who also does support for the in-house adjusters."

"Right. She and I talked a little and she mentioned that."

"Our work here is property and casualty claims. What that means, basically, is anything covered by homeowners insurance. We don't do liability claims, except what may be covered by a homeowners policy -- no auto, health or life claims, or any other kind. And don't worry if you're not familiar with the terms."

He talked for several minutes about other things the job would involve and she asked a couple of questions, hoping she sounded like a job applicant eager to learn. He seemed to take the questions at face value and gave her short but informative answers that didn't waste time on details. When he finished the overview, he glanced down at her résumé .

"So you've already moved to Pensacola...from...Mobile, was it?"

"Yes, Mobile. Well, I have an extended stay motel suite but I'll start looking for an apartment this weekend."

"So if you're hired, you could start Monday."

She gave him a pleasant smile, hoping it conveyed mild, pre-hire anticipation rather than the fluttering excitement starting up in her midsection. "Yes, I could. No problem at all."

"Dottie might have told you, we have two more candidates to interview tomorrow. We're coming up on our busy season and need help a-sap, so I'm going to make a decision by Thursday and we'll call the new hire Friday at the latest. All candidates who interviewed will be notified by postal or electronic mail when the position is filled."

"All right."

"Do you have any other questions?"

"No, I don't believe so. You and Ms. Parker have been very thorough." She gave him another smile, this one accompanied by a tilt of her head, a habitual, frivolous mannerism that always embarrassed her when she caught herself doing it.

He apparently didn't notice. Handing her a couple of business cards, he said, "If you think of anything else, you're welcome to call Dottie or me."

"I'll do that." Did their fingers touch when she took the cards, or was it her imagination? Then why was that tingle zinging up her arm like an electric shock, only pleasant?

Adair stood and Briana followed. Try as she might not to, she couldn't help but notice that the pleats of his gray trousers did not fan open even a little. It took a paunchless gut to wear pants like that and Adair had it, along with a complimentary broad chest and square shoulders encased in a tattersall-checked shirt the color of sun-bleached driftwood. He looked to be approaching thirty and stood about six inches taller than she, making him around five foot, ten. Average height. Possibly the only thing average about his physical appearance.

"Thank you for coming in." He stepped around his desk and extended his hand. It was pleasantly warm, dry and strong, his grip firm. There was no further tingling, perhaps because she was ready for it this time. And perhaps because, now that the interview was over, awareness of her undercover mission was resurfacing.

"I appreciate the opportunity to interview," she replied.

Hire me and I'll bring you down, you shyster.

She hitched the strap of her purse across her shoulder and left the office.

*****

For a moment, Justin gazed at the door after Briana stepped through and closed it behind her. She was the last candidate of the day.

He would have to hear Dottie's impressions and keep an open mind for the last two candidates tomorrow in case either of them knocked his socks off. But that wasn't likely.

She was very attractive. Average face prettied up by lively expressiveness, jewel-like blue eyes and a captivating smile; streaky brown hair that reached her shoulders. She was not petite, exactly, but certainly not tall and her traditional navy suit hinted at a nice figure.

She was somewhat overqualified for secretarial work, having obtained an associates degree in office management and completed much of the coursework toward a bachelor's degree in business administration. She'd said she planned to continue her studies at the University of West Florida, as time and funding allowed, with an eye on a master's degree in the future.

Ambitious girl.

Yes. She'll do.

He took a deep breath and blew it out, his cheeks puffing slightly. He was tired. Tired and overworked, in need of a short rest, some time off, maybe a weekend back home in Alabama, visiting family. He hadn't seen his mama and daddy since Christmas.

But mostly he needed more help in the office. Dottie Parker had been doing her job as office manager and filling in as his secretary for over a year, plus caring for her family, which included her elderly and infirmed mother. She was overworked and tired, too.

Hurricane season, with its potential for a skyrocketing increase in property claims, was a month away. They had to be ready.

He strolled out of his office, past the empty cubicle that would be occupied by his new assistant next week, to Dottie's desk in the open reception area.

"So, what'd you think?" Justin asked.

"Gotta be between Smitherman and Farrior."

Dottie was in her mid-forties, fair, slightly stocky, a woman who took responsibility seriously and dealt with people firmly, but also with respect and affection, whether the setting was home, church or workplace. Her wide, attractive face, sprinkled with pale freckles, was framed with a helmet of pale hair, a perfect top-off for her traditional office garb and low-heeled shoes.

"I agree." Justin cleared his throat. "I'm gonna hire Farrior."

"Already made up your mind, huh? Then why did you ask me?"

He flashed a disarming grin. "I like having you validate my decisions."

"Wise approach. She's pretty, too. And she's not mar-ried," Dottie sang, giving him a pointed look.

Justin tilted his head and looked at her from beneath his brows, trying for stern, but he didn't have a lot of experience with stern, not even theatrical stern, and a smile broke across his face. "Listen, office manager. You know my employees' private lives aren't my business unless they make it my business."

"But she is pretty," Dottie insisted.

"Yep. I noticed that. It's her only drawback, that I could see, though more may come to light with time."

Dottie's brows went up. "Pretty is a drawback?"

"It can be. It might give people the impression she's shallow or flighty. Fair or not, a lot of people don't take a good-looking woman seriously. And I'm going to depend on people doing that."

"She came across very positive when she talked to me. I think company contacts and policyholders will take her seriously."

"I think so, too. We were reasonably comfortable with each other in the interview. I was more comfortable than she was but I'm not the one with a future job at stake."

"I noticed she was a tad antsy, too, which isn't unusual in a job interview. She's well qualified but I was impressed with something in addition to that."

"What?" Justin sat on the edge of her desk.

"She's from Andalusia, got kin all over the southern part of Alabama and a few spillovers down here in Florida. She has an elderly aunt living here and she's been driving over from Mobile once or twice a week to do errands for her, take her shopping, get her out of the house for a change of scenery..."

Justin lifted a brow. "That's admirable."

"I thought it would impress you. Anyway, she said with gas prices what they are, the drive's getting expensive. And her aunt's starting to need her to be here more."

"Yeah, I am impressed. Alabama gal, sense of family responsibility... If she only had insurance experience, she'd be perfect."

"She does."

Justin shook his head. "How could I have missed that?"

"It isn't in her work history. It's in 'Other Experience.' And it's not much, but in high school, she did part-time summer work in her uncle's insurance agency."

A smile crept across Justin's face. "Better than nothing. Now, do something for me, Dottie."

She tilted her head to look up at him. "What you want me to do?"

"Don't let me load her down with too much, too soon, and run her off. I don't want to have to go through another employee-hunt. It's depressing."

They both knew where he was coming from. The majority of the applicants for this job had been twenty-somethings. Whatever their sex, race or origins -- Pensacola was home to many people from elsewhere -- Justin and Dottie had noted some odd traits cropping up among them -- a futuristic version of literacy born of texting and internet shorthand but not yet acceptable in a staid insurance office, a sense of entitlement to the job regardless of qualifications and bizarre dress and manner.

Of the dozens of people who had applied, she and Justin had found ten to interview. And Briana Farrior was running well ahead of the rest.

*****

On Friday, in her small suite at the motel on Davis Highway, Briana pressed a key on her cell phone to end a call. For a moment, her stomach stirred subtly. Then, suddenly, a deluge of excitement whooshed down over her, as if a tub of water had upended above her, and her hands began to tremble.

It was all she could do to dial the phone. She put the instrument to her ear and paced the little room.

Fifty miles to the west a phone chirped in an office of Guardian Consumer Protection Group. Briana pictured it sitting on the desk of her friend and mentor, Sylvia Watson. By the third ring, her excitement and desire to share her news were almost unbearable.

Don't go to voice mail.

Two more rings, and she expanded her imagination to visualize the whole room, with the desk chair vacant, her slender, business-suited employer nowhere in sight.

No! Pick up the phone!

"Hello."

Briana blew out a deep breath. "Well, thank goodness. I was starting to think you weren't going to answer, and boy, have I got something to tell you."

Sylvia gasped softly. "And I've got something to tell you. Some woman from Gulf States called here for a reference on you. I had Greg get on the phone and talk you up real good. So did you get a second interview?"

"No." Briana paused for a beat and squealed, "I got hired! I start Monday!"

"Oh, this is too great!" Sylvia squealed back. Then, more calmly, "Listen, when you start work, you forget what you're really there for, you hear? You learn the job. Become his secretary for real. The first few weeks, you don't try to find out anything, right?"

"Right."

"Even if some juicy tidbit falls in your lap, just file it away in the back of your mind. You have to earn his trust first. He's wary and thorough. That's why the snake hasn't been nailed yet. So he has to trust you enough to let his guard down."

"Sylvia, I know all that. How many times have we gone over it and over it?"

"Well, we're going over it one more time. Meet me at City Park in Foley tomorrow at noon. We'll drive down to Gulf Shores and eat seafood at Johnny Fred's Place, my treat. You know what this means. This may be our only opportunity to bring that scoundrel down. There's no room for screw-ups."

Chapter Two

This is really catching a crook.

Briana sucked a tiny drop of blood from a hangnail. It was midmorning Monday and she had spent the previous hour in a partitioned alcove full of file cabinets. Filing.

Shortly after her arrival, she had met the other office staff, three guys and two women, who were claim processors.

"Our seven field adjusters -- they're spread out from Jacksonville to Baton Rouge -- have check writing authority to five thousand dollars," Dottie explained. "Larger claims have to be vetted and paid by a claim processor with either a paper check sent by the U.S. Postal Service or an e-check transferred to the insured's bank. That's what these folks do, in addition to working local claims."

Checks. Claim payments. Money changing hands... Briana filed the information away in the back of her mind, as instructed.

After introductions, Dottie took her to the file cabinets and indicated several stacks of files sitting atop them.

"We've been so busy, I'm afraid the files have been piling up for several weeks." A twinge of apology threaded her tone. "It's just something to keep you busy until Justin gets here."

In other words, make work.

But Briana could be good natured about it, or pretend to be, because Justin had told her about this during the interview. Claim files were mostly electronic, but some of the subcontracting companies required paper claim files, which had to be stored.

Briana's salary was generous and by the time she finished an hour later her broken nails and abused cuticles testified that she was earning her pay, although she was living only on her Guardian paycheck. Eventually, the money from her fake job in Pensacola would be donated to a worthy cause.

She walked back across the big room toward her desk in another alcove between Dottie's reception area and Justin's office.

The office manager spied her and met her halfway. "Wow, that was quick. Already need to find you something else to do. Just so you know, if Justin was here, that wouldn't be a problem. The man needs help. He is so backlogged. Ever done any transcribing?"

Briana shook her head.

"Nothing to it. It's old technology and Justin keeps threatening to take it digital but he hasn't taken the plunge yet."

Five minutes later, Briana was seated at her desk with the headset in her ears and her foot on the control pedals. She absorbed Dottie's instructions quickly. Press the wide center pedal to play, the narrow one to the right to rewind and the narrow one to the left to fast forward. Within minutes, she was listening to claim processor Gil Anderson and typing his words on her computer screen.

She popped the practice tape out, slid another in and started typing a new letter. One by one, she went through the small collection of micro cassettes next to her computer. She pressed the pedal to begin the fourth letter and heard Justin's voice through the headset. "Dottie, this is to Paul Schultz at the Insurance Commissioner's office..." She froze as a thrill vibrated through her.

He had such a pleasing voice, subdued with a touch of huskiness -- Pleasing? Heck, it's sexy as all get out. \-- but the thrill stopped abruptly as the subject matter reminded her of her mission. For the second time that morning, Sylvia's instructions arose in her memory... Forget what you're really there for...even if some juicy tidbit falls in your lap, just file it away in the back of your mind...

So she ignored the contents of the letter he was dictating and just listened to the sound of his voice...and wasn't a bit surprised when another chill swept down her arms.

This will not do. You cannot sit and tingle all day. Now, get with the program.

*****

Around eleven, Justin arrived looking even better than she remembered, casual today in off-white chinos and a slate green polo shirt. But his mood and expression were somber when he stopped by her desk to say, "Sorry about being late on your first day. How's it going so far? I figured Dottie had things for you to do."

"Yes, filing. And I'm learning transcription."

"Good." He paused and shifted conversational gears. "We're going to have a staff meeting ASAP. Dottie's rounding everybody up. I'll see you in the conference room in ten minutes." He headed for his office.

When the staff had gathered in the conference room, he entered and took a seat at the head of the table with Dottie and Briana to his left and right.

"Has everyone met Briana?" There were comments in the assent around the table. "I think she's going to be a great asset to the company and to me and I wish I didn't have to cut her welcome short with bad news."

He glanced at the faces before him as their curiosity turned to concern. "You all know Chris Martindale was supposed to attend the insurance expo in Tallahassee this week and if there was anything the rest of us needed to know, he would travel the circuit to fill us in over the next few weeks. I got a call before dawn this morning. He was in a automobile accident last night."

There were murmurs from Justin's employees, now as somber as he was.

"No life-threatening injuries but he's still in pretty bad shape. So I'll go to the expo. I also plan to run over to Jax and visit him at least once while I'm that close."

"Boss, are you sure you want to go to that thing?" ask fortyish, firmly packed Rod Kemp. "Because then it'll be up to you to go all over the place and pass the info along."

"I know. But I need to make contact with everybody anyway. I'll just be killing two birds with one stone."

"That's terrible about Chris," Dottie said. "I'm glad he isn't hurt worse, but still, he's bound to be in for an ordeal."

"Yeah," Justin said grimly. "Surgery, healing, rehab. Briana, have some flowers sent to him today from all of us here at the office."

"All right."

"Thanks. Dottie can give you credit card information."

Justin looked around the table. "I'm leaving after lunch. Anything we need to talk about first?"

There wasn't and the sober meeting broke up.

"Briana," Justin said. "Could you come to my office a minute?"

*****

"If you don't have plans, I'd like for you to go to lunch with me," he told her as he undocked his laptop and put it, along with other things, into the briefcase on his desk. "I'm going to try to get away by one and I'd like to go over some things with you."

"Sure, that's no problem. I'm really sorry about your employee."

"Thank you. Me, too."

Nerves had prevented a more than a cursory glimpse of the office during her interview, but now, as he prepared for his trip, Briana took in her surroundings. A person's workplace often gave telling glimpses into their personality.

Gray-beige walls formed a pleasant backdrop for plain, dark furniture. Behind the L-shaped desk and a comfortable executive chair, three windows stretched along a south wall. Through mini blinds, the view looked out over a slope to busy Gregory Street and Bayfront Parkway; a bit farther, Pensacola Bay glinted in the sunlight and Santa Rosa Island stretched along the horizon.

Clutter was sparse on the desktop -- a leather blotter, pen set, in and out trays on a corner. Nearby, a tall hutch rose along a side wall and matching credenza stood beside the door to Briana's alcove. There was a portrait of a nice looking middle aged couple on a shelf of the hutch, and a casual portrait of Justin with a man and woman who had to be siblings or cousins, judging by the familial resemblance, but no photos of a sweetheart or wife, or kids.

"Ready?" Justin said, breaking into her study. He snapped his briefcase shut and stepped around his desk.

They went to Nick's Oyster House and took a table on the deck overlooking the Cutter Cove Marina. Canopied by a cloudless blue sky, warmed by a barely-there breeze, they chatted amiably and dined on fried oyster po'boy sandwiches, bowls of tasty gumbo and large glasses of sweet tea.

"So Dottie gave you a little bit of orientation today?"

"A little."

"Did she show you how to download claims?"

"No."

"That's her responsibility but you'll need to learn it as backup. It's simple. You'll catch on in no time."

"Like transcription. I enjoyed learning that."

Justin smiled. "You're a quick study. I don't want to throw too much at you at once, but this trip is going to make a little of that unavoidable. I want to try to give Dottie as much of a break as possible. She has sickness in her family that puts a lot on her."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. She hasn't mentioned it."

"She's in a situation similar to yours with your aunt."

Briana gave him a blank look.

"Your elderly aunt?" he prompted. "That you told Dottie about?"

"Oh." Briana went stiff as she remembered -- the elderly aunt fabricated to enhance her attractiveness to Justin, who reputedly put a lot of emphasis on family loyalty -- and then forced herself to relax as a new fabrication took form in her mind.

"Right, Aunt Maudette. Well, she's my great aunt." Color rose in her cheeks. She gestured with a hand as if flipping through a Rolodex and smiled sheepishly. "I was going through all my aunts thinking, Who's he talking about?"

"In Dottie's case, it's her mother. I'm hoping you can take up some slack for her. But if I start piling on, or asking you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, just say so."

"All right."

He took a small collection of keys from his pocket and laid them on the table between them. "Here's your office keys. I had these made for you over the weekend."

Briana picked them up and inspected them. There were several small rings linked together like a chain, each with keys and a hand-written label -- front and back door keys on the first ring, Justin's office and desk keys on the second, various others, including Dottie's desk key, on the third.

This time the quivering in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with Justin's looks or his voice, but with her realization that when the time came, she would have access to everything she needed.

Is it really going to be this easy?

While she looked them over, he took his own keys from his pants pocket and separated one from the rest. He laid it on the table, too.

"This key goes to the kitchen door of my house, opens to the carport. I'd like to ask a favor of you. My neighbor's going to feed my cat while I'm gone, except for this evening. They left town earlier today, be back tomorrow. If you could go by my house after work and fill his food bowl, I'd appreciate it."

Odd request. Why not just set some food out before leaving town?

Justin seemed to anticipate her thoughts. "He eats on the screened porch and if I leave food out there all day, it's an invitation for other critters to venture through the cat flap for a free meal. There are woods nearby and we've been visited by possums and racoons and, of course, squirrels."

"Oh, I see. Well, sure, I'll be glad to do that." She looked at him speculatively. "I wouldn't have taken you for a cat person. I would've thought a big dog, like an Irish Setter or a Golden Retriever."

Justin lifted his chin, a half-smile on his face and a nostalgic look in his eye. "Good guess. My best buddy when I was a kid was my Golden Retriever, Sequoya. We grew up together. I got him when he was six weeks old, the summer before I started the first grade. He died a couple of weeks after I graduated from college. I wasn't a cat person until Supe took up with me."

His brow wrinkled with amused memory. "Couple of years ago, this kitten showed up on my doorstep, meowing. Boy, could he meow. I checked all over the neighborhood but nobody claimed him so he moved in with me and took over."

"Soup?" Briana laughed. "You named your cat Soup?"

"S-U-P-E. Short for Supercilious. Now you know all about my pet-life. Tell me something about you."

Pet-life? Who cares? What about your love life?

Shocked by the thought that had entered unbidden into her mind, and hoping it wasn't showing on her face, she shrugged. "Nothing much to tell. I grew up in Holly Bend, near Andalusia. You already know my education and work history from my resumé."

"Hobbies, interests?"

"Well, I'm reading Noble Cause by Jessica James right now. It's a Civil War novel."

"You like to read."

She nodded. That was innocuous enough to admit.

"I do, too. Wish I had more time for it. You had an interesting job in Mobile. Consumer watchdog."

For the second time in just minutes, Briana froze. She forced herself to thaw and respond. "It was...just a job."

"You must've been good at it, though. You came highly recommended by your supervisor over there."

"They were good people to work with," she said lamely.

"I saw a TV documentary one time about a consumer group -- it was actually a TV news crew -- that got the goods on a big supermarket that was re-wrapping and re-dating out-of-date meat and selling it to unsuspecting customers. The news report put 'em out of business."

Careful, careful... "We didn't really do anything like that. We just read complaint letters, checked with the company in question and if we thought it warranted an official look, we sent the complaint on to the proper governmental authority. It really wasn't all that interesting."

"Well, generally speaking, people don't consider insurance particularly interesting, either, although our segment, property and casualty claims, seems to be the one with the most activity and energy. I know it can be dull and routine in the office, but during hurricane season it can get hectic both for the adjusters in the field and for us.

"By the way, unless it's a monster storm, most of us don't evacuate. At least, not too far inland. We have to be here immediately after to start writing claim checks. I guess you've been through hurricanes, living in Mobile. Andalusia's close enough to the coast to have taken a few blows, too."

"Well, it's not like being right on the coast. I have this phobia about bad thunderstorms but Syl-- my friend in Mobile told me there's not a lot of thunder and lightning in hurricanes, just rain and wind."

"Storm phobia?"

"Yeah. Had it since I was a kid. I'm not sure why...but I can handle it okay, in the daytime with people around." She erupted in a short, nervous giggle that made her feel foolish. "At any rate, I've never hid, cowering, under my desk, so you don't have to worry about that."

"I wasn't worried." He smiled, as he had done several times during the meal, catching her attention and focusing it on his face and making her forget her embarrassment, forget he was a crook, forget everything except how incredibly attractive he was.

*****

Justin's directions were right on the money and Briana found his house with no trouble at all. It was located off Ninth Avenue in a neighborhood called Pineglades, established in 1952 according to the wrought iron sign at the primary entry intersection.

Typical of such postwar developments, it featured brick ranch houses dotting rolling hills now shaded as much with large live oaks and other hardwoods as with west Florida's ubiquitous slash pines.

Justin's house was small and plain, red brick with a single-car carport and detached utility room at the back, centered on a moderately wooded lot. Between the house and utility room, a gate of plain, narrow pickets painted white allowed a partial view of a sunny back yard.

Despite permission of the owner and possession of the key, Briana felt a touch like a trespasser when she turned into the driveway and stopped just short of the carport. After busy Ninth Avenue, it was still and quiet in the neighborhood. One house next door was for sale. The other must've been the home of the out-of-town neighbors.

He had told her to go through the carport door into the kitchen and then through the sliding glass door at the back of the little den to the screened porch. Supe's food and water bowls were out there. There were cat-flaps in both the back wall by the patio doors and the screened porch that gave him the run of the place.

She entered the small kitchen and looked around. It was very neat and clean, surprising for a bachelor, but bare of decoration. The little den showed a bit more personality, a sofa and recliner aimed toward a mid-sized, flat-screen television on the opposite wall, above a low bookcase filled with electronics, CDs and DVDs. On another wall stood a taller bookshelf full of books and magazines next to a computer desk and swivel chair on casters. The computer was an older desktop model.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Briana strolled to the tall bookcase and looked at the contents. One whole shelf was devoted to insurance titles, books used to prepare for CPCU certification, which she now knew stood for Chartered Property and Casualty Underwriter.

There was a set of up-to-date encyclopedias and other nonfiction titles about boringly male subjects--space exploration, the NFL, the Viking voyages. There were several books about geology and earthquakes and others on a variety of disasters, natural and manmade, from the 1918 influenza pandemic to the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald in 1975 and the terrorist attacks of 2001. They didn't indicate a morbid interest in tragedy, as it appeared at first glance, because the books dealt as much with prevention and response as with the disasters themselves.

The rest were fiction -- science fiction, best sellers, classics.

A very well-rounded crook.

Her eyes went back to the outdated computer tower and clunky monitor and fell to the desk drawers beneath them. What interesting -- incriminating? -- things might be found in there? Her inate integrity warred briefly with her mission but she readily overcame her indecision. She might never have an opportunity like thist again.

Sidling over to the computer desk, she reached a hand toward a drawer pull just as soft boom and squeak sounded behind her. A little yelp escaped her throat as a neural alarm swept her body and prickled her scalp, momentarily paralyzing her. She whirled around expecting...what, she didn't know. A neighborhood watch busybody? A patrol cop suspicious of her out-of-state car? Justin himself?

What she saw was the cat flap tilted inward and a beautiful gray tabby crawling through. It stopped just inside and gave her a suspicious stare.

Relief coursed through her.

"You must be Supe. You scared me to death, do you know that?"

The cat aimed a steady gaze at her.

"Are you hungry? Your master says your food is in the bottom cabinet by the refrigerator."

He was aptly named. The expression on his face said clearly, Cats don't have masters. Cats have staff -- maids, butlers, grooms, chauffeurs and waiters, but no masters.

Supercilious, indeed.

She found the bagged food and took it to the patio. Supe got vocal at the sight of the bag and began to weave around her legs with every step.

"Careful now, don't you trip me."

While he crunched the food, she took his water bowl inside, rinsed it in the sink and refilled it.

The food was back in the cabinet, everything the way she found it, and Briana prepared to depart, just as she grew aware of a need to go to the bathroom. It was either go here or hold it through a slow, cross-town drive. Why did they call it rush hour, she wondered, stepping further into the house.

It was down a narrow hall. White tiled, white fixtured, as bare of decoration as the kitchen. Before leaving, she glanced through the two bedroom doors opposite the bathroom. They were furnished, more or less, but not decorated.. Curiosity prodding her, she took a couple of steps further down the hall to peer into what had to be Justin's bedroom.

Like the den, this room looked lived in. Against a backdrop of light brown walls and carpet, the furniture was plain and masculine. An abstract tapestry in muted colors lay on the bureau under several portraits -- family, surely -- in a variety of frames. A worn copy of a thick, hardbound book shared space on a bedside table with a brass lamp and a radio-alarm clock. There was even a bit of clutter, a pair of tennis shoes and socks on the floor, a blue oxford shirt tossed on the sage, rib-cord bedspread.

She wondered what he had done with the millions he'd gotten by fraud. Certainly hadn't spent it on these digs. Maybe he had salted it away somewhere, Swiss bank account, maybe, so he could retire to Cancun at forty.

She had spent only a short time with him, but for some reason, she had a hard time thinking of him as a criminal, and it was because of more than his unexpected good looks.

Silly girl. You don't have to be ugly to be a criminal.

But he was so candid. So free with opening his company and his personal life to the scrutiny of a stranger.

Unless it's part of his cover. Hiding in plain sight.

But thoughts of criminality blew away like leaves in a gust as her imagination sprang to life. In the late afternoon light slanting through the mini blinds, she imagined the bed covers thrown back, the sheets tangled, the pillows askew, and Justin sprawled on the bed in nothing but boxers, his handsome face stilled by sleep. And in her imagination, his eyes opened and he gave her a drowsy, welcoming smile.

Silly girl? No. Stupid girl. You get out of here, now.

*****

Something woke Justin. He had been deep in sleep and he came to consciousness a bit disoriented. There was a squarish outline of light, artificial light leaking around the edge of curtains, but the window was in an odd place. Where was he? Oh, yes, in a motel room in Tallahassee. He was here for the insurance expo.

He closed his eyes and heard what had probably awakened him, the gravelly roar of a car engine revving up in the parking lot accompanied by whoops and male laughter. He rolled his head to the side to see the clock. One-ten a.m.

Idiots.

He tried to go back to sleep, but an unpleasant thought popped into his head.

Talk around the expo was that The National Hurricane Center, along with every major weather forecasting authority on the planet, was predicting a bad year for Gulf hurricanes. Perhaps the worst on record.

Oh, well. There was only so much a little company like his could do in the aftermath of a monster 'cane. At least this year, he'd have some help.

A picture of Briana seated across from him at Nick's came to mind.

Ah, something pleasant to think about.

It wasn't the first time he'd found her in his thoughts since leaving Pensacola. She was going to be a blessing, for sure. Conscientious, quick learner, almost eager to help.

Not to mention good natured. Personable.

And sweet.

And cute.

No, hotrod.

He inhaled deeply and compressed his lips.

Don't. Even. Go. There.
Chapter Three

At two the next day, the phone on Briana's desk rang. She picked up the handset. "Guardi-- Gulf States Insurance."

She heard male laughter and her stomach took an involuntary swoop.

"Are you sure?" he teased.

Embarrassment followed hard on the heels of her thrill and she laughed, too. Nervously. "Oh, my. It's just a habit. I'm sorry."

"It's not a big deal."

"I'll get it right."

"I know you will." A hint of teasing, of smiling, came through in his voice and Briana's embarrassment ebbed. He was on his cell phone, and probably driving, judging by the background sounds. "How's it going?"

"Good. Dottie showed me how to download claims. Nothin' to it."

"Told ya."

"How's Tallahassee?"

"It's a lunatic asylum, like all state capitals."

The unexpected reply made her giggle, which made her feel silly and she tried to cover with a quick question. "How's the expo going?"

"Well, I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"Um..." Is he joking? "Start with the bad."

"All right. Everybody's predicting a very bad year for Gulf storms with at least one worse than Camille...or Ivan...or Katrina."

"Worse than Katrina? Wow... . So what's the good news?"

"I've been looking over demos of a networking system running claim processing software that's extremely impressive and may even be affordable. I'm seriously thinking of buying it. I'll tell everybody more when I get back."

"And you're coming back Thursday, right?"

"That's right. I'll leave after lunch, get to the office about three."

"Okay."

That's...forty-nine hours... I'll see him again in forty-nine hours...

"If you have any questions for me about anything, just write them all down and we'll get together for a talk when I get back. Is Dottie around? Busy?"

"She's on the phone."

"Okay. It's about time for the mail to run, if it hasn't already. When it comes in, ask her to show you how to handle claim mail, and what to do with my stuff."

"Okay."

"Did she make you a system log-on and email account yet?"

"Yes, my email account is bfarrior at G-S-I-S dot net."

"If you've got a personal email account, would you mind me having that?"

"No, not at all. It's briana36420 at jubemail dot com. That's J-U-B-E and it's all lower case."

"Got it. Interesting numbers. Can't be your date of birth."

"It's Holly Bend's zip code."

"Ah. Well, listen, I'm on my way to Jax right now to see Chris. Tell everyone I'll call again in the morning to report."

"All right."

"Did you find my house okay?"

"Oh, yeah, no problem. You're a good direction-giver."

There was a pause. "What'd you think of my cat?"

"He's beautiful. And aptly named."

Justin laughed slightly, and Briana wondered what he was remembering about his pet.

"Thanks for feeding him for me. Talk to you later."

And he was gone.

Briana hung up the phone absently, wondering if she was losing her mind. It was ridiculous, the way she had found the conversation so pleasant, and equally ridiculous that she felt a touch disappointed when it ended so abruptly.

Do not let that handsome face and that sexy voice and that marvelous laugh suck you in, girl. He's a criminal, and if justice prevails, he will end up in the penitentiary. Now, cool it.

*****

Briana's cell phone chirped as she stepped through the door to her motel suite with her fast-food supper and bag of microwavable groceries, enough to last her the rest of the week. She dumped everything on the table and fumbled in her purse. The display told her Sylvia was calling. She flipped open the phone and brought it to her ear.

"Hello, Sylvia."

"Hey. How's it going?"

"It's going fine. The quarry left town yesterday, won't be back until Thursday."

"Now, now," Sylvia said. "Mustn't think like that -- yet. Might make you slip up. At this point, he's not the quarry. He's your boss."

"Yes. My boss. What's up in Mobile?"

"Well, I've found someone who wants to sublease your apartment."

"Oh, that's great. I was wondering how I was going to afford rent on two places, for however long this gig lasts."

"He wants to move in Sunday. Will it be a problem for you to come get your stuff Saturday?"

"Not a bit. Who wants to sublease?"

"Eddie."

"Oh. Okay."

Eddie Burke was Sylvia's younger brother. He was a couple of years older than Briana and had been sweet on her since they met at the office Christmas Party four months ago. She had gone out with him twice after that, accepting the dates mostly because he was her boss's sibling. Being around him gave her an uneasy feeling although she tried to discount it since he was Sylvia's brother, and she certainly had never let on about her misgivings to Sylvia.

But after her dates with him, she'd picked up on gossip at Guardian that Eddie was an ex-con who'd served prison time on drug charges. Briana tried hard to blow off the gossip, believing Sylvia would have surely told her something that important about a guy asking to take her out. But if the guy was her brother, who knew?

Between her own instincts and office gossip, Briana had been very nervous around him after that and had found excuses to not go out with him again. One of the unspoken advantages of her undercover assignment in Pensacola was getting away from Eddie.

"He'll be glad to help you pack up," Sylvia said with a tone of sweet persuasiveness.

"Nah, that's not necessary. He probably needs to get his stuff ready to move in."

"You know he'd love to help you."

"Well...we'll see about Saturday afternoon."

"Good."

Which means I'll go over and pack up Friday night, and explain it later.

"Sylvia, is there anything else? I need to run before my supper gets cold."

"No, that's all for now. I'll talk at you later."

*****

Briana opened her laptop and powered it on, thankful for the motel's free wifi. As she munched her Whataburger and onion rings, she Googled apartment guides in Pensacola, Florida. She found three possibles within her price range but didn't know the city well enough to recognize the neighborhoods as good, bad or indifferent. She opened her email program and copied the addresses into a message addressed to her new Gulf States account. Tomorrow, she would ask Dottie about them.

There were five new messages in her in-box, probably spam. She reserved her jubemail account mostly for her family and they didn't email much.

She opened her in-box to delete the messages about enlarging various body parts, affordable medications, and a new one, e-mail-order birthday cakes, when she noticed the name on the most recent one, jadair1980@gsis.net.

With an absurd feeling of pleasure, just like when he called earlier in the day, Briana clicked the email open.

The body of the email read Test.

Wearing a silly smile, she replied, Your test was successful, and then went back to composing her email of apartment addresses. Before she had sent it, another incoming message showed up in the in-box. From Justin. She clicked it open.

Do you IM? If so, add me as a friend. My ID is jra_eighty.

Sylvia had set up an IM account for her under the ID watcher03 several months ago, but she rarely used it and wasn't familiar with it. She opened it now and fumbled around until she figured out how to add his ID as a friend. Next thing she knew, a message popped up in the IM box.

jra_eighty: What's up

watcher03: I'm apartment hunting online.

jra_eighty: Found anything?

watcher03: Three to check. Don't know neighborhoods, though.

jra_eighty: Where are they?

watcher03: Just a sec.

She copied and pasted the three addresses from the email in her out-box and sent them to him.

jra_eighty: Forget 1 & 2. Trussell St's good. High ground, close to office.

She wanted to ask about the first two, but let it go. She could find out later.

watcher03: Have you seen Chris?

jra_eighty: Just visited him. He's in good spirits. Grateful to be alive.

watcher03: That's crucial for healing.

jra_eighty: Exactly what his doc sez.

watcher03: Are you staying in Jax tonight?

jra_eighty : No. I'm in the hosp cafeteria. Heading back to Tall after I eat.

watcher03: OK.

jra_eighty: Wanted to get all our communication lines set up. Call, email or IM me any time you need to."

watcher03: OK.

On her screen, jra_eighty turned gray, indicating he was offline. She was about to close the messenger when she saw the save option at the top of the window. She clicked it, named the file JustinIM followed by the date, and closed the message window only to have it pop back open with a message already in the box.

jra_eighty: Almost forgot. Can you swing by my house & get my mail in the morning? Bring it to the office.

watcher03: Sure, no prob.

jra_eighty: Thanks. Bye.

Gone.

Click. Save.

So that was why he had got the communication lines all set up. So he could IM her with errands to do.

Oh well. She was his assistant. And at least he was nice about it. In fact, judging by the short time she had been around him, he was a very good boss. Too bad he--

Nope. Just end it there. A very good boss.

*****

Justin called at eight thirty Wednesday morning and had everyone gather around the speaker phone on Dottie's desk as he reported on his visit with Chris. It was good news and visible relief settled over the staff.

"He said to tell everyone hello, and thanks for the flowers and prayers. And that's it for now. Anybody need to talk to me?"

There were murmurs but nobody spoke up.

"Everything seems to be fine, sir," Dottie said.

"All right. How you doing, Briana?"

Briana cleared her throat, a touch embarrassed at being singled out. "Fine. Sir."

"Good. Got to head on over to the expo hall. I'll talk to y'all later."

The group broke up and everyone headed for their cubicles. Briana was struck by the way Justin's good news had heightened everyone's mood. She had been on the job only two days, but she was already finding Justin's employees to be a great group to work with.

Dottie, for all her seeming authoritarianism, was good natured and actually quite laid back. The three male adjusters clowned around some and seemed to take pleasure in arguing homeowner policy interpretation like Supreme Court justices interpreting the Constitution. They were as different as morning, noon and night -- husky Rod with his understated humor, Thomas Harris with his wide smile and unique perspective as a conservative black man, and lean, auburn-haired Gil Anderson with his sharp features and quick wit.

The two female claim processors, Martha Ann Lister and Sandra Stinson, while more soft-spoken, were no less outspoken on insurance subjects. Martha Ann was approaching her fifties and had been in property and casualty insurance her entire career. Until Briana was hired, Sandra, at thirty-one, had been the "baby" of the Gulf States family.

These first days on the job, she had also discovered that Justin sat on the boards of a couple of community organization, that he worked out at the gym twice a week, that he volunteered at church to build and repair homes a couple of Saturdays a month, that he worked closely with the Emergency Management Office on disaster preparedness and was buddies with several deputies at the Escambia County Sheriff's Department, particularly Todd Hall, who was also a member of the church Justin attended.

What kind of crook goes to church and hangs around with cops?

At two o'clock, Justin called back for Briana.

"Hey. Did you have a chance to get my mail this morning?"

"Yeah-- Yes. Sir. Four pieces."

"Who from?"

"One's from Panhandle Bank. One's from the McCain campaign, one from the Obama campaign." She couldn't stop a giggle. "So what are you, a Republican or a Democrat?"

"Neither," he said. "That's why I get it with both barrels. Toss 'em. What else?"

"An envelope from one thirty one Howell Road, Ranburne, Alabama."

"That's from my mama. Put that and the one from the bank on my desk, if you don't mind."

"Will do"

"Thanks. That's it for now. I probably won't call tomorrow. I'll get to the office about three."

"Okay, see you then."

*****

Thursday morning, Briana arrived at work in an absurdly good mood. She told herself it was because she'd found an apartment yesterday after work. Justin's advice had been great. The little duplex on Trussell Street was perfect. Sparsely furnished with just the basics, it was a nice little empty canvas waiting to be personalized with her stuff from Mobile.

Of course, it was ridiculous to peg her good mood to that. Nobody ever enjoyed moving. If she was honest with herself, her good mood was because Justin was due back in the office this afternoon.

At noon, she ate a light lunch, a salad and saltines, because her stomach was somewhat upset. So she told herself. She was actually quivering inside with excitement over Justin's return around three.

What a ditzy girl you are. Grow up.

But around two thirty, she got a call from him that brought an abrupt halt to her giddy mood.

"I'm on the interstate at the Holt exit, maybe 30 minutes from Pensacola," he told her. He didn't sound like himself, his voice flat and subdued. "I don't feel real good. If there's nothing pressing there, I'm going straight home."

"There's nothing I know of. Do you want Dottie?"

"Yeah, let me talk to her."

"That's Justin," she told the office manager as she forwarded the call. She hoped Dottie would tell him he needed to come in, but she didn't.

He would not be here today, after all.

Suddenly the office, the whole day, didn't seem as bright and exciting as before.
Chapter Four

A few minutes before five, Dottie went into Justin's office and emerged with the two pieces of mail Briana had put on his blotter yesterday.

"I don't suppose you'd want to run these over to Justin on the way home?"

"Did he call and ask for them? I mean, he did ask me to bring them here."

"Yeah, but that was before he knew he wasn't coming in today. It's not earth-shattering, but he'd probably appreciate it if you dropped 'em off."

"No problem. If you're sure."

Dottie grinned. "I'm sure. You'll learn the sort of thing he appreciates without having to ask for it."

Briana bobbed her head and took the letters. Sudden excitement skittered through her, head to toe.

She knew where to go this time. Late afternoon shadows slanted across the lawn a few minutes after five when she turned into the driveway. She strolled past Justin's midnight blue 4Runner in the carport and stood at the back door, her excitement tempered with a touch of anxiety. What if he didn't really need the mail and didn't want her stopping by?

No, it was okay or Dottie wouldn't have sent her here. She rapped her knuckles on the door facing. In a moment, she saw movement through the narrowly slitted mini blinds and the door opened.

"Hey, Briana. Come in." Justin swung the door back and stepped aside for her to enter. He was dressed for a relaxing evening at home in khaki shorts and a brown T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and torso. Barefoot, his hair tousled, he looked as if he'd been napping. "What you got there?"

Briana halted a step into the kitchen and handed him the envelopes. "Dottie asked me to bring these to you. She said you didn't know you wouldn't be coming into the office. I mean, when you asked me to pick them up."

Why did being around him, even just talking to him on the phone, turn her sophomoric?

"Well, she's right, but you didn't have to bring them. It could have waited till tomorrow. But thank you."

"You're welcome." Their eyes met and held. Awkward silence threatened until Justin said, "Want to come in for a little while? Have some pizza? Look. Delivered just before you got here." He stepped to the counter and opened a flat delivery box. An enticing aroma wafted from the box and Briana's mouth watered. Her salad-only lunch had long since played out.

"That smells wonderful, but I don't want to impose--"

"Hey, you're not imposing. This is a small and it's too big for one person. And Supe doesn't eat pizza."

Briana smiled and glanced about. "Where is Supe?"

"He's around here somewhere. Come on in." She stepped farther into the kitchen and he shut the door behind her.

"Do you need me to do anything?" she asked, as she'd been taught to do from girlhood, although he seemed to have it all under control.

"Nah, I got it." He took tumblers from a cabinet. While Briana watched from the den, he filled them with ice and Theo's tea, and set them, along with a couple of plates, on the counter beside the pizza box.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked. You look better than ever.

Indeed. She absently twirled the strap of her purse as she watched the fabric of the T-shirt alternately tighten and ripple with the working of the muscles beneath.

"Yeah. Just needed a nap, I guess. I think there must've been all night parties at my motel every night. With really loud, obnoxious attendees. You like hot sauce on pizza?" He took a bottle of Cajun Flame sauce from a cabinet.

"I don't know, I've never had it."

"Well, here it is, if you want to try it."

He motioned her to get her plate and drink and nodded toward the little den, "You'll have to eat at the coffee table there. My dining room's unfurnished."

"Okay, thanks." She sat on the leatherette sofa and set her plate and tumbler on the coffee table. Justin took the recliner, his plate in his lap, his glass on the side table.

"Mmm," Briana said, savoring her first bite. "This is delicious."

"Like it, huh? It's from Double Jack's. Locally owned pizza place, secret recipe, better than any chain pizza I've ever had."

"I'll say."

He pointed to a brochure on the coffee table. "That's the new system I told you about. I've decided to get it for us. Look on page three."

Briana turned the pages to a picture of what looked like an oversized PDA.

"It's a pen-based computer," Justin said. "The field reps are going to love that. They hate lugging around their laptops. Suckers get heavy after a while. But you and Dottie can use yours kind of like an electronic steno pad."

"How neat." Her attention was caught by another brochure on the table, this one about hurricane preparation.

"Hmmm," she murmured, studying the brochure. "I took the apartment on Trussell Street. I guess I need to find out whether it's in an evacuation area...just in case."

Justin tilted his head. "Probably not. That's pretty high ground. But you wouldn't want to be alone in a hurricane. You live alone, don't you?"

"Yes. You said some of your employees have to evacuate. Where do they go?"

"Well, Rod and Sandra live in mandatory evacuation areas and always go with their families to a public shelter, usually schools. The Kemps' house is a block from Pensacola Bay, not far from the office. Sandra and her husband and kids live near the sound west of Warrington. I've always lived in sturdy structures on what passes for high ground in these parts, so I've never run before a storm. This year, if we get hit, Rod and his wife Kelsey might stay with me instead of going to a shelter so they won't have to leave their Rotweilers at home. They've been spooked by what happened to pets in New Orleans after Katrina."

"Oh, that was horrible."

"Yeah. Lessons have been learned from that. There's talk of allowing pets at one or two of the public shelters, but it's not official yet."

They ate in silence a few moments until Briana began to feel uncomfortable with it. "So," she said, casting about. "Did you just buy your house?"

"No, I've had it a couple of years, about half as long as Gulf States has been in existence. They say it takes a new business five to seven years to show a profit, but the insurance industry being what it was here, the little company took right off. So I bought this house with a nice-sized yard and patio thinking it would be a good place to have get-togethers for the staff. I just haven't had the time or inclination to buy furniture and curtains and stuff. You finished eating? I'll give you the tour."

"All right."

She followed him into the empty front rooms. "These are the only rooms that have absolutely no furniture. Whatever I get for this area will have to be smallish. They're pretty small rooms."

"They seem roomier because they're open to each other."

"Yeah, I guess they do. Interesting. I've never thought about that." He headed down the narrow hallway and in passing knocked his knuckles against a closed door. "Originally a linen closet, I think. They put the furnace in there when they put in central heat and air." A few more steps. "Bathroom on the right, bedrooms on the left."

She didn't tell him she had already seen these rooms, four days ago. She had got little more than a brief, surreal impression then, but now she really looked.

"Where'd you get this bedroom suite?" It was a Sixties looking suite with grayish oak veneer -- a plain chest of drawers, a bureau with a frameless mirror and bookcase headboard.

"It was my aunt's when she was a teenager. Then it was my cousin's. She was going to get rid of it, so I took it."

"It's sort of Danish modern-looking, perfect for this house."

"You think so?"

"Oh, yeah. They're from the same era."

They peered quickly into the second bedroom filled with mismatched furniture that looked like college-student castoffs.

"And this is my room," Justin said, stepping across the narrow hallway. "Second bath in that corner."

Briana looked in. "It matches you. Sage and café au lait must be your colors."

"If you mean green and brown, yeah," he said with a teasing grin. "Gray, too."

She glanced away quickly, ridiculously fearful that the quivering in her stomach might show, somehow, on her face.

"Is that your folks?" She gestured toward the photographs on the bureau.

"Mmhmm." They walked into the bedroom and Briana tried not to remember her fantasy from Monday evening. Even so, she could feel warmth rising in her cheeks.

"My mama is a school secretary," Justin told her. "My daddy sells farm implements -- tractors, cotton pickers -- well, he doesn't really sell them anymore. He supervises a small sales force in Alabama and Georgia. That's my sister, Bonnie, and her family. That's my older brother, Clayton."

"You're the youngest?"

"Yep. I'm the baby. My mama still introduces me to people that way."

Briana looked up at him briefly. Who is it you remind me of?

She started slightly when something brush her legs and her eyes darted toward the floor.

"Hey, Supe," she said, stooping down to stroke the cat's sleek fur. He tolerated it but paused only momentarily in his pursuit of Justin, who picked him up.

"Hey, feller-boy," he said, scratching his pet's chin. Insistent purring started up in the cat's throat and filled the room before Justin put him on the bed. "So now you've had the tour."

"Yes, and it's a neat little house. It could be fixed up real cute."

Justin's brows went up. "You want to fix it up for me?" He shook his head and held up a hand, palm out. "No, never mind. I promised you I wasn't going to overload you. Besides, interior decoration wasn't in the job description."

They walked back down the hall, Justin slightly behind because the hall was too narrow for them to walk abreast.

"I don't think I could decorate for anybody but myself, which I'm going to have to do soon. My new apartment just has a few basic pieces of furniture. I'm going to Mobile this weekend and get my stuff."

"I'm glad that worked out for you. You need any help?"

"No, it'll just be boxes of stuff. It should all fit in the back of my Blazer."

"Well, you know how to reach me, or one of the fellows at the office, if you need some help."

"Okay, thanks." They were back in the little den. Briana looped her purse strap over her arm and picked up her plate and glass and took them to the kitchen.

"Thanks for the pizza." She glanced up at him as she headed for the back door. "It was out of this world."

"Glad you liked it." He walked her to the door and opened it, standing by as she stepped through. "Thank you for bringing my mail."

"You're welcome. Oh, one other thing." She reached into a small zipper pocket on her purse and withdrew the key he had given her Monday. "You might need this back."

*****

Ten minutes later, Justin glanced around the kitchen a moment before turning off the overhead and leaving the little room lighted only by a dim night lights above the counters. His gaze lingered for a moment on the plastic dish drainer. Two plates in it. Two tumblers. A rare sight in this place.

For a moment, acknowledgement of loneliness lurked at the edges of his consciousness and sent tendrils of self-pity curling toward his heart.

"Wuss," he muttered, turning away from the kitchen in mild disgust.

Supe, hearing his companion human's voice, looked up with wide eyes and gave a soft meow.

"Hey, feller-boy." Justin flopped on the couch beside the cat and scratched his face a few moments before picking up the claim system brochure and studying the details.

But his mind wasn't on it. He was restless. Bored. Within a few more minutes, he was scrolling through the contacts on his cell phone. He selected one, brought the instrument to his ear and listened to the ringing at the other end.

Click. "Your call is being answered by an automated voice messaging system. Margo is not available--"

He broke the connection and scrolled to another contact.

Click. "Hi, this is Kami. I can't take your call right now but leave--"

He snapped the phone shut, traded it for the remote control on the coffee table and turned up the volume on the muted television. He flipped through all the channels on his cable plan, twice, and then pressed the off button. Television was so idiotic.

He stepped to his desk, powered up his decrepit desktop computer and waited to get online and check his email. Nothing much caught his eye except something from Rod with the subject, "My new phone pics."

He opened the email and waited. And waited. Finally, it opened. There were several images, not as attachments, but lined up one after the other in the body of the email. Rod had laconically captioned them.

"At the dock" was followed by a couple of pictures of Rod's thirty-foot Hunter sailboat gleaming under the west Florida sun. "At Home" was the caption of a photo of Kelsey sitting on the floor with an arm around each of the Rotweilers. In "At the office" the phone's camera had caught three photos -- several adjusters clowning in the break room, Dottie typing on her computer keyboard and Briana, seated at her desk, smiling at the camera, looking so cute and sweet, he could almost hear her tinkling laughter.

Employee, hotrod. Subordinate. Off limits.

With a click of the mouse on the X in the top corner of the window, the image disappeared. He turned off the computer, locked the house for the night and ambled to his bathroom where he stood in a warm, sleep-inducing shower until the water cooled down.

Moments later, he rolled into bed naked and damp and just before he dropped off, heard his own stern voice in his mind, Get your head screwed on straight before work tomorrow. And keep it straight.

*****

"Everybody tells me you've been a real good sport your first week on the job," Justin said, "assisting an absentee employer. You helped out with a lot of things that aren't in your job description with no complaints. And learned a lot."

He sat at this desk, his elbows on the arms of his chair. He was back in office-casual attire, his light blue oxford shirt open at the throat. His hair was no longer mussed, his eyes no longer drowsy. He was rested and ready for business.

Briana was struck by the notion that he was equally luscious either way. Since he had called her in his office at nine, her gaze had kept returning to his long, spiky lashes that seemed to ring his honey-brown eyes with shadows.

Color rose to her cheeks, and she hoped he would mistake it for modesty from the compliment. "This bunch is great to work with."

He smiled and nodded once. "Yeah. And everybody thinks you're going to fit right in." He paused, the way he did when he was changing conversational direction. She had noticed it before.

"Now. Here's the routine I want us to try for a while, and if need be, we can tweak it as we go. Let's meet here every morning at nine. There will be times we can't, but they'll be the exception. We'll go over my schedule each day, finalize what we can. I'll give you any non-routine tasks at the same time. Then we'll go over the claim stats. They have to be updated every day."

"Okay." Briana scribbled notes furiously

She learned that one of her major responsibilities was to make certain all the necessary forms were in a claim file when an adjuster closed it. It was Justin's job to make certain that the data on the forms was correct and complete. If they were, he signed them before submitting them for payment.

"I have a two month backlog of closed claims waiting for my review and okay. Sunbelt, US and R, and Foursquare don't pay us until I do that. We've got plenty of cash flow and reserves, so you don't have to worry about getting paid, but I'll feel better when that two months' worth of money is in our bank account."

*****

That night at eleven o'clock Briana crawled into bed in her old apartment on Julianne Street in Mobile, where she had lived happily for two years. Everything except what she needed for the night had been packed and hauled out to her Blazer. Without her belongings, the apartment felt faintly odd, almost eerie.

In fact, Mobile itself seemed different somehow after just a week and a half away. Her mind kept centering fifty miles to the east. Where Justin was.

And it was just so ridiculous because nothing about her "new life" there was real. Her job in Pensacola would be over when her mission was. Yes, she had a crush on Justin. Who wouldn't? He was good-looking and charming, affable and honest--

Honest? He's a crook, isn't he? Perpetrator of millions of dollars in insurance fraud. Isn't he?

But the crush was not only ridiculous, it could also threaten her mission, if she let it.

Somehow, she had known this was going to crop up to disturb her sleep. That was why she had taken a couple of over-the-counter sleeping tablets earlier. They started working on her now, and before she could give Justin too many more thoughts, she was deep in artificially induced sleep.

Chapter Five

Sylvia Watson unlocked the plate glass door to the office of Guardian Consumer Protection Services and stepped inside to the discordant rattle of brass bells against the metal facing. It was nine-thirty in the morning, a little early for what she was there for, but she was too excited to wait.

Since it was Saturday, the place was closed and she left the lights off in the front room, the domain of the receptionist on weekdays. Indirect sunlight glowing through a wall of glass was illuminating enough.

She wore a two-piece dress that skimmed her slender frame, its yellow flowers echoing the color of her bottle-bleached tresses. She had touched up her roots last night and noticed more strands of white among the brown. It would have been depressing, or at least annoying, on some other weekend. But not this one.

The soles of her strappy white slides slapped her heels as she headed down a narrow, high-ceilinged corridor to her office. The size of two regular offices, it passed for a suite in this building. Against the backdrop of antique brick outer walls, her desk and a bank of file cabinets were arranged at one end, balanced at the other by a seating group of black Naugahyde and glass-topped tables. Artificial ficus trees and other fake plants filled empty corners.

The overhead fluorescents were necessary here because there were no windows and she flipped a switch as she stepped through the door. Stomach churning, she sat down to wait.

She didn't have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes, she heard a soft tapping at the back door, a metal utility door that opened to a seldom-used downtown alley. She flew out to the corridor and down the last few feet and turned the deadbolt to swing the door open.

A man stepped in.

Larry Garrison -- at forty, older than Sylvia by seven years -- was of medium height, with short, dark hair. He wore casual attire, dark trousers and a plaid, poly-cotton blend shirt. He waited until Sylvia locked the door again, and then, walking with her to the office, looked her in the eyes, smiled and slipped his hand around her upper arm, at just the right place for his knuckles to graze the side of her breast.

A step inside her office, she shut the door and turned to him. In seconds they were locked in a churning embrace, kissing hungrily, their breathing growing long and labored.

"Oh, baby," he groaned as she pressed against him. "You feel so good."

"So do you."

His hands found their way under her top and up her back to her bra, which he unfastened expertly. He brought his hands around to her sides and she moaned with illicit pleasure.

In the distance, the sudden jangle of bells clanging against the front door abruptly knocked the libidinous mood out of them and they stiffened.

Sylvia tiptoed swiftly to the door and silently turned the lock on the doorknob.

They heard a woman's voice, muffled by distance and the closed door, call, "Sylvia?" followed by approaching footsteps.

Sylvia looked at Larry and mouthed, "Briana."

They stood still and waited. In a moment there was a knock on the door. "Sylvia, it's me, Briana." The doorknob jiggled but the lock held. In a moment, receding footsteps reached their ears. She didn't leave right away, but in a few minutes, the door bells rattled again.

They waited another minute before opening the door and peering out. Sylvia stepped out of her slides and padded down the hall, Larry walking quietly behind her. They went to the glass wall and looked out, stooping slightly, as if hiding in brush.

"There she is." Sylvia pointed to Briana, who was getting into her Blazer parked across the street half a block away.

"That's her?" Larry frowned. "That-- that ingenue, that cheerleader, is going to bring down Justin Adair?"

"Don't let that small-town-girl look fool you. She's my protégée . When the time comes, she'll deliver. Big time."

He looked at her and lust gleamed in his eyes. "Speaking of delivering, have I got something for you."

As they turned to head back to her office, Sylvia spotted a letterhead envelope on the reception desk, propped against a ceramic frog planter hosting a pale, sickly philodendron. Briana had written on the front, "Sylvia, this is for Eddie." Her old apartment key was inside.

*****

Briana brought her things from Mobile and her meager belongings from the motel to the Trussell Street apartment Saturday afternoon. She spent the rest of the day cleaning the apartment until it gleamed and on Sunday, she unpacked boxes.

She loved her new little place, a duplex from the middle of the twentieth century, not unlike Justin's house in style and age. Kitchen, dinette, living room on one side, bedroom and bath on the other, sparsely furnished but at the moment cluttered with boxes.

Both units shared the front porch and steps, but each had its own back porch -- a slab of concrete with a slanting roof enclosed with a framework that once had been screened. The screening had long since disappeared but the little porch was nevertheless a pleasant place, furnished with a charcoal grill and a few pieces of wooden patio furniture. Briana's wind chimes and potted plants added a personal touch to the area.

That night when she lay on the bed, its new sheets showing their packaging fold lines, she heard a rumbling in the distance and went stiff, listening alertly. She thought she heard it again and she shot up, trembling from head to toe.

She scurried into the living room where her small television and DVD player sat, and remembered they were useless because she didn't have cable service yet. She about-faced and stepped to the dinette table where her laptop sat. There was no free wifi here but her internet service provider offered dialup access and her phone line had been activated yesterday. The connection was slow and fear made her icy hands slow as well, but eventually she had a local weather site on the screen. She read nervously, looking for a link to the forecast and current conditions.

There it was. She clicked. No storms in the area.

She went numb with relief.

The rumbling again reached her ears and she realized it was a jet engine. She was just close enough to the regional airport for the engines to sound like thunder.

Oh, great.

Before climbing back into bed, she opened the mini-blinds slightly so the glow from a nearby streetlight would filter inside. She lay down again and her excitement returned. The furniture wasn't bad, but the place would look so much better, more inviting, more like home, after the empty boxes stacked in the corners were hauled away.

Yes, this is exciting.

But there was something sobering underlying the excitement. Saying goodbye to her old apartment, to her job in Mobile, to the Azalea City itself, for this fake job in Pensacola...it all forcefully brought home to her why she was here, and why she didn't need to let herself get so rattled by Justin's charm and good looks.

She would become a rock, she resolved, unmoved by that dazzling smile. No tingles from the sexy voice, not even any thrills when they accidentally touched fingers or bumped elbows.

I am a tree beside the water. I shall not be moved.

*****

Briana's resolve lasted, basically, two weeks, until the last Monday in May. That was the day Shelby Kincaid of System Solutions in Jacksonville blew into town "...like a hurricane," as Sandra, put it, because he turned the place upside down, bringing a new server, router and other equipment along with a supply of laptops and accessories, and pen-based tablets.

In his early thirties and beginning to thicken ever so slightly in the torso, he favored well-worn jeans and cotton shirts with rolled-up sleeves. Thick blond hair tumbled halfway to his shoulders. Although he was affable and laid back, Sandra's unlikely moniker of "Hurricane Shelby" became his nickname around the office for the duration of his assignment.

The delivery and installation of the new system was a disruption, the sort of thing that universally made workers grumble, but Justin told Briana the staff didn't bellyache as much as he'd expected and he was confident that once they got the hang of it, they would warm to the new system immensely. It was going to make their work more accurate and effective and their jobs much easier.

Still, to facilitate the transition, he had pizzas from Double Jack's delivered for lunch for the whole gang the day that the changeover began, with Hurricane Shelby as the guest of honor. At noon everybody stopped working and converged on the break room. To the sound of easy bantering, they took tall glasses of tea or cola and plates full of pizza slices from boxes on the counter to a long table in the center of the room.

Briana had already found this was a great bunch to work with. She hadn't been joking when she told Justin as much. She'd been on the job a mere three weeks but they had accepted her readily and treated her like she belonged. This lunch break pizza party was bound to be fun.

Somehow, it worked out that she found a vacant spot directly across the table from Justin.

Seated between Justin and Gil Anderson, Rod Kemp swiveled his head to check out the seating arrangements. "How come all the girls are on that side of the table, and all the boys are on this side?"

"'Cause I don't want to have to sit over there and look at you," Gil deadpanned.

Briana's giggle mingled with other twitters here and there down the table.

She glanced across to Justin, and felt her appreciation of him -- Oh, how silly can you be? Your attraction to him \-- fountain up forcefully for having been suppressed for two weeks. But with it came a twinge of melancholy, the sadness of knowing nothing could ever come of it.

A touch of speculation on his face, he looked at her and when their eyes met, he winked. "How's the pizza?" he asked, sotto voce.

"Delicious." She smiled and put the melancholy away. As long as she knew where it was all ultimately headed, what was wrong with enjoying him in the here and now -- wink and all?

*****

Exactly how unlike a mighty oak she was came to her two days later when she looked up from her computer screen and saw a woman walking toward Justin's office. Someone she didn't know. Very pretty, well formed, with long blond hair and a sweet expression.

"Excuse me, I'm Briana Farrior, Justin's secretary. May I help you?"

The visitor slowed and hesitantly detoured toward Briana's desk. "Thanks, that's okay, I just need to see Justin." She turned back toward his office and a smile lit her face.

Justin must have seen her enter the building because he was standing in the door.

"Hey, Kami, how're you doing?"

"I came to see you. I was getting worried. I haven't seen you at church in two, three weeks."

He motioned her into his office. "Got there late, left early. But I was there." Once they were inside, Justin shut the door.

A completely unexpected and powerful bolt of jealousy shot through Briana from head to toe.

Kami? Who is she? Why does she get to just waltz into his office?

And why'd he shut the door? What are they doing in there?

As she worked on Justin's schedule for tomorrow, she kept an eye on the time display in the system tray at the bottom of her computer screen. The digits were moving way too slowly as lunchtime approached.

But eventually the door opened and Justin and Kami stepped out. The blond visitor would have continued on, but Justin veered to Briana's desk and said, "Kami, did you meet Briana?"

"We weren't really introduced." She came back to stand next to Justin.

"Briana Farrior, Kami Long." Justin glanced from one to the other with his usual aplomb.

"Hi," Kami said with a sweet smile that Briana found annoying.

"Briana's my new administrative assistant."

"How nice you finally got Dottie some help."

"And me some help, mostly." He looked at Briana. "We're gonna go get a bite. Call my cell phone if you need me."

"All right." Briana gave Kami her own annoying smile, that icky-sweet smile small-town Southern girls learned as preschoolers. "Nice to meet you, too."

*****

"Haven't seen her in a while," Martha Ann observed as she and Sandra moseyed up front from the break room.

"Bri, Dot, remember I have a casserole dish full of lasagne in the break room, hot out of the mikey-wave. Plenty for everybody."

Sandra glanced a Briana. "Poor thing. But don't worry."

"About what?"

"Justin and Kami."

Briana laughed a bit self-consciously. "I wasn't worried."

"Oh, come on. He's such a hottie. How can you work with him as closely as you do and not be attracted to him?"

"Well," Briana said, trying to sound mature and reasonable, not like a high school girl with a crush, which was closer to reality. "He's attractive, sure enough, but that doesn't mean I'm attracted to him." Sandra looked at her skeptically. "Hey, he's my boss, for goodness sake."

"But if you were attracted to him, just hypothetically, you wouldn't have to worry about Kami."

"Margo, either,"said Dottie, coming around the partition from her work area.

Her mild discomfort ratcheting up a notch, Briana said, "There's another one?"

"Yep," Martha Ann said as the women strolled back to the break room. "Kami's the good little church girl. Margo's a vamp."

Briana goggled. "What? Squeaky clean Justin has a vamp for a girlfriend?"

"Let's put it this way," said Sandra. "I don't know if you could call them his girlfriends, but there are two girls that he dates more or less routinely. Different as night and day and their personalities match their looks perfectly. You've seen sweet Kami. Margo's got this Cleopatra sophistication to go with her Cleopatra hair and black eyeliner. Justin claims they're just friends, and both ladies echo that, but either one of them would snap him up in a heartbeat."

Kami, sweet? You coulda fooled me.

"I think Kami could really be in love with him," Martha Ann said. "All Margo wants is his potential earning power as a business owner."

"They're both golddiggers," Dottie said, pausing to lick tomato sauce and melted cheese off her forefinger. "Justin's not rich but he could be if he ever put his mind to it. I disagree about Margo. I think she could really care about him."

Briana's discomfort transformed to mild embarrassment. "Do y'all talk about the boss like this all the time?"

"Not all the time," said Martha Ann, who reached around Briana for her serving of lasagna and headed to the table. "We haven't had a lot of time for gossip around here, but when we do, Justin is a pretty fascinating topic."

"I'm sure he knows we talk about him," Sandra said, "if he thinks about it, but most of the time it just doesn't register with him." Her shoulders rose and fell. "Hey. He's a guy."

"He's been dating Margo for about a year, and Kami since last Thanksgiving," Dottie said. "Margo's a paralegal. Kami's part-owner of a little boutique in the historic district."

"Do they know about each other?"

"Oh, yes. They avoid each other like the plague, but there's lots of rivalry there. And jealousy. Margo let her chin-length bob grow out after she saw Kami's long, flaxen locks last fall. Now it's down to her shoulders. They've both been here at the same time only twice. Tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife."

"And Justin oblivious," Sandra said.

"Really?" Briana said. "He wasn't just pretending to not notice?"

"Justin doesn't pretend," Dottie confided. "With him, what you see is what you get."

*****

On Friday, at Mykonos Restaurant, high atop a bluff overlooking Pensacola Bay, Hurricane Shelby sighed with pleasure and pushed his chair back from the table.

"Excellent," he said of the meal he had just consumed. "Just...excellent."

"Glad you enjoyed it," Justin said. "Come back over, we'll do it again."

"I just might take you up on that."

The visitor rose and all the employees of Justin's Pensacola staff stood and offered handshakes and farewells. Rod would be driving him to the airport for his flight back to Jacksonville.

Installation of the new computer system was complete, and everything was working perfectly. And out in the Gulf of Mexico, Tropical Storm Arthur was forming off the coast of Belize.

*****

"Briana," Justin said, stopping at her desk when they returned from lunch. "If you're not busy tonight, what would you think of going on a blind date? Doubling with me and Kami? It's her brother, Scott. He got in town last night from Charlotte."

Briana looked up from her computer and blinked. Go on a double date and watch him with one of his girlfriends? Something about that was appealing, and something definitely wasn't.

"Well, I..."

"I know it's short notice and if you've already got plans, that's fine. We could just let him tag along, if need be."

"Oh, I can't imagine a guy enjoying that very much."

"Probably not."

"Do you know him?"

"Met him over the holidays last year. Nice fellow. About five, eight. Blond and blue-eyed like Kami."

"Um, what kind of date would it be?"

"Casual. Hector's for food, movie at the mall."

"Well..." She appeared to hang in indecision a moment but didn't give it much thought before saying, "Sure. Why not?

"Good. We'll pick you up at six-thirty."

Chapter Six

Briana sat in the back of the 4-Runner and chatted with Scott Long -- a nice looking fellow and sure enough sweet, from what she could tell thus far -- but her eyes kept darting to the one driving and his ladyfriend up front.

She could see a quarter of Justin's face and catch it in profile when he looked to the right, checking traffic or commenting to Kami, who was separated from him by the console. They were talking about her boutique, and somehow, Briana couldn't imagine Justin really being interested in that. Nevertheless, he listened attentively and asked questions or made comments that didn't sound a bit lame or patronizing.

There was a fairly long waiting line at Hector's, but Justin guessed that they would be served and have time to eat before the late showing of The Chronicles of Narnia -- Prince Caspian. As they waited in the entrance, and later at the table, conversation was lively and now and then, the guys popped out with things that made the ladies giggle, as guys and ladies routinely did on dates.

It was interesting to see Justin in a purely social situation. Briana tried to keep from looking at him every moment, and toward that end purposely kept polite conversation going with Scott. But her gaze occasionally wandered to the other couple, and she was surprised and puzzled by their behavior.

They didn't act like lovers, and perhaps weren't, if their churchgoing was for more than just show. But they didn't look like a couple falling in love, either. There was no hand holding, no sweet talking, no special looks. Justin was attentive to Kami when she spoke, but only slightly more than he was to Briana and Scott. She had noticed at the office that it was his way to pay attention to whoever he was with.

Once, while they were waiting for a table, Kami stepped close to him, put a hand on his shoulder and stood on tiptoe to whisper something to him, and he accommodated her by tilting his head toward her. When she finished he promptly turned to look behind him and she squealed softly, "No! I told you not to look yet!

"Oh. Sorry." He turned back around, grinning. "Yepper, I believe you're right," and then sotto voce to Briana, "Fellow in the yellow turtleneck over there...Pensacola's celebrity lawyer, Bob Meyerstone. Made a fortune in tobacco litigation. Has his own TV show. Lives in a mansion at the beach."

"Wow," Briana breathed, hoping she sounded properly impressed.

She was much more impressed with Justin, and she found it almost difficult to remove her attention from him and give it to Scott.

Justin was just so...so...good-looking almost any guy would pale next to him. The way he cut his eyes to the side when listening, the lazy blinks, the small half-smiles, the wide grins, his marvelous laugh, the way he infrequently ran his fingers through his hair to sweep it off his forehead...

I wish I could do that...

He had beautiful, gracefully masculine hands; she already knew that from watching him across his desk, making notes or typing on his computer. At dinner, he was mannerly but not fussy -- one hundred percent guy. And in the dim lighting of the restaurant, his eyes glittered, and his lips darkened and-- Briana's face heated up with blushing and she ducked her head and brought a hand to her brow.

Scott drawled, "Y'alright?"

She looked at him sideways and smiled, following it with a giggle she was unable to stop. "Yeah. I'm just having fun."

"Well, good." He gave her an approving look. "That's what you're supposed to do."

She ventured a glance across the table, saw Kami's eyes darting around, probably checking to see if a waiter was headed their way, saw Justin looking across the table -- at her. He smiled. And winked.

Didn't mean anything. She'd seen him do the same thing to Sandra and Dottie, even Martha Ann, who was old enough to be his mother.

Nevertheless, it made her stomach quiver, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling shyly back at him.

*****

It was almost midnight when Justin stopped the 4Runner in front of her duplex and Scott walked her to the door. She had developed a moderate headache at some point during the evening, a rare malady for her. Once inside and alone, she stripped down to her underwear and lay across the bed, a damp cloth on her forehead.

It didn't help much. For some reason, she was tense, her shoulder muscles knotted, her scalp tight. She filled the bathtub, hoping that a hot, leisurely soak would relax her enough for pain free sleep.

It worked. Fifteen minutes later, when she wrapped herself in a thick terrycloth robe, her headache had toned down enough for a couple of aspirin to finish it off. She went to the kitchen for water, and sat down at her computer to check the weather before going to bed. No storms anywhere in the southeast.

Out of habit she clicked open her email program to delete the day's spam deliveries and was surprised and momentarily thrilled to see the subject "Hi" in her inbox from jadair1980@gsis.net, delivered just moments ago. She clicked it open.

Thanks for doubling w/ us tonight. Scott says you're fun. Movie was something, huh? Makes you wonder what C.S. Lewis was smokin'. Justin.

With a mild churning in her stomach, Briana stared at the email for several moments, and wondered where he was when he sent it. He had dropped her off about a half hour before. Had he already taken Kami and Scott home, and made it back to his house by now?

She pictured him at the desktop computer in his little den, perhaps with Supe nearby. It occurred to her to wonder why he would email her after a date with another woman.

Something else occurred to her. Was he still there, at his computer? Would he have his messenger open? She opened hers and quickly found out when she was notified that he had sent her an IM. She opened it.

jra_eighty: Hi.

watcher03: Hi. You're up late.

jra_eighty: So are you.

watcher03: I had a headache.

jra_eighty: Scott wasn't that bad, was he?

She smiled, because she suspected he was smiling, too.

watcher03: No, he was very nice. I had a good time.

jra_eighty: Glad you did. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?

Briana stared at the text as a tiny thrill went through her, but then realized...Scott would be in town for the whole weekend. Justin was probably looking to fix up his girlfriend's brother again.

Seconds ticked by. She needed to respond.

watcher03: Sort of.

jra_eighty: You are sort of doing something tomorrow? What?

watcher03: Well, aren't you nosy?

jra_eighty: Sorry. Want to make some overtime? Work, say, ten till three? I'll buy you lunch.

It was utterly ridiculous to get excited about working on Saturday. But there it was.

watcher03: Time and a half, right? Lunch where?

jra_eighty: Right, time and a half. Nick's. Deal?

watcher03: OK.

jra_eighty: Great. See you at ten.

Gone.

Briana leaned back and stared at the conversation on her screen, a smile on her lips, a flutter in her stomach. She thought about tomorrow, spending half the day with him.

She laid her hand on the mouse -- click, save \-- and went back to deleting her spam e-mail.

There was one she almost deleted that wasn't spam and when she saw it she felt a twinge of dread. From Sylvia. She stared at it a few moments and opened it.

"Briana, call me tomorrow. We need to talk about that snake-of-a-boss of yours. Syl."

She clicked reply and typed, "The snake's making me work tomorrow. I'll have to call you later. Bri."

She sent the email and powered down her machine.

With a slight troubled feeling, she turned off lights and made sure the doors were locked before going to the bedroom to change the bulky terry robe for summer weight cotton PJs. Crossing in front of the dresser, she caught her reflection in the mirror and studied it critically.

She sure didn't look very sophisticated in these jammies with their pink flower buds and ribbons. In fact, they looked a lot like a pair she had in the first grade.

Am I getting fat?

She twisted this way and that, looking in the mirror under lowered brows.

Or did she just look bumpkinish and pudgy, compared to sweet, svelte, sophisticated Kami?

What'sa matter with you, girl? You never think thoughts like this. Now, go to bed.

*****

Checking closed claim files for the necessary forms was Briana's sole assignment on Saturday, and she had worked at a good clip until after lunch when she realized she was so close to being done, she'd be finished before time to go home. She slowed down.

Justin had been absorbed in his work, as he usually was, except at lunch. Gil Anderson was working OT today, too, and the three of them had taken a break from playing office catch-up to enjoy Cajun seafood at Nick's.

The men were casual today, Justin sporting khaki shorts, brown leather sandals and a faded camouflage print T-shirt, his most unusual accessory a white baseball cap with a thick bill that curved around his forehead and hid his eyes in shadow.

Lunch at Nick's had been fun, with the guys talking about humorous experiences in their history as claim adjusters.

They went back a long way. Both were from small communities in north Alabama, Justin from Ranburne, Gil from Athens. They both attended Jacksonville State University and both had been recruited by Sunbelt right out of college.

Back at the office after lunch, the men grew silent, absorbed in their work, until about two thirty when Justin called, "Briana, c'mere a minute." She sprang up and headed for his office.

"Grab a chair and come around here," he motioned her to come behind his desk and nodded at his computer screen. "Look. Tropical Storm Arthur. First storm of the season."

She sat slowly and looked past him to the splotchy white blob on his computer screen. "Where is it?"

"Western Caribbean. Already made landfall in Belize. The last time a tropical storm formed in May, I was a year old and you weren't even born."

"Wow. What's going on down there right now?"

"Wind damage, mostly. The storm surge has already come onshore and done its damage."

Having grown up on the coastal plain, Briana had heard that term before, but wasn't sure of its technical definition. "What is storm surge, exactly?"

"It's when ocean water is pushed on shore by wind and low pressure."

She nodded. "That's kinda what I assumed. I see how wind could push water onto land, but how does the low pressure thing work?"

Justin clicked the mouse and the browser went to a website that featured a computer model of a hurricane. "Tropical cyclones are areas of low pressure. They pull the water up under them, like when you sip liquid with a straw, only the sides of a storm's low pressure area aren't straight like a straw. So the water sucked up is more like a dome beneath the hurricane. Between the dome and the water pushed by wind, a storm surge is a lot higher than sea level usually is. When it reaches shore, it floods low-lying areas. But flooding is only part of the damage. The water is wind-driven, very turbulent and destructive. Smashes buildings and uproots vegetation and the resulting debris does more damage."

He clicked links that featured photos of damage from storm surge. Briana stared and whispered, "I always thought hurricanes damaged things with wind. Storm surge. That's scary."

"Yeah. It's the deadliest part of a hurricane. The wind's bad. Knocks down trees and power lines, breaks windows. If it's strong enough, it'll rip the roof off a house, but it doesn't smash buildings to rubble, like a tornado. But storm surge can."

"Oh, my," she said softly, and swallowed hard, spooked a little by the gravity in his voice.

"When Camille made landfall, a twenty-four foot storm surge crashed into Biloxi. Smashed everything in its path.

"Sounds like that tsunami a couple of years ago."

"There are some major differences. The tsunami was a lot more destructive. The wave was generated by an earthquake and it was twice as high as Camille's storm surge. Nobody knew it was coming, so nobody could prepare. Wouldn't have been time to anyway. You know days in advance that a hurricane with storm surge is headed for you, but tidal waves can move at hundreds of miles an hour through the ocean, and when a wave traveling that fast hits land..."

He shook his head and a look of remembrance came to his face. "Upwards of a quarter million people dead. Homes, food supplies, whole towns destroyed. We were all appalled, like most everyone around the world, but Dottie was distraught. We basically shut the office down a couple of days to help with some relief efforts, but that didn't assuage her. Her church had its own tsunami project, and she took up a collection from us every week for a month to help fund it."

Her voice wavering, Briana said, "Could a tsunami ever come here?"

He looked at her with mild surprise. "I didn't mean to depress you. Or scare you."

"Oh, I'm not scared. I'm just curious."

He continued to gaze at her a moment, as if he was assessing her statement.

"Tsunamis are possible in the Gulf of Mexico, but not likely. Earthquakes under the sea are the major cause of tsunamis and quakes under the Gulf are rare and mild. Quakes occur mostly along the boundaries of the tectonic plates, and there aren't any boundaries under the Gulf. There was a quake off the coast of Texas in 2006, but it was a thousand times weaker than the Indonesian quake and didn't create a tsunami."

"But couldn't there be one in the Atlantic?"

"Yeah, but it probably wouldn't affect the Gulf much. It would bottleneck at the Florida and Yucatan straights."

"Mmm..." She nodded absently. "If there are earthquakes in the Gulf, I wonder if there are any on land around here. I've never heard of any but..."

"Well, there are faults all along the upper Gulf coast but they're well-behaved. They generate little seismic activity and almost never create ground ruptures."

"Oh, good." She gave a nervous laugh. "Are you a geologist, too?"

"Nah. I've just read about it a lot. I was watching the world series when the Loma Prieta quake hit in 1989. I was nine years old at the time and followed the news coverage for days. That made it an ongoing interest of mine and I would read about it from time to time. Still do."

"It's funny, I never thought much about how destructive nature can be until I started working here."

"Nature can also be very beautiful," he said. "And it doesn't destroy from malice."

"Right. Only people do that."

He looked at her again and pushed his hat back to his crown. His eyelashes caught the afternoon sun light through the windows, darkening his eyes with delicate shadows. "You finished all your files? You can go on home if you want to."

"I have about four more."

I don't want to go home. I want to stay here with you.

"Don't worry about 'em. We can get to them later. Go on home and enjoy what's left of your weekend." He smiled and her heart fluttered.

"Um...if you're sure."

"I'm sure. And thanks for coming in. It was a big help to me."

*****

Briana stepped into the midafternoon sunshine and walked to the Blazer.

I do have things to do. Buy groceries, go to the laundromat...

But instead of tackling her weekend chores, she went to the mall and by four o'clock, she was perched on a high stool in the cosmetics section of Mallett's department store while a makeup artist fixed her face.

"I have a new job," she explained. "I want to look nice at work."

She was so pleased with the outcome, she bought every tube, bottle and jar of substance used for the makeover. It severely cut into her food budget for the week but she, pudgy bumpkin that she was, didn't need to eat so much anyway.

She got home at five and started gathering her clothes to take to the laundromat when the phone rang. She picked it up and checked the display. It said "Private," and she lifted a brow. None of Justin's caller ID's used that term. Annoyed, and hoping telemarketers had not happened upon her cell number, she opened the phone and brought it to her ear.

"Hello."

"Briana, Sylvia."

"Hey, where are you? Your caller ID says private."

There was short silence. "Does it? It's not supposed to, I'll check on that. How's it going?

"Fine."

"So, you've been there a month. What kind of working relationship are you developing with the snake? Has he started relying on you? Trusting you?"

"It's hard to say. We have a routine, but mostly what I do is clerical work, and I keep up with his schedule."

"So do you have a feel for this guy yet? His malfeasance is bound to show through in some way."

Briana thought of Justin a moment. The only thing that showed through with him was his decency. He didn't wear his religion on his sleeve or his morality like a badge. They just came through. Briana did have the kind of feelings Sylvia wanted to hear about -- suspicion and uneasiness -- but not when she was with Justin. Those were the feelings she experienced when she was around Eddie Burke.

"Sylvia, if he's hiding something, nobody can find it. He doesn't act guilty about anything. Everybody at the office sees him as a good guy."

"He's just slick. Don't be taken in by that. Now does he trust you yet, or not?"

"It's hard to say. I make out checks for the bills, but I don't have the authority to sign them. I have keys to the office and such, and access to the files but I'm starting to wonder if there's any thing to find. I mean, would he really have incriminating evidence stored at his office, where seven other people work?"

"Maybe not. That's why it's time for you to start paying attention to what he says, even in passing. What goes on, who his contacts are. You're moving up to the next level as of now."

"All right."

There won't be anything, Syl. He's either so slick he never slips up, never reveals anything, and lives an award-winning acting job -- or else he has nothing to hide.

Chapter Seven

The revolver on one hip, antenna'd walkie-talkie on the other, the patch on the sleeve and shiny badge on the shirt front, above the left pocket -- heck, the whole uniform, even the black-billed cap -- could still bring a smile to Larry Garrison's face from time to time, although he'd been working, more or less, for Sentinel Security Services for over a year now.

He stood at the bureau in his bedroom and ran a comb through his thinning hair. His apartment in Biloxi was ratty, like big chunks of the Mississippi coast, still, three years after Katrina. The casinos, at least, had been refurbished or rebuilt and business was great.

Most every weekday morning it was the same for Larry; he dressed, stopped by the IHOP for breakfast and spent several hours walking around the Pleasure Isle Casino, pretending to security guard.

He especially enjoyed carrying the gun since, as a convicted felon, he wasn't supposed to have one in his possession, let alone use one in his job. It was a ridiculously easy law to break, particularly when orchestrated by a veteran outlaw like Big Arnie, who ran at least some parts of his operation from inside the slammer almost as efficiently has he'd done outside it. Big Arnie said half the private security force personnel in the United States was ex-cons.

Today was Monday, two days into the new month, four days until payday and a tryst with Sylvia. Every other Friday, Larry left the casino and stopped by Sentinel's office to pick up his pay check, after which he drove to First Bay Bank, opened the Sentinel envelope and deposited his check.

There was always cash in the envelope, too, unrecorded in any conventional business accounting department. This "paycheck" of untraceable hundred dollar bills, was deposited into another account at another bank. It was his compensation for directing drug drops between the Mexican Mafia and a bunch of idiot rednecks, thereby minimizing the possibility that narcs from the Drug Enforcement Agency and the Mississippi Bureau of Narcotics would also show up as uninvited guests.

The cash pay was generous and he earned every penny.

This last job had been particularly unpleasant. Some blockhead -- if he ever found out who, they'd be in for it -- had designated a drop point at the edge of a swampy savanna north of Gulfport. The southern coast was hot, even in May. The mosquitoes had nearly eaten him alive before it was over and it still seemed a miracle that he hadn't collapsed from heat stroke.

Still, he didn't complain. At least, not to anyone but himself. He was building up quite a stash in the second bank account while he waited for the day of revenge.

A telephone call had come yesterday, advising him of a drop from a transshipment point in Mexico and arriving on Mississippi's coast at an undetermined time next week, on some sort of pleasure craft. He'd come to expect such imprecision from the numbskulls he was working with, who fancied themselves the remnant of the infamous Dixie Mafia, which, as far as he could tell, never had much on the ball even in its heyday.

What a joke. Idiot punks, the lot of them, who'd all end up in prison sooner or later, some for the second or third time. But not him. Once was enough. He was never going back.

It was a little better than five years since he'd gone into Holcomb State Correctional Facility in Alabama. A little over a year since he'd got out.

What a rube he'd been, going in. A quivering mass of all-consuming lust for revenge, and no idea how to achieve it. It probably would have stayed that way, had he not met Big Arnie. Big Arnie had listened to his story and, over time, advised him exactly how to get what he wanted. Big Arnie also had the contacts outside who could make it happen. All he wanted in return was someone with sense to bring some adult maturity to his Gulf Coast drug operations.

Since Big Arnie had gone in, unable to manage his enterprise with a direct hand, it had increasingly gone to pot \-- "No pun intended," he'd haw-hawed at Larry -- and was losing opportunities and thus enormous amounts of money. It was one of the few areas of his operations he couldn't properly control in absentia.

When Larry found out what was going on with Justin Adair, he was one-hundred percent game to work for Arnie upon his release. In 2003, Sunbelt Property and Casualty had transferred Adair from Birmingham to the Florida Gulf Coast -- Pensacola, to be exact, only two hours from Biloxi. He'd been part of the massive adjuster lay-off a year later, after the Hurricane Season from Hell, and he'd started his own independent adjusting firm.

As payback time approached, Larry congratulated himself on making the right decision. Everything was working out fine. Just fine.

*****

June arrived, bringing with it the glaring haze of summer and the official start of hurricane season, although all was quiet in hurricane alley. For now.

Three days into the month, Briana slept late and barely made it to work on time by skipping her stop at Burger Biggie for a breakfast sandwich. By eleven a.m., hunger sent her back to the break room for something to hold her over until lunchtime.

Justin kept the refrigerator stocked with canned soft drinks and gallon jugs of Theo's tea for his staff. One of Briana's jobs was to monitor their consumption and buy more when the stock dwindled. There were five gallons now. She scooped cubes from the ice maker into a glass, poured tea and carried her drink and a small plate of chocolate chip cookies to her desk. She'd made them the night before and in her tardiness had almost left them behind.

Now, her stomach growling, she was glad she'd grabbed them up at the last minute.

"Justin, Dottie, everybody, y'all want some homemade chocolate chip cookies? Plenty more in the kitchen."

"Maybe after lunch," Dottie called over her partition.

Justin said, "Sounds good," and strolled out of his office. He stopped beside her in front of her desk, where she waited holding the plate out to him. He took a cookie, bit off a chunk and gave her an admiring look.

"These are great. You made them?"

"Yes, last night. Don't eat too many or they'll spoil your lunch."

"No joke." He took another bite and smiled at her.

Gosh, that smile is gorgeous. He looks like...he looks like...somebody from history.

"Have I ever told you," he said, "that chocolate chip cookies are a weakness of mine? My mama controlled me with them when I was a kid."

They laughed together and looked into each other's eyes a moment, the way it had happened several times before. Always over food. Wonder why.

Behind her, the door opened and she glanced back to see a tall fellow with dark hair step inside. Her eyes widened and her smile faded as she watched him head for the reception desk. Halfway there, he spotted Briana and made a beeline for her.

"Hey, Briana. I thought this was the right place."

"Eddie," she said a little breathlessly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you. Thought we might go to lunch."

"Oh, I -- well, it's over an hour until my lunch break."

"Briana, you can go to lunch early if you want to," Justin said. He didn't wait for her to make introductions but extended a hand to Eddie and said, "Justin Adair."

"Eddie Burke." The visitor took Justin's hand and gave it a manly shake. "My sister's Briana's boss." Eddie blinked. "I mean, her ex-boss. At Guardian." He slung his thumb westward. "In Mobile."

Briana's face went blank for a moment. She set her tea and cookies down and sped around her desk to snatch her purse from a drawer.

"Well, let's go," she said with a jittery laugh. She headed for the door so fast Eddie had to scurry to keep up.

*****

Justin moseyed to Dottie's desk, watching through the plate glass as Briana climbed into a metal flake orange SUV and the visitor slid behind the wheel. A quizzical smile came to his face.

"I wonder what that was all about. She looked nervous as a cat."

Dottie smiled, too, but her smile was knowing. "She was acting like he's an old boyfriend who doesn't know he's 'old' yet."

*****

A month ago, Briana had sat at this very table with Justin, talking about her job duties and going through the first phase of getting-to-know-you. As she took her seat now, she wished she and Eddie had been directed to another table.

"What'll you have?" Eddie said as he skimmed the menu.

"Caesar salad, bleu cheese dressing, sweet tea."

"That's all?"

"Wait'll you see it. It's a meal by itself."

"If you say so. I think I'll get the blackened grouper."

A waiter came and took their order and when they were alone again, Briana said, "So what brings you to Pensacola?"

His lips stretched side to side but she wouldn't have called it a smile. "Oh, you know."

No, I don't know.

She couldn't decide which was worse -- to think he was here because of his interest in her or because Sylvia had sent him to check up on her.

Eddie was a jabberer, and Briana knew him just well enough to know what set him off and kept the words flowing with only an occasional comment, giggle or raised brows. He was a fiberglass fabricator and worked in a shop that made bodies for expensive, one-of-a-kind vehicles -- cars, trucks, boats and airplanes -- and he loved to talk about that. He also loved gambling -- he spent a lot of time at the casinos on the Mississippi coast and at the greyhound park -- and target shooting.

She got him started with, "Been to Mississippi lately?" and she sat there and ate and kept just enough of her mind on the conversation to interject a word or phrase to keep him going.

His voice and her surroundings seemed to recede a little and her memory of sitting here with Justin a month ago seemed more real. She saw his face, his smiles, heard his voice.

"...this kitten came to my door, meowing..."

She saw him drop the collection of keys he'd had made for her on the table between them, heard him explain claim processing.

The sound of Eddie's laughter broke into her reverie and she let herself acknowledge what she had tried not to see, for Sylvia's sake, until now. She looked at the man sitting where Justin had sat then and the differences were stark and enormous.

He's greasy, unkempt, immature. A kid, but sinister. Justin is a man, gorgeous, smart, conscientious and--she froze and stared into space unseeing, openmouthed \--decent, upright, ethical, honorable...Not a cheat, not a liar, not a crook...

Almost as if reading her mind, Eddie said, "So tell me about the hunk you're working for."

That snapped Briana back to reality and her mind raced. Did Eddie know why she was here? Had Sylvia told him or was she letting him believe, along with everyone else, that Briana had simply found another job?

"What do you want to know?"

"Oh, just things like, does he hang around your desk a lot, telling jokes and eating cookies?"

"He's been gone a lot since I started my job."

Not really a lie, although he had been gone most of her first week, to the expo, and at least one day a week since then,.

"Got anything on him yet?"

Briana's lungs froze around a breath and she had to force it out. So he knew. Why had Sylvia told him? The more people who knew, the greater the chances of her being exposed. She glanced at her watch. "Oh, my, look at this. I've got to get back."

Somehow, she made it through the ride back to the office without evidence showing of both her discomfort with Eddie and her insight about Justin. She hoped. As soon as the orange SUV rolled into the parking lot at Gulf States and stopped out front, she hastily thanked him and scurried into the office like it was a refuge from the worst monster thunderstorm of her life.

*****

At nine-thirty Friday night, Eddie sat in a booth in the Oasis Bar and Grille in tiny Robertsdale, Alabama, squinting through the orangy dimness at his sister and her man-slut seated across the table.

Sylvia was married. Her old man, Floyd Watson, worked offshore and was absent for weeks at a time; and closed off and distant when he was home. It seemed unlikely to Eddie that Floyd would give a flip whether his wife was getting some on the side, since he didn't seem all that interested in her himself.

Still, Sylvia was determined to keep the affair secret. Hence, this rendezvous in this little hick town twenty-five miles from Mobile.

"Well, I think you've made a big mistake," Eddie said, the unlit Marlboro clamped loosely between his lips dancing with each word. He set his long neck bottle on the table, fished a stainless steel Zippo out of his shirt pocket and flipped it open with his thumb. The flame briefly lit his face before he snapped the lighter shut and took the cigarette from his mouth to blow smoke and finish, "sending that little gal over there to try to bring down a savvy white collar criminal."

"She doesn't have to bring him down," Larry said. "I will. She's just a conduit."

"For what?"

"Look, Eddie-boy, Sylvia -- and I, in the background -- sent her knowing there probably wouldn't be anything to find. We had to let her think there would be, so she'd be willing to go over there and play the part of infiltrator and spy. But he's way too shrewd to have evidence of his wrongdoing in his own business office. That's where Briana's role as a conduit comes in. When the time comes, she will put the evidence there."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "And then what's she gonna do? 'Find' it?"

"That's already worked out, so don't you worry."

"Well, you better do it soon, before he gets his hooks into her any deeper."

"What are you talking about?" Sylvia asked. She coughed softly and waved Eddie's smoke from her face.

"Have you seen him, Syl?"

"No." She gave Larry an inquisitive look.

He shook his head. "I don't know what little brother's talking about."

"All those years," Eddie paused for a swallow of beer, "when you talked about how you meant to get him, you didn't mention how studly the bastard is. Shoulda seen the way they was glommin' onto each other with their eyes when I walked in. And she's around him all day long, every weekday? Next thing you know, she'll be all-nightin' at his place, or he'll be at hers...and all your big plans for payback go right down the toilet."

"I'm not worried," Larry said grimly. "When the time comes, she'll play ball. If she knows what's good for her."

"That's stupid. Listening to you talking to Big Arnie in the exercise yard week after week, month after month, I figured you'd just track him down when you got out and send him to his maker."

A sullen look settled on Larry's face. "You didn't hear everything me and Arnie talked about, or you'd know that way would be too easy. I want him to go through what I went through. I want him to lose everything he owns and see his good name drug through the mud. I want him to know what it's like to be locked up, your freedom gone, your life in the hands of a bunch of sadistic prison hacks."

Eddie took a long drag on the Marlboro and gave a derisive chuckle, smoke puffing from his nostrils. "Even if it happens, which ain't likely, he'd probably end up at a country club prison, playin' golf and watching big-screen TV and drinkin' latte."

Larry chuckled, too, and a diabolical gleam came to his eyes. "No. That's not in my plans for him. At all."

Chapter Eight

In the Saturday evening crowd at McGuire's Irish Pub, amid a sea of dollars flapping from the walls and ceiling, Margo Coleman picked at her food, although it was known to be some of the best in Pensacola. Across the table, Justin took a bite of steak, looked up at her, smiled and winked.

"How's your Shepherd's Pie?" he asked.

"Great. You don't look like you're enjoying your steak very much, though."

"It's fine."

"You have something on your mind."

He gazed at her a moment, looked like he wanted to say something, but merely conceded, "Yeah. I have several things on my mind."

"Things like, um, your secretary?"

"Well...several things."

She rested her forearms on the edge of the table and leaned forward. "Justin, you're no good as a liar. You've never done it enough to be comfortable with it."

He set his knife and fork down, his steak forgotten, and looked at her openly, but seconds ticked by and he said nothing.

"I have a feeling," she ventured, "that this is the last time we go out together."

His gaze didn't waver, but regret softened his expression. She didn't doubt for a moment that it was genuine.

"I think you're right," he said. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes darted to take in everything she could see of him, face, hair, shoulders, hands -- even his ears were sexy -- and her lips curved into a melancholy smile.

"You needn't be too sorry. You're a wonderful person, a great guy, and I really care about you. But it's not like we have a relationship or anything."

"You mean that? No resentment toward me?"

His discomfort had begun to show and despite the faint sadness settling over her, she wanted to reassure him.

"Yeah. No resentment. I don't think Kami does much for you, and I know I don't. There's just no spark in it for you. But since, what's her name, Bronwyn?"

"Briana."

"Right. Since Briana started her job, there's a sparkle in your eyes. You look livelier, happier than I've ever seen you."

"I'm just glad we were able to find somebody before hurricane season. She's turning out to be a good worker."

"Tell me you won't let that stand in your way."

He frowned and shook his head.

"You know what I'm talking about," she told him. "You've been solitary and lonely for too many years to let it go on a day longer than it has to. If she can make you happy..."

He laughed and glanced away, "She's an employee, for cryin' out loud. A subordinate. I couldn't do that. I can't even think of it."

"You should. If she can make you happy, and if you can make her happy, then you must."

Stubborn resistance crept across his face. "It would be a reprehensible breach of business ethics."

She looked at him earnestly and reached a hand across the table. He took it and gently squeezed her fingers.

"Sooner or later," she told him, "you're going to have to think of your future. Your happiness. You've put yourself on the back burner way too long."

"I have responsibilities. A business to run. Employees that depend on me."

"Just make sure you put Justin on that list, too." She squeezed his fingers has he had done hers moments before. "I'm going up front now and call a taxi. And go home."

"Don't do that. I brought you here. I'll take you home."

He followed her out of the dining area, their meals forgotten. Waiting by the cashier's station for the check, both of them pensive and silent, he took her hand so she wouldn't slip away.

The silence continued afterward as the 4-Runner rolled through the night to her apartment in Cordova Park.

They reached her door and she looked at him with an expression of sweet, sad finality. She stretched up to kiss him tenderly and raised a hand to ruffle his hair.

"For the rest of my life, when I think of you, Justin Ransom Adair, it'll make me smile."

*****

It was thirteen days into storm season -- Friday the Thirteenth, in fact -- and not a breath stirred in Hurricane Alley. At nine Monday morning, Briana went to Justin's office with a pen and steno pad, as usual, and paused at the door.

"You ready for me?"

"Yes, ma'am, come on in."

She took her customary chair across from him, flipped the pad to a blank page and clicked her ballpoint pen.

"Something wrong with your tablet?" he asked, referring to the pen-based computer Kincaid had set up especially for her.

"No, nothing's wrong with it. I'm just not used to it. I'm afraid I'll touch the wrong thing and erase all my notes. I just feel safer with a pen and paper."

She shrugged a bit self-consciously and smiled. It was a little embarrassing to admit that, right here in the middle of the digital age. But her smile faded and her eyes widened as she suddenly remembered how much Justin was shelling out for all the new electronics. "But I'll be glad to go get it and use it if you want me to. It's just right there on my desk." She made a vague pointing motion over her shoulder.

He smiled -- no, he grinned widely and Briana relaxed. There was something about his smile... Of course, it was gorgeous, a sight to behold, the way it lit up his eyes and made his handsome face all the more riveting. But there was something else too, something that warmed her heart.

"You Luddite, you sound just like my mama. But you use whichever you're most comfortable with."

That was so typical of him. Except in a few specific instances, he didn't expect people to conform to his expectations. He possessed observable authority, but he wasn't authoritarian. More than anyone she had ever known, he demonstrated a live-and-let-live attitude.

They nailed down his schedule and Briana turned to her notes for the meeting. "Chris called before you got here today, asking if you got his doctor's release to go back to work on a limited basis."

"I'll call him about that." His eyelids lowered as he jotted a note on a legal pad and Briana almost said something about Luddites, but thought better of it.

"You signed off on five closed files yesterday," she continued, "and three new ones were added to the backlog, one from the office and two from the field."

"That's great. At that rate, sooner or later, I'll get caught up. Has the shop called and said when my vehicle will be ready?"

"Not yet, but Sandra's already volunteered to drive me over to get it."

"Good," he murmured.

Briana looked at the two out-trays sitting side by side on the corner of his desk, one with work for her, one with items for her to distribute to others with a few papers in the bottom. Hers had a stack of file folders and papers three inches high and she thought of every inch as a blessing.

How awful it would be to run out of work to do for you.

She looked back at Justin just as he looked up at her.

"I want to ask you something," he said.

"Okay."

"Would you be willing to take on a couple of special projects for me?"

"Sure, if it's something I can do." Thank you, thank you.

"Oh, you can do them, no problem. But they'll require you to put in some time after work and I don't want to interfere with anything in your personal life. I don't want to take from the time you spend with your great-aunt, for example."

Briana froze for a moment but recovered quickly. "Oh, that won't be a problem. She moved back to Alabama, to be closer to her children and grandchildren."

"Oh, okay. Well, then, the first thing is babysitting a computer while it converts our old files to the new system."

"Babysitting a computer..." Briana's brow wrinkled.

"Kincaid from System Solutions wrote conversion software to make our old files compatible with the new system. I want all our e-files back to the start of the company -- the whole archive -- to be converted."

"Wow."

"Right. But it's not as bad as it sounds. The software does everything but it needs to be set up and monitored. You can work on it here when there's a lull in your regular work. And at home, if you want to. Not every moment," he smiled, "but as you can. You'll need to take one of the new laptops. The software will track your overtime. You'll get time and a half for everything over forty hours. So, what do you think?"

"Sounds fine. Do I need to check the converted files or anything?"

"Kincaid said you don't have to check every single one, you can sample them. But I'd prefer you check them all. You don't have to read every word, just skim through them to make sure there's no garbled data."

"Sounds like a wise precaution. Machines..."

"Yeah." Justin chuckled. "Sure you don't mind doing this?"

She couldn't stifle a grin. "Time and a half for starting a piece of software running? I can live with that."

"That's the spirit. There's nothing like greed to get an employee motivated. I want to start that project within the next week or two."

"Okay. What's the other project?"

"Last month I made a joke about asking you to decorate my house, but I'd like to revisit that -- not joking. Some time between mid November and mid December, I'd like to have a barbecue or something for my employees -- if we're not buried under hurricane claims at the time. Everybody's been super dealing with the backlog and the system changeover, and I just want to say thanks. You know my house is not ready for partying. I won't throw it all on you; it's my place and my responsibility. But I won't be able to do it all."

"Well, I--" At first, the suggestion filled her with nerves. What if he didn't like her ideas and design suggestions? That twinge was followed by regret, when she realized she might not even be here in December.

She buried the thought. "Sure, I'll be glad to help with that."

"I knew you wouldn't mind. You're a good sport. I like that."

"Well, thank you. It sounds kinda fun."

"Let's just hope we're not digging out from under hurricane debris about the time I want to party."

"In November? Don't hurricanes come in summer?"

"August and September are the heaviest months. But we'd still be digging out months later if a bad one hit. We'd be finishing up our second spring about that time."

She squinted and shook her head slightly.

"It's amazing," he said. "I saw this after Ivan in 2004. The wind traumatizes the trees, defoliates them, and a few weeks after the storm they start leafing out again, just like it's spring. Presumably so they can photosynthesize and survive."

"Spring in November. That's fascinating. But you know what? I'd just as soon not see it."

"You and me both. There hasn't been a breath of wind in the Gulf since Arthur almost four weeks ago. Let's keep our fingers crossed."

"They're crossed."

Her eyes met his and held for a moment. Justin said, "I really appreciate your doing this for me. There'll be a nice bonus for you when each project wraps up."

*****

Back at her desk, a sudden urge to cry assailed Briana, which she suppressed vehemently. She couldn't let tears give her away. But the fact was, the greater her belief in Justin's integrity grew, the greater grew her shame at her own deceit.

He trusted her. As far as he knew, he had no reason not to. As far as he knew, she was a good worker, ready to take on more responsibility, willing to go the extra mile. He was absolutely clueless about the duplicity behind her presence here.

Oh, God, please never let him find out.

*****

For several minutes when he was alone again, Justin couldn't settle his mind enough to concentrate on anything.

It was dumb to allow himself to be spooked by hurricane season. His company owed its existence to Florida's Hurricane Season from Hell in 2004, when a record four storms had slammed into the state within weeks of each other, taxed emergency response systems at all levels to the breaking point and turned the insurance industry upside down.

Some companies had been completely broken by the storms, disappeared beneath the surface never to rise again. Others, like Sunbelt, Justin's employer at the time, had survived, barely, by writing no more policies in Florida and cutting budgets to the bone. Claim operations had been decimated, with the company laying off half their claim force -- Justin, Rod Kemp, Gil Anderson and Thomas Harris among them.

The four had discussed the possibility of starting an independent adjusting firm, but only Justin had the guts to risk it. The other three wound up as investors but not partners. Thus, the company was Justin's to do with as he saw fit.

And he had done well in the four years since its founding. He'd hired Dottie and Martha Ann away from Sunbelt and promoted the latter to claim processor when she got her CPCU certification. He took risks, but not unnecessary ones. He had let the company get in a little over its head, but it was amazing how quickly he was catching up, now that he had some help. He should have hired an assistant at the beginning.

As Briana entered his thoughts, he realized something. It was not concerns about hurricane season that were interfering with his concentration. She was.

Chapter Nine

The first contact Big Arnie had arranged for Larry when he'd got out last spring was a black hat hacker with the handle Jawja Cracker, who, Big Arnie swore, could hack into the CIA's computers if he took a notion to. The electronic claim files archived on Sunbelt's servers would be child's play for him.

"There's a few things you need to know up front," Big Arnie had growled at Larry. "Jawja works at his own speed, his own timetable, and you'll have to accommodate that. He also disappears without warning for days or weeks at a time. And nobody knows where he goes. But if he's doin' a job for you, he always contacts you when he gets back from wherever it is he goes, as sure as Ol' Faithful. So you wait to hear from him. You don't go looking for him, got it?"

Larry got it.

The uncertain time line was one of the most nerve wracking aspects of this enterprise of vengeance he'd undertaken but he always subdued his jitters with anticipation of the honeyed bliss of payback, once achieved.

Besides, Larry had known from the getgo that finding just the right claims would take time and patience. There were certain immutable criteria. They had to have been worked by Justin Adair and the contractor had to be out of business and unreachable, preferably dead, and thus unable to confirm or deny anything. Failing that, a contractor still in business, who met the rest of the criteria, would have to be...persuaded to...cooperate.

The claim files chosen would have to be downloaded in their entirety, printed out, certain documents doctored and re-uploaded without arousing the slightest suspicion at Sunbelt that their servers had been compromised.

Finally, there was the problem of the time frame. There must be no paper file in Sunbelt's Atlanta records vault to compare the scanned pages to. The company shredded paper files after five years in storage. Thus, the chosen claim would have to date from 2003 or earlier, to insure the paper files had been shredded

Larry had contacted Jawja immediately upon his release last spring with this criteria. Following Big Arnie's advice, he then turned his attention to his drug duties in Mississippi. The generous salary for this job, which he received as cash along with his Sentinel Security paycheck, made it possible for him to afford Jawja's stunningly expensive fees.

So he security-guarded, and trafficked and paid and waited. Sometimes the waiting nearly drove him crazy.

Then, on a sweltering day in July, three months after his release, a cardboard box had mysteriously appeared overnight in his car. In the box he found ten expanding file pockets at least two inches thick holding laser printouts of claim file documents.

He'd studied them for weeks, until October, considering from every angle which claims would best serve his purpose, and how best to alter the documents for guaranteed results. Big Arnie had given him advice on this, too -- the man was incredibly knowledgeable and could have been a millionaire many times over without resorting to crime -- and by Halloween, Larry had made his decision. Only a handful of documents from each of three claims needed to be altered and returned for uploading.

He'd made copies of the altered documents for his part of the frameup, and contacted Jawja again. Following orders to the letter, he put the documents into a large brown envelope and left them under the front seat of his car on the specified date and wasn't even tempted to watch out his apartment window to see who came and got it.

Then it was waiting time again, waiting to hear from Jawja Cracker that the documents had been received, scanned and uploaded to Sunbelt's archived claim server. Once Jawja confirmed that the altered documents had replaced the originals, Larry would mail a letter, ostensibly from an anonymous employee of the defunct contractor, to the insurance commissioner in Alabama, accusing Justin Adair of insurance fraud and advising how proof could be found.

The claims he'd chosen were for partial house fires in the Birmingham suburbs served by Malloy Fire Restoration, which had gone out of business in the autumn of 2005 upon the death of owner Robert Malloy from a heart attack. Together, the pay out on the three claims totaled $750,000 but, when Larry had finished with them, files documented only $660,000 in damage.

The anonymous letter to be sent to the insurance commissioner in Montgomery, claiming to be from a former employee of the contractor, would allege that Sunbelt Claim Representative Justin Adair had received cash payments totaling $90,000 from the contractor, roughly $30,000 per claim. The claims all dated from 2002.

And if a smoking gun was needed, the closest thing to it would be copies of the very claim documents hidden in Adair's business office. How to get them there was a problem, until one day in early November, at the casino, he ran into fellow ex-con Eddie Burke and his sister, Sylvia Watson, who happened to be the executive director of a consumer watchdog agency in Mobile. And very, very unhappily married.

They pretended to ignore the intense sexual attraction that sprang up between them and chatted over drinks. And as Larry listened to her describe the operations of the consumer watchdog agency she directed, a solution to the smoking-gun problem began to take shape in his mind.

He got the word from Jawja in early January, and by St. Paddy's Day, Sylvia would have done anything he asked. In April, when Adair advertised an opening for an administrative assistant in his office, and everything started falling into place, Sylvia was still eating out of his hand.

*****

It was mid-afternoon but the heavy, dark draperies at the room's sole window so effectively blocked out the light it could be any time of the day or night. A lamp on the nightstand illuminated a typical single room at the Coral Reef Motel in Bay Minette.

Larry rolled out of bed, pulled on his briefs and reached for cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table. He lit a cigarette, traded the pack and lighter for the remote control and aimed it at the TV across the room.

Lying in bed, a sheet pulled up loosely to her armpits, Sylvia plumped the pillow behind her head so she could see him better. Her eyes traveled down his body. He was a little short, only about two inches taller than she; a little stocky, with the beginnings of a paunch above the elastic waistband of his skivvies. Still, he made every nerve-ending in her body burn with fiery lust.

The bed creaked a little as he sat down at the foot and rapidly clicked through the channels, cursed softly and turned off the TV with a flourish. "Daytime TV sucks," he said, looking back at her.

She gave her shoulders a languid shrug and the edge of the sheet moved further down her breasts, barely covering their apex. The sultry look of lust came to his gaze.

"So, what do you hear from the little cheerleader in Pensacola?" he asked, moving up to lie beside her.

"Not much. I'm starting to wonder if Eddie's right. She might not be the best person for that job."

Lust disappeared and he looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Well, she told me if Adair has something to hide, he's hidden it so well nobody can find it."

"Oh." Larry's concern disappeared. "I can take care of that."

"How?"

He got up, opened a battered briefcase on the bureau and took out a sealed manila envelop.

"Get this to her within a week or so. Tell her to not look inside, and don't you look inside, either. Just take it to her and tell her to hold onto it until she hears from you. Tell her she may not get further instructions from you for weeks or months, and to not get curious, just do what she's there for. We have to give them plenty of time to develop a comfortable relationship."

"What's in it?"

"Not much." He grinned. "Just all the evidence necessary to put Adair in the penitentiary for at least as long as I was locked up."

*****

"The archway is eight feet, three and three quarter inches wide," Justin said and Briana, seated on the couch in the den, wrote on the screen of one of Gulf State's pen-based estimating computers. It was proving to be equally useful for the decorating project.

They had spent the morning measuring the rooms, windows, doorways and other elements of his home as a reference for Briana's decorating project. Justin had given her some rudimentary guidelines of his likes and dislikes -- "Green, brown, gray, dark wood, no frou-frou" -- and she interpreted that as basically traditional. Furniture was needed only for the living and dining areas, the screened porch and the patio, but the whole place needed painting or wall coverings, window treatments, accessories and new carpet.

It was nearly noon when they finished measuring and Briana prepared to leave.

"I'll try to look around some of the furniture stores this afternoon, and bring brochures or phone pictures for you to look at Monday."

"Sounds good," he said as he looked at the floor plan of his house on the computer. "I never realized how small this house is."

"But it's plenty big enough for one," Briana said. "Two if you count Supe."

"Two," he murmured. He looked at her. "But this house was built for a family of at least four. Or six if the kids slept two to a room. Fifty years ago, people didn't need as much stuff, or as much space to hold it all."

"That's a good point to remember with the decorating. Keep it uncluttered and simple."

She stepped toward the back door and Justin said, "Just a sec."

She turned to see him digging into the pocket of his cutoff jeans. He brought out a key on a keyring and held it out to her.

"I had this made for you. Goes to the kitchen door."

She looked at it, blank faced, and he said, "So you can come in and work or admit deliveries even when I'm not here to let you in."

"Okay." She held out her hand and he dropped the key onto her palm. "Well, I'll see you Monday."

*****

Late afternoon sunshine peeped through the trees lining Ninth Avenue as Briana's Blazer rolled south toward home. A mild thrill went through her as she passed the sign at the entry to Pineglades and intensified as she glanced toward a small shopping bag on the seat beside her. It held brochures from several furniture and decorating stores that dotted eastern Pensacola.

Once home, she would get online and look for more furniture and accessories. She was excited about the decorating project for Justin and badly wanted to please him.

I can do this. I have a handle on what he likes...and what he's like. Yes, I can do it.

She turned the corner onto Trussell Street and an unpleasant chill went down her body. A car sat by the curb next to her driveway, Sylvia's white Focus with the tacky magnetic Guardian signs on the doors.

Oh, great.

By the time she pulled in the driveway and got out, Sylvia had trudged halfway up the drive, a big purse hanging at her side by its shoulder strap. She carried a large manila envelope.

"Briana." She scurried the last few steps and wrapped and arm around Briana's shoulders.

"Hey, Syl," Briana replied, returning the hug quickly. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came for a short visit. Got to head on back pretty quick."

"It's good to see you." Briana hoped she sounded sincere. She tucked her purse under her arm and reached for the shopping bag holding the brochures but decided at the last moment to leave them, and the pen-based computer beneath them, in the Blazer. Otherwise, she'd have to explain them to Sylvia.

She locked the vehicle and turned to her visitor. "You want some tea or something while you're here?"

"Oh, honey, that'd be great."

"Well, let's get inside where it's cool."

They went in through the back porch and Briana motioned toward the dinette set. "Have a seat, I'll get us some tea. You want some chips or white cheddar popcorn? I'm addicted to white cheddar popcorn. Not as many calories as chips."

"No, tea's fine."

Briana filled tumblers with ice and tea and sat down across from her...what was Sylvia now? Boss? Ex-boss?

Sylvia laid the envelope on the table next to her handbag and Briana nodded toward it. "So what's up? What've you got there?"

"It's for your project."

"Project?"

"Briana, you know why you're here. You're on assignment."

Briana swallowed. "I thought I told you already. There's nothing to find on Justin. He's not a criminal."

"Yes, there is something to find. Or rather, it has already been found. The evidence is in here." She tapped the envelope with her forefinger. "You're going to keep this, and then, when the time comes, you're going to do with it what I tell you to."

"What is it?"

Irritation lowered Sylvia's brows. "I told you. Evidence."

"What evidence? Where did you get it?"

"You don't need to know any of that. You just need to do what I tell you, when I tell you."

"You mean, put this 'evidence' in his office? In his desk? You want me to frame him?"

Sylvia's lips compressed, her irritation morphing into low-level anger.

Briana's face mirrored her visitor's. "That's what you want, isn't it? Well, I won't do it."

Sylvia glared at her with snapping eyes. "You'll find out when the time comes--"

"No!" Briana cried. "I don't care about what you won't tell me. I already know everything I need to. I know Justin's not a criminal. He's a good man. In fact, he's the best person I know."

"Oh, great," Sylvia muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose as if suddenly assailed by a headache. "Eddie was right. You've fallen for the bastard." Sylvia's face hardened. "Well, you'd better straighten up, do what you're told or you'll find yourself without a job."

Briana trembled with defiance and anger. "I have a job. I'm the administrative assistant to the head of Gulf States Insurance Services. I work for Justin now."

Sylvia ran a hand over her face, looked about blankly and muttered, "I don't know what I'm going to tell him."

Suspicion narrowed Briana's eyes. "Tell who? Eddie? What's he got to do with it?"

Her jaw clenched, Sylvia stood and walked toward the door twisting the strap of her purse.

"Sylvia, are you leaving now?"

"Yes."

"Take this with you." Briana thrust the envelope toward her.

Sylvia looked back with fury in her eyes. "My job was to deliver it to you, and I have." She stepped through the door.

Chapter Ten

For a while after her visitor left, Briana remained at the table, her eyes locked onto the envelope Sylvia had left with her but not really seeing it. She didn't know how long she sat there -- it seemed like a good while, but probably wasn't \-- before she grew conscious of a hollow feeling in her midsection.

She moved absently to the kitchen, retrieved a bag of popcorn and returned to her seat. With a sigh, she opened the bag and crunched a handful of the kernels, tangy with white cheddar.

The popcorn landed on her stomach like an emetic and she shot up, almost overturning her chair, to hurry to the sink. She barely made it. Retching miserably and trembling all over, she gripped the edge of the sink as odd, disjointed thoughts came and went.

Well, that funny feeling in my tummy wasn't hunger, I guess... I wonder what time it is... I've truly cut ties with Sylvia and Guardian and Mobile...

She stayed at the sink, leaning over it, studying the drain close-up, until she was sure the nausea had passed. She rinsed her mouth, splashed her face and ran the sprayer around the sink before straightening and gazing out the window.

Dim with early evening shadows, the back yard blurred as tears pooled in her eyes.

For over two years, Sylvia had been more than just her boss. She had been a mentor and friend. She had taught her young assistant so much -- how to be a good employee, how to live well on a budget, how to make fantastic crab dip. They had not shared their personal lives excessively, but had enjoyed doing things together now and then, taking in a movie, shopping, driving to the beach at Dauphin Island to hunt sea shells.

Sylvia, I don't understand.

Briana sniffed and brushed the tears from her eyes.

The pain of bewilderment -- of wondering why Sylvia would ask her to do such a wrong thing, such a horribly wrong thing -- was almost as bad as the loss of friendship.

She glanced back over her shoulder to the envelope lying on the table. The "evidence" in it had to be faked, of that Briana was certain. The longer she had been around Justin, the greater her conviction of his integrity had grown and by now she was thoroughly convinced of it.

That made Sylvia's behavior not just bewildering but dishonorable. Since Briana's first day on the job at Guardian, the older woman had never been anything but scrupulous in her business dealings and work relationships.

Why, Sylvia? What happened to you?

Now that she thought about it, Briana recalled noticing something different about Sylvia the past few months. She seemed happier than Briana had ever seen her, but she had also grown distant, keeping her friends and employees at arms length.

Office gossip said her marriage wasn't the greatest -- her husband worked on an offshore oil rig and was gone much of the time -- and Briana had wondered if things were finally getting better for Sylvia at home. But they had never discussed it and it remained a matter of speculation.

Briana couldn't imagine anything happening with Sylvia's marriage that would account for this. In any case, Sylvia was no longer an issue. The envelope was. Whatever was in it was intended to hurt Justin.

And I'm not about to let that happen.

*****

Late afternoon stillness permeated the air Sunday, when Briana stepped out onto the back porch, envelope in one hand, barbecue lighter in the other. The likeliest incinerator on the property was a retro-looking charcoal barbecue grill which stood in a corner. The four legs of aluminum tubing supported a squarish, red clamshell container with a hinged lid and a stainless steel grill inside. It had come with the apartment and she had never inspected it, never thought much about it, until now. It appeared hardly used, in good repair and clean inside except for cobwebs and a couple of brittle leaves.

She laid the envelope inside the grill, her face grim.

Whoever put you up to this, I will not help you -- I will not let you -- hurt Justin with it.

She flicked the lighter and edged the flame toward the corner of the envelope.

No! Wait!

Her own sudden and urgent thoughts startled her so, she dropped the lighter, the clack and rattle against the concrete sharp in her ears.

She abruptly realized she shouldn't destroy whatever was inside the envelope without knowing what it was.

But I don't want to know.

The logical thing to do was give it to Justin; he would know what to do; he was probably the only person who would know.

But showing him would require telling him why she was here; and she couldn't do that. She feared having her cover blown, but not because it would jeopardize her mission; that meant nothing to her anymore. She feared being found out as a poseur, yes, but most of all, she couldn't bear the thought of losing her job, her only connection to Justin.

She had to bury this thing, this dangerous thing -- to stash it away someplace safe -- a place only she would know.

Then, if the day ever came that Justin needed it, she would retrieve it and face her duplicity and estrangement from him then. But in the meantime, no one would be able to find it and use it against him.

*****

The website of the National Hurricane Center reported no weather activity in the Atlantic or Gulf. It was early, yet, June twenty-second, just three weeks into hurricane season but even this early, storms could form quickly. Justin checked the center's website or The Weather Channel for developments in the tropics at least twice a day.

Reassured, he dressed for evening church services and headed for the carport. His cell phone rang as he closed the kitchen door and he brought it to his ear.

"Adair."

"Justin, this is Briana."

"Hey. What's up?"

"Hi, uh... Would you mind if I took off work tomorrow? I know this is short notice and all but this just came up."

"What just came up?"

"Well, I..."

Justin's eyes narrowed and he stood with his fingers on the door handle of his vehicle. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I mean, it's just something I need to take care of."

He opened the door and settled behind the wheel. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You sound uptight."

"No, really, I'm all right. I just need to know about tomorrow."

"Sure, you can take off. There's nothing scheduled for tomorrow that can't wait." A short silence. "You need help with anything?"

"Oh, no, no. There's just some...personal business...I have to attend to."

Surprised and bewildered by the intense curiosity that gripped him, Justin blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Okay."

"Thanks." She still sounded edgy, her brief laugh forced. "See you Tuesday."

Justin flipped his phone shut and closed the door. It wasn't like him to worry, to borrow trouble, but his curiosity was keen. Something was wrong; perhaps nothing really bad, but Briana was troubled. Maybe when she got her chore out of the way, his curiosity would calm down.

*****

The red digits on the bedside clock read twelve-forty. Supine in bed, covered with just a sheet, Justin gazed about the shadowy bedroom and absently scratched Supe. The cat, preferring sleep to being petted, growled and swatted his hand away.

"Sorry," Justin murmured. He rested his hand on his chest.

Since the moment he'd snapped his phone shut, he'd had recurring thoughts of the call from Briana. He'd been curious when she called, and the intervening hours had done nothing to assuage his curiosity.

In fact, it seemed worse now as he mulled over what her problem might be. His suspicions were bizarre, he knew they were even as they tumbled through his mind. An abusive boyfriend showing up out of the blue, kind of like that Eddie fellow a couple of weeks ago? Maybe a hidden addiction...or a positive pregnancy test?

Let it go, Romeo. None of your business.

*****

Westfield Mall, located on the outskirts of Andalusia, hadn't changed much since Briana left home. The low, wide L-shaped structure with a facade of massive timber and yellow brick still wrapped around a large, asphalt parking area landscaped with pampas grass and tall pines. She hadn't shopped here much as a teen -- it was across town from the road to Holly Bend -- but she knew it had what she needed; a full service bank standing in a corner of the parking lot.

After a two-hour drive from Pensacola, it didn't take long to complete her business with the bank and soon the heels of her loafers were clacking on the terrazzo floor of the lobby. Through the wall of glass, she could see her Blazer baking in the summer sun.

She stepped into the brightness and heat with a feeling of buoyancy she hadn't felt in days. Well, no...since taking the job at Gulf States, actually. Until she liberated herself from the mission, she had not realized how it dominated and oppressed her.

Slipping on her sunglasses, she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Soft cool air blew from the air conditioning vents, and she turned the temperature to the lowest setting and the fan to the highest. By the time she reached the city limits, the interior had cooled enough to adjust the settings to normal.

A touch of guilt nudged her at being so close to home and not visiting with her family. However, it was imperative that nobody know she had made this trip.

The drive back to Pensacola was wonderful compared to the drive up. She still felt a twinge of sadness and bewilderment over the loss of her friendship with Sylvia. But that was more than made up for by her elation that her job -- her link to Justin -- was intact.

With each mile, her spirits rose higher. Her thoughts settled on the decorating job. Now more than ever, she wanted her efforts to please him. She could hardly wait to show him the brochures and tell him what she had in mind.

*****

Briana's absence created an emptiness in the office that Justin had not expected. She'd been working here only eight weeks but he had grown so accustomed to their routine -- and to her presence -- that the emptiness was mildly unsettling.

He had told Dottie when he first arrived that Briana was taking a day off, but didn't discuss it further. Afterward, he'd spent the entire morning doing paper file reviews and the early part of the afternoon delving deeper into the file conversion project.

Then, not long after he'd returned from lunch around one-thirty, he heard the front door open and he looked up to see Briana walk in, her purse strap across one shoulder and a small shopping bag dangling from her fingers.

He lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey. I wasn't expecting you today."

She bypassed her desk and came into his office. "Didn't take as long as I thought. Here's some things I picked up after I left your house Saturday."

She took the stack of slick, color brochures out of the bag and laid them on his desk. "Look these over when you get a chance and let me know what you like and don't like."

He riffled through them and said, "I'll do that. Have a seat."

The sudden lift of his mood as he watched her take her customary chair across from him took him completely by surprise. "Did you get your personal business taken care of okay?"

"Yes. I'm glad to have it out of the way. So what happened around here today?"

"Same ol' same ol'. I've about got the conversion project ready for you. If you don't have any plans, I'd like to bring the computer to your place tomorrow evening and get you all set up there."

"Hey, that works for me."

Her smile made her eyes dance. He'd noticed that before, but now it caught his attention and evoked his appreciation.

I'm glad you're back.

Chapter Eleven

"This blue bar on the left side of the screen charts the progress of a file's conversion," Justin said. "Small files take about five minutes to convert, large ones fifteen, twenty minutes or longer."

Seated at the dinette table in Briana's apartment, he was training her on the file conversion project. Before he'd arrived, she had changed out of the summer-weight suit she'd worn to the office and into more comfortable casual wear, tan slacks and a white cotton blouse. But she didn't look comfortable at the moment.

He had first heard the thunder fifteen minutes earlier and barely noticed it. But as the computer lesson progressed, her reaction to the rumbling in the distance reminded him of her storm phobia.

She tried to mask her fear, pretending a level of concentration that wasn't necessary for the work they were doing, but her voice grew soft and distant and her eyes took on a preoccupied look. The tremble in her hands was a dead giveaway.

Her fortitude touched him as much as her anxiety concerned him.

By the time they wrapped up, violent wind whipped the trees in the yard and howled in the eaves. Briefcase in hand, he stopped short of the door and looked back at her. "This is a bad one coming. You gonna be all right?"

"Of course," she said with endearing pluck. "I'm a grown woman. This isn't the first bad storm I've had to deal with."

At that instant a deafening crack jolted the night. Electric-blue light streaked through the sky, casting grotesque shadows across the landscape. She jumped and stiffened. Her face froze with fear and she trembled like a puppy.

Justin's voice softened with concern. "Hey. You'll be all right."

"I know." But she was on the verge of tears, her behavior at odds with her words.

As ill-advised as it was, he nevertheless wanted to connect, to touch and comfort her. He ignored the half-hearted warning in his head, put the briefcase in a chair and moved closer to her to pat her shoulder and stroke her upper arm. Surprise and pleasure rocked him when she stepped to him and buried her face against him. He put his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

Another thunderclap jolted the night and she spasmed in his arms. A lightning bolt struck so close even he jumped a little.

"Let's go sit down," he murmured. He guided her to the sofa with an arm around her shoulders. As they reached it, the loudest thunderclap yet rent the night. Sudden darkness filled the room except for the faint glow of the project laptop screen as its battery power kicked in.

Her whimpers turned his mild concern to a surge of protectiveness. He sat and pulled her down beside him and embraced her again. She twisted on the couch to face him, circled her arms around his neck and clung to him, her face buried against his shoulder.

"Please don't go home till this is over." Her quavering voice was barely audible.

"I won't. Can I get you anything?"

"No." Her arms tightened around him. "No, please don't leave me."

"Okay, I'll stay here."

Neither of them said another word for the next twenty minutes as the violent storm blew all around them. Each clap of thunder started her trembling anew and he responded with comfort -- a tighter embrace, a stroke of her hair, a squeeze of her shoulders -- and brought her a measure of calm until the next one.

As the storm moved off and the booming grew more distant, Briana's trembling grew less intense, then ceased.

Outside, a steady, soothing rain fell.

Still, neither of them moved.

A good half-hour after the storm sent her scurrying into his arms, he said softly, "You okay now?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Her words were muffled against his shoulder, her breath warm on his skin through his shirt. "You probably think I'm a pathetic coward."

He put a hand under her chin and turned her face toward his. "I think you're sweet. And smart. And pretty."

In the dimness of the computer light, her eyes grew enormous with wonder and his gaze locked with hers. Amazing thoughts shot through his mind -- thoughts of dark, empty places in his life he hadn't looked at in so long, he hardly knew they were there anymore. She could fill them. Together, they could bring warmth and light to each other's lonely places -- fill their days with sharing and joy, their nights with passion and oneness and--

Get a grip, hotrod. She's your employee, your subordinate.

He brought his hand up for both of them to see, thumb and finger about four inches apart, roughly the same distance that separated their lips.

"I'm this far from a breach of business ethics." He swallowed. "I have to go."

Briana's pensive, longing expression betrayed her extremely reluctant agreement. "I guess so."

They forced themselves apart and ambled back to the shadowy kitchen.

"Do you have any battery lighting?" he asked. "It might be a while before the power comes back on."

"I have some emergency candles."

He shook his head. "Don't use those, they're a fire hazard. I'll bring you a flashlight from my car."

"Justin, you don't have to do that. I've got a flashlight around here somewhere."

"Well, use it instead of the candles. So I won't worry about you."

He retrieved his briefcase from the chair and opened the door. Night air, saturated and warm, wafted gently inside.

She followed him and breathed in deeply. "Storms can leave behind good things." She gave him a self-deprecating smile. "I try to remember that when I'm in the middle of one."

"I'm glad I was still here with you when it hit." He returned her smile, happy that her spirit had calmed. "Thank you for taking on this project for me."

"You're welcome. Piece-a cake."

In the dimness, he looked at her a moment and muttered, "Screw business ethics."

He dropped the briefcase and pulled her into his arms for a lingering kiss. A spark of passion ignited inside him and erupted so powerfully it left him stunned.

He straightened and looked down at her. At the sight of her sweet lips still parted and her blazing eyes, certainty came to him. He had to go, now.

*****

Around eleven, the gentle rain finally stopped. Lying in bed but wide awake, Briana fastened her unseeing gaze on the strips of light from the corner street lamp shining through the mini blinds.

Her hand went to her abdomen and rubbed. It felt like she had swallowed a hurricane. Her mind was in a tumult, too, thrilled by the memory of Justin's embrace, strong but gentle and so warm; of his voice, husky and hushed; of the sultry look in his eyes and the feel of his lips on hers. Thrilled...but also disquieted.

The powerful feelings robbed her of sleep and refused to be subdued by negative thoughts that tried to crowd in, like her suspicion that tonight's incident might change their working relationship, and not for the better.

It was hard to say what it meant to Justin. He had probably just given in to circumstance. He had two girlfriends and a kiss after a storm wasn't likely to change that.

For these and other reasons, the episode earlier tonight would likely never be repeated.

It was a heartbreaking realization because she was in love with him.

And that was just crazy. They hardly knew each other. Two months ago, she knew he existed only because his name was on a Guardian assignment -- an exciting assignment, to be sure; her first undercover work -- but there was no face, no voice, no person to put with the name then.

Now the face -- that handsome face who reminded her of somebody in history, someone she still could not place -- the voice, the man himself meant more to her every day. But how well could people get to know each other in two months?

For me, well enough to fall in love, I guess.

And then there was her abandoned mission. Her loyalty truly belonged to Justin now, but her rejected assignment still haunted her, like distant thunder on a cloudless day.

There's nothing you can do about any of it right now. Get some sleep so you won't look like a hag tomorrow.

*****

Briana sat at her desk and went through her morning routine, but her mind was acutely focused on the front door, waiting for it to open and admit her boss. The roiling in her stomach was not like the whirly thrill of last night. This was anxiety.

The door opened and admitted the sound of rush-hour traffic on Craig Street and closed again. Justin came straight to her desk, his face unreadable.

"Could you come to my office please? Don't worry about my schedule right now."

"All right," she said, soft and low. There was a barely detectable quiver in her voice.

She followed him to his office. Except for the day he interviewed her, he had never shut the door when she was in there with him, but now he stood just inside until she stepped through and then closed the door behind her. He moved to his desk, took his chair, laced his fingers and rested his elbows on the blotter. His honey brown eyes regarded her across the desktop. Although his face was still unreadable, except for the snapping emotion in his eyes, her impression was that he was not at all happy.

At length, he said, "I want to talk to you about last night. To apologize for my behavior. I took advantage of your anxiety. It was wrong and I'm sorry."

She didn't know what she had been expecting, but considering his demeanor, which looked for all the world like contained anger, it wasn't this. Though taken aback, she was nevertheless utterly convinced that his apology was genuine and it touched her heart.

"Well, I guess that makes us even, then," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "How do you figure that?"

"Because I took advantage of your chivalry. The only difference is, I don't apologize for it. I'm so grateful you were there when the storm hit. I don't really know this town yet. I'm not ready to do what I usually do when a storm comes in the night."

"What do you usually do?"

"I go where there are people. As long as I'm around people, it's not so bad."

"You mean if it hits in the middle of the night..."

"Yeah, I get up and get dressed and go some place, an all-night diner, a twenty-four hour convenience store, places like that."

With a shake of his head, his discomfort vanished like a ghost and concern took its place. "You mean, in the middle of the night, you drive through the violent weather that scares you so bad to find people to be with?"

Hot with embarrassment, she brought a hand up to press against first one red cheek and then the other. "Crazy, huh? As bad as it is, it's better than being alone. I told you I'm a pathetic coward."

"No, you're not. It's just that phobias don't respond to logic. Why don't you just call somebody, a friend or a co-worker, to come stay with you, somebody you know? Or go to them?"

"I don't want to impose and wake them up in the middle of the night. People at all night places are already awake."

He gave her a penetrating look. "Don't do that anymore. If you get scared in a storm, you can call me. I'll come stay with you. It won't be an imposition."

"Justin, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you're-- you're..."

He raised his brows and gave her a pointed look. "I'll behave myself."

"Oh, it's not that. I know you will."

"Then what is it?"

"You're my employer; you're not responsible for taking care of me in my personal life."

"I wouldn't be doing it as your employer. I'd be doing it as ..." They looked at each other, scarcely breathing, as seconds ticked by. "A friend."

It was as if the word gave them permission to breathe again, to relax and relate normally.

"My inclination is to say I'm not going to do that although it's really considerate of you." She gave him a self-deprecating smile and tried to make a joke. "But, you know, if I wake up in the middle of the night with a storm bearing down on me, there's no telling what I'd do. I might end up on your doorstep banging on the door, screaming to be let in."

He laughed briefly and looked at her with teasing eyes. "Nah, you won't have to do that. You have a key to my house, remember?" His smile faded and a touch of seriousness came to his face. "But don't go out in a storm. If it gets bad enough, call me and I'll come where you are."

She scrunched her shoulders a little and an irrepressible smile tugged at her lips. "Well...okay."

She had no intention of calling him. But it was awfully sweet of him to suggest it.

*****

It was past nine-thirty, the last Sunday in June, when Justin's vehicle rolled to a stop at the curb in front of a bungalow in East Hill and he cut the engine. The porch light shining dimly through the side window turned Kami into a near-silhouette, though he could barely see her face by the bluish light from a street lamp slanting through the windshield.

"That was fun," she said of their impromptu meal following church services. "Burgers, fries and shakes. It was like going back to high school."

They had gone to the Rocket Drive-In where their order had been taken, and delivered, by a waitress on roller skates, with poodle skirt and pony tail.

"Even the music," Justin noted. "Did you notice the oldies coming from the loud speakers? Cathy's Clown, the Everly Brothers."

"Yes, that was neat. Although I went to high school in the Nineties, not the Sixties."

Another silence filled the vehicle, pressing in on Justin, urging him to do what he had to do. But it was not going to be easy; not nearly as easy tonight as it had been a month ago with Margo. She had sensed what was coming, probably for several weeks, and had built a shield against heartbreak, if only subconsciously. Kami was completely clueless. It was going to hit her out of the blue, and that caused him heartache.

"Kami. I need to talk to you."

He tried to keep his voice level and neutral, but he suspected that something in his tone communicated the seriousness and sadness of what he wanted to talk about, because she took a moment to reply.

"All right. What about?"

"Ever since we started seeing each other, we've told everyone we're just friends. I think things might have changed over the months though."

"Yes, things have changed for me. I care about you as more than just a friend, as I'm sure you know." She paused but he sensed she was just gathering her thoughts, not pressing him to reply, so he waited silently. "But they haven't changed for you."

"No," he confirmed. "They haven't. That's why I think it's not a good idea for us to keep seeing each other."

Her only reply was a sniff. Tears pool in her eyes and Justin's sympathy ratcheted up another notch.

"Kami, I'm sorry. Maybe I should have done this sooner, before your feelings had time to change. I sure never meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't." Her tears fell and as she sobbed softly, Justin was unable to stop himself from reaching across the console to embrace her. He held her until her sniffles subsided.

She pulled herself from his embrace and straightened to look at him. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course you may."

"Are you in love with Margo?"

He shook his head. "No."

They sat in silence a few more minutes and she said. "I want to go in now."

"All right."

He got out and walked her to the dim pool of light on the porch. She stepped inside but paused and turned back to face him.

"Whoever she is, I hope she's a good person. Good to you. Good enough for you."

He bent his head to give her a tender kiss. "You're a sweet woman, Kami." He headed down the steps toward his vehicle.

She must have been watching through the sidelights because the porch light stayed on until he slid behind the wheel.
Chapter Twelve

Briana stepped into Justin's office for her morning meeting and took her customary chair. The kiss at her back door was a week in the past. After Justin's apology on the following day, their working relationship had quickly normalized, and the incident remained unmentioned by both of them.

Unmentioned but not forgotten. Not by her.

It was July first. They had made it through the first month of hurricane season with no storms anywhere in Gulf States' coverage area. She put her pen tablet on her knees, prepared to jot electronic notes. She wasn't afraid of it anymore. The decorating project had familiarized her with it and she was very comfortable using it now. She had also brought to the meeting a three-ring binder that she set on the corner of Justin's desk.

He gave her an absent nod and busied himself with his computer and things on his desk for a few moments before their meeting. He did that sometimes and Briana had learned to sit quietly and wait.

He finished what he was doing and looked up at her. "Hey. What you got for me today?"

"Well, I don't have last month's recap for you yet, sorry. Still waiting on reports from a couple of field reps."

Justin gave a slight shrug. "It's only the first day of the month, so it's not a big deal. If they don't let you know something by Friday, goose 'em. I'd like for them to get the figures to you by next Tuesday at the latest."

"Friday's a holiday," Briana said. "How about I goose them on Thursday?"

"That's right. Thursday'll work. Speaking of the holiday, you going to join us on Rod's boat to watch the fireworks over the bay?"

"Uh..." she shrugged. "I don't know if I'm a sailboat person."

"You don't have to worry about that. There won't be any sailing. Too many boats anchored in the bay that day. That's what he'll do, power out a ways and anchor."

"Who all's coming?"

"Me. Thomas, if he doesn't go see his mama in Hattiesburg. Possibly Sandra and her husband and kids. Everybody else is going out of town or have people coming in. It'll be fun. Think about it. And if you decide to join us, let me know. I'll swing by your place and pick you up."

"Oh, that won't be necessary."

"It may be." He gave her a wry look. "Usually, over a hundred thousand people gather along the bayfront to see the fireworks. You can imagine the traffic jam and, um, creative parking solutions. I'm going to close the gate to our parking lot here to reserve the parking for any of our folks who may attend, but after about four, I'll leave it open for anybody. We'll walk to the marina from here. It's a bit of a hike, about fifteen blocks, but worth it. You really ought to come. It'll be fun and the clincher -- Kelsey's bringing food and drink."

The thought of seeing Justin in boating togs with fireworks going off behind him made an intensely appealing mind picture. "I'll think about it."

"Great." He paused, then pointed to the notebook. "What's that?"

"It's got all the documents about fixing up your house in it. There's some stuff to run past you in front of the orange divider." She opened the notebook and turned it toward him. "I've put everything in these sheet protectors. There are estimates for refinishing the floor, painting the walls and woodwork, and rental on a storage unit for your furniture while the work is done."

Justin took the notebook and leafed through the forms. "Impressive," he murmured as he looked over the estimates.

They had discovered the hardwood floors when Briana had pulled up a corner of the carpet in the dining room to test how easy removal would be. The finish was gone in places but the wood was still in great shape -- and beautiful. It was her suggestion to have the floors refinished and he'd okayed it without hesitation.

He looked at the estimates now. "I gotta admit, I like the idea of gleaming wood floors and chi-chi area rugs. Looks like it wouldn't cost any more than a high-grade wall to wall carpet and it would be a lot classier."

"And floor finishes are a lot more durable than they were fifty years ago."

"I'll put sticky notes on what I want," he said, tapping the notebook, "and get it back to you by lunch time, mid afternoon at the latest. Call around this afternoon and get as much as possible scheduled ASAP. Have them deliver the storage container this Saturday if they're not closed all weekend for the holiday. Rod and Gil are going to help me clear out my house."

Briana scribbled on her tablet. "I think the container people are probably working Saturday."

"Good. Remember I'm leaving real early Monday and won't come into the office at all. I'll be back some time Friday. That probably won't be enough time to do both the floors and the painting. If need be, I can get a room for a couple of days when I get back. Or impose on Gil." He gave her a mischievous grin. "Also, see about boarding Supe starting Saturday. He doesn't need to be there with all that work going on. And next week, email me the monthly report when you get all the figures."

"Okay. If you like I'll contact you Thursday and let you know whether you can go home or not Friday. If you can't I'll book a room for you. Is the Scenic Inn okay?"

"That'll work...a lot better than staying with Anderson. I may drop by the office next Friday, if I get here early enough. I have a party to go to that night, so I need to be back in time to get ready. Buddy of mine from high school is deploying to Iraq. He's getting a big send-off."

As they looked at one another, brief silence filled the room, which Justin broke with, "That's it for now."

*****

It was almost six o'clock when Rod cranked the big diesel engine beneath the sailboat's cockpit sole and Kelsey pushed the bow off from the dock. She stepped sure-footed down the side deck to haul in the boat's fenders while her husband deftly maneuvered the vessel out of the Cutter Cove Marina and into Pensacola Bay.

In her seat on the port side, Briana gave in to the excitement tugging at her stomach. The summer heat had begun to abate as a day crept toward twilight and sunset turned the atmosphere golden. What fun it would be to watch the fireworks from a fancy yacht on the water, although it would be another three hours before the show began.

Thomas had traveled to Mississippi and Sandra had called Rod at midday to say her family would be hosting surprise visitors and would be unable to make the fireworks. Briana, Justin and the Kemps had the yacht, and the food in the galley, all to themselves.

Across from her, Justin stood and held out a hand to assist Kelsey into the cockpit.

"Why, thank you." their hostess said with exaggerated pleasure. "What a guy."

Grinning, Justin said, "Glad to do it, since your sorry husband seems too busy to offer assistance."

Seated behind the big stainless steel steering wheel, his feet, encased in worn Topsiders, planted firmly on the sole, his eyes shaded by the bill of a battered skipper's hat, Rod gave Justin little more than a deadpan glance and drawled, "Somebody's got to drive the boat."

"Dang," Justin said, giving the skipper an amused inspection. "Grow you a beard, put a little gray in it and you'll look just like Papa Hemingway."

Rod grunted and gave his attention to navigating through the dozens of pleasure craft of all types and sizes already anchored in the bay. Briana found herself holding her breath now and then, but Kelsey and Justin were the picture of unconcern. At one point, Rod nodded to Kelsey who went to the bow and dropped anchor.

"All right, galley-slave." Rod growled as she made her way back to the cockpit. "I'm ready for a beer."

"Help yourself," Kelsey pointed to the cooler on the seat near the helm. Rod pulled a couple of cans of Coors from the cooler and tossed one to Justin.

"Thanks," Justin said, cracking the can open.

"Anybody else?"

"Me," Kelsey said, taking a seat beside Briana, and Rod reached forward to hand her an ice-cold can..

"Briana?"

"No, thank you."

Rod slanted a look toward her. "Bet you don't drink alcohol."

"No." She smiled a little self -consciously. "I come from a family of tee-totalers."

"How about a cola, then?" he offered, digging into the cooler again.

"That'd be great."

"Don't worry about this," Rod told her, pointing to his Coors. "One's my limit on the boat."

"Oh, okay. Good." She scraped the ice particles and water from the cola can as well as she could, opened it and took a sip. Justin came into her field of view when she tilted her head back, and their eyes met. He winked and wiggled his index finger. "Come over here." He patted the seat beside him.

Although the boat was at anchor, it moved slightly, and the small ripples that covered the darkening water all around her did odd things to her balance.

Justin half stood and reached a hand out to her, which she clamped onto as she skated across the sole and twirled to plop down, unladylike, on the seat. Drops of cola fountained out of her can to splatter on the deck.

"Oh, my," she said softly.

"No big deal. You just don't have sea legs yet," Justin said, dropping a napkin on the spill and moving it around with his foot. "Look." He nodded toward the west. "Look at the sunset. Manmade fireworks will be hard pressed to top that."

Briana followed his gaze. Her eyes widened and a soft gasp escaped her at the panorama before her. A dome of molten hot pink layered with bright orange and sienna hovered above the horizon, fading into breathtaking rays of purple and gold before giving way to deep, clear turquoise above them.

"Red sky at night," Justin murmured.

"Sailor's delight..." She sensed his eyes on her, but was afraid to return the look. Too much would be revealed in her expression, she knew it. Keeping her face averted was the safest response.

Fortunately, circumstance intervened. Kelsey had disappeared below and at that moment reappeared in the companionway holding trays of food -- crisp, raw veggies and dip, meat and cheese cubes, ham and sour cream rolls held in shape by toothpicks -- and that kept hosts and guests occupied until the last of the sunset stained the sky.

Munching the final bite of his meal-sized snack, Justin relaxed against the backrest, glanced around the deck and up into the rigging now set against a backdrop of emerging stars. "I could get used to this."

Briana screwed her mouth to one side. "A workaholic like you? It'd never leave the dock."

"Wait a minute, I'm not a workaholic."

"She's right, boss," Rod said.

Across the cockpit, Kelsey bobbed her head at Justin's theatrical indignation and said, "Yes, you are. But we mean it in a nice way."

That was the moment a long, sharp whistle emanated from the hulking shadow of the fireworks barge and sudden brightness and color burst upon the sky.

"Oh, look!" said someone in a nearby boat, and gasps rose up from the vessels around them.

"Here we go," Rod drawled. Briana looked up and found herself oohing and ahh-ing along with everyone else.

At one point, she happened to glance to the side just in time to see Justin look at her. His eyes were almost hidden in shadow, but not so much that she missed his wink. "Having fun?"

"Oh my, yes. Thanks for talking me into coming."

The fireworks show lasted forty-five minutes and by ten-twenty, Rod was docking the boat, after which his guests, offering profuse thanks, compliments and farewells, disembarked.

On the dock, Justin held out a hand to Briana to help her shoreside. The thrill she felt at the touch of his hand was swallowed up by something else, something unpleasant.

She took a step, halted and groped for a nearby capped piling that was just beyond her reach. She followed with another step and her other hand flailed the air until it made contact with Justin's arm.

He took hold of her hand again and held it to steady her. "You all right?"

"This is so weird," she said, soft and low. "Everything's moving. Like I'm still on the boat." She brought her free hand to her forehead, swallowed, and looked askance at her surroundings. "That cola was really a cola, wasn't it?"

Justin chuckled. "Yeah. You've got sea legs, is all. The illusion of motion on dry land after you've been on the water. Come on, just hang onto my hand."

"Okay." She took a step, surprised that she didn't fall flat on her face. "I thought sea legs meant being able to walk on a boat that's bobbing and rolling."

"It means that, too. It's an auto-antonym, like cleave and fast and oversight. What you're experiencing is also called dock-rock."

Justin guided her to the end of the dock and through the crowds as they began the walk to Gulf States' office. No other vehicles had found their way into parking lot after Justin had opened the gate, although it was traffic was bumper to bumper and barely moving on Craig Street.

As they sat in the 4Runner and waited for it to let up, Justin tilted his seat back and closed his eyes. Briana glanced through the darkness outside.

"What is that thing over there? I've wondered about it since I started work here."

Justin raised his head. "What thing?"

"That little concrete block building behind the office."

"It's got an emergency generator in it. Runs on LP gas. Tank's back there." He pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. "That means, if we're without power after a hurricane, we can still have computers, air conditioning, cold drinks and hot food."

"Mmmm, you do take good care of your employees, don't you, sir?"

He gave her a lazy smile. "I try."

It was nearly eleven thirty when traffic thinned enough for Justin maneuver onto Craig Street. A few minutes later, he turned into the driveway at Briana's apartment and stopped behind her Blazer. She got out and tilted her head to look in at him.

"Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome. Glad you could join us."

"You have a good trip. Take care, now."

"Will do. You, too." He gave her a wink. "Later."

*****

Curled up on the couch and bathed in lamplight, clad in her first grade-style jammies, Briana flipped through the pages of her black binder. Across the room, a James Caviezel movie with the sound muted flickered on the TV and an oldies station played softly on the stereo.

Outside, distant popping from firecrackers sounded across the neighborhood as the Independence Day celebration lingered into the night.

Her sea legs had cleared up not long after Justin had dropped her off and now she relaxed and sipped iced tea, not quite sleepy enough for bed.

Justin had returned the notebook to her Monday afternoon, like he promised, with yellow sticky notes featuring his elegant and distinctive penmanship abundantly marking the pages, advising her what he liked and wanted, and what he didn't want, and she had followed all his instructions to the letter. The idea was to get as much finished on his house as possible while he was out of town next week.

The storage unit would be delivered before nine tomorrow. Rod and Gil were lined up to help him move his furniture out later in the day. The East Side Pet Motel had a boarding pen waiting for Supe's arrival.

Justin would be able to leave Monday knowing everything was under control.

He had already told her the bonus for the file conversion project would total a thousand dollars for about fifty hours of overtime work. Soon, her second project would be complete and the bonus from that would be even larger. But the best bonus of all would be knowing he was pleased with her results.

Her expression and mood somehow both pensive and mellow, she lightly stroked his note, his handwriting, with a thumb, and half-smiled. No frou-frou allowed, but a little bit of chi-chi was okay.

Most of the time, she did a credible job of keeping her feelings about Justin buried as deep as she could get them -- keeping the knowledge of them from everyone, sometimes including herself.

But there were times, like now, when she let them out for a few minutes and recognized their height, breadth and depth -- as immense as her mind, as full as her heart, as colossal as the world -- and their nature...love and longing and veneration. These acknowledgments were always followed by despondency when she realized the utter futility of her devotion and desire.

Even if he developed feelings for her, which was about as likely as a tsunami eradicating Pensacola, the deception inherent in her abandoned mission would always be, for her, a barrier between them.

Her melancholy deepened with thoughts of his absence next week as he visited his adjusters in Mississippi and Louisiana. He had dropped her off at her apartment less than an hour ago, and she already missed him terribly.

How could she not miss him? How could she, or anyone, not love him? He was beauty, he was grace yet, paradoxically, thoroughly masculine, not a hint of metrosexuality in him. A smart man, perhaps brilliant, who didn't let his substantial formal and self-education trump his not inconsiderable native common sense. A man not merely of decency and goodness through and through, but of lofty and rock-solid integrity.

"Oh, Justin," she whispered to the empty room. "It's going to be a long, dreary week without you."

Chapter Thirteen

Traveling on Interstate 10, Justin crossed the city limits into Pensacola at five-thirty Friday. He was tired and travel-weary but it would be hours before he could sleep. He drove straight to his house, parked at the curb and walked past the storage container in the driveway to unlock the kitchen door.

Inside, the first thing he noticed was the strong odor, a mingling of drying varnish and paint. The second was the yellow plastic tape printed with the words "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS" stretched in zigzag fashion across the doors into the den and dining room. A smile tugged at his lips.

Now, where'd she get that?

For good measure, a sheet of letter-sized paper was taped to the door facings, each featuring a cartoonish skull and crossbones drawn with a felt-tipped marker. Above the drawing was written, "KEEP OUT! (Until further notice)" and below, it was signed, "The Mgmt."

His smile turned to a chuckle.

He looked past the barriers into as much as he could see of his house. It appeared that both the painting and floor refinishing were complete. Amazing. He'd still have to sleep elsewhere for another day or two, but he'd be moving back in soon.

He had talked to Briana by phone three times since leaving Monday, and e-mailed and instant-messaged every day, but she hadn't told him how much progress had been made on the decorating project while he was gone. It was a nice surprise.

He left the house and headed for the Scenic Inn with a stop by a fast food place for carryout. He'd skipped lunch and now he was starving. Taking time to eat would make him late for Ted's party, but no more than half an hour.

At the motel, it was tempting to step out of the shower and collapse across the bed. He hadn't realized until this moment just how tired he was. But he didn't want to miss the party, and will overcame fatigue.

Twenty minutes later, dressed casually in Dockers and a pullover knit shirt in chocolate brown, he walked into the sprawling Bayside Resort complex situated on a bluff overlooking Escambia Bay and asked for the Chandler party.

"It's in the Wicker Room," said the hostess. "This way."

She led him into a large party room dimly illuminated with ropes of mini lights and crowded with dancers, munchers and drinkers.

"Thank you," he smiled absently and nodded to the hostess when she left.

Where would he find Ted in this mob?

He was about to attempt maneuvering through the crowd when a woman came to him and said, "Well, hello."

He looked at her, fascinated and repelled. She could have been anywhere from sixteen to twenty-six. Her impossibly platinum hair hung in spirals to her shoulders, her face was heavily made up and she was dressed, barely, in shiny black thigh-high boots with spike heels, a gold mini-skirt and a small, tight, very revealing pink top.

She slanted a look up at him. "I'm Dicey."

I'll just bet you are.

"Hi," he replied. "I'm looking for the guest of honor."

"Who?"

"Ted Chandler. He's deploying to Iraq. This is his farewell party."

"Really? I didn't know that. I just heard it would be a great place to hook up." She trilled with laughter and looked up at him coquettishly, pressed her forefinger to his shoulder and ran it down his arm.

He took a sideways step and said, "Excuse me. I'll find him," and edged his way into the crowd.

He passed booths where couples were making out and was delayed twice more by encounters with women even more whorish and horny than Dicey before he at last found Ted -- his stocky body hard with work-out muscles, a buzz cut topping his tanned face -- at the edge of the crowd on the other side of the room. He was talking to several men in desert camouflage. Vets, maybe, or soldiers home on leave.

"Teddy."

"Well, looky here," Ted exclaimed, giving Justin a vigorous handshake and clapping him on the shoulder. "If it ain't Handsome Ransom." Ted glanced to the friends around him and said, "That's what the chicks called him in high school back in Ranburne, Alabama. Hey man, I'm glad you could make it."

"I can't stay long," Justin said apologetically. "But I sure didn't want to miss seeing you off." Ted introduced his friends and they conversed a few minutes until Justin announced his departure.

"You know you're welcome to stay around and enjoy yourself. We'll be partying until the wee hours." He gave Justin a mischievous look and an elbow in the ribs."Man, there's some hot chicks here tonight."

"I've been traveling. I'm worn out."

"Still keepin' the commandments, are you, Deacon? Well, all right. If you insist. But I'm mighty glad you came."

Justin snickered at the the nickname, a reference to his understated practice of religion, which had been the subject of good-natured bantering between them since junior high. "Like it or not, I'll pray for you, buddy. Take care of yourself. Godspeed. "

They shook again, and he turned to brave the crowd between him and the exit. He was accosted twice more by floozies on the make, one of them who took hold of his wrists, ostensibly to dance, and rubbed herself against him with such salacity, it left him mildly revolted.

He managed to extract himself from her grasp without having to resort to rudeness and he arrived back at his room at the Scenic Inn feeling isolated and lonely.

Pillows propped up behind him, he sat on the bed for a while, thinking of nothing, and at last reached for his cell phone. Opened it. Scrolled through his contacts, stopped on Briana's name.

And snapped the phone shut.

He had no reason to call her. He was just lonesome and being pathetic.

He sat for another few minutes waiting for something to change and nothing did. Not allowing himself too much thought about it, he powered on the GPS netbook he'd bought on the trip, and opened the instant messenger.

A slight smiled pulled at his lips when he saw that she was online.

Hi, he typed.

She didn't reply for several minutes. Probably had stepped away from her computer. But eventually her response popped up on his screen:

watcher03: Hi. You texting at the party? Must be dull.

jra_eighty: It was. I left. I'm on my new netbook.

watcher03: Oh, that's too bad. For your friend, I mean.

jra_eighty: No. It's his kinda party. But not mine. Glad I got to see him, though.

watcher03: That's good.

jra_eighty: I'm at the Scenic Inn now, but I stopped by the house. I'm impressed.

She didn't respond immediately and he sent another comment.

jra_eighty: Loved the keep out signs. You made them, didn't you?

watcher03: Yes. I'm glad you like them.

"I missed you," he whispered, but he typed, How are you? How's everything?

watcher03: Fine. You?

jra_eighty: Glad to be back, even if I'm not home yet.

watcher03: Not too much longer, though.

jra_eighty: Great. Well, I'm tired. I think I'll sign off and get some shut eye."

watcher03: OK. Bye.

He powered off the netbook and sat for a while in the cone of light from the bedside lamp, thinking of nothing in particular at first. But gradually it came to him that he was in a pickle, and he had a decision to make. To follow his head and adhere to inflexible rules of his own making or, for the first time in his life, to follow his heart.

*****

The bed in Larry's ratty apartment in Biloxi creaked as he carefully eased Sylvia's head off his shoulder and onto the pillow. He had been very still after sex so that she would go to sleep and give him time to think.

She didn't waken, but snuggled her face into the pillow, her bottle-blonde tresses fanning out behind her.

It had been a surprise, and not a pleasant one, when he'd answered the door to find her standing outside, nervous and horny and hopeful, but he'd kept his displeasure to himself. He needed her for the foreseeable future. Exactly how long he couldn't say. But it would ruin everything to alienate her and lose her cooperation before his mission was complete.

He quietly got dressed and went into the living room for a smoke, channel surfed the muted television for a few minutes, finally settling on some dumb but nevertheless funny show on Spike TV.

The cheap draperies at the window were a pale orange from the light of sunset. He glanced into the kitchen ell, at the calendar on the wall. Saturday, July 12, 2008. He wasn't expecting company but anything could happen in his line of work, and if it did, Sylvia's presence would become problematic.

*****

Slowly, deliciously, Sylvia came to wakefulness. Naked under the sheet in Larry's bed, she smiled and stretched languorously. In no hurry, she rolled from the bed and dressed. She was just slipping her feet into her shoes when her wonderful mood evaporated abruptly and she remembered her real reason for coming here.

It had been three weeks since she'd taken the envelope to Briana, who had inexplicably bailed out of her assignment. And she still had not told Larry.

She found him in the living room, sprawled on the couch, watching television.

"Hey, babe," he said lazily.

"Hey." She took a seat beside him, trying to screw up the courage to tell him about Briana's defection.

"You hungry?" he asked when a commercial came on. "Want to go get something to eat?"

"No, that's okay. I have something to tell you. I should have told you before now."

"What?"

"Those papers you gave me to take to Briana. I took them to her that weekend, and she...she tried to make me keep them. She said she has abandoned her mission, that she believes Justin is innocent and a good man, and she works for him now."

Lines appeared between Larry's brows. "What'd you do with the papers?"

"I followed instructions. I left them with her and told her to keep them until she heard from me again."

"When did you take them over there?"

She shook her head. "I don't remember the date but it was the weekend after you gave them to me."

"Have you talked to her since then?"

"No. I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you."

He gave her thigh an affectionate pat and said, "Ah, don't worry about it. She'll do what she's told when the time comes. There are ways to...convince her to play along."

Sylvia looked at him, confusion in her widened eyes.

He laughed. "Oh, babe, don't look like that. You know I wouldn't hurt a woman. But everybody has their price. What does she want?"

Sylvia rubbed her temple and looked thoughtful. "She's wanted a bachelor's degree ever since I've known her, but her work schedule and tuition expense kept her from taking more than one or two classes a semester."

"Well, that's it." Larry said. "We'll give her tuition money. What would she rather do, work as some secretary or get a degree and qualify for any job she wants?"

"You're wonderful." Sylvia laughed and kissed him.

"Nice," he whispered.

She stood reluctantly and looked down at him. "I guess I need to head back to Mobile."

He looked at her gravely and rose to walk her to the door. "I don't mean to be a spoilsport but this is not a good place for women. You don't need to show up here unannounced, babe, so don't do it anymore. If you want me, call me. If I don't answer, leave voicemail. That's the rules."

"Okay," she said petulantly, her lips in a slight pout. She kissed him again, and retrieved her purse from a chair where she'd dropped it on her arrival. "Bye."

Chapter Fourteen

At eight-thirty Monday morning, half hour before their usual meeting time, the IM window on Briana's computer screen popped open with a note from Justin. "Could you come in here please?"

She snatched up her pad and pen and stepped to his office. She had looked forward to seeing him again all weekend. How she had missed him last week! How she missed his handsome face, his beautiful eyes, his sexy voice, every single aspect of his presence...

But he was behaving very oddly -- quiet and subdued -- and Briana had the feeling that something was wrong. As she reached his office he looked up and said, "Shut the door."

She had never seen him tense before and a thrill of fear went through her. Had she been found out? Was he going to fire her? In trepidation, she sat down, her eyes riveted on him.

Please. I'm not here to spy anymore. I'm really not. I gave that up. I promise you, I did.

Fist in hand, he rested his elbows on the desk and looked at her a moment. "Since I was fourteen and got my first job at the Piggly Wiggly in Heflin, Alabama, I've had an ironclad rule -- do not date a co-worker or an employee. I've never broken it. Never wanted to. Until now."

She stared at him, paralyzed with shock.

Justin frowned and shook his head. "I shouldn't have said anything. I can see it was a mistake. But you can't unhear what I just said and I can't unsay it. It's out and things have changed." A grim look came to his face. "If this makes you too uncomfortable to stay here, I'll help you get a comparable job somewhere else. I know a lot of people in the business community."

He leaned forward slightly, his face earnest. "But if you want to stay employed here, I'll never mention this again."

She found her voice. "I don't want another job. I like the one I've got. I like the employer I've got." Her soft laugh was half-gasp. "I don't mind...what you just said."

He looked at her, a bit perplexed, as if he wasn't sure he heard her correctly. "I want you to understand something, Briana, so listen carefully. You don't have to 'be nice' to me, to keep your job." Barely audibly, he added, "That's not what this was about."

"I knew it wasn't about that."

He relaxed a little. "The look on your face...I thought you were outta here."

"I was just surprised. I was...shocked. When you want something to happen but you think it never will and then it does, it can sure enough put shock on your face."

He sat back in his chair and gazed at her speculatively. "Are you sure you wanted this to happen?"

A huge smile came to her face. "Yeah. Oh, yeah."

He smiled, too, and his soft chuckling was joined by her tinkling laughter.

"If anybody saw us right now," she said, "they'd think we're acting so silly."

"We are acting silly. Do you care what they'd think?"

She shook her head. "No. Do you?"

"Not a bit."

A measure of seriousness returned to them and she said, "But I don't want you to go against your principles."

"I've seen coworkers in relationships that have gone sour. It tore them up. Tore up the workplace for a while. I know it's not a good idea. I'm sure you know it too. But that knowledge is being...overridden."

She nodded.

Justin inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. "We could just try it, go out together, see how we like it, and if at any point either one of us doesn't want to continue, we can just stop, no hard feelings. Stop before you feel like you have to give up your job or I have to give up my assistant. That's where we'll start from, anyway. Whether we could pull it off," he shrugged, "who knows."

"I can't think of anything better to start with."

He gazed at her a moment with interest on his face and romance in his eyes -- very early stage interest and romance, but genuine, and they did wondrous things to Briana inside.

"So this is unchartered territory for me," he said, his soft, husky voice sending chills across her skin, "But...would you like to go out with me Saturday night? Supper, movie?"

A smile she couldn't have stopped if her life depended on it transformed her face with elation and turned her eyes to glittering blue jewels. "Oh, yes. I'd love to."

"Great." Justin laced his fingers and was silent several moments but it wasn't uncomfortable. "I think we're both mature enough to not let our feelings interfere with our work."

"I agree."

"I have another rule I think we shouldn't break -- no dates on week nights, unless there's some special occasion."

"That's a good rule."

He cleared his throat a little self-consciously and nodded toward her pen pad. "So, what have you got for me?"

"Ummm," she quavered, "you had eleven completed claim files come in from the field while you were gone..."

*****

Briana arranged a folded towel and wash cloth on the towel bar above the bathtub and a matching hand towel on the ring holder near the lavatory. Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom gleamed as if it had been polished.

She'd been up since six, having added a thorough cleaning of her living quarters to her routine weekend chores. Now it was mid-afternoon and all that remained was to get ready for her date with Justin tonight. He was coming to pick her up at six, and every time she'd thought about that today, the little hurricane in her stomach swirled madly.

The obsessive cleaning job wasn't really necessary. The apartment wasn't that dirty. She'd given it this same treatment when she'd moved in a few weeks before. Besides, he probably wasn't going to come inside, anyway, at least, not for more than a few minutes.

But on the off chance that he would ask for a drink of water, or need to use the bathroom, she'd spent the whole morning scrubbing and polishing. Her finger pads looked like pale prunes.

She took a step back to stand in the doorway and give the bathroom a final check. Her eyes went to the medicine chest above the lavatory and her brows lowered suspiciously. What if he happened to look in there for aspirin or something?

She stepped to the lavatory and swung open the mirrored door.

Oh, no. This will not do.

Her face reddened at the thought of Justin inadvertently coming across a box of tampons in the cabinet and she snatched them off the shelf, strode to her dresser and stuffed them in the bottom drawer under a stack of sweaters.

Back in the bathroom, she closed the medicine chest and contemplated her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was full of big curlers -- she'd shampooed early in the morning, so her hair would have plenty of time to air-dry -- and her face was completely free of makeup.

What is there about you that made him break an ironclad rule he's had for half his lifetime? What would he do if he found out why you came here? No, don't think about that.

It was too early to start getting ready, but she passed the time eating a snack lunch, cleaning the kitchen again and deciding what to wear, eventually settling on a beige flared skirt that struck her just above the knee and a white ribbed knit top that skimmed her curves. Accessories were limited to tan canvas wedgies with a matching shoulder bag. Feminine, but not frou-frou, she hoped. Appropriate for the kind of date they had planned. Except for a couple of dates with Eddie Burke, it had been so long since she'd gone out with a man, she felt like she was back in junior high, unsure and nervous.

Showering, making up her face, fixing her hair, dressing -- none of it damped down her excitement that bordered on anxiety. The closer the clock inched toward six, the antsier she grew so that by the time the doorbell rang, she was trembling from head to toe.

"Hi." She swung the door back and pushed the screen door open for him.

"Hey." He stepped inside. He was clad in jeans and the silver tattersall checked shirt he'd worn the first time she saw him, with the sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows.

"I'm almost ready," she said. "I just need to turn off the TV and my computer and..."

Her voice trailed off.

"No hurry." An appreciative smile pulled up a corner of his mouth. "You look very nice."

"Thank you," she said, tingling from the compliment as she fumbled to power off her laptop."You do, too."

"Well, thank you, ma'am." He picked up a remote control on the coffee table and killed the TV just as her computer screen went blank. He ushered her out and door and turned the knob to make sure it was locked. "Would you like Southern fried seafood or Cajun?"

"Um...Cajun."

"Good." He winked at her as they stepped down the walkway to his vehicle. "I was leaning that way, too. We just need to leave room for a bucket of popcorn at the theater."

"I can do that." Truth told, her stomach quivered with such excitement, she wondered if she'd be able to eat a bite.

She slid into the 4Runner and watched Justin round the front. You're so good, so good-looking, I sometimes wonder how you can be real.

But she needn't have worried. He was also easy to be with and she relaxed enough not only to clear her plate but to split a serving of hot fudge cake with him.

*****

The 4Runner sailed southward on Ninth Avenue. Street lamps and porch lights glowing against the black backdrop of nighttime streaked past the windows. Briana mostly kept her gaze on the road ahead, on the red and white lights of weekend traffic, but now and then, when conversation warranted, she glanced toward Justin sometimes to see him glancing back to her, and her heart would beat a little faster.

She had driven this vehicle a few times as part of her job, and ridden in this very seat perhaps four times when she'd accompanied Justin on work-related lunches or errands. And on the fourth of July, when he'd given her a ride to the fireworks extravaganza. But tonight, she occupied the comfortable bucket seat as his date, and she wondered how many times his girlfriends had sat here. He'd told her it was a 2005 model he'd bought used last year. A year was plenty of time for lots of dates.

She'd seen sweet Kami occupy this seat on the double date back in June. She had never laid eyes on the vampish Margo, in the 4Runner or anywhere else, and the Cleopatra-like paralegal was on the verge of becoming a mythic figure for Briana, igniting her curiosity and her jealousy.

Forcefully, she suppressed her thoughts and fixed her attention on their conversation about the film they'd just seen, Wall-E, and glancing now and then toward her date-slash-employer-slash-man-of-her-dreams. The glow from the instrument panel touched his face, making odd shadows around his eyes, turning the whites almost preternaturally bright and glittering, and darkening his lips.

Just looking at him did weird and powerful things to her inside, and she quickly turned her face back toward the road ahead and tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Justin say, "...good movie, but I'm not sure it lived up to the hype."

"But the little robot was cute." From the corner of her vision, she watched, fascinated, as Justin broke into a marvelous grin and chuckled softly. Confused, she asked, "Did I say something funny?"

"It just made me think of how much time, money and creative effort Pixar put into making the robot cute, especially to women. Looks like they were successful."

They continued the light discussion until they reached her front door. She unlocked it and turned toward him. "I sure had a good time."

He returned her gaze. "I did, too."

They stood silently so long that Briana felt awkwardness creep in and said, pretty much without thinking, "I enjoyed the food, too."

"Glad you did. The Pensacola Symphony Orchestra is doing a concert in Seville Square next weekend. Would you like to go to that? Since we had Cajun tonight, we could have seafood at Captain Charlie's or some place and then go to the concert."

"Oh, I'd love that."

"Okay. It's a date."

He looked a her several long moments, and awkwardness pressed in on her again.

"Well, I guess I'd better go on in."

"One thing before you go." He put his fingers lightly against her cheek and kissed her. Although it wasn't anything like the hard, hungry kiss with full-body-embrace he'd laid on her the night of the storm, it nevertheless left her breathless and started her internal hurricane whirling madly, a category three, at least.

He raised his head and looked at her under half-closed lids. His nostrils flared briefly and his lips compressed before he gave her a hint of a smile.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Good night."

*****

Briana stood for a moment staring at the closed door.

Pelham. That's who he looks like. Colonel Pelham!

Excited, she scurried to her computer and powered up. In moments, she was searching for information about, and images of, Colonel John Pelham of the Confederate States Army. The gallant Pelham, General Lee had called him.

He was born on a plantation near Alexandria, Alabama, had been educated at West Point, leaving the academy just two weeks before graduation to join the militia of Alabama. Despite his youth, he'd fought with J.E.B. Stuart's cavalry in some of the most renown battles in Virginia, and revolutionized light artillery. He had died in battle at Kelly's Ford when he was but twenty-three years old and was brought back to Alabama for burial in City Cemetery in Jacksonville, the city of Justin's alma mater.

Justin and the gallant Pelham. Fewer than fifty miles separated their birthplaces although a century and a half separated their lives in time. Still, they were of a kind and Briana wondered if they might share kin back there somewhere.

She studied the photos of the handsome young soldier, broad-shouldered and steely-eyed. He was described as tall and fair with wavy light brown hair and clear blue eyes. Justin's hair was thick, straight and medium brown, his eyes the color of dark honey, but there was something uncannily similar in their facial features.

John Pelham's beautifully curved lips with alluring shadows in the corners -- was it disrespectful to the long-dead soldier to acknowledge that they were extremely sensual, like Justin's? That his deepset blue eyes, darkly shadowed, smoldered with magnetic male energy, just like Justin's.

Pelham was described as shy; Justin was anything but. Yet they were still of a kind -- one a soldier, one a businessman, but both handsome and virtuous.

And gallant.

Oh, man, girl. You have got it bad. Go to bed. Get some sleep. If you can.
Chapter Fifteen

Tropical storm Dolly swirled from the Caribbean into the Gulf but forecasts projected landfalls in Mexico and Texas, far from Gulf States' claims territory. Beyond precautionary monitoring, the office felt little effect from the storm.

Briana had not heard from Sylvia in a month, since the day the Guardian director delivered that hateful envelope, the day Briana had, in fact if not officially, ended her assignment...and her job at Guardian. All had been quiet from that quarter since.

That was also marked the date she began to live off her Gulf States salary and put her Guardian checks in a dresser drawer, uncashed. She would eventually send them to Sylvia with a terse, formal letter of resignation, but she couldn't face that chore yet. Her life was undergoing a wondrous transformation and she wanted nothing to mar it.

On Tuesday, a week and a day after agreeing to confine their dating to weekends, Briana and Justin broke the agreement by mutual consent and drove to Pensacola Beach after work to eat barbecue, watch the sunset over Santa Rosa sound and steal an occasional kiss.

Although neither of them discussed their budding romance at the office, and were even more properly behaved than usual, everybody knew about it within days of their first date. They were teased, but not excessively, and it was all in good fun. They had the impression their co-workers and employees were happy for them and approved of, indeed, were delighted about, their potential relationship.

The concert in Seville Square on Saturday was immensely enjoyable, but brief, ending at nine-thirty. It was not even ten o'clock when she and Justin returned to her apartment. At her suggestion, Justin parked in the drive behind her vehicle, and they walked to the back entrance.

He unlocked the door and she looked up at him as he handed her the keys. "Would you like to come in? Watch TV or listen to music or something? I don't have any video games or anything," she added.

"My seafood dinner has played out, so if you throw in a little food and drink, you've got yourself a deal."

She poured tall glasses of tea over ice and made sandwiches with scrumptious chicken salad from a neighborhood deli and took their plates to the dinette table. In the living room, Justin flipped through channels on the muted television, stopping finally on a John Wayne movie on AMC, after which he turned on the stereo. It was set to a station playing instrumental smooth jazz, and he left it there. They took seats at the table.

"Wow," he said after the first bite of his sandwich. "This is great. Did you make it?"

"I wish. It came from Sammy's Deli in Highland Shopping Center. I've already asked Sammy twice for the recipe. Of course he refuses to give it to anybody."

"Can't blame him. Trade secret." They munched in silence, breaking it now and then to make short, comfortable conversation.

"You need to have your back porch re-screened," Justin said. "When the heat breaks along in September, it'll be a very pleasant place for hanging out."

"I don't think my landlord can do that. He says it costs a lot of money to hire handymen, so he does as much maintenance as he can himself. But he's kind of an old guy and I don't know if he could put up screening."

"Tell him to buy the material, or to knock a comparable amount off your rent one month, and I'll get the screening and put it up for you."

"Oh, Justin, that's so sweet, but you don't have to do that."

"Yeah, I do, if I want an invitation to a cook out back there -- in, say, late September -- without mosquitoes."

They sat on the couch and watched the movie a little while but before long, Justin muted the sound and turned up the music again, a soft accompaniment to their soft conversation.

He asked her about the framed photograph on the wall depicting two beautiful teenage girls with long hair and captivating smiles.

"That's got to be your sister with you in that portrait."

"Yes. Jenny. She's three years older than me." Briana glanced pensively at the photograph. "We were both SAPs, but she was fortunate enough to grow out of it a lot earlier than I did."

"Sap?" Justin's brow knit slightly and he shook his head "You mean like a dupe?"

Briana laughed. "Well, that, too, probably. But what I really meant was S-A-P. Southern American Princess. In our case, small-town, small-time version."

He chuckled softly and murmured, "Princess." But his face grew serious as he listened to her.

"Ornaments. Frivolous," she continued. "Not to be taken seriously. I don't think my parents realized what kind of self-image they were helping us develop, because they told us from time to time how important it was to get an education and think about the kind of work we wanted to do, but that was stacked up against years of silly ballet lessons and parties and school clubs and cheerleading and prom queening..."  
"They may have made some mistakes, but it sounds like they had your wellbeing at heart,."

"Oh, I know they did and I'm very grateful to them." Briana sent a glance back to the portrait. "Anyway, Jenny lucked out and got over her saphood by marrying her high school sweetheart. Now she's a wife and mother in Nashville. She's very involved in her kids' lives and works for causes and heads up a church group. She says she's happy and fulfilled and you don't have to be around her very long to know it's true. But I..." She looked at him and smiled sheepishly.

"You what?"

"Well, I didn't have a high school sweetheart. I had my crowd, my clique. And when we were seniors, I found out everybody was planning to go to college but me. They were going to Auburn, UAB, Troy, places like that. So I scrambled and got into Covington Junior College, but it was hard. I'd never studied before. I didn't know how."

"But you got an associates degree," Justin said, "and went on to Lafayette, right?"

"Mmhmm. I finally got the hang of studying. After my first year at Lafayette, I wanted to go to a bigger school. I moved to Mobile to find a job so I could take classes at the University of South Alabama. I was thrilled when I got the job at Guardian. I felt like I was finally doing something important and I wasn't a sap anymore."

Desire sprang up inside Justin, tempered but not extinguished by his growing affection for Briana, and his ingrained sense of morality. He took her hand and laced their fingers.

"You're not a sap," he said. "You're pretty, but you're not just an ornament. You're also smart and sweet; I've told you that before. But I do believe you still have a little bit of that princess in you."

She glanced away shyly and Justin studied her, intrigued. He hadn't noticed her being shy before.

It took a moment but she finally brought her eyes back to his. "What were you like growing up?"

"Mostly what I did was refute conventional wisdom about birth order. I'm the youngest but I was the serious one, the responsible one. My brother's a long-haul trucker and to this day, he's still a clown. Brings the family gag presents from all over the country. The last one he brought Mama was a President Bush chia pet."

"Oh, that's funny. I didn't know there was such a thing. So you were the serious one of the bunch?"

"Yeah. Made good grades. Played sports, which helped me to learn teamwork and discipline. Started working and saving for college when I was fourteen. Fortunately, I got some grants and scholarships that helped. All in all, I was a pretty dull kid."

"I don't believe that, not for a minute. I'll bet the girls were crazy about you. Bet your mama had to sweep 'em off her doorstep with a broom."

They chatted and laughed softly on into the night and at one point during a spell of laughter, their eyes seemed to lock together and everything changed.

Justin lowered his head and tugged her chin down to part her lips just before his mouth met hers in a long, sweet, warm kiss. He followed it with several more that soon had their respiration growing long and deep, their heart rates increasing.

Just when everything in him -- almost everything -- urged him to continue and take it to the next level, he groaned softly, disentangled himself from their embrace and collapsed, dreamy eyed, against the back of the sofa. He turned his head to the side to look at Briana. Her lips were slightly swollen and the skin around them pink from compression and friction. He had to force himself to not pull her tightly against him and kiss her again.

"I have to go," he murmured, although he didn't move for several moments. At length, he stood and pulled her to her feet. They walked to the kitchen, an arm around each other. At the door, he turned to face her and took her in his arms.

"Monday seems so far away," he said between kisses. "I don't want to wait till then to see you. Go to church with me tomorrow. There's going to be a dinner on the grounds afterward. Best food in the world. I'll be here to get you at nine-forty. Okay, Princess?"

Her eyes fastened on his lips. She ran a finger across them, gently stroking the corners. "Okay, Colonel."

"You'll have to explain that to me some time." He opened the door and stepped through. "See you tomorrow."

*****

A grove of tall pines cast patchy shade on the traditional brick edifice and landscaped grounds of the Bradford Street Christian Church. Justin and Briana walked hand in hand to the front entrance along with a few others. Most of the three hundred or so members were already inside and the pews were rapidly filling.

Like so many others these days, the congregation was aging, although young families and children were represented. A few people chose casual dress, but most of the women wore dresses, the men suits and ties, Justin among them. Indeed, he was breathtaking in a well fitted gray suit with a tinge of brown, his silk tie a muted hunter green.

They found seats next to the aisle about a third of the way up, just moments before a man stepped to the podium and the congregation grew silent. Services were traditional and dignified. Briana had not attended church much since leaving home, and she found herself immersed in nostalgia.

Justin provided her with a couple of small surprises as the service progressed. He sang in a beautiful clear upper-range voice, not falsetto, and he followed the tenor part in the shape-note hymnal perfectly. She'd never heard him sing, and she was enthralled. The Bible he'd brought with him was another surprise, a modern language translation Briana had never encountered. But on second thought, it wasn't as surprising as it first seemed. She'd seen the juxtaposition of respect for tradition and eager innovation in his business life, as well.

Now and then, she stole a glance at him, and a couple of times, he returned it with a smile. But he was absorbed in the services, his gaze trained on the speaker. During prayer, he inclined his head slightly and closed his eyes and his always handsome face took on an angelic quality, a look of profound peace and serenity.

She followed his example, bowed her head and closed her eyes, in time to hear the prayer leader say, "Forgive us our sins, Father. Our selfishness, our unconcern for our neighbor, our deceitfulness--"

A paralyzing wave of guilt flew down Briana's body. Her throat constricted as if gripped by powerful hands.

"We trust, Father, that if we confess our sins, we will be forgiven--"

Confess? Only to you, God. I can't confess to Justin. I couldn't stand to lose him.

She didn't look at him again, but worked throughout the sermon to bring her emotions under control and keep them off her face. By the time the final Amen sounded, the episode was safely buried.

*****

The dinner on the grounds was actually in the church fellowship hall and both Briana and Justin ate a wee bit too much, as it was always easy to do at such functions. An awkward moment had ensued, for Briana, anyway, when they'd encountered Kami at the dessert table, but Justin's ease with both women smoothed over any possible discomfort.

"Hey, Kami. How are you?" His words and demeanor showed sincere interest, and apparently, she couldn't help but respond sincerely.

"Great. How's everything with you?"

"Can't complain."

Kami glanced from Justin to Briana and while she didn't appear to be delighted, she betrayed no hostility. She even gave Briana a small smile. "Be sure and try a bit of my cobbler. The peaches came off a tree in my back yard, picked yesterday. They're delicious this year."

"I will. Thank you."

They took their dessert plates and tall glasses of tea to their seats and Briana glanced at Justin. "She was really nice. I didn't even think about running into her at church."

"It's all right." He gave her a wry smile. "As long as you're not Margo, she's fine."

After dinner, they meandered around the mall and stopped to buy a couple of movies on DVD.

That evening, at Justin's house, they made out like teenagers, the movies forgotten, playing on the television with the sound muted in favor of soft rock music that enhanced the mood of romance building between them.

Their focus was solely on each other. Their kisses were long and continuous, now sweet and tender, now hard and insistent. They paused every so often to separate and look at each other with sultry, heavy-lidded eyes.

Somewhere in her mind, Briana saw the memory of the man who sat beside her in church just a few hours before, his beautiful face riveted on the speaker, drinking in the message of divine love and redemption, the very picture of angelic goodness when he closed his eyes in prayer.

Justin put himself deeply into whatever he was doing, whether work or worship or...loving a woman. But wasn't there a contradiction here somewhere?

As ardor unfolded and soft sounds in their throats accompanied their kisses, Justin slid down on the sofa and reclined at an angle, resting his head on the arm. He pulled Briana to him, half atop him. His hands gently stroked her arms, slid across her shoulders and down her back. His arms tightened around her waist as their lips met in a kiss that pulled a sensual groan from his throat.

Abruptly, his hands went to her shoulders and held her away from him. His eyes darted around her face.

"Let's sit up," he murmured.

They disentangled themselves from their embrace and sat up. Briana's eyes fastened on her hands, clasped tightly and resting in her lap. She was certain embarrassment and a touch of shame colored her face.

He tilted his head to look at her. "Briana."

She crossed her arms a moment and brought a hand up to cover her eyes. "I don't know what made me act like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a...temptation."

He laid his hand on her white-knuckled fist. "It's not your fault. It was all my doing. Besides, you weren't acting like a temptation. I think you were acting like a woman who cares about me and is sexually attracted to me. A woman who, maybe, loves me."

She turned wide eyes to him.

"I want you to understand why I stopped us. There's a part of me that wants you, too. Obviously. Wants you so bad I can't tell you how much, wants to take you into my bedroom right now and make love to you. But some things outweigh sexual desire, no matter how intense."

He took her hand and leaned back against the sofa.

"We were raised in the Bible belt, you and I, with all that entails," he continued. "I was taught, and you probably were, too, that the only place for sex is in marriage. That notion is widely rejected, even ridiculed, these days. Makes it tough sometimes to remain abstinent, but in some ways, it makes it easier, too.

"I didn't have a problem being abstinent as a teenager living with my parents. There wasn't a lot of pressure to lose your virginity in my little town and my high school. In fact, I had no idea the hookup culture existed until I went to college and found myself in the middle of it. I was a kid from Ranburne, Alabama, naive enough to be rattled by it. And this was at a small, conservative university in a conservative state."

There was something about the mood gradually settling over him that increasingly held Briana's attention. She forgot her embarrassment and turned to face him, absorbed in his words.

"The first month of my freshman year, I met a woman. Clarissa. A beautiful, fiery redhead with green eyes and irresistble sexual magnetism. I was eighteen; she was twenty-one. She wasn't a student, but she worked in the office of the Student Center, so she was there every day. She had an apartment just off campus. To this day, I don't know what there was about me -- a kid, a callow yokel -- that caught her attention.

Briana squeezed his fingers. I do. I know exactly what she saw in you.

Caught in memory, his gaze wandered to the distance. "Anyway, she pursued me and she got me. I admit I didn't resist very much. In fact, I fell into her palm like a ripe plum."

He scraped his thumbnail across his lips. "She seduced me in every way. My mind. My body. My heart. I was in love. Excruciatingly and inexplicably in love. Or so I thought. That made it easy to forget all the reasons why I believed in remaining abstinent until marriage. She was truly a temptation, and when we'd been involved for about a month, I couldn't resist any longer. We planned our big night, in her apartment. She made supper. Dinner, she called it. She cooked pasta and set fancy table with candles and wine."

He looked down at his hand. Thumb and forefinger were almost touching. "Afterward, we were this close when a man unlocked the door and walked into the apartment calling her name. His voice was exhuberant. When he saw us, he froze and stared. I was terrified. I didn't know if he might blow us away in a jealous rage. But then I saw the look on his face and I'll never forget it. Blankness, bewilderment first. Then sheer agony set in. I have never seen that kind of pain on a man's face, before or since. He was holding velvet ring box. It fell out of his hand but he didn't seem to notice. He turned very slowly, almost like he was in a trance, and walked outside."

A touch of pain lowered Justin's brows as he relived the memory. "Clarissa pushed me away and said, 'Get off me, you idiot.' She threw on a robe and ran outside after him, calling his name...Oliver...begging him to wait. I was alone in the apartment, abandoned and humiliated. I got dressed drove back to the dorm. I thought I understood, sort of, how Oliver felt, because I was in agony, too. But it was only partly heartbreak. There was also the pain of knowing I had hurt someone so bad, even though it was unintentional. Still, I was well aware that if I'd lived up to my beliefs, it wouldn't have happened."

Justin shook his head and fell silent for so long, Briana grew concerned. She suspected the slight distress showing in his lowered brows, his fixed stare, his compressed lips, were windows on a far greater distress inside him and her heart broke for him.

"Oh," she murmured, trailing her fingers down the side of his face. "Oh, how terrible for you. I'm so sorry."

That seemed to break him out of memory. He gave her a melancholy smile and brought her hand up to kiss her fingers. "It took a long time for the pain to go away. My virtue was intact, but I was acutely aware that I deserved no credit for it. I renewed my commitment to abstinence until marriage, but what I really did was swear off women and bury myself in my studies. I graduated in three years. Sunbelt recruited me straight out of college and I buried myself into my work. I socialized with women, worked with them, dated them, but I never let my heart get involved. Four years ago, I started Gulf States and buried myself in my company. And that was the way it stayed until I met Margo and Kami last year. They reminded me that there are still good women in the world because they're both good women."

A slight smile crinkled his eyes. "Regardless of what you may have heard about Margo. I feel a lot of admiration and affection for them. They're both smart, funny, charming and beautiful. But it's like Margo said on our last evening together. There was just no spark between us."

"Oh," Briana said softly. "And I've been so jealous of them." Whatever confusion and embarrassment she'd had felt was gone, and she gazed at him, wide eyed, with love and concern.

"For you, I feel all those things, and the spark, too," Justin confessed. "Sometimes it sets off a conflagration in me but don't worry. I'm not going to do anything that could end up hurting you...because...I love you."

An emotional earthquake rumbled inside Briana, a great shifting of the tectonic plates of her life; a tsunami of love washed over her, love given and love received. This was what she had dreamed of, the words she had longed to hear, and the moment was so wonderfully overwhelming, she could scarcely take it in. "I .. I love you, too."

Joy danced in his eyes. "It's great, isn't it?" But a touch of pensiveness followed and he said, "It may seem a little crazy, a little impulsive. We've only known each other three months. But you don't know what my life was like before you came into it, or how different it is now, or how I've changed inside, because of you. You don't know how wonderful it's been to exhume my heart and find it alive and beating -- to learn to love and trust again."

He took her face in his hands, his gaze plumbing the depths of her eyes, all the way to her heart. "I knew you loved me before you said it. So I know my heart is safe with you."

*****

Justin came awake for no reason that he could immediately discern. His room was dark. Supe was curled up next to his side, unmoving. He glanced at the clock. Two-fifteen. That was when he noticed the low, sizzling roar on the roof. Hard rain.

And as soon as he identified that sound, another one hit him -- loud, cracking thunder.

Suddenly wide awake, he threw the covers back and bounded out of bed, dressed in record time and headed for the back door, pulling on his raincoat and grabbing up his cell phone and umbrella on the way.

The slick, shiny streets he traveled were deserted and it took him only a few minutes to reach Briana's apartment. He had thought about calling her, to let her know he was on the way; but it occurred to him that if the storm had not already awakened her, he should let her sleep until and unless it did.

But as he reached the corner and turned onto Trussell Street, he saw light glowing from every window of her place. He parked behind her Blazer, popped open his umbrella and trotted through the puddles to the back porch.

He paused momentarily at the door, peering through gaps in the mini blinds. She was seated on the couch, hunched over her folded arms, her eyes riveted on the television set where a radar depiction of the angry storm looped across the screen. Her hair was sleep-tousled and she was clad in flower print pajamas with puffed sleeves. Fuzzy pink house shoes encased her feet. At the sight of her, his solicitude doubled.

He knocked softly. "Briana."

Her face turned sharply to the door. She bounded to her feet and started toward the kitchen but stopped in her tracks after a few steps.

"Justin? Just a minute, okay?"

"Okay."

She darted into her bedroom and emerged a few minutes later in jeans, a T-shirt and sandals, and scurried to open the door.

"Hey, sugar," he said. "I wanted to come make sure you're all right."

She stared up at him a moment, laughed breathlessly and wrung her hands as a thunderclap rumbled in the skies outside. "It's not too bad," she quavered, gesturing vaguely toward the television behind her. "I was just checking to see when it might blow over. Looks like it'll be an hour or two."

He stepped inside, shut the door, shed his raincoat and folded it across a dinette chair. "I'll stay here with you till it's over."

"You know it's after two thirty, don't you?"

He took her in a tender embrace. "I know what time it is. I didn't want you going out in this."

She lay her head on his shoulder her forehead touching his jaw. "I don't know what to say...except thank you, so much."

"Come on." They ambled to the living room and cuddled on the couch as they had done in another storm a little over a month before.

He took the remote control, muted the sound on the television and channel surfed for a few moments, ending up back on The Weather Channel.

The worst parts of the storm seemed to be going north of them, the thunder somewhat distant. Before he knew it, she was asleep in his arms, and in a few minutes, his eyes closed and he nodded off.

He wakened to very brief disorientation before his brightly lighted surroundings reminded him where he was and why. Briana was curled into a ball on the sofa, her head resting on his thigh. It was three-fifty and the storm was passed.

"Briana," he said softly, stroking her upper arm. She awakened, more or less, and sat up, blinking.

"Justin."

"Hey, sleepyhead." He smiled and stroked her cheek. "Storm's over. I'm going home, okay?"

"Okay." She stared at him in mild surprise. "I went to sleep. I never go to sleep in a storm."

He stood, helped her to her feet and gave her a teasing smile. "Wow. Not sure what that says about my boring factor."

"Oh, it's not that, you're not a bit boring. It's just, I don't feel afraid when you're with me."

"I'm glad." At the back door, he took her in his arms again, kissed her and followed up with a stroke of his fingers across her cheek. "You go back to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning."

Chapter Sixteen

What had seemed so distant and unsure sixteen months ago the day he walked out of Holcomb was now so close Larry could almost feel it in his gut.

He stepped outside. Six thirty in the morning and it was already hot. He unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel, anticipating a huge pancake breakfast, when something caught his eye. A plain white number ten envelope, blank, on the seat beside him. He grabbed it up, ripped it open and pulled out the sheet of paper folded inside. He read it with a mingling of alarm and anger.

Destroy the papers. There's an error that will prove they're fakes. Will send corrected ones later. Jawja.

Error? What error? Something he'd did wrong in doctoring the documents? Not possible. He had done everything perfectly. Why did that lunatic black hat cracker have to be so mysterious?

He ran a hand over his face.

Destroy the papers.

The little cheerleader in Pensacola had the papers. Sylvia had told him weeks ago she'd delivered the unopened envelope to the brainless little mole who didn't want them and refused to stick with the program. But Sylvia had left them, anyway.

He sat behind the wheel several moments, his anger unfolding, expanding, boiling up like molten lava. Now and then, he was so overcome with it, it came out vocally as vociferous curses.

But in the end, there was nothing he could do except what Jawja said.

He pulled his cell phone off his belt, flipped it open and speed dialed Sylvia.

*****

"Look," Briana said, stopping by Dottie's desk when she returned from lunch with a fancy shopping bag from Helen's by the Bay. "I got a dress for the Benefield dinner."

"Oh, let's see," Dottie exclaimed.

The event, two weeks away, was a fancy dinner to celebrate the retirement of Odell Benefield, Justin's old boss at Sunbelt, with whom he'd maintained contact and friendship after the company's massive layoffs. Not a formal event, but dressy nonetheless, scheduled for the Gold Room at the Bayside Resort. Justin was going to say a few words to honor the retiree.

Briana pulled the little black dress she'd bought out of the bag and held it up to her front. "What do you think?" It was elegant in its simplicity, the crepe skirt flaring slightly from an empire waist banded in dull satin and ending just above her knees. Between cap sleeves, the wide scoop neck looked perfectly designed to showcase a necklace.

"Oh, that's lovely. The two of you are going to look so beautiful."

Briana carefully folded the dress back into the bag and glanced at an unfamiliar vehicle out front.

"Dottie, whose truck is that?"

"Belongs to Les Waters. He's in with Justin."

"Oh." Briana recognized the name. He was a field adjuster for south Alabama. Though she hadn't met him, or talked by phone, the two of them had communicated by e-mail regularly when he turned in his claims and monthly reports.

She took her purse and shopping bag to her desk and logged in on her computer. Almost immediately, her messenger popped open.

Come in here.

An odd feeling took hold of Briana, the feeling something was wrong. No Hey, sugar, no Please ma'am. She went to Justin's door, opened it hesitantly and stepped inside.

"Shut the door and sit down," he said grimly. His face was like thunder, and Briana's skin prickled. Les occupied the chair where she usually sat so she took the other one.

"This is Les Waters. Don't think you've met."

Briana nodded to Les, who looked back at her with a neutral expression.

"Les knows a lot of people in Mobile. He was telling me what he just heard from one of them...that an employee of a consumer watchdog group over there recently got a job in an insurance claims office in Pensacola."

Briana froze, scarcely able to breathe.

"The purpose," Justin continued, "was to spy on the owner of the business and look for evidence of insurance fraud. You know anything about that?"

She was completely silent, frozen except for the tears that pooled in her eyes.

"I think that's an answer." He looked thoroughly disgusted and transferred his gaze to Les. "We can get together and talk some other time."

Les got the point. He nodded and left.

Justin's eyes cut back to Briana, coldness in their depth. "I want to be alone."

She suddenly came to life, sobbing as tears flowed down her face. "Justin, I'm sorry." she pleaded "Please let me explain."

"I said I want to be alone. Shut the door on your way out."

*****

Justin worked steadily, mindlessly, until hunger finally drove him out of his office around three. Briana's desk was vacant and he went to Dottie.

"Where's Briana?"

Dottie shrugged. "She came out of your office looking like a statue and got her purse and her new dress and left without a word. I thought you'd sent her on an unpleasant errand somewhere." Dottie gazed at him with concern. "What's going on?"

"I'm going home."

*****

He first went to the driving range and spent an undetermined amount of time there thwacking ball after ball, then changed and went to the track at Pensacola Junior College and ran until he could barely lift his feet. When he stopped at Double Jacks for a carryout pizza, and a vision of Briana's sweet face saying, "Delicious," rose in his mind's eye, he slammed his fist into the seat back beside him..

For the next twenty-four hours, he rode an emotional roller coaster; one hour hyper, filled with sparking anger and indignation, the next emotionally exhausted, bewildered and hurt.

How could she do that to me? How could she pretend to care?

Saturday evening, he sprawled on the leatherette sofa and flipped channels on the muted television, pausing finally on some idiotic reality show that couldn't possibly be as crazy as his own life right now.

Supe hopped up and curled next to him.

"How could she do that to us?" Justin murmured as he lightly scratched the cat's cheeks. It was almost a week ago on this very spot that they had taken each other to the brink of passion. After years of refusal to trust accompanied by growing loneliness, after years of guarding his heart, he had finally opened it, and look what happened. Like a sap \-- and not a Southern American Prince, but the prince of dupes -- he'd told her he loved her, he'd told her why. And believed her when she said she loved him.

His heart ached, his throat ached, his eyes stung.

He fell into exhausted sleep, but it was shallow and provided him no rest or rejuvenation. Sunday morning at church, he couldn't concentrate on a word the preacher said. His mind was busy. He kept going over every moment he and Briana had spent together.

He remembered how she'd been at first -- giggly, nervous, and he'd had attributed it to simply being in a new job. But he had watched her relax and change, witnessed the genuine caring that came to her, had seen love in her eyes.

It came to him suddenly.

She wasn't pretending.

She had abandoned her mission; that was why she'd been so fearful of Eddie.

He went home after church and changed clothes, hastily powered up his netbook to check his email before...

... before you go to her and apologize, you cur.

He was surprised to see an email from her with no subject. He clicked it open.

Justin,

Now you know that I came to Pensacola to catch a criminal, a fraud, a liar.

What you may not know is that I realized within days that you are a man of integrity and honor. I've never known anyone as deep-down good as you are and I couldn't help but care about you.

So it turns out that I am the only fraud and liar around here. I don't know if what I've done is a crime, but it is surely a sin and I don't think I'll ever be able to live it down.

I've been so scared you would find out and hate me. But now you know, and I'm too cowardly to face you and admit my duplicity to you in person, too guilty, too ashamed to look you in the eye.

I am so sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me, I'll never forgive myself. But I am truly, deeply sorry.

I love you.

Briana

He flew to her apartment. Her Blazer wasn't there, and something about the place didn't feel right. There were no plants, no wind chimes. The back porch was bare except for the patio set.

He strode to the back door and peered through slits in the mini blinds. It was empty inside except for the major furniture that the landlord supplied.

She was gone.

Sorrow and alarm pinched him in an excruciating grip as he remembered their last moments together. Her plea, I'm so sorry, please let me explain, and his own cold, hurtful response, I want to be alone. Shut the door on your way out.

She was gone because he had sent her away.

He stepped to the apartment next door and lifted a fist, goaded by urgency to bang on the door, but he composed himself at the last moment and knocked sedately. The door opened and a petite, dark-haired woman with a toddler at her side looked out at him.

"My name is Justin Adair," he said as calmly as he could. "I'm looking for Briana Farrior, who lives next door."

The woman looked at him noncommittally and lifted a shoulder.

"Do you know her?" he asked.

"Not really. She gave me rides to the supermarket and laundromat a few times."

"Did you know she left?"

The woman nodded. "Late yesterday."

"Where?"

She compressed her lips.

Justin took an uneven breath, forced himself to remain calm and say or do nothing that could be interpreted as anger or menace. "We had a misunderstanding. She wanted to explain and I wouldn't let her. All I want to do is talk to her. I promise I'm not going to hurt her."

Her eyes darted around his face and stopped when their gaze met. "I believe you."

"Then please tell me where she went."

"I don't know. She just said home."

He nodded. "Thank you."

Back behind the wheel of his vehicle, he powered on his netbook and searched for every Farrior in the white pages of Covington County, Alabama. There were three in Holly Bend. He would start there.

*****

Her Blazer, filled to the roof with boxes, was parked to the side of the driveway at the first house he went to, a typical brick ranch found in subdivisions everywhere, but the neighborhood that surrounded him was not a subdivision. Situated near the end of a cul-de-sac, the house and its neighbors backed up to a rolling green meadow where cows grazed. Far in the distance stood the rim of a dark pine forest.

It was quiet except for the hum of central air conditioning units, the kind of Sunday afternoon in summer where heat seemed to shimmer in the air and sent people to take refuge inside their cool, dim homes. Hardly a breath stirred. It felt like the days before an approaching hurricane, only in this case, for him, the cyclone was emotional.

Justin went to the door and rang the bell. A nice looking woman in her mid-forties in casual wear answered the door. The family resemblance was unmistakable -- the same streaky brown hair and blue eyes, the same delicate features as the one he loved. He could be looking at Briana twenty years from now.

"My name is Justin Adair. I'm Briana's employer. I need to talk to her."

The woman regarded him briefly and said, "I'm her mother, Linda. Come in, have a seat. I'll tell her you're here."

"Thank you." Justin didn't sit. He watched Linda Farrior step into a hallway off the back of the living room and disappear. He wondered how much she knew, what had Briana told her, and what she thought of him.

Moments passed. He heard no conversation from the other parts of the house. He looked around the room, his attention pulled toward the mantle, which showcased photos of Briana and her sister in various stages of childhood. Southern American Princesses, indeed. Precious little girls. Emotion welled up in his chest and tightened it just as he heard a noise behind him.

He turned to look and his heart nearly broke.

She was standing barely a step into the room clad in a rumpled shirt and capri pants of pastel plaid. Her eyes were red and swollen, the skin around them a splotchy pink. Her face had the pinched look of fatigue and sleeplessness and her expression was so woebegone, it alarmed him. Although she was looking in his direction, she was not looking at him.

What have I done to you?

Pain and concerned etched his face and he stepped toward her. "Briana."

She wouldn't meet his eyes.

He swallowed, painfully because his throat was so constricted. "Thank you for sending me that email. That kind of admission takes guts, even in a letter."

She glanced up briefly, no doubt surprised by the compassion in his voice. It wasn't an affectation. It came from his heart.

"I'm so sorry." She grimaced and muttered, "Stupid words, useless words. They can't make up for what I've done." Tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped them away impatiently.

"They're not useless. They tell me you care. The way I've been behaving, I'm pretty sure you don't realize how much that means to me."

She stared at him, mystified. "Don't you get it?" she quavered shrilly. "Don't you understand what I tried to do to you? I was sent to take down your company and ruin you."

He was silent a moment, allowing time for her outburst to dissipate. With a voice as calm as hers had been agitated, he said, "You know you didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of success, don't you? First, I haven't done anything wrong and second, you're too honest yourself. You couldn't lie your way out of a paper bag and that makes you totally inept as a corporate spy."

"Yes, but the point is, that's what I came to do, and I tried."

"Not very hard, though. Your heart wasn't in it. Your heart is in...me. Us."

"You sent me away," she whispered. "And I don't blame you."

"I didn't mean it like you took it," he said, growing mildly exasperated when she made no reply. "Briana, listen to me. I want you to give me a chance that I didn't give you. I want to explain something. Will you listen?"

She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no, either.

He stepped to the couch and took a seat . "Come on, let's sit down."

She followed, sitting as close to the end as possible to leave plenty of space between them and looking at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"When Les told me and you confirmed it, I was so mad. I was furious. 'How could she do that,' I thought."

He laughed, incredulous even now.

"I was hurt. Insulted. My pride lacerated. Until Saturday night, time we would have spent together...My anger, my pride, my righteous indignation -- they all abandoned me and I missed you so much."

Her eyes were still trained on her white-knuckled fingers laced tightly together. Clearly, she wasn't going to reply, so he continued.

"I thought back over the whole time you worked for me. I didn't know you came to me with a mission of spying, but once I knew, I could look back and see that you abandoned it. You came to believe in me, gave your loyalty to me."

She shook her head. "Justin, you're too good. I was sent to bring down a fraud, a liar and a criminal. Didn't you read my email? I'm the fraud, I'm the liar. I lied to you about so many things. A lot of stuff on my resume was fudged, so you'd be impressed enough to hire me. I-- I've never had an aunt, or any other family, in Pensacola. Do you know what kind of work I did at my uncle's insurance agency one summer? Cheerleader car washes in the parking lot."

He remained calm, so she would understand that her confession did not shock or surprise him. "I'd like to ask a question. I think I deserve that much."

Eyes closed, she nodded.

"Were you lying when you said you love me?"

Seconds stretched out, thinned in the air. She sat unmoving, not even breathing.

"Were you?"

Her voice squeaked with her unsuccessful effort to suppress a sob. "No."

Her quiet weeping mingled with a brief, soft laugh of happiness in Justin's throat. "That's the only question that matters to me right now, and the only answer. That's all we need for you to stay so we can work through the rest of it."

"How could I stay after what I've done?"

"Well, there is something we could try, you know, and just see if it works."

She looked at him for the first time since they'd sat down. He moved closer to her and rested his arm lightly across her shoulders. "I was thinking we could try this. I could forgive you and you could accept my forgiveness. And you could forgive me and I could accept yours. Then we could just...love each other and go from there."

She covered her eyes with her hand and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Briana. We have a choice to make. I had to decide which I wanted most -- you, or my indignation and my pride. And when I realized my choices, I didn't even have to think. My pride isn't going to watch TV with me and eat pizza with me. It isn't going to cuddle up with me, warm and sweet and soft. It isn't going to laugh with me, or stand beside me, and see me through. Now you have to decide whether you'd rather hold onto your guilt and shame -- or to me. But realize something. Your guilt and shame don't love you. I do. I love you."

He could see that she wanted to let go, to free herself of guilt, to accept his forgiveness and love, but she couldn't take that final leap.

He pulled her to him and closed his eyes. Her upheaval traveled into his body by emotional osmosis and he was nearly overcome, too.

But he refused to be pulled into her pain and sorrow and regret. His intention was to overcome them, obliterate them with joy and optimism, with commitment and love so strong she wouldn't be able to resist.

"Briana. I know it's hard for you to get past the fact that you came to me on a mission of deception. But think, sweetheart. It doesn't seem likely that we would have met any other way. Does it?"

That proved to be the clincher. It took only seconds for her resistance to crumble and she circled her arms around him, clung tightly to him. As she calmed, Justin opened his eyes to see a shadow in the door to the hallway followed by Briana's mother looking in on them with concern. He nodded to her and gave her a serene, reassuring smile. "She's all right."

Linda looked relieved, bobbed her head and stepped away.

When at last they separated, Justin stroked Briana's hair back from her face. "I think you could use some sleep."

Chapter Seventeen

In the room that had been hers since grade school, Briana toed off her canvas slip-ons, lay on the mauve quilted bedspread and tucked her feet under a fluffy crocheted afghan lying folded at the foot of the bed. Justin moved a chair from a student desk to the side of the bed and sat next to her. They talked softly, making plans for going back to Pensacola in the morning. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep.

After a while, Linda stepped quietly through the door and looked at her daughter.

"It's good to see her getting some sleep."

She glanced at Justin and left the room. He followed her to the kitchen.

"I'm going out for a burger. If she wakes up while I'm gone, please tell her I'll be right back."

"You haven't had dinner?"

"I left to come up here right after church and I...wasn't hungry at the time."

"Why don't you let me make you a sandwich? Ham and cheese, chips, sweet tea."

"That sounds good but I don't want to be any trouble."

"It's no trouble. I was going to make sandwiches for Briana's father and me, anyway. There was pot luck after church today, but we didn't stay long enough to eat much. Have a seat."

Linda busied herself for a few minutes and what she put on the table to go with the sandwiches on their plates was more than just a snack -- macaroni salad, cold baked beans, tomato slices. Southern comfort food, the kind Justin had grown up with and still loved.

"Jim," Linda called. "Food's ready."

Jim Farrior ambled in from the den, off the back of the kitchen. Of medium height, thickening only slightly around the middle, with the temples of his dark hair beginning to gray, he still carried a touch of the high school athlete in his bearing. Briana had told Justin he was a partner in a successful heating and air conditioning company in Andalusia.

Justin stood and the men shook hands as Linda made introductions.

Jim pulled out a chair and sat. "Where's Sparky?"

"She's sleeping," Linda said. "Finally."

"That's good."

Justin firmed his lips to suppress a smile at the nickname. Ten to one Jim Farrior had given his daughter that moniker when she was a little girl, and what scenarios of their father-daughter relationship it evinced.

Sparky. My girl Sparky.

Jim spoke a quick blessing. The silence that ensued around the table was broken now and then with comments on the food, the weather, current events but as the impromptu late lunch wound down, Linda said to Justin, "I want to thank you for coming to see Briana. I was getting concerned. I didn't know what to do for her. She was just ... inconsolable."

"I don't know what she's told you, but I bear the responsibility for most of it. I intend to make it up to her, or to try to." He screwed his mouth to the side. "If she'll let me."

"Going by what she told us, she was the one responsible. Getting the job at your company under false pretenses. Abandoning her watchdog assignment because she no longer believed in it, but not coming clean with you about it. Then, when the two of you...began to develop a...relationship, it really preyed on her."

"Just so you'll know," Jim said gruffly, "that kind of deception goes against everything we tried to teach our girls when they were growing up."

Linda nodded, her face troubled. "It's mystifying to us why she would do that. At the same time, it's distressing to see her so miserable."

"It is to me, too," Justin said. "I want her to come back to Pensacola right away. Tomorrow, after she's rested and slept. She said she wasn't able to reach her landlord to tell him she was leaving, so she can move back into her apartment with no problem. My staff and I need her back at work as soon as possible. I think it would go a long way toward normalizing her life and her feelings."

Linda gave him a puzzled look. "You're being very magnanimous about all this."

Justin nodded, his smile a touch melancholy. "I depend on her in my work, I want and need her in my life. I--" he cleared his throat "--care about her, so much. And I'm convinced she feels the same way about me."

He looked at the two concerned faces before him and added, "She's a fine woman. You did a great job raising her. She may have a little growing up left to do, but that's not a big problem. As for what's going on now, she made a mistake, that's all. And she's more than paid for it."

*****

Someday, he would get to the bottom of this matter, Justin resolved as he retrieved his netbook from his vehicle and took it to Briana's room. Together they would go to Guardian and confront her old boss, the one responsible for sending her on this bogus mission, and find out the reason for it.

But he wanted her to be confident of his love and forgiveness first, and that might take some time. If they had to wait a while to solve the mystery, so be it. The important thing was that they never come so close to losing each other, ever again.

*****

It was after seven and the girlish bedroom was growing dim in sunset shadows when Justin noticed Briana stirring beneath the afghan just as Linda Farrior came to the door and told him supper was ready.

He nodded, closed his netbook and set it aside -- he hadn't been doing anything but surfing, anyway -- as Linda took a step into the room to look at her daughter.

He went to the bed and sat on the edge, and both mother and lover gazed down at Briana's face in the dimness.

"She had a good nap," Justin observed, "but she slept very deep and hard. I hope she doesn't wake up with a headache."

"Probably won't," Linda said. "She hardly ever gets headaches."

Briana stirred again and opened her eyes to see his face hovering above her, gasped softly and whispered, "Justin."

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, a tender smile on his face. He leaned down to kiss her and caress her cheek. "How do you feel?"

"I feel okay."

"Good. Your mama here just told me supper's on the table. I'll bet you're starving."

Briana turned her head to look past him and said, "Hey, Mama."

"Hey, darlin'. I made chicken-fried steak."

"Oh, that sounds good. Yes, I am hungry." She pushed herself up and sat next to Justin, smoothed her sleep-tousled hair and rumpled clothes. "I'm a mess."

"You're cute as pie," Justin teased, pulling her to him to kiss her cheek. "Let's go eat."

At the table, plans were finalized for Briana's return to Pensacola. Justin would stay in the guest room tonight; tomorrow, the pair would return to the coast in his vehicle. Linda would follow in the Blazer and help her daughter unpack while Justin checked in at the office. Jim would travel to Pensacola after work to bring Linda home.

*****

Tuesday after work, Briana unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside with her purse across her shoulder, keys in one hand and several plastic grocery bags dangling from the other.

Everything was back to normal. Yesterday, between herself and her mother -- and Justin, before he went home to shower and change and go to the office -- unpacking had gone swiftly and smoothly. Now, except for the empty boxes on the back porch, it was as if she'd never been away, as if the whole horrible weekend had not happened.

Justin. I love you so much.

It was wonderful to slip back into her beautiful routine, with Justin at the center.

After supper, she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone to call her mother and grunted in exasperation when she saw that the battery was dead. How long, she wondered. She plugged in the AC power supply to see if she'd missed any calls and found she had one voice mail waiting. She brought the phone to her ear and went through the access menu to retrieve a call that had come in at five minutes after five, less than an hour ago.

"Briana. Sylvia. I need to get that envelope I gave you. As soon as possible. Call me."

She sat very still for a few moments as a chill went through her. She hastily unplugged the phone to stop the battery recharge and snatched up her purse. In ten minutes, she was standing in Benny's Dollar Store looking over a collection of cell phones in blister packs and a rack of cards for prepaid minutes. She studied them enough to make a choice -- a basic phone with the fewest bells and whistles and a sixty-dollar card. Her new number would go out to everyone who needed it first thing tomorrow.

Just before bed, she powered up her laptop to check for e-mail or messages from Justin and look over the weather forecast. There was nothing from Justin but she had little time for disappointment because there was something in her in-box that both annoyed and dismayed her. From silwat@jubemail.com.

Her brows lowered and her lips compressed as she petulantly considered deleting the offensive thing unread, but in the end, fear and curiosity spurred her to click it open.

Briana, this is important. I need those papers I brought you. It's very important. I will come get them. Contact me ASAP. Sylvia.

Breathing shallowly through flared nostrils, she clicked Reply and typed, I don't have them. Please don't call me or e-mail me again.

Send.

*****

Hand in hand, talking softly and laughing, Justin and Briana ambled through the deepening twilight, up the driveway past her vehicle. They had just left Hector's, where most of the office gang had dined on Italian cuisine and celebrated Martha Ann's fiftieth birthday with homemade coconut cake.

"She made a good choice of restaurants," Justin observed. "Hector's only serves fettuccine Pensacola on Mondays. Too bad we had to cut it short."

Justin had hosted the event, along with Martha Ann's daughter. But because it was a weeknight -- and because Tropical Storm Fay was beginning to nudge the Florida Keys on its way to the easternmost section of Gulf States' claim territory -- everyone, including the guest of honor, chose to make it an early evening.

"We can continue the celebration at the office tomorrow," he added.

"Is Fay a bad storm?" Briana asked as they neared the apartment. The back porch light had burned out and they trod carefully trough the unaccustomed shadows.

"It's a more-rain-than-wind storm right now--" Justin stopped in his tracks and Briana looked up at him in surprise. His eyes were fixed on the back door, which stood ajar several inches.

"I closed and locked that," Briana began, "I know I did. How--"

"Hush up and get behind me," he said softly, and Briana did. He carefully pushed the door open and stiffened. He reached inside the door, flipped a light switch and the kitchen overhead came on. She tilted her head to see past him and covered her mouth to silence a gasp.

The apartment was in shambles, the contents of drawers and cabinets strewn in heaps on the floor, chairs overturned, sofa cushions tossed about.

Justin took a step back and reached behind him to take Briana's arm. He turned and ushered her to the driveway and tersely ordered her, "Get in the car."

She climbed into the 4Runner while he opened the console and took out a squat, stocky pistol so small his hand seemed to swallow it. He took keys from his pocket and inserted one into the ignition.

"Wait here. Keep the doors locked until I come back."

Too frightened to breathe normally, Briana watched him return to the back door and disappear. She saw the lights go on in her bedroom and bath.

Get out, please. Come back. Come back to me.

In a few moments, as if he heard her, his silhouette filled the back door and he walked to her. She punched the button that unlocked the doors and he slid behind the wheel. He returned the pistol to the console, opened his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"My name is Justin Adair. A-D-A-I-R. I need to report a break-in with vandalism of personal property. The address is 604-B Trussell Street. It's a duplex apartment, west side. The tenant is my girlfriend, Briana Farrior... Yes... Yes... We'll be in my vehicle, a blue 2005 4Runner, in the driveway. All right, thanks."

He flipped the phone shut and dropped it into his shirt pocket. "Probably take them forty-five minutes to get here." He looked across at her frightened expression and trembling hands and his terse, take-charge manner evaporated. "Ah, sweetheart." He put his arms around her and pulled her as close as the console allowed. "Gotta get a vehicle without one of these," he muttered as he stroked her hair. "Don't be scared. It'll be all right."

But she couldn't stop her tears and she moved away from him to avert her face and brush at her eyes. At length, she said, "It was probably Eddie."

He looked at her sharply. "What makes you think that?"

"He was probably looking for something."

"What?"

"That day we measured your house, I came home and Sylvia was here. She had an envelope for me and told me to keep it until I heard from her. She said it had evidence against you in it. I said what evidence but she wouldn't say; I don't think she knew. I was going to burn it because I didn't want to know what was in it. But then I thought maybe you'd want it or need it some day, so I put it in a safe place."

His brows pulled together but he kept his voice calm. "Where'd you put it?"

"In a safe deposit box at Cornerstone Bank in Andalusia. That was where I went the day I took off work."

"Did you read what was in it?"

"No."

Justin pulled his nose and ran a fist across his lips, unable to completely suppress his exasperation. "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me about this when we were at your parents' house?"

"You'd already forgiven me for so much. I didn't know if this might...exceed your capacity and make you not love me anymore."

He pursed his lips and blinked a couple of times. "I'm a little put out with you right now," he conceded, "but I'll get over it. Anger's a feeling; feelings come and go. But love is constant and steadfast, and the capacity to forgive is limitless. Oh, come on, don't cry. We need to talk."

She brushed tears off her cheeks, swallowed hard, cleared her throat. "All right."

"Briana, try to understand. Somebody wants to ruin me. Destroy my company, my ability to make a living. Maybe send me to prison. They're trying to use you and people at your old job to do it. I really need you to not hold out on me anymore."

"Okay, I won't."

He pulled her to him again and kissed her temple. "Here's what's going to happen. After the police get done, I want you to gather a few things, whatever you'll need for a couple of days. We'll lock up your apartment and you'll stay at my place tonight. First thing tomorrow, we drive to Andalusia and get the envelope. Tonight or tomorrow, you call your landlord, tell him what happened and ask him to change the locks and install deadbolts."

She nodded.

"And if you remember anything, no matter how insignificant it seems, you'll tell me."

"Yes, I'll tell you."

She shuddered in his arms and the remnants of his anger evaporated. "Don't be afraid, Sparky. I won't let anything happen to you."

*****

Except for the slight dampness in the air, Briana left the hall bath exactly as she found it, glancing about a moment before stepping out. It looked nice in here, if she did say so herself. What had been a room of unrelieved whiteness before her decorating project was now warmed with cafe-au-lait walls above the white tile, rich beige towels stacked upon shelves above the commode and a light brown woven rug on the floor.

Justin had said no frou-frou and she'd taken him at his word. The only decorations were a couple of Audubon prints of birds native to the Gulf Coast in wood frames and a squat fishbowl full of seashells beside the towels.

Dressed in khaki capri pants and a navy pullover of soft jersey, she stepped across the hallway to put her discarded clothes in her suitcase.

Earlier, while Justin showered and changed in the master bath -- the one room he liked as it was and allowed no changes to -- she had called her landlord about changing the locks and filled him in on the break-in, assuring him that only her possessions had been targeted, not his building or furniture. She promised to make a copy of the police report for him and ended the call on a positive tone, despite still being somewhat rattled.

Although now that she thought about it, she was probably just as rattled to be here in Justin's house, intending to sleep here, as she was by the break-in.

Hearing noises in the kitchen, she slipped into her favorite canvas flats and went to him. Clad in shorts and a T-shirt, clunky leather thongs on his feet -- his relaxing-at-home uniform -- he looked up with a smile as he took a bag of hot popcorn out of the microwave oven, gingerly opened it and poured the steamy kernels into a large bowl.

She inhaled deeply. "Yummy. It smells like a movie theater in here."

"Hey, sweetheart. Grab the glasses and bring them to the den." He tilted his head toward a pair of tumblers filled with tea and ice cubes on the counter.

Seated close together on the leatherette couch, they sipped and munched as Justin thumbed the remote control looking for something interesting to watch. They settled on the last quarter of an old movie and when it ended, Briana took the empty glasses and bowl to the kitchen and washed them. Justin stayed on the couch, his now bare feet propped on the coffee table, watching her with half-closed eyes, a slight smile on his lips.

"What?" she said, a touch self-conscious.

"Come here."

She sat next to him and he took her in a tender embrace. "I could get used to seeing you in my house," he murmured.

A thrill traveled through her at lightning speed.

Does he mean...

"I probably should wait until this problem is over, this situation with whoever tried to use you to frame me. Probably ought to wait until hurricane season's over, too. But I want you to know now. I love you and I want you to marry me. Will you?"

She stared at his face, mesmerized by its beauty, by his eyes of love, amber now in the mellow light from the table lamp. "Oh."

His brow wrinkled. "I hope that means yes."

"Oh, it does." She broke into a huge smile. "Yes, it means yes." Her delighted words were followed by the tinkling laughter he had told her, more than once, that he loved. Her arms went around his neck and they held each other tightly.

"We'll make a formal announcement as soon as we can. I want to put a big rock on your finger so everybody will know you're mine. How does a spring wedding sound?"

"Wonderful." Her eyes fastened on his lips and, reading her wishes, he kissed her long and sweetly.

"We probably ought to turn in pretty soon," he said between kisses. "Need to leave about seven to be there when the bank opens. We'll go through a drive-through for biscuits on the way up."

"Sounds good," she whispered and reluctantly pulled away from him.

He stroked her lips with his thumb. "Early spring. Real early."

She rested her head on his shoulder. His breath tickled her hair and he stirred slightly as he pressed buttons on the remote control.

The Weather Channel came on the screen. Tropical Storm Fay was still far away, down in the Keys.

Justin murmured, "The ECMWF is predicting that storm will cross the state, move into the Atlantic and then veer westward across the panhandle. Let's hope not."

"What's ECMWF?"

"The European Center for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts. They have a reputation as one of the most accurate forecasting bodies on the planet, so we're probably in for a lot of rain and possible flooding in a few days."

There were no other storms on the horizon, just a tropical wave trying to form off Cape Verde. Justin narrowed his eyes.

"We need to keep an eye on that one, too," he said. "At this time of year, that place, Cape Verde, is where monster storms are born."

He turned off the television and followed Briana down the hall. At the door to the guest room, he stood and gazed at her, his eyes gleaming. "Maybe a late winter wedding. Good night, Sparky."

*****

At midmorning the next day, Briana and Justin left Cornerstone Bank and strode across the parking lot to his vehicle. Justin handed her his keys and said, "You drive. Let me have that."

She handed him the envelope and they headed south, back to Pensacola.

After he studied the contents for a few minutes in silence, Briana said, "What are they?"

"They're documents from Sunbelt claim files, from claims I worked in Birmingham." He looked at Briana. "Your boss over there told you I had committed insurance fraud, right? Did she say how?"

"No. But Guardian is a consumer watchdog, so I just assumed they meant you were doing policyholders out of their claim money some way."

"There's nothing in these documents that would indicate that. They're mostly contractor estimates and claim recaps showing a breakdown of the pay out."

He studied them all the way back to Pensacola and was as mystified when they arrived at the office as he was when he first opened the envelope.

He laid the envelope on Briana's desk. "Make copies of those. Three sets. But first call Dave Kane, tell him I need to see him ASAP; this afternoon, if possible, or tomorrow at the latest. I want you to go with me and tell him everything. Everything."

Chapter Eighteen

The Pleasure Isle Casino wasn't as grand as some in Biloxi and it didn't take Eddie long to find Larry strutting around in his security guard uniform.

"I got things to tell you," Eddie said.

"I'm on duty."

Eddie compressed his lips. "Do you know how much work I've missed doing these penny-ante jobs for you?"

Larry stared at him a moment and said, "Go wait for me in the coffee shop."

Eddie went to the espresso bar, well away from the gaming floor and sparsely patronized at the moment, ordered an overpriced beer and thought back over the past couple of days. Larry was not going to like his report, not a bit.

After trashing Briana's apartment and not finding the papers, he'd returned to his vehicle, Larry's ten-year-old silver Honda -- this was no job for his own memorable orange metal-flake Explorer -- and slid behind the wheel. It was in a perfect parking place, a nearby residential driveway of an unoccupied house with a for sale sign in the yard. Hidden by the shadows of overgrown shrubs, he watched the evening unfold -- the arrival of the lovey-dovey couple, discovery, police visit, departure. He'd driven by Adair's house just as the pair were emerging from his vehicle to go inside.

Larry showed up and broke him out of his reverie. The older man slid into the booth across from him as a waitress brought Eddie's beer and took Larry's order. When they were alone, Eddie gave a terse recap and ended with a look of juvenile triumph.

"I told you that sooner or later they'd be all-nighting together."

Larry's attitude turned grim, his fury barely contained. "Cut the commentary. Just report."

Eddie had stayed at a budget motel between Pineglades and a seedy, semi-commercial area skirting downtown. He'd got up early the next morning to follow them to the office and watch from a distance, but the 4Runner wasn't at Justin's house. He drove by the office but it wasn't there, either. He drove the circuit between the office, Adair's house and Briana's apartment several times that morning with no luck. The 4Runner finally showed up at the office just after noon. Eddie found a parking place at a nearby fast food restaurant, took a burger lunch back to the Honda and settled down to eat and wait.

"It was around three o'clock when they came out of the office and left in Adair's SUV. Briana was carrying a big envelope."

He had followed them to Twelfth Avenue, to a restored Victorian mansion that now housed the law offices of Bridges, McWilliams and Kane, P.A. The pair had not left until almost six o'clock.

"I told you your dreams of revenge was going down the toilet," Eddie said, cackling. "If your hacker called you because there's something wrong with them documents, you can't do nothing about it now. A freaking lawyer has 'em and your goose is cooked."

A slight frown came to Larry's face, as if he suddenly smelled something bad. Eddie figured it was from the realization that Adair was untouchable. Well, he was unframeable, anyway, and Larry's dreams of revenge were, indeed, turning to ashes in front of his eyes.

"There's more than one road to vengeance," Larry said and the look on his face put an abrupt end to Eddie's mirth.

*****

On the flat-screen television in the conference room at Gulf States Insurance Services, Tropical Storm Fay was a swirling spiral blob superimposed over an outline of the state of Florida. Justin and his staff, seated around the table, watched the animated loop for a few moments.

Since Monday, when the storm made landfall at Naples, true to predictions, it had angled to the northeast across the peninsula headed for the Atlantic with a track following the east coast just offshore. Now, at midday Thursday, it approached a high pressure ridge that would steer it westward.

"That cutback to the west is probably going to happen late tonight or tomorrow," Justin observed.

"It's crazy, though," Rod muttered. "What kind of tropical storm strengthens over land?"

While crossing the peninsula, Fay had reached almost hurricane intensity, greater strength than it had developed anywhere over water. It had even formed an eye.

"If nothing steers it away from us we'll get lots of rain over the weekend," Justin added. "Not much wind or storm surge, though. Nobody's expecting policy dumps to be needed."

When a hurricane was headed for Gulf States claim territory, certain procedures were set in motion by the four major property and casualty insurers that subcontracted claim handling to Justin's company. One of the most crucial procedures was a dump to Gulf States' server all coverage information for policyholders with property in the affected area.

Normally, individual policy and coverage information accompanied new claim files that were downloaded each day, but when long-term, widespread power and communications outages were anticipated, the information was transmitted en masse and well ahead of time because without it, not a single claim check could be issued, not even the standard, thousand-dollar emergency advance.

"At least, we won't need them for Fay," Justin added. "But that one -- who knows?"

On the screen, the view had changed to a computerized depiction of the Atlantic Ocean and the eastern portion of North America. The Cape Verde tropical wave from two days before was now a tropical storm named Kathy churning about a thousand miles east of Tobago. The predicted three-day track had it entering the Caribbean and staying over water. Where it was going from there, nobody was guessing.

"I don't like to wish trouble on other folks," Gil Anderson said, "but I think we need to be on our knees praying that that sucker heads for the Yucatan or Texas."

"Or gets weak if it comes here," Dottie countered.

"That'd work, too," Justin said. "I'm sending Briana to the county emergency preparedness office to pick up our SERT ID badges this afternoon, just in case."

Briana made a note on her tablet and glanced at Justin. "What did you say that stands for?"

"State emergency response team," Justin said. "The kind we get are for our vehicles. They're hangers for the rear-view mirror; lets us into places closed to the general public." He glanced around the table. "The LP tank's full and I'm going to test the generator this afternoon. The backup server in Montgomery that System Solutions set up for us has worked perfectly, but if we have to backup policy dumps, it might slow way down. Everybody keep that in mind."

"Good work, boss," Rod said. "I got a bad feeling about Kathy."

"So do I," Justin said somberly. "That's it for now, folks. Let's get ready for Kathy and hope the preparations prove unnecessary." His eyes, amber in the conference room light, darted around the table. "Y'all are great. I couldn't ask for a better bunch. I appreciate you more than you know."

*****

Throughout the day Saturday, the torrential rain from Tropical Storm Fay had gradually diminished and there was a good chance it would cease by early evening when guests would assemble at Bayside Resort for Odell Benefield's retirement dinner.

Still, there was no guarantee. Briana was strongly disinclined to wear her business-casual raincoat to such a dressy event and after lunch she braved the weather for a drive to the mall. Although dreary and messy, tropical downpours weren't scary like thunderstorms. No thunder and lightning to set off her phobia.

After an hour of going shop to shop, she found the perfect raincoat, gray silk, elegant in its simplicity and long enough to almost reach her ankles. Her dependable clear bubble umbrella would shelter her head. The only problem left was keeping her fancy, satin shoes dry.

Justin had a novel solution for that when he arrived to pick her up. Beneath a black umbrella and a long tan raincoat, he wore a navy suit, crisp white shirt and navy silk tie. He looked so handsome he took her breath away and it took a moment for his suggestion to sink in.

"What did you say?"

He gave her a teasing grin. "I said put plastic bags over your feet. Or, you could wear other shoes until you get inside and then put on your dressy shoes."

"But I couldn't fit the extra pair in here." She held up her dainty black purse.

"Exactly. But once inside, you can throw away the plastic bags."

She went to the kitchen and opened the sink cabinet where a plastic grocery bag hanging on a cup hook filled with others of its kind awaited a trip to the recycling bins at the supermarket. She pulled out a handful of rustling plastic and separated the bags. "How would you tie them, to make them stay?"

"Well, let's see. C'mere." He took a chair at the dinette table and she sat facing him. He held a bag open and she daintily put her foot inside.

"Look at that," he said in mock surprise. "It's a perfect fit. So you're the princess who came to my fancy dress ball, got me all hot and bothered and then ran away at midnight."

"Oh, you. You handsome prince." She leaned forward to take his face in her hands and kiss him.

He nuzzled her face. "That is sweet. But back to business."

He turned his attention to the plastic encasing her foot. "It needs to be twisted like this, so it will fit tight against your shoes and ankles. You got any tape?"

"There's some cellophane tape in my desk drawer."

Justin stepped to the computer desk and retrieved the tape. In minutes, her feet were snugly protected and, umbrellas aloft, they stepped into the rainy darkness.

*****

While Justin checked their raincoats and umbrellas, Briana slipped into the ladies room off the lobby at Bayside Resort and quickly removed the plastic bags from her feet. He was waiting for her when she stepped out. Affection and appreciate displayed plainly on his face as he held out his hand and took hers, lacing their fingers loosely.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart."

She smiled her thanks, not sure she could speak without quavering, because she believed him. She had always believed herself to possess a certain cuteness -- SAPs were not ugly -- but Justin made her feel truly beautiful, as crazy as at sounded. As beautiful as he was handsome.

What a thrill to walk beside him, both of them clad in splendid apparel, toward the gathering in the Gold Room, to watch him in a social situation of such elegance. It was both thrilling and sobering to have him introduce her with such evident affection and pride.

The room was filled with stylishly skirted round tables beautifully set. One of the tables, centered on an elevated platform, was reserved for the guest of honor and hosts from Sunbelt. Those tables closest to it were reserved for special guests and speakers such as Justin.

Their table mates were the Kemps and Gil Anderson. Other Gulf States employees with past connections to Sunbelt were at adjacent tables. The roast beef dinner was delicious, the company enjoyable, and Justin was, as usual, almost too wonderful to believe.

He'd jokingly worried about flubbing his speech and Briana was a little apprehensive for him when he walked to the tabletop podium at the Guest of Honor table. But when he began, Briana found her attention riveted on him. He didn't misspeak a single syllable, and he carried it beautifully, as if he were a natural at public speaking. His respect for the honoree was genuine, his affection evident, and at the end of the short speech, he was rewarded with a handshake and backslapping hug from Benefield and a kiss from his wife.

After two more speakers, the event drew to a close.

On the way out, Justin and Briana were separated slightly as someone pulled Justin to the side for a greeting, and she turned to wait for him. Thus she saw it all when a beautiful woman in wispy white silk with volumes of dark hair softly cried Justin's name and circled her arms around his neck.

"Margo!" The pleasure on his face looked genuine and it caused a small pang of jealousy in Briana's heart. "I didn't know you were here. How've you been?"

"Good. That speech was wonderful, Justin Ransom Adair. You know, I do believe you're handsomer than you were the last time I saw you."

"But just as much a workaholic as ever." He glanced toward Briana and motioned her to him with a tilt of his head. "That's what my girl Sparky says, anyway."

Briana reached him and he laced his fingers with hers. "Briana, this is Margo Coleman. She's a paralegal with the Parker Quinn law firm."

"Hi," Briana said with a nod.

"Hi." Margo slanted her eyes to Justin. "I knew y'all would be perfect for each other." She laid her hand flat against Justin's chest, patted it, and cut her eyes to Briana. "You be good to him."

She turned and headed for the exit. Briana watched her go, clearly uncomfortable.

"Does she hate me?"

"No, sweetheart," Justin said. "She knew you and I were right for each other before either of us did."

Briana glanced up at him in surprise.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go get our raincoats. I'll tell you about it on the way home."

*****

During the last week of August, attention throughout the Southeastern states was riveted on Hurricane Kathy. On Sunday, the storm entered the Caribbean as a category five hurricane. It was a slow-moving storm and projections for its ultimate path and landfall were all over the map -- as far west as Galveston, as far east as Tampa.

In his apartment in Biloxi Thursday night, Larry sullenly gazed at the television. He had been growing angrier and darker by the day, since Eddie's report eight days ago. Thwarted, interested in nothing, angry at the world, he had missed days of work and almost let a drug delivery go awry.

But now, something had finally got his attention. He leaned forward, staring at the multicolored lines sweeping crookedly northward in the Gulf and his eyes riveted on one -- the red line, the projection of the highest probability.

The projections had narrowed since yesterday, the westernmost track now leading to New Orleans, the easternmost Tallahassee. The red line brought Hurricane Kathy to Pensacola.

"That sucker's going straight up Palafox Street," he muttered. A diabolical gleam came to his eyes and if anyone had been around to hear his laugh, it would have raised the hair on their necks.

Chapter Nineteen

On Tuesday, September second, Justin sent his employees home at nine a.m. Briana insisted on staying with him as he finished preparing for Kathy.

Plywood sheets covered the windows of his home. Briana's suitcases sat in the guest room. Supe had a litter box ready in the master bath; his food and water bowls were tucked into a corner of the kitchen, the cat flap locked. A five-thousand watt portable generator sat in the utility room off the carport along with half a dozen five-gallon fuel tanks topped off earlier in the week.

At the office, windows were covered, too. The ground was high enough here to escape storm surge, but wind alone would be destructive to such an exposed structure, and wind-driven debris would become missiles. The policy dumps had completed the day before, and were uploaded to the backup server in Montgomery overnight. Justin had given a walkie-talkie with a sixteen-mile range to each of his employees because cell tower outages were a certainty. He had tested the generator early that morning, and it was working perfectly. Whether that would be the case after Kathy's visit, nobody knew.

At three, he told Briana, "Everything's as ready as I can make it."

He stood behind her and slipped his arms around her as they watched television in the conference room. Landfall was predicted for Perdido Bay at one a.m., ten hours away. The surf rolling onto the barrier islands was growing ugly.

Justin turned Briana to face him. "You go on to my house. I'll be there in a while. Just a few more things to do here before I can turn everything off and lock up."

"There's one more suitcase I need at my apartment."

Justin blinked. "Go straight there and get it, then straight to my house, and be quick about it, hear?"

They took each other in a tight embrace and he gave her a long, emotion-laden kiss.

"Get going," he said, and she did.

*****

In a motel room near Cordova Mall, Sylvia paced the floor, caught in rolling waves of anxiety. The weather was growing more frightening by the moment. She and Larry had arrived shortly before noon and he'd brought her to this motel room.. She was surprised it was available, with so many people evacuating their homes because of the hurricane; even more surprised when Larry told her he'd reserved the room days before. He'd lucked out when he called. An earlier reservation had been canceled.

Eddie showed up shortly after lunch driving Larry's silver Honda, and the two men left, refusing to explain where they were going, and why, saying only that they'd be back "after a while."

Calls to their cell phones had gone unanswered.

If this trip to Pensacola had something to do with bringing Justin Adair to justice, why couldn't it have waited until after the freaking hurricane?

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with," Larry had told her.

A couple of times since then, she'd been tempted to run out to her car and leave by herself, just get in and drive to Mobile. But the idea of driving, especially alone, in this weather was more frightening than staying here.

So, she waited and agonized.

Finally, at four-thirty, she heard a knock on the door. She opened it to see the Larry standing just outside, his thinning hair plastered to his forehead. Beyond him, the Honda, raked by waves of rain, rolled out of the parking lot.

"Get your purse, let's go," Larry barked.

"What? I thought--"

"Get it!"

She snatched her purse off the bureau and ran beside him through the rain to her little Focus. Larry threw himself behind the wheel and she slid in beside him.

"What's going on?" she demanded, her voice shrill with anger and fright as deafening rain pounded the roof.

He wiped water off his face and laughed with a wild, almost frightening exuberance as he started the car. "Hurricane Kathy's going on!"

*****

The Blazer was not at his house when he arrived home just before five and Justin didn't even go inside. As he drove through the gray rain and moderate gusts, he called Briana. She didn't answer, not at her mobile number nor her land line. His calls to her on the walkie-talkie were met with silence.

At her apartment, his concern deepened. Lights were on inside and her Blazer sat in the driveway. Why was she still here?

He trotted to the back porch. The kitchen door stood open eerily reminiscent of the break-in last week, and alarm charged through him, although nothing appeared to be out of place inside.

"Briana!"

No reply. Perhaps she had got a neighbor or someone to give her a ride, or called a taxi, maybe, not trusting herself to drive in the wind; and maybe in her haste to leave she hadn't shut the door securely and a gust had blown it open. But that didn't explain why she'd left the lights on.

He checked every room. In the bedroom, he found a suitcase and her purse on the bed and his alarm racheted up. He grabbed them, streaked through the apartment, turning off lights, locked up and splashed through puddles in the driveway to slide behind the wheel of the 4Runner.

Anxiety gripped him as he inched through the storm toward home, stopped his vehicle before it was completely under the carport and rushed inside. Dashing from room to room, he called her name. No reply. His house was empty, as well.

He heard the back door open and he strode to the kitchen, relief mixing with a touch of exasperation, now that she was here.

But she wasn't here. He knew the faces of the rain-soaked pair stepping into his kitchen. The woman was Sylvia Watson, Briana's old boss from Mobile, easily recognizable from photos Briana had shown him.

But it was the hideous, grinning face of the man with her that sent a paralyzing alarm through Justin's body. And suddenly, he understood everything.

"Garrison. What are you doing here?"

"I've come to visit you, Adair. I have some news for you."

Justin's alarm spiked and his scalp prickled. Somehow, he knew the answer but the question came out of its own accord. "Have you got Briana?"

"Let's not talk about her yet. Let's talk about me. And you. Let's talk about how you ruined my life. Did you know you did that? I want to make sure you know it."

Justin's eyes narrowed, "Where's Briana?"

"I told you, I don't want to talk about her. I was innocent. The fire was an accident."

Revulsion touched Justin's face. "Accident? Every room in the house soaked with kerosene? You burnt up your cats, you scumbag. You're sick and you're dangerous. Now, where's my fiancé?"

"She is waiting for what's coming to her. Which is what she gets for running out on me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she reneged on what we sent her here to--"

"What do you mean by 'what's coming to her'?"

Garrison's eyes gleamed diabolically. "What's coming to her, Adair, is Hurricane Kathy -- a five, worse than Katrina. And she can't get away."

Justin trembled visibly with fear and rage. "Where is she!"

Garrison gave him a grotesque grin. "Handcuffed to an iron ring in the floor of a building near the Grand Lagoon Yacht Club...where a twenty foot storm surge is headed," he finished, cackling with demonic glee.

Sylvia turned to look at him with disbelief. "What?"

Garrison had no time for her, though, because Justin, eyes snapping with fury, was striding toward him. The ex-con whipped a handgun from his waistband beneath his rain jacket and aimed it at Justin's heart. Justin halted, his rage tempered by caution. He had to stay alive; he was Briana's only hope.

"If she dies..."

"Oh, she's going to die. Your pretty little cheerleader-woman's gonna spend the last hours of her life in hellish terror...and then drown."

Sylvia's hand flew to her mouth as she looked at Larry through tears of horror and disbelief. Justin saw her reaction and gave his attention to her.

"How can you let this happen? She was your friend and employee for two years. She cared about you, looked up to you."

Garrison scowled. "Don't pay attention to him, baby."

"You'll be an accessory to murder," Justin said inexorably. "The murder of your friend and mentee."

"Shut up!" Garrison bellowed.

"Go to prison, just like he did, only for a lot longer."

"I said shut up!" Larry said, stepping toward Justin, his arm curled in front of him, ready to smash his adversary with the butt of the gun. But Justin moved like a flash, clamping onto Larry's forearm with both hands and pushing him back to slam him against the back door. For good measure, he kneed him in the groin.

Garrison hunched over in pain and slid down against the cabinets as Justin wrenched the gun from his grip. He motioned to Sylvia. "Get over there with him."

Justin took a step back, his face grim, his eyes glittering with cold, calm fury. Sylvia crept to her lover and sat beside him on the floor. Garrison looked up, pain and untempered hatred making a malevolent mask of his face.

Aiming the gun squarely at his quarry's forehead, Justin took his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, chose a contact with his thumb and brought the instrument to his ear.

"Todd, don't talk, just listen. Briana's been kidnapped. She's trapped, handcuffed to a floor in Grand Lagoon somewhere near the yacht club. The animal that put her there is crumpled in a corner of my kitchen, temporarily incapacitated by my knee and by the gun I'm pointing at his head."

Justin paused for the reaction coming through the phone.

"I'm going to make him drive me to where she is--"

"No, you're not," Garrison said. Not as pained as he let on, he stood abruptly and put Sylvia between him and Justin. He had another gun, smaller, but just as ugly and deadly, pressed against Sylvia's head. "Hang up the phone and throw it down, Adair, and the gun." Garrison reached behind him to close his hand around the doorknob.

Justin did as he was told, dropping the phone and firearm on the counter by the sink.

"I'm not driving you anywhere." Garrison pulled the door open a few inches and wedged his heel between it and the facing. His free hand returned to Sylvia's waist and crushed her against him. He kicked the door wide and carefully stepped backward onto the carport, dragging the stumbling and terrified woman with him.

Justin didn't waste time or words trying to stop them. The sound of their footsteps was swallowed up in the wind as he snatched up the phone and dialed. With the phone at his ear, stepped to the door carefully looked around the door facing. They were running toward a small white car parked a few yards down the street.

"Todd?"

"What happened?"

"He had another gun, used the woman that was with him as a shield. They're getting into a white car, looks like a Focus and it's got signs on the door. If it's Sylvia Watson's car, they probably say Guardian Consumer Services or something. Enough about them. We can deal with them later. Right now, I need authorization to get past the evacuation roadblocks to Grand Lagoon. I need people to help me hunt for Briana. As many as you can round up. And lock picks and a chain cutter."

"Meet me in the parking lot at the sheriff's office as soon as you can get there."

Justin's rage exploded and engulf him but gave way to terror as the ghostly white vehicle rolled away. The only person who knew Briana's location was disappearing into the wind and rain.

He pulled keys out of his pocket, locked the back door and threw himself behind the wheel of the 4Runner. A block from his house, he opened his cell phone again and dialed with his thumb.

"Joe Neal."

"Joey, Justin Adair. I need your help--" His voice was quavering, his sobbing almost preventing speech.

"Deputy Hall already radioed me about what's going down. We'll meet you at the road block on Gulf Beach Highway."

"Thanks, man." Justin blinked hard and tears ran down his cheeks, clearing his vision.

Around him, trees tossed and swayed wildly with the gusting wind and waves of rain crashed against the windshield.

God, please, help us find her. Please.

*****

The water was almost up to her shoulders now. It would barely reach her thighs, if she could stand. But she couldn't stand, though her feet were free, because it was her wrists that were handcuffed behind her to an iron ring in the floor.

The wind was deafening, roaring and screeching like something alive, throwing debris against the sides and roof of the metal building, which rumbled like thunder and ignited her phobia and layered it onto her terror. Debris-filled waves crashed against the building and the whole structure shuddered and groaned, as if it would collapse any moment.

Inside, it was completely dark and Briana's terror settled into a calm stage. Perhaps the intense fear that had taken hold of her in waves was too powerful for humans to endure in a sustained manner.

She didn't know how much time had passed, or how long it would take the water to reach and cover her nostrils. She wondered what drowning would be like. Would it hurt?

I don't want to die.

A fresh wave of panic washed over her and she began a low moaning sob that rose to a wail and crescendoed into a primal scream.

"Please, God save me!" She sobbed hysterically screaming out the words. "Mama! Daddy! I love you! Jenny, I love you! Justin, oh, Justin! I love you soooooo!"

She pulled against the restraints around her wrists as she had been doing for what seemed like hours, then took hold of the large iron ring and pulled on it with all her might.. The skin of her wrists was raw and her joints ached from the strain of pulling against the immovable ring.

The gusts were longer now, longer than the lulls. She bowed her head, too exhausted to make a sound.

Please, God, give him a long, good, happy life and grant him--

Her prayer was interrupted by another sound above the wind, so faint she might have imagined it. Justin's voice, bellowing her name. Fresh tears welled up in her swollen eyes. "Oh, Justin," she whispered. "I love you. I'll miss you so much."

"Briana!"

She raised her head sharply and went rigid. It wasn't imagination or wishful thinking or a delusion of death.

It's really him.

"Justin!" she screamed with all her might. "Juuuustiiiiin!"

He heard me. He's coming to me.

A door on the far wall opened and wild, rain-drenched wind blew in as the beams of flashlights streaked around the room. One of them caught her face and she heard Justin's voice, hoarse with anxiety. "Briana...oh, thank God."

He slogged through the water toward her and knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her. She buried her face against him and cried in near hysteria with relief she couldn't quite believe.

She heard the voices of other men around her, heard them sloshing through the water, felt hands sliding down her arms to the handcuffs around her wrists. In a few seconds, the chains were cut and her arms were free, but they were too weak for her to lift. Strong hands pulled her upright and Justin took her in his arms, one under her back, the other under her knees, and headed out into the dark, wind-driven rain.

"Rusty," he said. "Drive my car back to town. I'll ride in the Hummer with Joey."

"Will do," somebody said.

Justin's warmth, strength and love stood between her and danger now. She was vaguely aware of his putting her into a vehicle and climbing in behind her to take her in his arms again. He shifted and keys tinkled, followed by his tense, "Here. Thanks."

Two of the others got into the front seat and Justin slid over to make room for another passenger in back.

"You think you can get these off her wrists?" he asked sotto voce as the vehicle began to roll.

"Shouldn't be a problem," the other voice said. "Universal key."

"Sweetheart, we're going to get these off you." Justin stoked her upper arm, ran his hand down, gently grasped her forearm and held it steady.

It took only a moment for each wrist and soon the shackles fell away. Briana turned toward Justin and tucked her arms against his chest. Wind buffeted the vehicle but she wasn't aware of it for long. She fell asleep in his arms.

*****

The 4Runner turned into the driveway and stopped under the carport. The Hummer followed behind. Deputy Hall's sheriff's cruiser turned in last.

Justin slid from beneath Briana and got out. He carefully maneuvered her off the seat and into his arms. She didn't waken.

"Rusty," he called to the man emerging the 4Runner. "Get my gun out of the console, bring it inside."

Justin's friend unlocked the back door and put the keys and gun on the coffee table in the den. While Justin took Briana inside and lay her on the couch, his companions fanned out through the house and yard. In a few moments, they gathered in the kitchen and advised him they'd found no one. He glanced up from Briana's face and said, "Gentlemen. I'm in your debt forever."

"Glad to do it," one of them said, and the others echoed him. "Just be careful. You've got a homicidal lunatic after you."

*****

Briana wakened several minutes after Justin's companions and helpers departed. She looked up into his beautiful face and her brush with death came back to her when she saw tears pooling in his eyes, along with an ocean of love. She trembled.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked softly. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No. I want to stay with you."

"As long as you're not injured or sick. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"I was at home getting my suitcase to bring here, it was the last one, and I heard something. There were two men behind me in my bedroom and it scared me really bad--" Her voice cracked as memory brought back the terror and Justin stroked and gently squeezed her arm. "I tried to run and they caught me and put handcuffs on me and put a pillow case over my head. They dragged me outside and made me get in a car."

"Do you know who they are?"

"No, I didn't see their faces. They had ski masks on. I don't know who... or why..."

"I'll tell you all about it later, but here's the short version. One of the men who took you is Lawrence Garrison. When I was with Sunbelt in Birmingham, he had a claim, a total house fire, big fancy house in a historic district. It was obviously arson, and my investigation indicated he did it. Sunbelt agreed and refused to pay the claim.

"The fire marshal also investigated. Garrison was arrested, tried and sent to prison. He spent four years in Holcomb, evidently building up an insane desire for revenge against me, though it's crazy, because the fire marshal was the one who put him away, not me. Anyway, he was using you and Guardian to set me up, but it didn't work out, so he decided to get back at both of us, this way."

"How did you know where I was?"

"He came here to brag, to torment me. I think he meant to stay with me until we were sure you'd...drowned. He was probably intending to kill me after that. But I was so enraged, so full of fear, I overpowered him. I was going to make him take me to you, but he got away."

They looked at each other in silence a few moments and Justin stroked her hair back from her face.

"Sweetheart," he said gently. "Your friend Sylvia was with him."

Her eyes reddened briefly but she didn't cry. Perhaps she had absorbed all the fear and sorrow she could for now.

"You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you." He pointed to the two firearms lying on the coffee table. "Now, I want you to just put it out of your mind as much as you can. Think about something else. Think about how much I love you."

"Oh." She weakly reached for his face and stroked his cheek. "And how much I love you."

He smiled for the first time in hours and turned his head to kiss her palm. "Yeah. Think about that, too." He looked at the abrasions on her wrist and a frown came to his face.

"You need to get out of those clothes, get the polluted saltwater off of you. You feel like taking a shower?"

"I think so."

Her strength gradually returned as Briana showered and washed her hair. She dressed in a sweat suit because, for some reason, she felt cold.

An hour later, she and Justin snuggled together on the sofa, both of them clean and warm and dry, in the golden glow of a table lamp, watching hurricane coverage on TV. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet, but it seemed like the dead of night. The fury of wind was growing steadier, the gusts longer. The reports said parts of Grand Lagoon were under four feet of water. Briana trembled in Justin's arms and he squeezed her gently. "You're okay."

Her head fell back on his shoulder and she slowly calmed.

He called his parents, then Briana's to let them know everyone was safe and sound as they awaited Kathy's arrival. He didn't tell the Farriors about Briana's brush with a killer. That could wait until the storm crisis was past.

At eight-thirty, his employees began to check in with him and with each other on their walkie-talkies.

At nine, Justin asked Briana, "You feel like eating anything?"

"I think I'm starting to feel a little hungry," she admitted.

"That's a good sign. I'm well-stocked with hurricane food, but we need to eat the perishables first."

He made sandwiches and cleared out leftovers in his refrigerator. They ate at a leisurely pace and continued watching storm coverage.

"You're probably not going to feel like working tomorrow," Justin said as he took their empty plates to the kitchen, "but you're going into the office. I don't want you out of my sight."

"But I want to help you. Didn't you say we need to be ready to help people as soon as possible after the storm?"

"Yeah, I said that but that was before you were taken by a madman."

"I want to help you help others."

"If you're sure. That might be better for you, anyway."

"Then it's settled."

"All right, it's settled."

He dozed off with Briana asleep in his arms. At midnight, just as he was waking, the power went out. He carefully laid Briana back on the sofa and turned on a battery operated lamp on the end table. He sat on the floor beside her and gazed at her face for a long time. In the dim light, she was so beautiful, her face almost angelic, and he trembled with the thought of how close she had come to heaven.

It all came crashing down on him -- the terror of Garrison's visit, the desperate search and rescue -- and he wept openly but as silently as he could. He prayed, too, entreating the Deity for strength, offering up profound gratitude.

His tears abated and he stretched out in the recliner. Outside, the wind blew at a sustained hundred and sixty miles an hour, stronger in gusts, even stronger where tornadoes were spawned. Above the screeching, howling, sizzling wind, Justin made out the crack of snapping tree trunks, heard the thumps and crashes as limbs impacted the roof and rolled off, heard debris slam against the plywood covering the windows.

All over the city and for miles around, huge oaks were being uprooted, pines were snapping. Power poles tumbled as if felled by a lumberjack. Mobile homes were crushed like beer cans. Windows in stores and homes shattered, roofs caved in or lifted off walls, and wind reached inside to strew furniture and appliances like a giant hand scattering pebbles. And near shore, the boiling, churning water of the storm surge was wiping out everything in its path. The metal utility building where Briana had been taken no longer existed.

People were dying; some were already dead, and more would die before the wind subsided.

Supe emerged from Justin's room, where he'd holed up since his catflap was locked, and walked a few feet into the den, looked at Justin and gave a soft meow.

"C'mere, boy," Justin whispered. The cat trotted to the recliner and hopped onto Justin's lap.

Justin cut his eyes to the side. Briana stirred, turned on her side and curled up to settle deeper in sleep. More prayers of gratitude rose up from his heart, more petitions for strength, wisdom and guidance and they brought him a measure of calm. Eventually he fell into shallow sleep.

Chapter Twenty

The static-filled call of the walkie-talkie awoke Justin and he raised his head to look about. It awakened Briana, too. She pushed herself up and looked for him.

He checked his watch -- it was five-thirty -- and reached out to squeeze her hand while he spoke into the radio.

"Adair."

"Boss, this is Rod. Everything all right there?"

"Seems to be." Justin stood and looked out the glass doors. The patio screen hung in tatters and a corner of the metal roof had collapsed. There were twigs, leaves and debris everywhere, on everything. "Where are you?"

"Still at the shelter, but we're fixing to leave. If I can get to my house and it's okay, I'll leave Kels and the pups and--" static and garbled voice "--the office."

"Briana and I will be in as soon as we can get there. Tell everybody."

"Ten-four, roger, over and out."

Grinning at Rod's theatrical radio lingo, Justin stepped to Briana and pulled her to him, took her in a strong embrace and nuzzled her face.

"Let's go see how we fared."

He stuck one of the guns in the waistband of his shorts and tried to dial out on his cell phone. No service.

"Towers down or damaged," he murmured as they walked through the living room and opened the front door.

Beneath a sullen, gray sky, Pineglades was in shambles. A downed oak tree blocked the street at one end; a pine from Justin's yard lay a few yards away, meaning they were trapped until the road was cleared. A little travel trailer belonging to a neighbor across the street lay on its side in their front yard, smashed and ripped open..

It was impossible to see Justin's grass, or anyone else's, because leafy twigs from the oaks blanketed everyone's yard more than shin deep. Limbs were broken, trees stripped of their leaves. They plastered the 4Runner. Debris, from roofing shingles to patio furniture, from plastic shards ripped from commercial signage to a child's wading pool, mingled with the vegetation in Justin's yard. And that was just what they could see from the front door.

But as bad as it was here, Justin's neighborhood had fared well compared to other areas of Pensacola. Many homes here had lost shingles but none lost their roof. Windows were broken, but no walls were crumpled by felled trees.

They went back inside as damage reports began to come in from Justin's employees. The extent of the devastation was sobering.

Rod and Kelsey's house was gone, demolished by storm surge. Justin grimaced as he listened to Rod's report, pained for his friend and employee.

"Sandra's probably is, too," he told Briana grimly. "From what I'm hearing, it'll be a miracle if anything in her neighborhood survived."

"I wonder if the office is still there."

"Probably, but it may be damaged."

At seven, Gil radioed in that he had made it to the office, thanks to his SERT badge and an escort by emergency response personnel. It had taken a while, finding an open route through downed trees and possible live electrical wires across the roads, but he'd made it. He reported a good size hole in the roof made by an tree limb six inches in diameter that now impaled the counter in the break room. There was water damage there and in a corner of Justin's office, but the generator was working and the computers were operational.

Gil finished his report with, "But nobody's come here looking for a check."

"Appreciate you holding down the fort, bro," Justin said. "Have no idea when they'll clear my street."

"No problem. Take care. Get here when you can."

Justin hooked the walkie-talking over his waistband and looked at Briana with surprise. "Do you hear that?"

"What?"

"Chainsaws."

He peered out the front door again to see a bucket truck from Sloan's Tree Service in Nashville, Tennessee not far down his street. Several men with chainsaws worked on the felled pine.

"The road may be opened up soon," he reported to Briana, elated. "Let's eat something and get ready for work."

"Okay." She headed for the kitchen but he stopped her briefly to turn her toward him. His eyes darted about her face with gratitude shining from their amber depths. "Thank God you're alive. I love you so."

*****

In the days after Hurricane Kathy swept through west Florida, as Justin and his employees worked grueling fourteen and sixteen hour days, communications were gradually restored and they learned the extent of the horrific damage. The storm had literally obliterated parts of Santa Rosa Island and the beach cabins, condominiums and hotels that had stood there. The Interstate 10 bridge over Escambia Bay, rebuilt after Hurricane Ivan in 2004, managed to survive Kathy but with damage that would keep it closed for repairs nearly six months. Three Mile Bridge across Pensacola Bay to Gulf Breeze, which had served motorists since 1960, was irreparably damaged and would take years to replace.

Casualties in the United States upped the hurricane's death toll to one hundred ninety. Early damage estimates hovered around seventy billion, making it the second costliest hurricane on record, after Katrina.

Thousands of people were homeless. Few structures escaped damage. Nearly every residential roof Escambia County required protection with tarps. Debris piles would litter roadsides for the next three years. The trees and forests would not fully recover for a decade.

Rod and Kelsey's house was a pile of rubble, but they managed to salvage many personal possessions from the debris. Sandra Stinson and her family were not so fortunate. All they had was what they had taken with them when they evacuated; the part of their home left by Kathy was the concrete slab.

No one had escaped damage; Dottie had a tree on her garage. Thomas Harris had sustained roof damage in the loss of nearly all its shingles. Gil Anderson's house had flooded, not from storm surge but from a nearby creek that had overflowed its banks. Martha's home had smashed windows.

Briana's apartment, too, had suffered roof damage and water had destroyed her television and laptop. It hardly mattered, since Justin insisted she stay at his house until Garrison was caught and put behind bars again. She spent hours at the office, helping him and his crew in whatever way she could, even if it was just keeping them supplied with fresh coffee.

Justin's home had fared better than most, but it would be weeks before he could see to the repairs of the screen porch roof and have the debris removed from his yard.

Still, as bad as it was, there were so many others who were so much worse off. The Stinsons and Kemps, living in FEMA trailers on their storm-torn properties, would rebuild. Everyone who suffered property damage would eventually see it repaired. Right now, their major concern was helping policyholders who had lost everything.

Three days after the storm, Deputy Todd Hall visited Justin at the office and spoke with him in the parking lot. He dispensed with preliminaries.

"Garrison's dead. Drowned. His car went off the bridge over Sawmill Creek, probably during the worst of the storm. What an idiot, huh."

Justin bit his lip, barely able to muster a twinge of regret at the loss of a human life and a mortal soul. "Poetic justice."

"Found out how he was able to get past the roadblocks into Grand Lagoon. He had a SERT badge hanger in the Honda he used in the kidnapping. I checked the number and it was one of the ones issued to Gulf States."

"Briana's. Was there anybody with him?"

Hall nodded. "A woman. Sylvia Watson."

Justin rubbed his face and took a deep shuddering breath. "You sure it was Garrison and not Sylvia's brother, Eddie Burke?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. He's not going to bother your lady anymore. I would have told you before, but we had to notify next of kin first." Todd grunted. "Burke's alive. We talked to him. He was arrested in Mobile on an accessory charge."

"Thanks for letting me know." He shook hands with the deputy and stepped inside, his face pensive. He found Briana at her desk, pulled her to her feet and took her in his trembling arms.

"Justin?" She tilted her head back to search his face.

"Just a minute."

Gradually, his trembling ceased. "That was Todd. He came to tell me that Garrison's dead." He gave her a terse recap of the circumstances and monitored her reaction. "Sylvia's dead, too."

She buried her face against him and clung to him, sobbing. "She was my friend."

Justin stroked her hair and cradled her head. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Epilogue

Pensacola, Florida

Spring 2009

It took a while to convince him that she actually wanted to spend their honeymoon at home in Pensacola.

"What better place to start our lives together than our own home? What better place to make love the first time than our own bed?"

When she put it that way, it was hard for him to disagree. Besides, a weekend honeymoon really wasn't long enough to justify distant travel, and a weekend was all they were allowing themselves before plunging back into the twelve hour days at the office.

So, in early March, after a beautiful wedding in a small-town church in Holly Bend, and a convivial, family-and-friends reception in the Farrior home, the newlyweds changed clothes and ran through a shower of rice to Justin's vehicle for the two hour trip back to Pensacola.

It was nine p.m. when he carried her across the threshold and set her down in the living-dining room she had decorated for him.

"Welcome home, Sparky," he said, his voice silky in her ears. He kissed her, held her tightly to him. The restraint they'd practiced for so long started to crumble.

They stepped to the little den where Justin turned on soft music and they sat on the couch, wound up in each other's arms, and talked softly about the wedding.

At length, he said, "I'll be back," and went to his bathroom to shower and change while she visited the guest room where her honeymoon peignoir hung in the closet. She took it to the guest bath and waited until she heard the water shut off in his shower before starting her own.

She emerged twenty minutes later, somewhat apprehensively, clad in the short, white peignoir -- not frou-frou but very sexy -- and satin slippers. Hearing noises in the kitchen she went there to see Justin filling crystal flutes with champagne. He was clad in low-slung pajama bottoms of white knit and a cropped T-shirt, garments that selectively revealed his splendid form.

When he saw her, he absently put the bottle on the counter, took the flutes in hand and stepped toward her. As his eyes studied her with a depth of desire he'd never allowed himself to show before, and she wondered if what he felt was anything like the feeling coursing through her as she gazed at him.

"Oh, my." A smile sparkled in her eyes.

"What?" He took her hand and led her down the hallway to the master bedroom -- no longer his, but theirs.

They sat on the bed, clinked their glasses, and sipped the golden liquid, each lost in the other's eyes.

"What?" he repeated with a quizzical smile.

"You. You're the most wonderful person I've ever known. I've loved you almost from the day I met you."

"And I love you, for the completeness, the happiness, you've brought to my life." The smile she loved so much touched his face. "And the laughter, the fun."

He set the glasses on the bedside table, took her in his arms for a lingering kiss, and gently lay her back on the bed. He reclined beside her, raised on an elbow to look down at her face.

"We're so blessed." He blinked and inhaled quickly, as if suddenly awed. "We're starting out with the kind of love some people never find, even after years together -- love that's strong enough and deep enough to weather any storm. Sparky, we're going to have a great life together."

"We already do."

She circled her arms around him and they held each other tightly. Their eyes closed, their lips met and clung together, and their first night of giving and bonding, of passion and oneness, began.

About the Author

Connie Chastain is a ninth-generation Southerner. Born in Georgia, she grew up a preacher's kid in Alabama, attended Alabama Christian College (now Faulkner University) and married a Louisiana boy.

She currently resides with her husband of 30+ years and their collection of adorable cats in L.A. – Lower Alabama, aka the Florida Panhandle, which basks in the semi-tropical sun at the very top of the Gulf of Mexico, America's Mediterranean.

She is a former staff writer for The Florida Sun, (renamed the Independent News), which was published in Pensacola, Florida starting in 1999 by former Congressman Joe Scarborough (now the star of "Morning Joe" on MS- NBC). Her articles were all nonfiction and ran the gamut from travel to current events and chemtrails to Bigfoot in Dixie.

Don't look in the pages of her books for insulting stereotypical portrayals of Southerners. Her fiction reflects the deep affection she holds for her region, its people, history, heritage and culture.

A Note to Readers

Thank you for reading Storm Surge. Did you enjoy reading this story? If so, please consider leaving a review at Amazon.com, Goodreads, or other book review venues both online and off. If you wish, you may also send comments to to the author directly at southernwriter@cox.net.

