Secret Agent Sam

A shudder passed through Sam’s body. Pushing herself away from the window, she plunged her hands into the basin and washed her face in the pleasantly cool water. After a moment’s hesitation and a quick look toward the door, she stripped off her T-shirt, then quickly slipped out of her boots and cargo pants. Dressed only in her underwear, she soaked a towel in the water, wrung it out lightly and sponged herself off as best she could. She dried herself and dressed hurriedly, cringing at the feel of her damp, sweaty clothing on her skin. She’d barely finished and was attempting to finger-comb some order into her hair when there was a discreet knock on the door.

She opened it to find a stone-faced guard with a tray on which were arranged a small pot of tea, a cup, a woven bowl containing fruit, and a covered container she was sure would hold the usual concoction of vegetables and rice. She smiled and thanked the guard in Tagalog, but, naturally, got no response. He merely handed over the tray and retreated, pulling the door shut after him.

“Have a nice day,” Sam said dryly. She stood for a moment, holding the tray and chewing her lip, trying to decide whether to displace the basin of water and use the table and stool, or go for the floor and cushions.

“Oh, hell-when in Rome,” she muttered with a shrug as she placed the tray on the floor and sank cross-legged onto a tufted purple cushion.

The next few minutes she spent refueling with gusto and efficiency. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was- probably, she thought, anger and adrenaline would tend to have a dampening effect on a person’s appetite. Gradually, though, as the void inside her filled, a sense of peaceful lassitude settled over her. It was a good feeling; the first part of her job had been done, and for the moment there was nothing more she could do. And she was tired; she’d had only catnaps the past few days, and here, for the first time since Zamboanga, was both privacy and comfort. Her body relaxed…her mind drifted. Once again her guard slipped, and the memories came pouring in.

It’s autumn, the days are growing short and in Athens, Georgia, the leaves are already falling. But the sky is wonderfully blue and the air smells crisp and good, and Cory’s here! I haven’t seen him in a while, he’s been out of the country on assignment, but now he’s back in Atlanta again, taping something for CNN, and it’s the weekend and he’s driven over to Athens to see me. We’ve been to a football game-the Bulldogs won, not that I care, because all that matters is Cory’s here, and we hold hands as we stroll through the campus, kicking through the fresh leaves and laughing at nothing, because it’s enough just to be together. We spread our jackets on the grass and finish the rest of the tail-gate lunch I’d fixed for before the game, throwing bits of bread crusts to the squirrels.

I look at Cory, and he’s smiling that gentle smile, and his eyes look back into mine with such understanding, and his face is so beautiful I hurt inside, and I have to fight back tears. I lean over and kiss him, and his lips are warm and the shape of them against mine is the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. His lips part under mine, and I laugh, low in my throat, because he tastes like mustard and onions, and so do I, but what do either of us care? I’m trembling when he pulls away with a soft little sigh of regret, and I want him so much…the wanting fills every part of me, and I know I won’t be able to hide it from him. I wonder how much longer I’ll have to wait for him to get past the notion I’m too young for him, the daughter of his closest friend, and decides it’s okay to make love to me. I wonder how it’s possible to be so happy…and feel such pain…

She must have slept, because she woke with a start to find herself sprawled in a jumble of cushions with her arms and legs every which way, and the silhouetted figure of a man standing in front of the window. She sat up too quickly, clammy and jangled, and the figure moved away from the light and became Cory.

“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly, smiling that gentle smile that was so much like the one in her recent memory-or had it been a dream?-it made her heart flip-flop.

She scowled at him. “What’re you doing here, Pearse?” And her voice sounded gruff and cranky, because that was her best defense against the way she felt. Vulnerable. There was nothing in the world Sam hated more than feeling vulnerable.

“Are you okay?”

And sympathy didn’t help matters, either, especially coming from the person whose whole entire fault it was she felt this way. “I’m fine,” she said with an impatient wave of her hand, whisking away the question like an annoying fly. “No big deal. I wasn’t crazy about being sent to my room like a-” She broke it off while she pulled her feet under her and prepared to stand up, then amended it. “Being treated that way by that SOB, but hey-I’m over it.”

Cory stepped closer and held out his hand to help her up. His eyes were amused. “Come on, Sam, I know you too well. If ever I saw murder in a woman’s eyes…” He paused, patiently waiting for her to take his hand, as if it had never occurred to him she wouldn’t. “I know that can’t have been easy for you,” he said, and his mouth tilted wryly. “For what it’s worth, though…thank you for not making a scene.”

Telling herself it would be pointless-and childish-to ignore his offer of help, she grudgingly put her hand in his. The familiar warmth and strength of it made her breathing catch. “Guess that makes us even,” she said lightly as he pulled her easily to her feet.

“Not even close,” he said softly, and instead of letting go of her hand, enclosed it in both of his and drew her closer.

She could have pulled away, of course she could have. Should have, no question about it. He would have released her at even the slightest sign of resistance, she knew that. Instead, she let herself be reeled in, all the time telling herself, This is a mistake…you know it’s a mistake…for God’s sake, Samantha June, have good sense for a change!

She did put her free hand flat against his chest, though, maintaining at least that much distance between them, and although she held her head high, she kept her eyes fixed on her captive hand and refused to meet his eyes.

The breeze from his exhaled breath tickled her temple. “I know I hurt you. God, I’m sorry. If I could go back and undo it, I would. But I can’t, Sam. I can’t.”

Bitterly, she thought, Oh? Which hurt are we talking about this time?

She shrugged, drawing herself in around the misery inside her, hunkering down behind the questions she wasn’t brave enough to ask. “I’m over that, too, okay?”

“I truly did think you were through with me, after that night in Georgetown.” His eyes were sad, his smile crooked. “I was trying to move on. I thought…when I met Karen… But it was a mistake to expect someone else…” He paused for a breath, and when he went on his voice had filled with gravel. “We both knew the marriage was a mistake, Karen and I, almost immediately. We agreed the best thing would be to try and undo the damage as quickly as possible.”

Oh-his marriage. That’s what he’s talking about, she thought dismally. And how odd she should feel so deflated, when only a day or two ago the subject had been sore as a tooth-ache for her. She’d have put the day she’d heard the news about Cory’s marriage right up there with the day she was told her daddy was dead, shot down in his fighter jet over Iraq, as one of the worst days of her life.

“Of course…” And even through her defenses, though she tried not to, she heard the regret and irony in his voice. “I know some things can’t ever be undone.”

“Hey,” she said distantly as she turned away from him, “it’s ancient history. Forget it. I have.”

It surprised her to realize it, but it was true. She really was over it-or at least, the importance of it had been greatly diminished-dwarfed, in fact, by yesterday’s shocking revelation that the man she’d loved and shared her body, mind and soul with for almost six years had a whole bunch of brothers and sisters he’d never told her about. She’d been trying ever since to get her mind around that, but the questions kept battering away at her like attacking Furies.

What does this say about our relationship? What does it say about you, Pearse?

She was no psychologist, and God knows, no expert on relationships, but she was pretty sure it must mean he didn’t trust her enough to share his most basic self with her. Maybe it meant he was afraid or incapable of intimacy-the emotional kind, which even she knew was way more important than the physical, if a relationship was going to have a chance to survive the long haul.

So, what did that mean for her and Cory? His marriage-okay, that had been a mistake-a biggie, all right. A whopper. But mistakes could be forgiven. But this… If Cory’s failure to share something so important with her meant what she feared it did, then there was simply no hope for them. None at all.

It was only then, as the pain of that truth slammed into her, that she understood that until that moment, hope had been alive. Somewhere deep inside her, hidden, sure, but