“No, it doesn’t.”

* * *

An hour later, after Nathan had fallen asleep, Holly gathered her strewn clothes. Her body still tingling, she padded down the hall, being careful not to make any noise. He looked at peace. She wondered if he was truly asleep. The screams of her surveillance techs still fresh in her mind, she couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors he’d endured at the hands of his sadistic captor in Nicaragua. When he’d removed his shirt, her mind couldn’t register it. She’d betrayed outright shock and it had nearly ruined the moment. The crisscrossing network of scars on his chest and back looked vicious and brutal. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d endured. And yet he had a positive outlook on the world. He still cared. Despite how he thought of himself, Nathan McBride was a truly remarkable man. He’d been so aware of her needs during their lovemaking. Granted, there hadn’t been many: She could count them on one hand. But hands down, he’d been the most unselfish lover she’d ever been with. She hoped there might be a future for them. But given their situations and their professions, and given the distance separating them, she doubted it could work long-term. One or the other would have to relocate, and possibly give up the life he or she had built for themselves. She toyed with the idea of transferring to San Diego, but she liked being a special agent in charge of a major field office and was sure the same opportunity wouldn’t be available in San Diego for some time. Such openings were extremely rare and she felt fortunate to have been promoted to Sacramento’s top position. At least we’ll always have something special between us, she thought, tucking herself into bed. Nathan was right, it had been one hell of a day.

* * *

Holly awoke with a start. What was that sound? Had an animal somehow gotten into the house? She reached for her gun, but her hand froze an inch from its cold form. She heard a muffled moan followed by a hiss and spitting sound. No, not animal. Human. She tore the sheets away and hurried down the hall. In the living room, she dimmed the overhead light before flipping the switch. Oh dear Lord, Nathan. His hair plastered to his head, he was covered in sweat, moaning and waving his hands in front of his face at invisible demons. He issued a howl that sent a shiver through her body. He was there, in Nicaragua, being tortured. She remembered what he’d said on the ride up to the cabin, how he’d put a girlfriend in the hospital for waking him up, but how could she let this go on? Would he wake up on his own? She took several steps back and called his name from the opposite side of the couch.

No response.