“You’re not supposed to like it. There’s no shame in what you’re feeling. Taking the life of another human being is the ultimate responsibility. A responsibility I spent the past five years running from. But there’s another truth you’ve got to remember. Sometimes lethal force is the only thing that will defeat lethal force, and though zealots and crazies may twist that precept to their own perverted ends, it remains a truth. You did what had to be done, Jessie. You saved the day. Saved me.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

She tried to return it. “That grateful look doesn’t become you. We saved each other’s lives, OK? We’re even-steven.”

“What are you, a sniper or a CPA?”

She gave a rueful laugh, but her eyes returned to the dot of dried blood. She was silent for a moment. “It’s just all at once I had the thought that, you know, these guys had moms and dads, too.”

“You’ll find you learn not to think about that.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?”

“Sometimes,” Janson said, swallowing hard, “sometimes it’s a necessary thing.”

Now Jessie disappeared into the bathroom, and Janson heard the shower run for a long time.

When she returned, a terry-cloth bathrobe was wrapped around her slim yet softly curving body. She walked toward the bed nearest the window. Janson was almost startled at how delicately feminine the field agent now appeared.

“So you’re leaving me in the morning,” she said after a few moments.

“Not the way I’d put it,” Janson said.

“Wonder what the odds of my ever seeing you again are,” she said.

“Come on, Jessie. Don’t think like that.”

“Maybe we’d better seize the day—or the night. Gather ye rosebuds or whatever.” He could tell she was afraid for him, and for herself, too. “I got real good eyes. You know that. But I don’t need a sniper scope to see what’s in front of my face.”

“And what’s that?”

“I see the way you look at me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on now, make your move, soldier. Now’s the time you tell me how much I remind you of your late wife.”

“Actually, you couldn’t be less like her.”

She paused. “I make you uncomfortable. Don’t try to deny that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You survived eighteen months of torture and interrogation from the Viet Cong, but you flinch when I come too close.”

“No,” he said, but his mouth was dry.

She stood up and moved toward him. “And your eyes widen and your face flushes and your heart starts to race.” She reached over, took his hand, and pressed it to her throat. “Same with me. Can you feel it?”