His parting shot, delivered with that omnipresent and awful smile, was to say, “For those of you wondering how to gain access to the best stories, just be sure to slip a Lieutenant Colonel into your trousers.”

He couldn’t know. If Warren Stone ever found out how she felt about Dan and how Dan felt about her, then…She didn’t want to contemplate the end to that sentence. Still, Warren didn’t ascribe to her any feelings beyond that of a courtesan’s so perhaps she and Dan were safe. Of course letting Dan photograph her naked was, to anyone with a brain, close to a confession.

But the worry over how much Warren knew was forgotten amidst the sudden whooping cheer that drowned out the sounds of the typewriters clacking, the poker game, and the correspondents’ chatter.

“Hitler’s dead!” came the shout from a PRO on the telephone. “Topped himself, alongside Eva Braun.”

“About bloody time,” Lee Carson muttered and the laughter following that understatement was uproarious, an intense rush of relief that rebounded through every person gathered there. Except that, inconceivably, Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz had exhorted the German Army to continue to do their duty at their posts.

“It’s not over yet,” the PRO concluded.

But the party started anyway. Every typewriter in the copy room was put away. Every map was rolled up. Someone thought to stick lilac boughs in water jugs, the correspondents with the best connections provided the cognac and schnapps, and everyone put on their best and cleanest uniforms.

It wasn’t long before General Collins filed in, along with his staff, the intelligence officers; even the censors joined in the fun. Jess watched, alert, as the officers came too, looking for Dan but not finding him. She was just walking back to the party from the ablution facilities when she felt a hand on her arm and someone dragged her into one of the many dark hallways. The hand belonged to a scent she’d know anywhere, a combination of army soap, and the slightest hint of cologne—sandalwood and citrus. And the arms, arms she’d most definitely kissed, circled around her and drew her close.

Dan’s voice murmured in her ear, “Sorry about the ambush.”

He kissed her, long and deeply, the kind of kiss that made her stomach clench and her skin flush. She worked her hands under his shirt and felt his intake of breath when her fingers trailed unrelentingly up his body. He dived his hand down to the hem of her skirt, found his way underneath and was tracing a path up her thigh when they both heard, very close by, “Sir!”

Neither moved, Jess’s hands still resting on his chest, his fingers still touching her thigh, both of them hoping it was a different “Sir” being sought, not Dan.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hallworth!” The sound came again and they both looked at one another.

“You’re going to have to move your hands or I’ll never be able to leave,” he whispered.

“Move them here?” Jess whispered back, shifting her hands down his chest to the waistband of his trousers where she slipped the tips of her fingers inside.