A JAG Fan-fiction Story © 2003 Sheri Mitchell
	Harm learns the hard way that peace isn't something you find -- it finds you.
	Rated:  R Some occasional very coarse language.
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Admiral AJ Chegwidden stepped out on the stone steps at the front of the building, watching as the closest thing he’d ever had to a son was led away in irons. Harm didn’t look back as he was escorted down the steps, but that was probably a good thing. AJ didn’t think he could stand to meet those distant, empty eyes again. He felt a presence at his shoulder and glanced briefly at Lt. Roberts and Lt. Simms as they moved to stand with him. A moment later, Cdr. Turner appeared, then Tiner, then Gunny, then Singer.

Each had come of their own accord, drawn to this place by the same thing that had pulled AJ here. They were saying goodbye to one of their own.

In silence, they watched as Harm was taken to the large armored van waiting in the parking lot. The rear doors were opened and one of the guards took Harm’s elbow to help him in. At the last instant, his head turned, his eyes scanning the group gathered on the stairs and just for an instant, AJ thought he saw a flicker of emotion, a dim reflection of the vibrant, hyper-confident, sometimes hardheaded aviator-turned-lawyer he’d come to know. But then Harm’s gaze dropped, his chin nearly on his chest as he stepped into the van and out of sight.

For a moment, no one moved. As the van’s engine started, AJ dragged himself back from the well of sorrow threatening to engulf him – and them all. He spoke softly. "Back to work, people."

Sliding onto the bench in the back of the van, Harm swallowed against the bitter dryness in his throat. They’d all come to watch him leave. They’d gathered on the steps like they were posing for a group photo, but that picture would remain forever incomplete. The one face that most belonged in that group was missing.

Fully prepared for the sentence he’d just received, Harm had already packed the few kit items he was permitted to take. The small duffle bag was sitting on the end of his rack, waiting to accompany him on the long flight to Kansas. He wouldn’t have long to wait. There was a flight scheduled that afternoon and Harm knew he would be on it. It was entirely possible the gray walls of Leavenworth would be the last home he ever had.

JAG HQ – 11:20 EST

Bud dragged himself into his office, staring at the mountain of papers on the desk. Should he keep going? Was there any point now? He just didn’t know.

Rounding the desk, he started gathering the files together. On the top of one stack sat the autopsy file, still open. He glanced down at it, knowing there was probably no reason to torture himself further, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning the words printed there.

He swallowed a rise of bile as he read on. The destruction of the body was nearly complete. The heat of the fire was so intense, it had fused the metal pins in her ankle to the surrounding bone. A fresh wave of horror swept through him. Was she conscious? Did she—

Bud was yanked abruptly out of the gruesome speculation. That wasn’t right! Dropping into his chair, he hammered on the computer keyboard, bringing up a file and scanning it quickly. He looked from the screen to the autopsy report and back again, then slowly leaned back in his chair. If this meant what he thought it did—

A second later, he flew out the door, bound for the admiral’s office.

LEAVENWORTH – 14:20 CST

Harm lay stretched out on his rack, staring at the ceiling. He’d only been here for four days and for the next twenty-six, he would be under lockdown twenty-three hours a day. He didn’t much care one way or the other, except that he was getting stiff from the weeks of forced inactivity. His back wasn’t used to being horizontal so much of the time.

Rolling to face the wall, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the rumble of the door into the cellblock. The damn thing was right outside his cell. He swore his rack shook every time the door rolled open. Maybe he’d get lucky and they would move him to different cell when his probationary period was up, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. He’d known from the outset that he would probably have to remain in solitary confinement for his entire sentence. There were just too many prisoners here because of him.

The door lumbered open and closed three more times before his turn came. He would now have one hour to spend in whichever of the prison’s facilities he chose. Most inmates chose the outdoor exercise yard. Harm did too, but turned down the offer of a basketball to toss around. Instead, he walked the perimeter of the yard, stretching his muscles and trying hard not to think.

He’d been doing a lot of that lately. He’d never been very good at spending time with his thoughts. There had always been too many painful ones, but now it was pure hell.

His mind kept bouncing back to Ryan. Had Harm himself succumbed to the stresses of navy life the same way Ryan had? He still couldn’t remember anything about the accident. The last thing he remembered was telling Mac about Ryan and tossing back a couple of beers. Had he given in to the horrors he’d related to Mac and climbed into a bottle to forget?

It certainly looked that way. He’d had the same nightmare over and over again, where some unseen force held him down and poured – not water, as he’d thought the first time – but whiskey, down his throat until he was so looped he couldn’t see straight. Then he was magically transported to the car where Mac waited, more warm and open than he’d ever dared hope she would be. And then, helpless to stop himself, he killed her.

Mac had said something that night about finding peace. What a laugh that was. Harm would never have a moment’s peace again.

The door into the yard opened suddenly, snapping Harm out of his thoughts. Two inmates came out, the smaller of the two stopping to close the door behind him. Harm went on instant alert. He was supposed to be separated from the other prisoners. There was no way those two were allowed to be out here right now.

They strolled casually in his direction and as they drew closer, Harm recognized the taller of the two. Harm couldn’t quite recall his name, but he remembered the case. This was one of the many inmates Harm had helped to put here. "Cdr. Harmon Rabb," he sneered. "I heard you landed in here and I’ve been planning a little welcoming party for you."

Harm’s gaze flicked from one man to the other. The shorter of the two carried something balled up under his arm. It looked like a blanket. Harm shot a glance at the observation booth on the second floor.

"Don’t count on anyone up there helping you," the smaller man said. "They’re otherwise occupied at the moment. Seems Leeds has gone off the deep end again."

"A diversion," Harm ground out.

The man shrugged. "Who knows what sets Leeds off."

As the two advanced on him, Harm backed up until his shoulder connected with the unyielding concrete wall. A hard, menacing smile spread across the taller inmate’s face. "I’ve been waiting a long time for this."

He lunged suddenly, taking a wild swing at Harm’s chin. Harm ducked easily, dodging to one side. He popped a right toward his assailant, catching him on the cheekbone, but it was only a glancing blow. Ducking another punch, Harm stepped forward, going on the offensive. Instantly, he realized his mistake. The move took him away from the wall and allowed the second man to get behind him. The blanket came down over his head, cutting off all sight and most sounds.

A hard blow to the back of his head dropped him to his knees, then a booted foot slammed into his ribcage, driving the air from his lungs and flipping him onto his side. Already dizzy and hampered by the blanket, all Harm could do was curl into a ball as the blows rained down.

HARM’S CELL – 23:00 CST

It hurt to breathe. The prison doctor had determined his ribs were bruised, but not broken. Nothing was broken. The two assailants made sure of that. They stopped the beating at precisely the right time to ensure he wouldn’t be admitted to the infirmary. Patched up and given a couple of aspirin, Harm had been sent back to his cell.

From now on, he’d have to watch a little more closely. Living with a group of men who nearly all had reason to hate him was going to be a bigger challenge than he thought. He would have to—

The unmistakable metallic scraping of the cell door cut through his thoughts. Someone was easing the door open. He flipped over, but the whole-body stiffness slowed him down and before he could get out of the rack, a heavy weight descended on his chest, holding him down as someone pinned his arms to his sides. At nearly the same instant, a pillow came down on his face, pressing hard against the bruises on his cheek and the cut above his eye.

He struggled violently until he realized that the pillow was carefully placed to hold him down, maybe even scare him, but it didn’t prevent him from breathing. He went perfectly still as a whispered voice hissed in his ear. "Welcome to my world."

Palmer! He’d know that voice anywhere.

"You’re going to be a long term guest here," Palmer continued, "so I thought we’d set the stage for you. That little visit this afternoon was only the start, Rabb. There are men in here who will do anything for the right price, and believe me, I’ve always got the right price. I own this cellblock, I own this prison, and now I own you!"

Harm tried to struggle, to retaliate, but Palmer kept the pillow in place, muffling any attempt Harm made to speak.

"I bet you’ve been thinking about how you’ll have to watch your back in here, but I’m here to tell you, you’d better be thinking a little lower down, if you get my drift. Some of these guys have been in here a long time and they get really lonely."

Rage seethed through Harm at Palmer’s thinly veiled threats. With a quick yank of his head, he pulled free of the pillow enough to hiss, "And I bet you’d be real popular, if they ever let you out of solitary. I have friends, too, Palmer and I can make it happen!"

Palmer chuckled softly. "You really have no idea how far my reach extends, do you, Rabb? With nothing more than a simple nod, I can block any effort your friends try to make. Face it, Harmon," he sneered the name, "you’re living in my world now, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of the next twenty years."

He made a move as if to leave, then ducked back. "Oh, and in case you get any ideas about reporting this little nighttime visit, no one’s going to believe I got out of a locked solitary confinement cell just to let myself into another one." Palmer jerked his head at his companion, who was still holding Harm down. He couldn’t be sure, but Harm thought it looked like the same goon he’d gone ten rounds with earlier this afternoon.

Shoving hard against Harm’s bruised sternum, the man pushed away, getting to his feet and slipped out of the cell. In the dim light, Harm watched Palmer slither out behind his friend, reaching to lock the cell door with something Harm couldn’t distinguish. Heaving a sigh, Harm draped an arm over his eyes. Twenty years was going to be a very, very long time.

HARM’S CELL 10:30 CST The next day

"On your feet, Commander!"

Purely by reflex, Harm rolled off his rack and was halfway to attention before he was even aware of moving. He gasped at the wave of agony that slammed through his ribs, but made it to his feet. Outside the cell, Admiral Chegwidden’s expression dissolved into a look of shock. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Nothing, sir. Just a ‘welcoming party.’ Admiral, what are you doing here?" He wanted to deflect his former CO before he could ask any more questions. Beside the admiral, Bud looked just about as shocked.

"I came to bring you back to Washington. We’re appealing your conviction."

Despite the painful bruise along the right side of his jaw, the muscles there tightened. "Admiral, please, just let it go."

"Not a chance, Commander. Lt. Roberts has uncovered some new information. We think— Oh, hell, I am not doing this through prison bars!" He nodded to the petty officer standing guard. "Open it up."

"But sir..."

"Open this door!" the admiral barked. Harm knew that tone and it didn’t surprise him one bit when the burly guard leapt forward to comply.

The admiral and Bud stepped into the cell, pretty much taking up the small space. The admiral looked Harm up and down. "I spent the entire flight out here trying to decide how to tell you this and I couldn’t come up with any way except straight up. The woman in the car with you that night was not Col. MacKenzie. Now, she’s still missing, but there’s every chance Mac is still alive."

Harm couldn’t breathe. His chest squeezed until it felt like it was going to implode. Blood roared in his ears, blocking out all sound. His vision swam. The admiral’s words literally knocked him off his feet and, off balance, he stumbled backward and landed on his ass on the edge of the bed. A blur of motion at his side was followed by a strong supporting hand on his shoulder.

"Breathe, Commander, breathe."

Harm struggled through one breath, then another. Slowly, his senses began to clear. He swiped a hand across his eyes. His fingers came away wet, but he could see a little better now. He looked up at the admiral, croaking out a single word. "Alive?"

Chegwidden nodded. Harm turned slowly to Bud, who was grinning at him with that eager, buoyant expression Harm knew so well. It helped to ground him. "What the hell did you find, Bud?"

"I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner, sir, but I missed it somehow."

"Missed what, Bud? What did you find?" Harm demanded, still not quite able to believe what they were telling him.

"It was the autopsy report, sir. It mentioned pins in her ankle. I checked the colonel’s medical record. There’s no mention that she ever had pins put in her ankle."

"But the dental records. They were a match."

"We’re still working on how that’s possible," the admiral told him, "but there’s still enough evidence to negate the identification. You pled guilty to the involuntary manslaughter of Col. MacKenzie. If we can’t prove she’s dead, you can’t be guilty of killing her." He nodded to Lt. Roberts. "We brought a uniform for you. We’ll be going straight from the airport into court."

Bud handed him a small duffle bag. Harm took it and opened it. A full set of dress blues lay nestled inside.

"Get changed, Commander," the admiral ordered. "Our flight leaves in half an hour."

AJ stepped back, watching as Cdr. Rabb struggled to regain his mental balance. The biggest portion of the shock was already starting to wear off. He was more resilient than most men AJ knew but this had to be the biggest blow Harm had ever received, other than hearing Mac was dead, that is.

Rabb rose stiffly, peeling down the top portion of his coveralls and stripping off the tee shirt underneath. AJ sucked in a breath between his teeth at the sight of the dark purple bruises on Rabb’s ribs, back and chest. Someone had worked him over good. "Seems like you’ve had a little trouble making friends, Commander."

Harm winced as he slipped into the dress shirt and started buttoning it up. "On the contrary, sir. It seems I’ve got one friend too many in here."

AJ’s eyebrow went up, silently asking for more detail, but Rabb said no more. AJ shook his head, suddenly doubly glad he was getting Harm out of here, hopefully for good.

A few hours later, Harm again stood in the JAG HQ courtroom, a place he never thought he’d see again. This time, he stood side by side with Bud Roberts. The judge took her place on the bench and turned to Bud. "You have a motion, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, your honor. We move to have Cdr. Rabb’s conviction set aside."

"And the argument supporting this motion?"

"The identification of the human remains found at the accident scene has been called into question. We don’t know who this person is, but it is clearly not Col. MacKenzie."

The judge turned to Admiral Chegwidden. "Does the government have any objections?"

The admiral rose to his feet. "No, your honor, we do not."

"Very well," she turned to Bud. "The motion is granted and may I say that I am personally gratified to learn Col. MacKenzie is still with us."

But is she? echoed through Harm’s mind as the gavel fell. It had been more than three weeks since the accident. If Mac was alive, where the hell was she? And who was it who died in that car? Maybe he hadn’t killed Mac, but was he still responsible for someone’s death?

He haltingly voiced these concerns to Bud and the admiral as they made their way back to Bud’s office a few minutes later.

Bud adamantly shook his head. "No, sir. I don’t think you were responsible for anything that happened that night. I’m almost certain you weren’t driving that car." He outlined his reasoning. Almost all of it was based on his unwavering confidence in him and Harm was deeply touched by it.

"Commander, I do have one question for you," Bud said, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"What’s that, Bud?"

"Well, when I interviewed the bartender, he said...well, he mentioned you and the colonel had some sort of disagreement. You didn’t...I mean, well...." He trailed off, flushing a deep red.

Harm heaved a sigh. "Did I have a scrap with Mac and then go pick up another woman? Is that what you’re trying to ask?"

Bud nodded, firing a guilty look from Harm to the admiral and back.

Harm also glanced at the admiral before answering Bud. "No, Lieutenant, I didn’t. I remember that much at least. In fact, I didn’t have an argument with Mac at all."

"But the bartender said he saw you leave in a rush and the colonel went after you."

"I got a little upset, is all. We were talking about Cdr. Taylor. It got a little intense and I...wanted some air. I went outside and—" He froze mid-sentence, hit by a blast of memories. He sat up straight, the words tumbling from him in a rush. "We went out to the parking lot. We sat in the car and talked some more. She...I...."

Harm’s eyes went wide, suddenly seeing it all as clear as day. My God! That part of the dream was true! He’d kissed her that night, but not because he was drunk. His emotions were just so raw and exposed. She was there, full of warmth and life, when all they’d talked about all night was death. He remembered the feel of her soft lips beneath his, opening for him—

"Commander?"

The admiral’s urgent tone cut through Harm’s memory, snapping him back to the present. He shook his head, clearing the last of the vivid memories from his mind. "We sat in the car and talked. I remember that now."

"Do you remember how many drinks you had before you left?" Admiral Chegwidden asked.

"Two, then I switched to coffee. I remember Mac teasing me about the caffeine keeping me awake."

"Then how could your blood alcohol level be so high?" Bud asked.

Harm stared at him. Could it be? If part of his dream was true.... "I’ve had a recurring nightmare since all of this started. In it, someone or something is holding me down, pouring whiskey down me. I thought it was just the guilt playing tricks with my mind, but what if it really happened?"

Bud got that eager look on his face that said his mind was racing ahead. There was a time when he would have been literally bouncing in his chair by now, but he’d matured a lot in the past few years. "If someone forced enough alcohol into you, maybe you passed out, or maybe you were drugged. Then whoever it was kidnapped Col. MacKenzie, put someone in her place and staged the accident."

The admiral frowned, shaking his head. "If this was all an elaborate scheme to frame you for the colonel’s death, why kidnap her at all? Why not kill her for real? Someone went to enormous lengths to make us think it was her in that car."

"That’s why I think she’s still alive," Bud replied quickly. "Whoever did this needed Col. MacKenzie alive."

Harm shoved to his feet, headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" the admiral asked.

"To shake a few trees and see what falls out. It’s been almost a month since the accident. We don’t know what the kidnapper needed Mac for, or how long that need will last."

RINGER’S PUB – 15:05 EST

Olsen, the bartender, looked up, saw Bud come with Cdr. Rabb beside him, and turned white as a sheet. Bud watched him edge nervously toward the end of the bar but the commander’s long stride didn’t give him time to escape. Harm dropped his hands on the bar with a loud smack. "It’s time for some answers."

"Look, I already told the cops, and this guy," he waved a hand at Bud, "everything I know! Would you leave me alone!"

"Not a chance," Cdr. Rabb replied, his tone low and cold. "I want to know why you lied."

"I didn’t lie!"

Like a cat aiming for a window sill, the commander crouched, then sprang over the bar, clearing it in one easy move. Before Bud could even react, Harm was standing on the other side, Olsen’s shirtfront wrapped in one fist. The other hovered only inches from the scared bartender’s face. "The hell you didn’t! I only had two beer that night, and you damn well know it. Why did you tell the police I’d had more?" He shook the man, hard. "Why!"

"Okay, okay," Olsen bleated. "Someone...paid me to say it."

"Who?" Harm demanded, shaking him again.

"I don’t know! Just some guy! He came in here as we were closing up. Offered me more money than I make in a month. He said that was his wife you were with and he was trying to get you in a heap of trouble. I didn’t know anything more than that at the time. When I heard she was killed, I didn’t know what was going on, but I’d already taken the money, so I stuck to the story he told me to use."

"Describe this guy," Bud suggested.

"He was about six feet tall, dark hair and a mustache. Oh, and he was missing part of his left ear! I remember that. The lobe was gone. Looked like an old wound, though. Lots of scarring."

Bud and Harm exchanged a look. Bud slowly shook his head. It didn’t sound like anyone he knew. The commander’s blank look said the description didn’t ring any bells with him either.

Frustration creeping up his spine, Harm shoved the bartender away, grabbed a napkin and pen, scribbling the office number on it. He stuffed it in Olsen’s shirt pocket. "If you see him again, or hear from him, you call that number, got it?"

Olsen nodded meekly. Shoving past him, Harm rounded the bar, joining Bud at the end. Together they went out to the parking lot.

Bud headed straight for the car, but Harm hesitated, looking around the gravel lot. He remembered sitting in the car with Mac. They were parked beside one of the big lampposts. He remembered the pale light pouring in through the windshield that night. It made Mac’s face glow, giving a spark to her eyes as she sat there looking at him. She said something, he couldn’t remember what, but he could hear the tone of her voice, low and tender.

Then he kissed her. That part of the memory was as clear as could be. He remembered drawing away slowly, or maybe she did, and then she whispered to him to take her home. He...he reached for the ignition, but Mac shouted suddenly, her eyes going wide with fear. The car door flew open. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders. They yanked him out of the car before he could react.

Like an old movie spinning off its reel, the memory came to an abrupt end. Harm walked a in slow circle around the lot, but the rest was a blank. Shaking off the memory, he turned to see Bud staring at him. "Did you remember something, sir?"

"Oh, yeah," he muttered. "You were right, Bud. Someone did grab us that night." He walked to a spot in the parking lot. "He yanked me out of the car right here."

Bud came over and together they carefully examined the area Harm indicated. Abruptly, Bud squatted down, picking something out of the gravel. He held it up triumphantly. It was a brass button from a navy uniform.

Carefully, Harm took the button from him. "How much do you want to bet the uniform I wore that night is missing a button?"

Bud grinned at him. "How about a month’s pay?"

Harm returned the smile, handing the button back to him. "Come on, let’s go."

"Where are we going?" Bud asked as he jogged beside Harm toward their car.

"To see Mac’s dentist."

DR. FORD’S OFFICE – 16:12 EST

When Harm explained who he was, the receptionist went into the back to speak to the dentist. While they waited, Bud leaned close and spoke softly. "What are you fishing for here, sir?"

"If the person found in the wreckage wasn’t Mac, someone had to make her teeth look like Mac’s right?"

Bud’s face lit up. "So you think the dentist—"

"I don’t know if it was this guy or someone else. That’s what I’m hoping to find out."

Bud started to reply, but the door to the inner part of the office opened and Dr. Ford came out. He shook hands with Harm and Bud, ushering them into his office. "What’s this all about, Commander? I already forwarded Col. MacKenzie’s records to the forensics lab."

"I know," Harm replied. "We’re just following up. We need to know if anyone else has requested copies of her records lately."

He consulted the file in front of him. "Not in the past six months."

"How about before that?" Bud asked.

Ford checked the file again. "Yes. About eight months ago we received a request from a dentist in Norfolk. Apparently, he was doing some emergency dental surgery to repair some damage the colonel received in the line of duty."

Harm and Bud exchanged a look. Mac did not have dental surgery in Norfolk eight months ago. She wasn’t even in Norfolk then. Harm turned to Dr. Ford. "Could I have the name of that dentist?"

Ford scribbled the name on a piece of paper and handed it to Harm.

After thanking him for the information, Bud and Harm left the office. As they returned to the car, Harm glanced at his watch. "It’s too late to start for Norfolk today. We’ll head out first thing in the morning."

Their duty shift over, Harm dropped Bud off at JAG and headed for home. He pulled into his usual parking spot and made his way upstairs. Inside the apartment, he dropped his cover on the shelf by the door and headed into the bedroom to change. Careful of his bruised and battered body, he stripped off his jacket, yanked the shirt out of his waistband and unbuttoned it. Peeling it off, he tossed it in the laundry basket on the floor of the closet and pulled open one of the drawers in search of a tee shirt.

That’s when it hit him. All of a sudden, his hands began to shake and his knees nearly buckled. Struggling to draw a full breath, he staggered backward and sat down hard on the bed. The events of the past month rushed at him all at once, breaking over him in waves taller and more devastating than those he’d faced in the raging, frigid Atlantic.

One of his oldest friends was dead, pushed over the edge by the horrors life as an aviator piled on a person. Mac was missing, but she might, might, be alive. Even if the worst were true, he wasn’t the cause of her death. He was free. He didn’t have to contend with a lifetime of Palmer and the other prisoners constantly making his life hell, assuming they let him live at all. Alone in his apartment, half naked and too shaken to move, Harm sat and trembled.

He realized now he was focusing so hard on finding out what had happened to Mac as a way of avoiding thinking about what was happening to her now. Where was she? Was she lying somewhere injured and unable to call for help? Was she even still alive?

In the silence of his bedroom, he heard her last whispered words to him. "Take me home."

He saw the glow in her eyes, the unspoken message gleaming there. Something had cracked wide open between them in that moment. He had no doubt what would have followed if they had made it back to her apartment, and if it had, where would they be now? He’d always known that if they ever crossed that line, there would be no turning back.

A fresh wave of guilt and regret swamped him, forcing a cry from his throat that was somewhere between a moan and a sob. Now, he not only mourned the loss of Mac herself, but also the demise of everything that could have been.

It wasn’t fair, damn it! A part of him had always known that in Mac lay his best – his only – hope of finding some peace in this life. He was not going to give that up, not while there was any chance, no matter how slim, that she was still out there somewhere, alive and missing him as much as he missed her.

HARM’S APARTMENT 05:40 EST

Harm awoke in the cold gray dawn, Mac’s name on his lips, her smile in his mind. Slipping out of bed, he pulled on an old USN jogging suit and rambled around the apartment for a few minutes but before long, he found himself outside on the street below, taking simple pleasure in having the freedom to step outside any time he wanted.

It was the only pleasure he could find in the flat gray morning light. All night long, he dreamed of Mac, of kissing her, of finding her broken and lifeless body in some rundown old building. He dreamed of spending the rest of his life with her and he dreamed of never seeing her again. Both prospects scared him, but only one terrified him.

Who could have done this? Who could have a mind twisted and evil enough to conceive of something like this? Someone was toying with him, playing on his deepest fears, messing with his mind—

The answer slammed into him with the force of a ten-ton truck.

He should have known! Damn it, he should have known from the very start!

Turning, he bolted back inside.

JAG HQ – 07:29 EST

Harm burst into the admiral’s office, throwing the door open at the same instant his knuckles rapped on it. "Admiral, I know who did it!"

The admiral looked up from his desk, startled. Harm’s words sank in and he bolted to his feet. "Who?"

"Palmer! It has to be. He’s the only one who would mess with my head this way."

The admiral stared at him. "But he’s in prison."

"So when has that stopped him before? Think about it, Admiral. What better way to get to me? Make me think I’ve killed the most important person in my life and then have me locked up with him for it! He paid me a visit in my cell one night. He made it clear he could go anywhere in that prison he wanted, any time he wanted. He could have engineered this from inside."

"Is he the one who worked you over?" Chegwidden asked.

"No, but it was a couple of his minions. Sir, I’m going to be on the next flight to Leavenworth, and I think it might be a good idea if you were too."

"Me, why?"

Harm was already turning for the door. "To keep me from doing something stupid."

LEAVENWORTH – 14:12 CST

AJ watched Harm pace the small interview room, waiting for Palmer to be brought in. There was a barely controlled rage in the young man that chilled AJ to the bone. He realized now that Harm had been serious about wanting him along to keep him from doing something stupid. AJ had never seen him so close to the edge.

The instant Palmer was brought into the room, AJ literally felt Harm’s tension kick up a notch and discretely moved a little closer to him. The guard pushed Palmer into a chair then backed off a few steps. AJ nodded at the guard, tossing his head toward the door. The beefy young man got the drift and slipped out of the room.

Looming over Palmer, Harm planted his hands on the table, glaring down into Palmer’s smug face. "Where is she?"

"Where’s who? Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced another partner." Palmer turned to AJ. "Really, Admiral, you have to stop giving him female partners. He’s awfully careless with them."

Harm literally exploded.

Before AJ could make a move, Harm had Palmer out of his chair and against the wall, his forearm pressed to Palmer’s throat. A little of Palmer’s smugness slipped away as he struggled to speak. "Admiral, call off your dog! You can’t let him do this!"

AJ hesitated, but only a fraction of a second. Mac was his friend too. "Do what? I don’t see anything."

Harm yanked Palmer off the wall, only to slam him against it even harder. "I said where is she? You’d better start talking because my patience has run out!"

"I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about," Palmer insisted.

Harm slammed him into the wall again, punctuating his sentence. "Don’t fuck with me, Palmer! You’ve gone too far this time! You want to mess with my head, you get to pay the price, ‘cause right now I don’t think I’m all that stable, do you? If you don’t tell me where she is this very second, I’ll take you apart with my bare hands, and when I’m done, there won’t be enough left to feed a small dog!"

Palmer did his best to shrug. "I did what anyone would do with something they don’t need anymore. I sold her."

"You what!" Harm screamed. Hauling him off the wall, Harm spun around and slammed him backwards over the table.

AJ stepped in then, putting a hand on Harm’s shoulder. He might as well have been holding solid rock. He knew he should stop the commander before he went any further, but they still didn’t have what they needed, and frankly, there was a part of AJ that was glad it wasn’t his hands on Palmer right now. He knew more ways to kill than Harm did.

Harm grabbed Palmer by the hair, dragging his face to within inches of his own. AJ’s hand tightened on Harm’s shoulder, ready to haul him off. Harm’s tone was murderously cold. "Who bought her?"

Palmer said nothing. With a grimace of pure rage, Harm slammed Palmer’s head into the table, once for each word. "Who—Bought—Her!"

AJ grabbed him then, and it took every ounce of strength he had to pull Harm back. "Easy, Commander. He can’t answer you if he’s unconscious."

Putting one arm on each of their chests, AJ eventually managed to peel the two men apart. He put Harm at his back, addressing Palmer. "As you can see, I’m not having much luck controlling him these days, so I suggest you answer him." He felt Harm’s ragged breath gusting across the back of his neck as he made a move to go around him. AJ held out an arm to block him.

Palmer shrugged again. "What makes you think I even know his name?"

Harm made a move to lunge around the admiral, intent on nothing more than getting his hands on Palmer again, preferably around his skinny little neck. "Oh, you know! You’d never risk letting her go with just anyone, in case she got away. I swear to you, Palmer, if she’s been hurt in any way, nothing – nothing – will stop me from killing you!"

Palmer had the audacity to scoff. "Down, boy. She’s in no danger. If you saw the look in his eyes when he talked about his ‘merchandise’, you wouldn’t worry about her being hurt. She’s his most prized possession."

"She’s nobody’s possession!" Harm shouted. He made it past the admiral this time, grabbing him by the front of his coveralls. He felt the admiral’s iron grip on his shoulders and, with every scrap of control he had left, Harm resisted the urge to switch his grip to Palmer’s throat. "Give me a name, or so help me—"

"Palmer," the admiral said from behind him, "my patience is wearing just about as thin as Rabb’s. Give us the name, or I’m going to walk out of here and leave you alone with him."

Palmer’s eyes shifted to look at the admiral over Harm’s shoulder. "You wouldn’t."

"Try me," Chegwidden replied coldly.

Palmer’s gaze bounced back and forth between Harm and the admiral. "All right, all right. His name is Pitong Abayari. He’s a Filipino businessman with, shall we say, a taste for the exotic. He’s well known in certain circles for his love of women with spunk. I warned him the colonel might be more of a challenge than he bargained for."

Harm’s right fist snapped back, but the admiral caught his arm before he could put Palmer’s lights out for good. Admiral Chegwidden yanked on his arm, forcing him to lower it. "We got what we came for, Commander. Don’t do anything that’s going to put you back in here with him."

Very slowly, Harm let go of Palmer’s shirt. The admiral was right. He couldn’t help Mac if he was back in jail.

A few minutes later, he and the admiral were on their way out of the prison. As they strode down the corridor, Harm could almost feel the anger rolling off the admiral in waves. "Commander," he said, his tone low and hard, "do you have any idea how much slack I just cut for you?"

"Yes, sir," Harm replied quickly. He was well aware that he’d crossed the line, and that the admiral had let him.

"Good." It was the last Admiral Chegwidden said on the subject.

ABAYARI MANSION – 17:00 EST

Mac’s internal clock clicked over to five p.m. Any minute now, the neatly starched butler would bring her dinner. His punctuality was borderline obsessive. Of course, with an employer like Abayari, it was understandable. The Filipino millionaire was a full-blown megalomaniac. Unfortunately, he had the resources to bolster his already inflated sense of importance.

It the past month, she had been treated like a queen and made to feel like a whipped puppy. No one had laid a hand on her, but she had been given absolutely zero freedom. Twice a day, she was released from the shackle on her ankle and allowed to freshen up and take care of necessities in the opulent marble bathroom that made up the other half of her suite. The rest of the time, she was chained to the bed with just enough slack to allow her to lie down comfortably.

With every day that passed, Mac’s worry grew. She didn’t understand why Harm and the JAG staff hadn’t located her by now, unless Harm had been seriously injured during the attack, or worse.

Neither of them were expecting anything that night. Far from it, in fact. Her entire focus had been on Harm, on the pain and grief that was just beginning to bubble to the surface as he talked more about Ryan Taylor, his death and how it had affected him. As a result, the two goons managed to get the drop on them.

She barely had time to shout out a warning before someone dragged her from the car. At the same instant, someone else pulled Harm out on his side. She lost sight of him almost immediately, struggling with her attacker until he cracked her over the head. She woke up in this room and hadn’t been out of it since.

Most of the time, she was alone with her thoughts and the memory that kept haunting her was the sight of Harm being dragged from the car. If anything had happened to him....

Who was she kidding? She was in no position to be making threats. It had been nearly a month and she still hadn’t been able to figure a way out of here.

The room had only one window, almost too small to escape through, and even if she could fit through it, there was a heavy metal grate on the outside. The only way in or out was through the door, and even if she could get free from her shackle, the door was always locked. Every time the butler brought her meals, she heard the scraping of a lock before he entered. He was always accompanied by an armed guard who stood by while she was unchained.

Frustration was becoming her constant companion. She was a well-trained Marine, not somebody’s trophy, to be put on display whenever the mood struck him. At least twice a week, Abayari appeared at dinner, plying her with wonderful foods, the offer of wine and a nonstop litany of her graces. It made her want to gag.

The instant their plane touched down at Dulles, Harm was ready to storm Abayari’s walled and well guarded compound. He didn’t give a damn how many guards there were, all that mattered was getting Mac back safely. Even before they were out of the terminal, the admiral was hauling back on his leash. "Commander, we can not storm a private residence on the word of a some lunatic prison inmate! Besides, we don’t even know for sure if the colonel is in that monstrosity of a castle. Palmer said Abayari wanted her alive and unhurt. As long as he thinks he’s in the clear, she’ll likely stay that way. If we tip our hand too soon, the results could be disastrous."

"But Admiral—"

Chegwidden stopped in the middle of the parking lot, whirling on him. "Commander, I’ve had about as much as I can take from you lately. You’re an officer in the United States Navy and you’d damn well better start thinking like one again. Is that clear?"

Stunned, all Harm could do was offer a crisp nod. "Yes, sir."

The admiral heaved a sigh. "I know you’ve been through one hell of a lot lately, and it’s not over yet, but I do not need you going off half-cocked like you did in that interview room. This time, it could get Mac killed. Keep a lid on it, mister, any way you can."

Harm nodded again, this time with more sincerity. "Aye-aye, sir."

JAG HQ – 17:40 EST

Within an hour of arriving at Ops, they had the basics of a plan hammered out. Abayari’s gated compound was a popular tourist attraction and landmark. It seemed like nearly everyone in DC had driven by it at one time or another, either to gawk themselves or to show it off to visitors. The place’s popularity was both a help and a hindrance. It meant it was fairly easy to get some general outside photographs, but it also meant getting inside would be harder than hell.

They scheduled a night recon for two hours after sunset. Harm insisted on being a part of the infiltration unit. AJ hesitated, then reluctantly agreed, largely because if he didn’t, he had a feeling Rabb would be in on it anyway. At least if he was part of the official mission, he would be under orders and, theoretically, easier to control.

Dressed in black from head to toe, his face blackened, Harm followed the other two members of the recon team as they slipped quietly up to the outside of the ten-foot cement wall. He watched one man give the other a boost onto the top of the wall, then gave the second man a boost himself. Both Marines spun around and reached down, each grabbing one of his wrists. It was awkward scrambling up the wall, but he managed to do it without creating a lot of noise.

The moment he was up, his teammates gave him a quick nod then turned and dropped over the other side of the wall into the compound. Instantly, they were swallowed by the night. Harm dropped lightly to the ground, crouching behind some bushes while he engaged his night vision goggles.

Moving through an eerie world of green shadows, he made his way slowly through the meticulously tended foliage, keeping an eye out for tripwires and other surveillance devices. When he reached the edge of the bushes, he paused, carefully scanning the rooftop and the wide expanse of manicured lawn, searching for lookouts and guards.

He was on the back side of the residence, facing a wide covered patio that ran the width of the three-story building. Lights blazed from several windows on the first and second floor, but on the third floor, only one window glowed. It was a small, vertical rectangle maybe a foot wide by two feet high, with a heavy mesh grate covering it. From his low angle on the ground, Harm couldn’t see anything in the window except the occasional movement of a shadow on the far wall of the room.

He scanned the grounds again and the windows of the first and second floor, but something made him return his attention to that third floor window. Somehow, he just knew Mac was in that room. He knew it was crazy, but he could feel her presence, drawing him to her with an unwavering certainty he was scared to examine too closely.

After one last check of his surroundings, Harm darted across the lawn, flattening himself against the back wall of the residence. Slipping around the side, he found a trellis covered with a thick growth of plants winding and twisting their way up the side of the wall. He gave the wooden structure a tug. It was pretty flimsy, but if he was careful... He started climbing.

A moment later, he stepped onto the gently sloping roof of the patio. Dropping flat on his stomach, he wormed his way slowly to the first window. Flipping up his night goggles, he came up onto one knee, risking a quick peek in the window. The room was empty.

Very slowly, he made his way across the roof, stopping to check each room he passed. All but one were empty. The occupied room was a security monitoring station. Inside, two armed guards kept a vigil on a panel of six video monitors. Harm looked the system over carefully before continuing on.

At last, he made it to his intended target at the other end of the roof, a wide metal drain pipe that went all the way up to the roof gutter. It passed within a couple of feet of the lit third floor window. The pipe was secured to the wall with brackets every foot or so and a closer inspection revealed there just might be enough room for a toe hold where the bracket spanned the short distance from the wall to the pipe.

Harm risked a glance downward and heaved a nervous sigh. He was an aviator, not a monkey! Still, it was the only feasible way up to that third floor window. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed on and started climbing.

It was a slow, meticulous process and it took him almost five minutes to climb to where he was level with the window. He was too far from it to see directly in, but he got a glimpse of rich peach-tone wallpaper and the corner of a bureau or dresser. He could also see that the window was open a couple of inches. He was about to take one of the biggest risks of his life, but he had to know.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, Mac picked at a loose thread on the fine satin bedcover. This was the part of the day she hated the most. She would be left alone now until eight o’clock the next morning. The boredom was nearly maddening. A soft sound whispered through the window, catching her attention in the evening stillness. It was crazy, but it sounded like her name. It came again, slightly louder. "Mac?"

Eyes wide, she came off the bed, stretching as far toward the window as her shackle would let her. Even as a low, urgent whisper, she’d know that voice anywhere. "Harm, is that you?" she hissed back.

"Yes! Mac, thank God! We’re going to get you out of there. Just hang on a little longer."

"Harm, no!" she whispered. "There are too many guards. I hear them making rounds in the hallway every few minutes." Her mind racing, a plan began to form. "Tomorrow morning. Can you create some kind of diversion at exactly 08:01?"

"Yeah," came the soft reply, "I guess so, but Mac, I don’t want to leave you there another night."

"I’m fine. I haven’t been hurt. The butler brings my breakfast at eight o’clock, but he always has a guard. If you create enough of a disturbance, maybe the guard will go to investigate. I can overpower the butler when he unshackles me."

"Unshackles you?"

"Yeah, my ankle is chained to the bed."

Clinging precariously to the drainpipe, Harm fought a wave of nausea at the thought of her chained like an animal. He swallowed it down and shifted his rapidly moistening grip. "I can’t stay here much longer," he whispered to her, "but I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise. And Mac?"

"Yeah?" came her soft reply.

"You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

Even though he was whispering, she could hear a catch in his voice. Mac strained to get even a glimpse of him, but she couldn’t see anything through the window. She didn’t understand why his words were so thick with emotion, but it touched her deeply.

"I’m glad to hear yours, too," she replied softly.

"Tomorrow. Eight-oh-one," he hissed. "Be ready."

"I will be."

Reluctantly, Harm began his descent, picking his way carefully down the drainpipe back to the patio roof. Returning the way he came, he made it to the trellis and climbed down, gratefully dropping back to solid ground. The only way he was comfortable up in the air was with a couple of tons of Tomcat under his six.

It took a monumental effort to take his time and move slowly back to the rendezvous point at the wall. A few seconds after he got there, a soft rustle of bushes announced the arrival of the other two team members. "I found her," he whispered quickly. They nodded silently and began hoisting the first man back over the wall.

The moment Harm hit the ground on the other side, he lit out. The admiral was waiting in his car a block away. Harm made it in record time. He reported everything, including the details of Mac’s plan. The admiral listened, then started punching buttons on his cell phone.

ABAYARI MANSION – 07:55 EST

In five minutes, the butler would bring in her breakfast. If all went according to plan, in six, she would be free. Her internal clock counted the seconds, the minutes, until she finally heard the scraping of the lock. She rose to her feet, trying not to look too eager.

As always, the guard entered first, his gun at the ready. He was followed by the pseudo-penguin butler, carrying a large brass and glass breakfast tray. The guard took his station by the door while the other man brought the tray over. Setting it down on the bedside table, he knelt to undo the cuff on her ankle. Her internal clock clicked over to eight-oh-one.

From the ground floor, she heard the muffled whoosh of a concussion grenade. Startled, the guard shot a look through the door, back to her, then after a further second’s hesitation, bolted out the door. The instant he was out of sight, Mac kicked out, flattening the starchy servant with one blow. A second later, she was out the door and running.

She had no idea of the building’s layout, but the guard had turned right outside her door, so she did too. At the end of the corridor she found what she was looking for, a wide stairway leading down. Pressing her back to the wall, she eased her way to the second floor. As she started to leave the stairwell, a blur of motion caught her eye, followed by a blast of automatic gunfire. She ducked back into the stairwell, mounting two stairs. When the guard came around the corner a second later, she was ready, lashing out with a well-placed foot. He dropped like a rock.

On the first floor, Harm heard the gunfire erupt above him and put on an extra burst of speed. None of the extraction team were up there yet. The only person the guards could be firing on was Mac. He pelted up the stairs, but had the sense to drop to his belly as he reached the top, peering over the edge of the top step. The corridor was empty, or so he thought. A closer look showed the booted foot of a prone figure at the other end of the hall.

And then the most beautiful sight in the world popped around the corner.

Mac ducked out of the stairway, running lightly down the hall, her back turned toward the wall. Harm leapt up, waving to her. "Mac, here!"

He saw her face light up as she darted toward him. He grabbed her hand and together they dashed back down the way he’d come.

This stairwell doubled back on itself at a wide landing. As Harm rounded the railing, a hail of gunfire spewed up from below. He leapt back, shoving Mac behind him, shielding her with his body. They had two choices, back up the stairs or over the landing’s rail. They exchanged a look, instantly and silently agreeing. As one, they took two paces and leapt the rail.

Even as he landed, Harm reached out to steady Mac, but she was already rising from a crouch. The majority of the commotion was coming from the area of the front door, where the extraction team had set off the grenade, so they turned and darted through the foyer, heading for the back of the house. Sporadic bursts of automatic fire erupted around them, but nothing came too close. The other members of the extraction unit were keeping the guards busy.

A moment later, they burst out through a set of French doors. Harm pressed his back to the wall, stopping to suck in a few deep breaths of fresh air. From his belt, he pulled a semi-automatic pistol and handed it to Mac then gestured toward the side of the building. "Go out that way. Someone will be waiting for you."

"Where are you going?" she whispered harshly.

"Back in. The team may need some help getting out."

"Then I’m going too!" she insisted.

"Mac, don’t argue. Not this time. Please!" There was an urgent desperation in his voice and in his eyes. They’d been in dangerous situations before but for some reason, this time he was absolutely terrified for her. What did he know that she didn’t? She didn’t understand it, but something told her to respect it.

"All right," she conceded, "but I don’t like it!"

"I know," he replied, a tiny hint of a smile touching his lips. "Now go!"

Moving swiftly but carefully, Mac started toward the corner as Harm ducked back inside. When she reached the end of the building, she took a quick darting glance around the corner then eased around to the side of the building. Halfway down was a small concrete patio, accessed by another set of French doors. Beyond it, was an open stretch. If she could make it past that, she’d be home free.

Three quarters of the way to the patio, she froze as a blur of motion caught her eye. Abayari himself stepped out of the doors, a gun in his pudgy hand. For one brief second, Mac had an image of that hand stroking her hair, and heard his soft chuckle as she tried to pull away. She popped back to reality and raised her weapon. At the same instant, he saw her and raised his own.

"So, my beautiful colonel. Thinking of leaving me, are you?" he oozed. "Well I won’t permit it."

"You won’t kill me," she challenged. "You went to too much trouble to get me."

"Ah yes, but as is so often the case, wanting a thing is not the same as having it. I’m growing bored with your constant rejection."

"What, did you expect me to just give in and become your doting geisha girl? I don’t think so!"

"Apparently not," he agreed. "Still, I’m afraid I cannot let you leave here." He raised the gun a little higher and in that moment, Mac knew he intended to use it. All she could hope for was to hit him before his round found its mark.

A gun barked and she squeezed off a quick shot of her own, expecting at any second to feel the burning tear of a bullet through her flesh.

It never came. Instead, a crimson bloom appeared on Abayari’s shirtfront, spreading slowly as he crumpled to the ground. Behind him in the open doorway stood Harm, his gun still raised.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, their eyes locked on each other. Even when a Marine appeared beside Harm, he didn’t look away from her. "All secure, sir," the Marine reported. Harm gave a nod, still not taking his gaze from hers.

Holstering his weapon, Harm slowly began to approach her and Mac was instantly drawn to the strange look on his face. Over the years, she had seen him in virtually every emotional state a person could be in, but she’d never seen him look like this, so raw and exposed, so – fragile. He looked at her as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Her smile slid into a frown. "Harm? What’s wrong?"

A tentative hand reached toward her and Mac saw the fine tremor in his fingers and felt it as they softly brushed her cheek. His eyes burned with an intensity that would have been frightening if they hadn’t suddenly flooded with tears.

Mac didn’t have a clue why he was reacting like this but for now at least, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was taking away the pain that was etched into every line of his face. Before she could decide how to do that, he pulled her into an embrace so fierce, so desperate, her own throat clogged with emotion.

He clung to her, his face lost in her hair, breathing her scent, feeling her warmth as she pressed her cheek to his. "I thought you were dead," he gasped, frantically searching for some way to hold her closer. "Oh God, Mac!"

He couldn’t help it. The waves of grief and guilt, fear and pain that he’d been battling for so long crashed over him all at once, battering through the last of his defenses. Locked in her arms, Harm buried his face and wept.

Shocked and confused, Mac felt him break down. All she could do was hold him as wave after wave poured out of him. Something far more terrible than her kidnapping had caused this. Something had completely devastated him, stripping every last shred of his control. What did he mean he thought she was dead?

She stroked his back with gentle hands, whispering soothing words until she felt him begin to wind down. When he finally drew away, he refused to look at her, turning as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I’m...sorry. I...didn’t mean to...."

She put a hand on his back, feeling the residual trembling in his tall frame. "What’s wrong?" she whispered. "Will you please tell me?"

He took a deep shuddering breath. "Not here, but yeah, you need to know. You need to understand."

Before she could ask what he was talking about, he walked away without so much as a backward glance.

The mop-up didn’t take long and after a heated battle with the medics to convince them she didn’t need to go to the hospital, Mac went in search of Harm. She was shocked to learn he’d already left the scene and that no one knew where he had gone. She thought they were going to talk, that he would tell her was had upset him so.

In fact, everyone seemed to be acting a little strange. Even the admiral greeted her with a warmth and relief she didn’t quite understand. "Sir, what’s going on? Why does everyone seem so glad to see me?"

He hesitated a moment. "I think I’d better let someone else explain that, Colonel. I’m sure he will when he’s ready."

MAC’S APARTMENT – 11:20 EST

Sent home to freshen up and change, Mac had been ordered to report for debriefing this afternoon. Hopefully then she’d get some answers. There was obviously a lot more going on here than a simple kidnapping, but everyone seemed so reluctant to talk about it. She was sure it had something to do with Harm, the admiral’s cryptic remark confirmed that, but she still didn’t know what it was all about.

The doorbell caught her coming out of the bathroom. She tightened the belt of her robe around her waist, rubbing a towel over her hair with the other hand. At least the nightmare was over and things could get back to normal.

She opened the door and when saw Harm’s face, she amended her previous thought. For some, the nightmare clearly wasn’t over yet. His gaze bouncing between her and the floor, he stepped inside without a word. Instantly, the room filled with his pain. Deeply concerned, Mac closed the door a little harder than she intended. "What is it, Harm? Is there something you’re not telling me?"

"There’s a lot you don’t know," he replied so softly she almost didn’t hear. He moved to the couch and sat down. She joined him instantly.

"Then tell me," she whispered.

Slowly, haltingly at first, he told her the whole story, of waking up in the hospital and being told she had died in a car crash, a crash he had caused by driving drunk. Her gut clenched at the raw pain in his eyes as he finally raised his head, meeting her gaze. "I...I just shut down. Nothing mattered anymore. They court-martialed me for involuntary manslaughter."

She grabbed his hand. "Oh, Harm, I’m so sorry. You...got off, though?"

He shook his head. "I didn’t even try. I pled guilty."

The crack in Mac’s heart split a little wider. She tried to speak, but nothing would come out.

"I was sentenced to twenty years and all I could think was that it wasn’t enough," he choked.

Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled over. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d gone through.

"And then Bud..." He had to take a deep breath before he could continue. "He found a discrepancy in the autopsy report. He figured out that it wasn’t you in the car and that I hadn’t been driving at all."

Mac gave a small sound that what part giggle, part sob. "Good old Bud. What would we do without him?"

His gaze flew to hers with the precision of a computer-aided guidance system. "I’d still be sitting in Leavenworth thinking I’d...killed...you." He choked on the word.

Mac’s eyes went wide. "You were in Leavenworth? Oh Lord, Harm!"

He nodded. "That’s how I figured it all out in the end. It was Palmer, Mac. He engineered the whole thing to mess with my head some more. I’m still not sure why he went through the elaborate charade of kidnapping you and replacing you so I would only think you were dead, unless he planned to somehow to haunt me with it later."

"That bastard," she seethed, wishing she could get her hands on him.

"It doesn’t matter now," he whispered. "You’re alive and you’re safe. That’s all that matters."

She reached to put a hand gently against his cheek, whispering, "Not to me. What matters to me is the pain you went through. I am so, so sorry."

"It wasn’t your fault," he murmured. His hand went to hers, gently taking it from his face and moving to clasp it tightly between both of his. His gaze settled on their intertwined fingers. "I never realized...until I thought you were gone..." His head shot up, his eyes finding hers again. "Mac, you took my whole future with you. When you were suddenly gone, I realized how badly I need you in my life."

She smiled gently. "I’m not going anywhere."

"No, you don’t understand. All these years, I’ve been waiting for some magic moment when the world would shift and it would be all right to tell you how I feel about you. Then you were gone, and I realized I’d missed my chance. I thought I would never be able to look at you again, to reach out and touch you with the part of my soul no one else has ever touched."

Mac’s throat closed up all over again. She had never been able to put it into words, but Harm was describing exactly the way she felt about him. She’d felt this way virtually from the moment they met. Swallowing hard, she tried to speak, but he beat her to it.

"I love you, Sarah MacKenzie. I always have, and I always will."

His lips found hers, stealing the words she had been about to say. He pulled her against him as her arms wound around his neck, her hand going to the back of his head to draw him closer. His tongue brushed across her lips, desperately seeking admittance. Her lips parted and he delved deep, groaning as he pulled her even closer.

Just as they had in Abayari’s garden, his defenses came crashing down, only this time she was swept away not in a rush of grief, but on a wave of blazing passion that flared from deep inside him, engulfing them both. His hands roamed her body, seeking to possess every inch of her at once.

With the very last scrap of control he owned, Harm dragged his mouth from hers, his breath coming in ragged, heaving gasps. "Tell me you want this," he pleaded. "Tell me this feels as right to you as it does to me."

She smiled up at him, her eyes filling with tears. "It feels more than right. I love you, too, and I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life."

Her lips found his this time, and as his heart and soul soared skyward, Harm realized the pain was gone. In its place was a peace he’d never thought possible. Mac was in his arms, where she ultimately belonged. At last, the world felt the way he’d always known it was supposed to feel. He’d come home, to a safe and peaceful haven, and he would never have to leave again.

The End.