Steed squared his shoulders and tapped three times with the handle of his umbrella on the door to the McCall apartment. There was a string of muffled barks from inside, and then footsteps coming toward the door.

“Tara? It’s Steed.”

The door opened and Tara looked out at him. She appeared to be a little better rested than she had the day before, a fact that justified Steed’s decision not to tell her about her husband last night.

“I would have telephoned, but they’re still untangling the lines,” he explained as she stepped aside to admit him. He walked directly to the end of the sofa where Pierre was standing with his front paws on the armrest staring alertly at the intruder. Steed extended his hand so the dog could sniff it. Pierre’s delicate nose twitched and his tail began to sway slowly back and forth. Steed smiled and scratched behind his ears and his tail wagged happily. “There’s a good fellow,” Steed murmured. For a moment he wondered how Gilbert the old basset hound and Sullivan the younger terrier were doing at home. With the thought came the realization that he missed his dogs and horses. He missed his son more, but it was still rather amusing to realize he’d become so domestic that the household pets had an emotional hold on him. Remembering his errand he turned to Tara, who was watching him curiously.

“Tara, I have some news ñ perhaps we should sit down.”

Her eyes widened and she inhaled a sharp breath. She shook her head rapidly a few times, more a nervous tick than a denial, and then stepped over to an armchair and plopped down onto it. She perched on the edge, her elbows on her knees, her hands twisted together.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” she asked. Steed moved in front of the sofa and sat down, Pierre turning around to watch him, but lacking the temerity to climb into his lap uninvited. “Is Robbie dead?”

All Steed could do was nod. Repeating the news when she’d already said it was pointless. He was desperately relieved not to have had to say it, and guilty for his cowardice in the face of this despairing young woman.

But Tara did not appear to be despairing. She sat back in her chair and turned her head to stare out the window for a moment.

“Tara --.”

“What happened?”

“He had been hospitalized with injuries from a beating. He had no identification, so they did not have his name registered. We would have found him there eventually. But someone must have delivered a note to him. It told him to go to the Catacombs if he wanted to stop Juggernaut. They even gave him a Metro ticket.”

“And he used it,” Tara sighed, her tone disappointed. “That’s where you found him? Underground?”

“In the catacombs,” Steed nodded. “He and Ivan were both executed.”

“How?”

“Tara --.”

“Don’t coddle me Steed. How did my husband die?”

“One shot through the head. Very fast.”

“After the beating ñ or was it torture? ñ that left him in the hospital. He could have ignored the note. Or he could have used the Metro ticket to come home. But instead he went to the Catacombs,” she shook her head slowly as if trying comprehend a particularly foolish act.

Steed sighed, unsure what else to say. He had expected weeping or hysterics, two emotional states that Tara had been specializing in lately. But watching Tara now he had to describe her reaction as bitter and disappointed. She stopped loving him somewhere along the line, he realized. She’s been pretending that it isn’t true because she so desperately wants to be in love.

He let her sit quietly for a few minutes while he got up and fetched a glass of water from the kitchen. He set it on the table next to her chair, then returned to the sofa. Pierre had followed him through the process, and now jumped back on the sofa beside him.

“You should come back to England,” he said gently.

Tara’s lips curled in a cold smile as she looked around the apartment. “There’s nothing for me here?” she asked pointedly. He knew she didn’t mean the apartment, or the city, but her job.

“It’s procedure. Leave of absence, psych evaluation, reassignment,” Steed listed the steps as if reading from the rulebook, recognizing the irony. He had spent his career finding ways around rules and now he was hiding behind them. But Tara saw right through them.

“And you want me closer to home.”

Steed did not understand why her smile grew warmer. She was thinking of what she’d said to her husband only a few nights ago about Steed making him come back to London and live in one of his guest rooms. It seemed that she’d been right all along, but she’d had the wrong agent. Except she planned to turn the tables ñ soon she would no longer be an agent.

“It’s best for all concerned,” Steed said matter-of-factly, as if concluding a business deal.

“What about Pierre?” Tara asked, nodding at the dog sitting beside Steed like he was participating in the discussion. Steed looked down at him. “He’s going to miss Robbie ñ he was Robbie’s dog, you know. He’ll have to go into quarantine if I take him, but I won’t leave him here if I’m not coming back. There’s no one to take care of him, really ñ I wouldn’t ask Sally.” Tara stopped and shut her mouth, realizing that she was dangerously close to losing her self-control.

“Get his traveling papers in order and I’ll see what I can do about the quarantine,” he replied, certain that a waiver could be granted for one small, healthy dog.

Tara watched Steed stand up, clearly intending to go. She had, she realized, pulled off her distant, unemotional act, and suddenly she was frightened to be alone. She stood up quickly and stepped toward him. He extended his hands to her, thinking her off balance, and caught her in his arms. She laid her head on his strong shoulder, her face turned from his, and felt herself shudder, knowing she couldn’t contain the pain much longer and wondering whether to give in to it.

His hands on her back were like a memory, big, strong, holding her to him protectively. She was terribly grateful that he didn’t hold her away out of some sense of propriety.

“Let it out Tara. You must let yourself grieve,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied, still in control.

“I’ll send Sally over to help you pack.”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Send Emma. She understands.”

“I can’t, she’s gone back to England this morning.” Her request surprised him until he thought about it. Emma had lost her husband at a time when her marriage was not going well. She probably was the best person to understand Tara. “I’m sorry,” he added.

They stood there together for a few minutes, Steed gently stroking her back, Tara controlling her breathing, fighting emotional collapse.

“I need some time,” she finally said. “I can’t think about moving back right now. I have to take him home to his family and see him buried.”

Steed nodded. “Yes of course you’re right. We can see to this place later. Just pack what you’ll need for that and you can come back to England with me in a day or two.”

“And Pierre,” she added, pulling away from him at last. She directed her big, blue eyes at him and he couldn’t deny her that small request ñ to help get her husband’s dog admitted into Britain.

***

“Steed, I have a message for you from London,” Sally sorted through a small pile of paper slips. Her desk was covered with files, reports, and message slips, but her attitude as she located the one she wanted gave the impression of absolute organization. “Colonnello Estella Gioverdi,” Sallly read carefully. She was still working on her Italian pronunciation.

“Indeed?” Steed’s brows rose as he took the message slip from her. He had just come from Tara’s apartment, looking into arrangements for McCall and Pierre were his next priorities.

“She has been trying to contact you for two days. Her number is there.”

***

“Steed, where have you been in all of this?” the Colonnello asked as soon as he identified himself.

“Unfortunately not close enough to the center, Senora,” he replied. “And you? Am I correct in guessing that your recent accident was connected?”

“I’m sure you already know the role that your man played in all this, Steed,” she replied.

“He was in the car with you. Would you care to explain that?” Steed did not believe that the Colonnello was the sleeper on the Juggernaut list who McCall had gone to meet in Milan. McCall must have met with someone else and for some reason ended up in the Colonnello’s car. But it never paid to let a foreign agent know that he did not suspect them.

“I had intended to have a brief discussion with him. The man he contacted was already under suspicion.”

“So you picked up McCall and let his contact go?”

“As I said, I already suspected our man. Your man’s presence required me to determine his involvement.”

“And what did you decide?” Steed was working to remain detached and not let her know that McCall was dead.

“He leapt out of my car. Very suspicious behavior, Steed. That is why I contacted you ñ as a courtesy. After what has happened we regard your man as an enemy. We have not yet concluded whether he acted on your orders.”

“I assure you that he did not, Colonnello,” a sense of dread darkened Steed’s tone. He could not allow McCall’s actions to cause an international rift between the intelligence services. “He acted alone, and has paid the ultimate price for his behavior.”

“You mean?”

“Yes. Robert McCall was assassinated last night.”

“You are a harsh master, Steed. My respect for you has increased.”

Steed’s eyes widened and he inhaled a sharp breath. But he quickly rethought the impact of her assumption and suppressed his instinct to deny it. Better that she thought him ruthless enough to eliminate his own man.

“I’m glad to hear it, Colonnello. When I am next in Milan perhaps we can meet for an espresso.”

“I will look forward to it. Ciao Steed.”

Steed replaced the receiver and looked up into Sally’s wide eyes.

“Robbie’s dead?” she asked.

Steed nodded, regretting not phoning Sally with the news first thing in the morning. “Last night. Both he and Ivan were shot.” He watched the young woman closely. Her ability to control her emotional reaction and concentrate on the impact on their work would dictate her future assignments. If she could not absorb the news and move on, deferring mourning until later, he would not be able to trust her in the field. Of course, agents’ reactions to the death of a peer could never be completely predicted ñ even if she handled McCall’s death well she might break over some other incident in the future. But it would still be a good indicator. She swallowed hard and pursed her lips, looking down at the papers all over her desk. Then she looked up at him.

“Who did it? KGB or Russian Mob? Or someone else?” she asked. Steed felt a rush of pride in himself for recruiting her, in her for performing so well, and even in Emma for initially discovering the young woman’s steely core. He felt no regret that his business had trained her to ignore her natural emotional response to the death of a friend.

“That, my dear, is your job,” he replied, still watching her closely. She nodded, glancing across her desk again.

“Good. Is there a police report?”

***

“Moo says the cow. Moo, moo, moo. See the cow, love? Yes, that’s the cow that goes moo,” Emma removed John’s hand from the book so that she could turn the page, glancing over at a movement near the hearth: Gilbert the hound’s big paws were churning as he chased a dream rabbit across the lawn. Emma had laid a small fire in the hearth and Gilbert had immediately moved into his favorite nap spot stretched out on his side with his long back to the warm flames. Sullivan the terrier was curled in a circle on the floor below the settee where Emma was lounging with John, positioned just so that if she put her feet down she’d step on him. Fortunately, she knew he was there.

“Quack, quack, quack,” she read. “The duck says quack. Yes, that’s a duck. You’ve seen ducks haven’t you darling?”

Steed smiled fondly at his family from the doorway to the informal family room where he’d been watching since the last “moo.” As Emma turned the page to read about geese he strode into the room.

“Honk, honk, honk,” Emma pronounced with enthusiasm as she looked up to watch him approach.

“Not exactly particle physics, Mrs. Peel,” he chuckled, reaching out to take the book from her. She let him take it, looking up at him through wide, amused eyes. John followed his movements too as he turned the page and studied the next illustrations as if they were fine art.

“The dog says woof,” he read, “woof, woof, woof. Can’t we find something a little more intellectually stimulating for him?”

“He does have a limited range his interests,” Emma replied. “And he’s not quite ready for George Orwell.”

Steed chuckled again and shut the book, crouching in front of the settee beside Sullivan to put his head at the same level as Emma’s. The dog, who had been asleep, jumped to his feet and barked once, then shoved his muzzle against Steed’s leg. Steed stroked his head with one hand while reaching up with the other to stroke Emma’s cheek with the back of his fingers. She leaned into his hand as it slipped around to the back of her neck. The dog was forgotten as he leaned in over John to kiss her.

Emma shivered at his touch and felt more than heard herself moan. His mouth was demanding and sensuously soft, his kiss like a force drawing her into him. It was as it had always been between them: the touch like lightening igniting fire deep inside.

“Welcome home,” she murmured when they paused, her breath caressing his cheeks.

“I’m glad to be here,” he replied. “And I have a surprise.” He added in a louder voice, reluctantly releasing her to stand up and look toward the door. Emma followed his gaze.

“Amanda!” she cried, holding John to her as she swung her feet to the floor and stood up, Sullivan darting away as she did. Steed took the baby from her so that she could greet their guests, first hugging Amanda and then Lee.

“You’re staying a few days I hope,” she said.

“Flights are still a bit confused so I’m afraid we need to,” Stetson answered.

“We hope you don’t mind,” Amanda added.

“Mind?” Emma snorted. “I’m delighted. Did Steed get you settled? I’m not sure what state the guest rooms are in,” she glanced at Steed and found him engrossed in a one sided conversation with their son.

“No, we were waiting for his signal to surprise you,” Amanda said. “But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be very comfortable.”

“Come on,” Emma guided them back toward the hall, “I’ll take you up.”

After settling their guests in the largest guest room Emma went to the kitchen to plan an impromptu dinner. She found Siobhan feeding John and no sign of Steed. She seasoned a chicken and put it in the oven with some potatoes. The memory of Steed’s kiss still lingered on her lips and with guests and dinner taken care of she went in search of her husband.

The hiss of the shower through the slightly open bathroom door told Emma where her missing husband must be. She began unbuttoning her blouse as she stepped into the large closet ñ formerly a small adjacent bedroom that she had had converted. She undressed quickly, hanging her clothes in their places and slipping her shoes onto the shelf near the floor. As she dragged on her silky green dressing gown a new shoebox on Steed’s side of the closet caught her eye.

Cinching the belt of her gown she crossed to it and tapped one finger on its lid, which was printed with the name of a distinguished gentleman’s haberdashery. With an innocent shrug she opened the box and lifted the sheet of white tissue paper protecting the shoes ñ no boots ñ inside. They were black Chelsea boots in a style Steed had always favored ñ trust him to be loyal to a classic. The delicate glove leather felt softer than the skin of her fingers as she lifted one of them out. Idly wondering how long they would last in the field, she turned the boot over to examine the heel.

There wasn’t a mark on them ñ no evidence of a latch or switch to open a secret compartment. She picked up the other boot and studied it with the same result. Smirking at herself, she set them back in the box.

“Here let me,” Steed said from right behind her. Belatedly she realized that the sound of running water had stopped a few minutes ago.

Steed took out the first boot and flicked the heel sideways to reveal a diminutive folding knife tucked into a compartment.

“Clever,’ Emma said as she lifted it out. “But you’ll be setting off metal detectors at every airport.”

Steed set down the boot and took the knife, unfolding it to reveal a shining white blade.

“Not at all. The blade is ceramic.”

“Oooh ñ that’s new,” Emma tested the blade gently with her fingertip. “Who makes them for you?”

Steed shot her a proprietary smile as he took the knife and folded the blade away, then replaced it in its compartment in the heel. He picked up the other boot and opened the heel the same way to reveal a coil of plastic explosive around a miniaturized detonator.

“Very useful,” Emma smiled, at the same time hoping he would never have occasion to use it. “But I thought you said that you kept cyanide tablets --.”

Steed snapped the heel shut and dropped the boot onto the box, placing his hands on her upper arms in a powerful embrace.

“No,” he shook his head, his eyes locked with hers. “Not me. Not when I have so much to live for.”

Emma swallowed down her startled reaction as she stared into his sincere grey eyes. “Steed, I never meant to snoop.”

“Of course you did,” his mouth curled at the corners. “I expected nothing less.”

“You left them out,” she gently accused.

He chuckled, slipping his arms around her to draw her close. “I stopped carrying an escape pill the day you left Peter Peel. Just knowing that you’re mine is enough to keep me from breaking.”

“Well, I’m not so sure about that,” Emma chuckled, caressing his lips with hers. He kissed her back with considerably more intensity.

“I am,” he murmured against her ear. She drew in a long breath that transitioned to a moan as he nuzzled beneath her ear, his breath making her skin tingle. Since returning from Paris her appetites had shifted from the constant cravings for food to cravings of an entirely different nature. She attributed it to the hormones of pregnancy but did admit that it could be an emotional reaction to the tragic events that had occurred there. Steed could never become more important to her than he already was, but Tara’s loss had heightened her awareness of her good fortune, and her husband’s desirability.

“What are your plans for the next forty minutes?” she asked, suddenly very aware that he was naked except for a bath towel wrapped around his waist. She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest, caressing warm pectorals that tensed beneath her touch. He inhaled a sharp breath as she stroked one nipple and then the other, her head bent to watch them harden. Lifting her chin he cupped her jaw and pressed her mouth against his. His kiss was aggressive, harshly demanding and accompanied by the nudge of his solid member against her belly. As always his need overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arms around him and molded herself to him as best she could around the bulge in her middle, sliding one hand down his back and under the towel to squeeze his ass.

“This suits me,” he breathed when the kiss ended, tugging at the silky belt of her dressing gown to untie it. He slipped both arms inside and drew her back to himself, bare flesh to bare flesh. He kissed her again, softer this time, but with such passion she eagerly lost herself in it. They kissed and kissed, hands caressing, towel falling away, gown dropped in a soft puddle around feet. Impulsively Steed lowered her to the floor atop their discarded garments, covering her in kisses from mouth to breasts and then on down the mound that was their infant, and along her thighs. First one, and then the other were tickled and caressed, his lips leaving trails of fire that ended at the fringe of curls between her legs. She stretched her arms above her head and arched her pelvis toward him eagerly with a long, contented sigh. He parted her with gentle fingers, stroking her gently and watching her face go from contented to rapt, wholly focused on his ministrations. And then he resumed his kisses ñ sucking and licking, his tongue and fingers drawing the heat from deep within so that she writhed beneath him, loins surging with the elixir of her passion. He drank of her and held her in his mouth as she erupted against him in a series of blazing orgasms that left her gasping and half delirious.

He kissed his way back over her precious belly and paused, holding himself above her, watching her drift from total release back to consciousness. She licked her lips and peered up at him through her eyelashes.

“More?” he asked playfully, knowing the answer. He bent his head to kiss her, careful not to place his weight on her.

He tasted of her juices ñ she knew it well enough after so many such intimate encounters. She kissed his mouth and cheeks and nose, inciting a new flame in both their loins.

“Why only forty minutes?” he asked, pulling away from her to get to his feet and offer her a hand.

“Dinner is on, and we have guests,” she reminded him as she took it and let him guide her into the bedroom. He did not take her to the bed, but rather to the rug in front of the fireplace. She waited, sitting with one knee bent in front and the other curled under it, while he ignited the kindling laid beneath a pair of seasoned logs on the hearth. He had, she realized, planned this.

“Not precisely,” he replied, and she realized she had spoken aloud. When the kindling caught he tossed the long match into the flames and moved back to sit with her. “I had imagined you joining me in the shower ñ after all, dinner is on and we have guests.”

Emma grinned, slipping an arm around him and extending one leg to twine it with his. “My curiosity took precedence for just a moment,” she apologized. Steed stretched out, bringing her to the floor with him. They lay facing one another, legs tangled together, caressing and kissing freely. The heat between them smoldered with the fire, building slowly, warming them from hearts to loins to the tips of their fingers and toes.

“It’s all worked out rather well though, hasn’t it?” he observed after a while, running his fingers through her hair while he stroked her calf with his foot.

“Purrrfectly,” she crooned, ending in a giggle as she pressed him onto his back and rose above him. He smiled up at her expectantly as she straddled his pelvis. She drew her hair back with both hands, habitually smoothing the curl at the ends. His hands slid up her hips and torso to caress her breasts, thumbs passing over the deep red nipples. Emma hissed and tossed her head back, breasts pressing into his hands as if begging for more. He obliged, stroking the prickly flesh of her aureoles and pinching gently. Using her fingers to guide him she slowly lowered herself down onto him, inhaling a long, slow breath as his thick, solid penis filled her. Still holding her breasts he thrust upward, his entire body tensing to lift her, driving himself deeper.

“Oh yes,” she sighed, covering one of his hands with hers over her breast. He moved his other hand down to hold her hip, fingers splayed over one side of her ass. She began to move on him, forward and back, and then twisting a bit. He gasped as her motion inflamed him, thrusting upward again and then again. He grunted with each thrust, shutting his eyes tight as his fingers squeezed her soft flesh and he lost focus on everything but his driving, throbbing core.

“Emma,” he heard himself groan her name as she ground down on him and he bucked, his member a plunging, mad creature seeking to permanently bury itself within her. For a moment he imagined that: permanent joining, a constant fulfillment beyond any possible for an individual human. But even as he reached utter bliss, even as his orgasm erupted within her and she shuddered around him with a wail of pleasure, he realized that it could not be sustained. It was too perfect, that state of grace when they were one. And besides, he reflected dazedly as he felt her lean over him, her hands on his shoulders, the steps to get there were too much fun to give up. His eyes flickered open and he looked into sparkling brown depths. She bent her head and kissed him gently, then lifted up to watch him, still wearing her sensuous smile.

“More?” she asked. The corners of his mouth curled knowingly.

“We’re nearly out of time,” he replied. She assumed an amused pout and slipped off of him, stretching her hands toward the fire and then reaching for the ceiling as she arched her back. Steed put one hand behind his head and watched toned muscles ripple over the bones of her upper back and shoulders. She was teasing him with what he couldn’t have. “For now,” he added. She lowered her arms and looked back over her shoulder at him, her pout replaced by a sly smile. Then she half turned, sitting with one knee bent up, one forearm resting on it. With the other she stroked his abdomen absently. Her expression had shifted once more.

“How is Tara?” she asked.

“Soldiering on, stiff upper lip. You know,” he shrugged. “I never told you, she asked for you that first morning. She didn’t want Sally to come help her pack or close up the apartment. She said you would understand what she’s going through.”

Emma nodded slowly, her gaze drifting over to the flames in the hearth. “You should have called me. I would have gone to her.”

“You had already left for the airport.”

“I shall have to apologize to her. If I had thought about it I would have realized that she would want to talk to me.”

“Because you know what it’s like to be a widow.”

“Because I know what it’s like to fall out of love with a man you thought was forever.”

Steed watched her for a moment as she continued to look into the fire. He wanted to reach out to her, but her hand on his stomach lay still as if she had forgotten she was touching him. He felt the distance between them, so slight only moments ago, lengthen into miles and ages.

“Forever is impossible to know,” he said gently. “But Emma, I am yours for as long as we both can imagine, and I will work as hard as I must to keep what we have.”

She looked at him again, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Her hand slid across his stomach, stroking him once more. “I know. We are two halves of a whole, Steed. But we each have a past, and just now mine gives me particular knowledge that Tara could use. I’ll call her. Offer to talk.”

“Only if it does not hurt you, Emma. Ultimately she’ll need to find her own way to grieve and heal. I won’t have you dwelling on things that disturb you.”

Emma pursed her lips at him again and he realized that he might well have gone too far. She did not take orders easily.

“In any case she came back with us, with his body, and with Pierre. She went to her mother’s tonight. Tomorrow they’ll move the casket to Scotland. Apparently there’s a family plot.”

“So we’ll be going to Scotland for the funeral, then,” Emma said thoughtfully, his directive apparently ignored. “I suppose we shouldn’t bring John. He has a cold.”

“He does?” Steed frowned. He hadn’t noticed any sign of illness before he handed the baby over to his nanny earlier. Then he reconsidered the rest of her statement. “You don’t have to go. It’s business.”

“Of course I do. How would it look you going alone?”

Steed frowned as he contemplated her meaning, then understanding dawned. Emma might feel secure in her position as his wife, but outwardly she felt a need to remind his associates of her presence ñ particularly at the funeral of a former lover’s ñ or was it that she was a former partner? ñ husband’s funeral. How would it look if I went alone and offered Tara comfort?

“We’ll make it a quick trip ñ one night, there and back,” he said, hating the notion of leaving John again so soon.

***

“Amen,” the final murmured word of the final prayer rippled through the mourners gathered graveside. A wicked little breeze listed the wide brim of Emma’s black felt hat and she put one gloved hand on it. The other was clasped with Steed’s. As Robert McCall’s family and friends began to move away from the flag-draped casket next to the grave a single figure remained. Tara stood with her hands clasped in front of herself and her head bent.

“She told me her mum drove her mad in just one evening,” Emma murmured to Steed, her eyes on the lone mourner. “She can’t stay with her.”

“And she has no place else to go in London,” Steed added, knowing what his wife was about to suggest.

“Just for a few days ñ maybe a week or two. If you’re going to keep her in Britain she’ll need time to find a place of her own.”

“I’ll meet you at the car,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze before leaving her to go to Tara’s side. He was of mixed feelings about having Tara stay with them. There would always be that modicum of awkwardness between them in such an intimate setting.

He stood quietly just behind and to one side of Tara for a few minutes, content to let her finish mourning. There was the distant sound of car doors shutting, engines starting. Conversations carried on the chilly breeze. The funeral party would move to the McCall family home now ñ a largish old stone house that had obviously once been sited on a lot of land, but now stood cheek by jowl with smaller, newer structures. Steed had avoided much interaction with McCall’s parents, hiding behind the appropriate pleasantries to avoid conveying his utter disappointment in their son.

“Is it time to go Steed?” Tara asked without looking at him.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Your aftershave.”

“I’m not the only man who uses it,” he frowned, annoyed at himself for pursuing the inappropriate topic. Tara turned and shot him a wry smile.

“The only man at this funeral,” she countered. “If you’re here to offer me graveside advice please just don’t.”

Steed’s hand rose automatically to hold her upper arms as he studied the pain in her eyes. He recognized her tone ñ defensive to hide the more difficult emotions.

“We’d like you to come stay with us for a while. As you said back in Paris, Emma is in a better position than most to understand your situation. You’ll have all the privacy you want. And we’ll sort out what you want to do next.”

“Yes, we should do that. Or at least I should,” Tara nodded, blinking against the wind as she looked into his comforting eyes. That he was holding her ñ albeit at arms’ length ñ made it harder to say what she had to say. His slightly puzzled expression urged her onward. “I’m resigning, Steed. I’m getting out.”

“Let’s not make any rash decisions, Tara. I know that you’re --.”

“It’s not rash, Steed. I decided days and days ago.”

“Tara, you’re not --,” Steed paused, angling his head in silent inquiry.

A multitude of possible conclusions to his sentence raced through her mind, but she settled on the most obvious ñ the question that a man in his position would have to ask first.

“Defecting? Going freelance? No. Certainly not the former, and probably not the latter. I don’t think I have the constitution to go it alone. I just want out, Steed. I know that’s nearly impossible for you to understand.”

“Well then, all the more reason to come for a visit until you make some plans,” he replied so quickly she was taken aback. “Or was I supposed to argue a little harder?” he added with a warm smile.

“No. I’m not playing a game with you. I appreciate you respecting my wishes.”

“So you’ll come?”

“I --.”

“Emma will be very disappointed if you refuse ñ especially now.”

“We can’t disappoint Emma, can we?” Tara asked, her tone ever so slightly arch. Steed raised one eyebrow and she winced and shook her head. “Sorry. The psychologists told me I’d experience anger and resentment. You know I’m not very good at holding my tongue. Yes, I accept your offer. It’s certainly much nicer to look forward to than weeks staying with mum.”