"Whoa," Thomas said. "I'm feeling quite an undertow." She smiled to herself.

The currents are strong tonight. "Yeah. You have to be careful of it. If the currents are the right direction, you can get sucked under the seawall." When the crest of the wave followed, she slipped down into the water. "Of course, the opposite is as bad.

You can get swept out to sea." She kicked off the bottom and swam parallel to the shore, sidestroke, gliding strongly between strokes into a slight crosscurrent.

Thomas followed, broadstroking strongly, gliding forward like a seal. His long arms swept phosphorescent eddies down the length of his body and Patricia had a hard time not watching him.

She felt sudden, terrifying doubt.

Is it just lust? Did I just open myself up for something really nasty? He is INS, after all. Or am I just looking for something else to displace the memory of the bodies in the hold?

She let herself sink, exhaling, to wait, one heel touching the matting of the beach plate. She used her skin to sense the pressure waves of his approach. She opened her eyes and in the burning salt water saw his blurred silhouette passing overhead.

She reached one finger up and poked him in the stomach; then, kicking off the bottom, she shot back the way they'd come.

When she surfaced, she couldn't locate him at first, until she heard him laughing, behind her. In the dark, she smiled. I didn't choose badly. This one is worth something. She stood again, so he could locate her, and he approached again. She let herself settle back and arched, floating on her back, watching Thomas approach from the corners of her eyes.

Again, he stopped out of arm's reach. For my protection... or yours?

Thomas turned over on his back, too, and Patricia peeked lower, but only Thomas's chest and face were above the water. Heavy feet... or modesty.

She reached out and found his hand, entwined her fingers, but didn't pull him closer. She saw him smile. They weren't able to talk while on their backs-the water filled their ears and the gentle surf was all she could hear. Overhead the stars in the west grew brighter, but the eastern sky was washed out by moon glow.See my breath, a plume against the horizon, deeply blown, deeply drawn, before I return to the depths. She'd always identified with cetaceans, especially the deep divers like the sperm whale, which hunted a full mile down. There was something in that when she operated SubLorraine-even with the life support she couldn't stay down indefinitely. It was like a really big breath of air.

Floating in the warm surface water, her face above water, she felt the connection again, stirring, oddly connected to the sexual tension that was building within her. It felt appropriate that she was starting courtship behavior immersed in the sea.

She moved then, pulling on his arm and coming upright in the water. He raised his head, too, and she reached for him, closing the gap, sliding her free hand over his shoulder and behind his neck, letting her body come to rest against his, going directly to his mouth with hers.

His arms closed on her slowly, carefully, though he was responding to her kiss ardently and in other ways, too. Her lower body brushed his, and his degree of "interest" was substantially and delightfully apparent. His hands moved down her back and she arched, pressing her hips against him as he reached her buttocks.

He let the kiss end and moved his face back slightly. "Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not."

"Shakespeare?"

"My vice, my liquor. Love's Labour's Lost in this particular case."

His voice was still hoarse. "Again, why?"

"Because." She kissed him lightly. "Because you're you. Because I'm me.

Because it's time."

She started to kiss him again, but he turned his head, kissing her cheekbone, and said, "I can't do this lightly. It's getting too big, starting to mean too much to me."

She found her cheek up against the scarred side of his face and kissed it, feeling the texture with her lips, a crinkled, stiffer feeling than regular skin. "Yeah." She pulled herself even closer, pressing her body, wrapping her legs around his hips, cheek against his scarred cheek. She squeezed him, trying to maximize the contact, eliminating any spaces between them. "Ahhhhhh. I've been gone for a long time, too. And no, I'm not taking this lightly at all."

He kissed her, his tongue probing deeply, and she felt her breaths coming closer together.

"I just had a physical," he said. "A complete blood workup. You won't catch anything from me." He corrected himself. "Barring pregnancy."

She nodded. "Mine was last year, but I've been celibate for the last three years. I had my cycles turned off when I was still living with Geoffrey and I didn't see anyreason to go back to tampons. So, pregnancy isn't an issue."

"Celibate. Yeah. Me, too." He nodded. "Trust is the issue. I don't know why, but I trust you."

She laughed. "You don't know why?"

He winced. "It's my job not to trust anyone. Not to believe anyone. To question everything. But I can't make myself question this. Well, I can't stop questioning, but I can't make myself doubt this."

"Doubting Thomas, you are well named. I've got the same problem-a thousand reasons this is a terrible idea. But my emotions are in control here." She giggled.

"And my hormones, apparently."

He nodded then, firmly, as if something had been settled. "I've never done it in the ocean."

She smiled. "I have. But unless you've prepared with a water-insoluble lubricant, it can be uncomfortable. I didn't really plan this." But I sure wished it. "I suggest we save that for another time and move ashore."

His hands moved even farther down her back and she groaned. "Your arms are long. Let's move ashore now!"

He just walked out of the water without putting her down, hands cupping her buttocks, kissing her.

They passed back into the wall's shadow near the top of the matting, and she dropped her legs to stand and had started to pull him down on top of her when she felt him jerk.

"Dammit!" he swore quietly. "There's someone up there!"

She crouched suddenly, spinning on the balls of her feet. "Where?" Why now?

She saw them, two figures walking briskly up the path from Playa del Mar and, worse, two figures on the other hex walking from the north, from the direction of Matagorda and Puesta del Sol. They weren't looking in her direction, so perhaps the bright moonlight and the path safety lights had saved their modesty. She grabbed Thomas's hand and together they sprinted for the deep shadow at the foot of the wall, where their clothes were piled.

She stepped on her sandals before she saw them, then pulled Thomas all the way into the corner, at the very junction between the hexes. Here, where the gap wasn't tight, a shallow pocket had been eroded in the seacrete by past storms. She stepped into it and pulled Thomas's head down to hers, to kiss him. His hand traced her breast and moved down her stomach to tease the edge of her pubic hair, and she did a little reaching of her own.

I don't care who's up there. But she froze as she heard two sets of footsteps on the path, and then the other. She waited, willing them to move quickly, expecting thetwo couples to pass each other with a word of polite greeting.

She didn't expect them to stop. From the sound, they were about thirty feet away and just audible over the surf.

"Did you find them?" The man's voice was harsh, gravelly, grating.

A surprised tenor answered. "What? We haven't seen jack. You're kidding, right? They had to pass you."

"Christ on a stick!" the gravelly voice answered. "They must've doubled back on you while you were reporting in."

"No, they didn't! Thomas and the girl were moving south on that path, and I radioed while I kept them under direct observation. We waited for them to get well ahead before we followed. There isn't anyplace else for them to have gone."

Thomas twisted in the nook and held a hand to one ear. Patricia freed a hand and did the same. It helped a little, especially with the gravelly voice whose overtones blended easily with the surf.

"They could've met a boat on the lagoon. Or maybe gone into one of those inner-rim farmhouses."

"Isn't our boat over there? They would've seen something."

There was an electronic beep and the gravelly voice said, "Sea Eye, this is Top Dog-you see any boats stop on the seawall? Well, keep your eyes open. The target may have crossed over to the lagoon side. You see anything, let us know. Right.

Out."

The tenor spoke again. "Damn, I wish we'd brought an IRIAD. They could've been hiding in the soybeans."

Gravel voice said, "We didn't know we'd be out here in the dark. When he left the hotel, he was dressed for the city. If we'd known he was coming out here, we could've put an entire squad in those fields and had a quick, clean kill."

Patricia felt Thomas tense beside her, his hand, which moments before had been doing wonderfully erotic things to her inner thigh, was now touching her mouth, cautioning silence.

Gravel voice continued after a moment. "All right, here's what we're going to do.

Randy runs back to the bar, keeping his eyes open, then works slowly back. Pete runs back to the resort and does the same. We'll be working slowly out. If either of you acquires the target, give a squawk, but don't try for the kill unless you've got them clean, without witnesses. The idea is for them to vanish, not to cause more headlines. Understand?"

"Aye, aye, Chief."

"Sure thing.""Then go."

Two sets of running footsteps faded into the distance.

Gravel voice said, "I picked them for their young eyes, dammit. How did Becket slip past us?"

The tenor answered. "Maybe he didn't. Maybe they're in one of those farmhouses. Maybe they went skinny-dipping."

"The old man said keep it small and tight, but damn I wish we had more men."

"Yeah. Well, we may have to abort and try again later."

"The old man is going to rip me a new one."

"We better get going. If we don't spot them, do you want us to go back to the drop-off?"

"No. Wait at the bar. If they're visiting someone, they'll probably be returning before long. They weren't carrying overnight bags, right?"

No, but that would've been nice. Patricia pictured a hotel bed with clean sheets and lots of pillows. An anonymous hotel room far away, just herself and Thomas.

She tilted her forehead down against Thomas's chest and put her arms around his waist. Her desire was tapering off, replaced by a stomach-churning mix of anger and fear.

Above them, the tenor said, "Right." His footsteps moved back up the path to the north.

Patricia waited for the last man to move on. She wished she'd grabbed their clothes, but it hadn't seemed important. Now, even in the dark shadow, Thomas's black slacks lying atop his white shirt seemed painfully visible, a dark square on a white blotch.

She heard a scraping sound of shoe leather on concrete, then the jingle of coins in a pocket, then the sound of a clicking lighter. She shuddered. A smoker. Yuck. No wonder his voice sounds like that. She savored the taste of Thomas's mouth, still present on her tongue. Definitely not a smoker.

Thomas put his mouth to her ear. "His night vision will be shot for a moment.

I'm getting our clothing before they spot it."

No! Don't move away from me. But she nodded while his lips still touched her and he could feel it. Live first. Love later.

Thomas walked out smoothly and picked up her garments, placed them on his clothes pile, then started back. A coin dropped, perhaps from his pants pocket, perhaps from her skirt pocket, and rattled across the concrete, then danced around on its rim before coming to a stop. Thomas didn't hesitate, stepping quickly back into the nook.Surely he wouldn't hear that over the surf?

A cigarette fell over the edge of the wall, trailing sparks when it bounced. They heard the electronic beep again and the sibilance of a whisper, but couldn't make out the words. Then a mechanical snick-clunk that Patricia associated with movie guns.

Thomas put his mouth to her ear again. "I'm going to run that way and draw him off. When he follows me, you run for the lagoon and try to find a residence."

She shook her head fiercely and pulled his head down so she could whisper in his ear. "Too risky. We'll both run for the point, instead, in the deep shadow."

He started to shake his head, but she said, "Listen! You're going to say it traps us, but we can go under the seawall. I've done it before. We need to do it now, though, before the rest of the goons get here!"

He stooped suddenly and grabbed his boxer shorts and fished his wallet out of his pants. She grabbed her underwear, tank top, and a handful of change from her skirt pocket.

"How do we get under the wall?" he whispered.

"Follow me." She took two steps out from the wall, turned, and threw the coins as hard as she could, over the wall, north, away from the man above. They both heard them hit the path with a clinking sound. Patricia turned and ran, as silently as she could, her panties and shirt wadded into one hand. She couldn't hear Thomas and turned her head, worried, but he was a few yards behind her, keeping pace, silently.

Go find my change, you asshole.

Chips of concrete flew off the wall over their head, stinging Patricia's shoulders and from behind came a sound like sustained coughing. They reached the water's edge where it met the hex's vertex and she ducked around the corner, into almost glaring moonlight.

"What now?" Thomas asked, looking back around the corner.

Patricia was pulling on her panties and tank top. "We swim out, hold our breath, and dive under the plate. The current's with us. It'll carry us under the wall."

Thomas frowned. "I don't think I can swim five hundred feet underwater while I hold my breath." He was pulling on his boxer shorts as he spoke and tucking the wallet into the waistband.

"I'd be very impressed if you could, but it's hollow under there, remember? It's the trapped air that supports the hexes. You don't even have to make it the sixty feet to the hex. There's pockets of air where the beach plates join the hexes."

The water around them exploded and Patricia could see a muzzle flash from the far hex, one of the other goons responding to gravel voice's radio call. She flinchedback, dropping flat into the foam at the foot of the wall. Thomas copied her. The next burst struck the wall over their heads. "Shit! Hold your breath and let the undertow carry you out! We'll surface to take a breath over the plate's edge."

She kicked off the wall, knowing it was the surest way to get him moving. It hadn't escaped her attention that he'd placed himself between her and the gunfire.

Dammit, Thomas, if you get yourself killed right when I've found you- She hyperventilated briefly, then ducked under, kicking to stay on the bottom. One wave briefly kicked her back inshore and then the undertow took her, pulling her down the plate. She started kicking with it, a submerged broadstroke, concentrating on efficiency, making every molecule of oxygen in her lungs buy the best possible distance. She felt an eddy against her side, unnatural, and edged that way, then felt more.

It was Thomas, swimming hard. She brushed his hand, to make sure he knew she was with him, then kept going.

She felt him arch for the surface before she'd run out of air and followed him, turning carefully to push just her face above the water. Thomas broke water more forcibly and bullets splashed the water around them.

She flinched back under, her lungs half full, and felt for Thomas. Did they hit him? She met his hand questing for her. She waited, holding his hand, until he had to move up again. This time they surfaced in a trough, faces only. They floated like this, taking deep breaths, heads touching.

"Are we near the edge of the plate?" Thomas asked.

"Almost there. We can make it from here."

"If we wait much longer, they'll be at the point and can shoot down at us."

She said, "Deep breath. Don't kick your feet above the waterline."

A bullet hit the water beside her head and she lifted her arms from waist level, pushing herself under, letting herself sink a bit before she turned and dove down.