"No."

"What about the cute teacher at carpool?"

"Kim? No."

"Or that woman at the game?"

"Penny? Hell, no."

"Why not?"

"She scares me."

Cat laughed. "I mean, why don't you have someone?"

"Oh. The job."

She nodded. "It's always the job."

"What about you? Do you have anyone?"

"My parents."

"A man?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"The job."

Scott drank his beer, she her iced tea. They sat close enough to hold hands, but they did not look at each other.

"Scott ... do you want someone in your life?"

"Desperately."

That had come out too honestly. As if he were testifying in court. He cringed with embarrassment ... until he felt her hand on his. The touch of another human being-not sexual, just a touch that said, You matter to me, felt good.

"Have you seen Silence of the Lambs?" Boo asked Cat.

They ate burgers and baked sweet potato fries on trays on the couch. Scott and Cat bookended Boo and Pajamae.

"Yes."

"Is it as good as the book?"

"You've read the book?" A. Scott said.

"I didn't say that."

"Sounded like you said that."

"A. Scott, I know you wouldn't want me to read a book about a guy named Hannibal the Cannibal and a serial killer named Buffalo Bill even if the heroine is a role model for young women like Clarice Starling."

Boo smiled at her father.

"I became an FBI agent because of Clarice," Cat said.

"You're not helping," A. Scott said.

"Oh. Sorry."

But she grinned.

"Let's watch Silence of the Lambs," Boo said.

"I don't want to watch a movie about cannibals," Pajamae said.

Boo sighed. "Fine."

They watched Casablanca. Boo loved Ingrid Bergman.

"Show Cat how you dance," Pajamae said. "She's not going to believe it."

"I don't think she wants to-"

"I love to dance."

Boo played country-western music on their phone. The Dixie Chicks. Scott stood and pulled Cat up. He took her in his arms; it felt as if she'd been there all his life. They danced country swing. When the song ended, she threw her arms around his neck.

"Now that's dancing," she said.

She did not release him. She gazed into his eyes without blinking. For a long, quiet moment. Which was interrupted by Boo's voice.

"Um ... we're going to bed now."

Cat released him and appeared embarrassed.

"But it's only nine-thirty," Pajamae said. "We can stay up late on weekends."

Boo gave her sister a stern look.

"Oh, yes, we're very tired. Time for bed."

They jumped up from the couch.

"We'll probably be asleep in like, two minutes," Boo said.

"You won't see us until the morning," Pajamae said.

"Guaranteed," Boo said.

"Go to bed," Scott said.

They kissed him and Cat goodnight then ran down the hall.

"They want you to have someone," Cat said.

"They do."

"That's sweet."

"They are."

The moment turned awkward, then she turned to him.

"You can have me, Scott. You can have me right now."

She kissed him then pulled back a moment. Her expression changed. She grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him hard. He kissed her back. All the desire he thought had died long ago came alive. She grabbed at his shirt; he pulled her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it aside. Then her bra. They kissed and touched and felt and wanted. She unzipped her jeans and pushed them down. Then her panties. She unzipped his jeans and pushed them down. Then his undershorts. She led him to the couch and sat him down; then she climbed on top of him and guided him into her. He breathed her in; he had forgotten a woman's scent. He had forgotten how wonderful a woman smelled and felt, how exhilarating it felt to be one with a woman. To feel alive that way. They wrapped their bodies tightly together and clutched each other so close that they seemed to meld into one body, one mind, one soul, one life. For a brief moment on a Saturday night, they were one.

"That was nice," Scott said.

She frowned. "Nice?"

"Uh ... really nice?"

The frown remained.

"Great?"

A fracture in the frown.

"Incredible?"

A smile.

"That's better." She kissed him. "It was. Incredible."

They sat naked and silent.

"So, what do we do know?" she said.

"We could have sex again. Slowly this time."

"Could we? You are forty."

She reached down to him. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, we could."

They did.

"That was nice," Cat said.

"Nice?"

She laughed. "That was fucking incredible."

She held this man tight for a few more minutes. She hadn't been with a man in two years ... or was it three? The job. A 24/7/365 job chasing Islamic terrorists left little time for love or romance or even sex. She ran and worked out to burn up her desire. But when he walked outside that first morning-his eyes as blue as the sky, the uncombed blond hair falling onto his face, the lean, muscular body ... shit-the desire returned with a vengeance. Each day the desire built until she thought she would explode sitting next to him on the couch watching the movie. Then they exploded together. Could it last beyond that night?

"I'd better get home. My folks will be worried."

"You live with your folks?"

"They live with me."

She stood and got dressed. He did as well.

"I'll walk you to your car."

"Better not."

She checked outside. "Night shift just arrived. We don't need to start rumors. See you in the morning."

She went to the back door but stopped.

"Scott, would you and the girls like to come to my house tomorrow for lunch? Meet my folks? My mother wants to cook for you."

"We'd like that very much."

She kissed him goodnight.

"That might have been the best day of my life," she said. "Well, except when I won the two hundred meters at the NCAA."

"Of course."

Beckeman read the latest terrorism briefings while Body of Lies played on the big screen. DiCaprio got it right. The CIA had gotten it wrong. All wrong in Iraq. Al Qaeda had been replaced by ISIS. Just when you thought things couldn't get worse, they had. Much worse. The president had called them the JV team, but they were the varsity now. The Russian jet. The Paris attacks. San Bernardino. It was no longer a question of if, only of when. When they killed more Americans in America. A lot more.