"I mean, come on," Alyssa told Jules. "What's that about? I've seen murder victims before. This is nothing new."

But Sam shook his head. "You were caught off-guard. We both were. We were sure she was still alive."

They'd spent dinner trying to guess where Hathaway and Amanda had gone.

Such optimism was new for Alyssa. In the past, she'd always been a worst-case-scenario thinker. Anyone who'd been missing for six whole months had to be dead. But this time, she had been positive that they'd find Amanda by finding Hathaway. Instead ...

The FBI agents heloed in from the Boston office were convinced that Amanda was the latest victim of a serial killer they'd been tracking for years. The Bureau was excited because, even though Steve Hathaway was an alias, for the first time they believed they finally had a photo of the man they were after, thanks to Randy Shahar.

"I liked her-Amanda," Alyssa told both Sam and Jules. Although she'd never met the woman, she'd read her diaries and talked with her friends. "I thought she'd found true love. I thought she was hiding from her father because she knew he'd be mad that she'd married the ski b.u.m instead of the businessman. I actually pictured her with Hathaway in some little house with a white picket fence, living happily ever after." Instead, he'd probably made a necklace with her teeth. "G.o.d."

She looked up at Sam and told Jules, "Two months of marriage to Pollyanna here, and I've already moved into Sunnybrook Farm."

Jules didn't laugh. Instead, he sounded wistful. "That must be nice."

"Yeah, it is," Alyssa said. Sam was shaking his head over his new nickname. "It's scary, though. The potential for disappointment can be pretty high." As opposed to always expecting to be disappointed. "Look, Jules, I have to go. Thanks for calling."

"Anytime, sweets. Give Pollyanna a big, wet, sloppy kiss for me."

"I will." She hung up the phone.

"You know he's going to call me that from now on," Sam said. "For the rest of my life. And, by the way, it's Rebecca who lives at Sunnybrook Farm. As opposed to Laura Ingalls Wilder, who lives in that little house on the prairie. Pollyanna lives ... s.h.i.t, I have no idea where Pollyanna lives."

"Come here," Alyssa said, moving toward him, meeting him halfway, in the middle of the couch. He put his arms around her, so that she was leaning back against him, her head beneath his chin.

Outside the window, dawn was putting on quite a show.

"Are you going to be able to sleep?" he asked. "Ever?"

She laughed, except it came out sounding like a sob, and his arms tightened around her. "I keep thinking, if only ..."

"Don't," he said. He kissed the top of her head. "Just don't."

"I can't help it," she said. "I hate it when the bad guy wins."

"I know. But they're going to catch this one now," Sam said.

"I hope so."

"They will." He kissed her again. The way he put it, it was a when, not an if. He had no doubts whatsoever. For Sam, the future was filled with possibilities, not possible disappointments.

"Nice, huh?" he said as, outside the window, the brilliant colors of dawn-a new day-streaked the sky.

"Yeah," Alyssa said, loving the feeling of his arms around her. It was very nice, indeed.

Waiting

2005.

This story takes place sometime after Flashpoint and before Breaking Point.

Sam Starrett's daughter had finally surrendered and fallen asleep when the telephone rang.

He closed her bedroom door as silently as possible and raced down the hall toward the living room, where he'd last seen the cordless phone.

Yesterday, three-and-a-half-year-old Haley had missed her nap and their dinner had been loud and far more tearful than dinosaur-shaped mac-and-cheese warranted. Apparently, without an afternoon rest, having to choose between green beans and peas as a side dish was a tragic dilemma of astronomical proportions.

Sam, always good at creative solutions, thought he'd solved the problem by heating up both vegetables.

At which point Haley wept because the spoon she wanted to use was in the dishwasher.

It was then that Sam understood. As a former Navy SEAL and one of the top counterterrorism experts currently working in the private sector, he recognized that he was caught in the dread no-win scenario. He realized that even if he hand-washed the spoon, there would be something wrong with the fork, or the color of the napkin, or maybe even the brand of Parmesan cheese he and his wife Alyssa kept in their fridge.

It was obvious that the real problem wasn't with the peas or the spoon or the cheese. Haley missed her mother-Sam's ex-wife Mary Lou-and that, plus lack of nap, had locked them into orbit around the Planet of Inconsolable Unhappiness.

Sam could totally relate. He, himself, was struggling hard to keep from joining his daughter there because Mary Lou wasn't the only one out of town. Just over a week ago, Alyssa had gone OCONUS.

A diplomat on a peacekeeping mission to Kazbekistan-a third world terrorist hotbed nicknamed "the Pit"-had contacted Troubleshooters Incorporated, the private security company where Sam and Alyssa both worked. Former senator Eugene Ryan was adamant about not showing up in the battle-weary country surrounded by heavily armed, dangerous-looking bruisers as guards. At the same time, he wisely didn't want to go in without adequate protection.

And so he'd requested Alyssa join his security team.

In a country that wasn't exactly known for its equal rights, no one would expect a woman to be an expert sharpshooter and total kicka.s.s bodyguard despite her lack of height and bulk.

Sam had desperately wanted to go along-but his goal was not to keep Ryan safe. No, he wanted to watch his wife's six. And he was the exact physical type that the former senator didn't want along for the ride. Not to mention the fact that he'd promised his ex-wife that he'd watch Haley this week ...

He'd driven Lys to the airport and kissed her goodbye, working overtime to keep her from noticing his tightly gritted teeth.

It had to happen sooner or later, but as he'd watched her walk into the terminal, he had to admit that he'd been hoping for much, much later. But here it was. For the first time since they were married, Alyssa was off on a dangerous a.s.signment without him. And it would be another week, at least, before she came safely home.

So last night, as the green beans and peas were both heating in the microwave, Sam had sat down with Haley on the floor of the kitchen and told her it was obvious there was nothing to do but go on and have a good ol' cry.

"Why are you crying?" she'd asked.

"Wah," he'd said. "The Dallas Cowboys lost the football game last week."

His pretend sobs had made her giggle, at least for a little while.

Still, the entire rest of the evening had been filled with the potential for an all-out meltdown.

The first few days had been fun. An entire week at Daddy's was a novelty for Haley, who'd never spent more than a weekend away from her mother. Sam knew it had been exciting for her, too, to look at the pictures from the brochure and imagine Momma and her new husband having a romantic vacation aboard a cruise ship.

As for Sam, he'd appreciated the distraction-what was Alyssa doing right now? Was she in danger? Was he going to have to wait another five days before she had a chance to call him again?-as he took his tiny blond daughter to the zoo and over to Old Town San Diego.

But today, over their Cap'n Crunch and orange juice, Sam and Haley had started counting the days on the calendar-four-until Mary Lou came back home.

Four days was definitely doable, provided they didn't miss any more of those very important naps.

Provided Sam could convince Haley to fall asleep. He'd just sat with her for more than an hour, holding her hand.

The phone shrilled again as Sam searched for it among the pile of toy cars and dolls on the living room rug. He loved his little daughter dearly, but please sweet Jesus, don't let her wake up yet.

He managed to find and grab the cordless phone before it completed that second ring. "Sam Starrett." Shoot, he must be tired. This was his home phone, and here the correct greeting was h.e.l.lo.

The woman on the other end didn't seem to mind. "Please hold for Mr. Ca.s.sidy," she said.

Well, la di dah. Lookie who got himself a secretary.

Sam had left a message for Jules Ca.s.sidy just yesterday, asking for an update in the FBI's search for the serial killer known as "the Dentist." He and Lys had handled a missing person case last year that hadn't ended happily. They'd found the young woman they were searching for-or rather, they'd found what was left of her after the Dentist worked her over.

They'd also discovered that the Dentist had been posing as a ski instructor in New Hampshire, using the alias Steve Hathaway.

Alyssa-normally tough as nails-had been unusually upset when they'd found the body, even though the murder had occurred six months earlier. She'd taken it personally-so Sam had started getting regular updates on the case from Jules, her friend and former partner from her FBI days.

It was obvious to Sam that after seeing that dead girl, Lys wanted to kick the Dentist's a.s.s straight to h.e.l.l where he belonged. She was afraid-and rightly so-that it was just a matter of time before the killer targeted his next victim.

After months of no progress, a man had recently surfaced in a resort town in Colorado who fit Hathaway's description. Sam was hoping the FBI agents working the case would locate the Dentist's grisly souvenirs from his victims and have enough evidence to take him into custody before Alyssa returned.

Giving her that news would be a wonderful welcome-home present-a thought that made him smile. Forget about flowers and chocolate. His wife wanted a psycho-killer behind bars.

She was different from most other women, no doubt about that. Which was not to say she didn't love chocolate....

Ah yes, Sam missed her very much.

The line clicked, and Jules finally came on. "Sam."

"Hey," Sam greeted him, genuinely glad to hear Jules's voice. Five years ago, if someone had told him that he'd be happily married to his old nemesis Alyssa Locke, and best friends with her best friend-an openly gay man-Sam would've laughed his a.s.s off. But obviously a lot could happen in five years. "Thanks for calling me back, Mister Ca.s.sidy."

There was the briefest pause, then Jules said, "I guess you're not watching TV."

"What? No. I've got Haley for the week and anything besides Sesame Street is too intense for her," Sam said as he now began searching for the remote control beneath the Spider-Man and Powerpuff Girls coloring books that covered his coffee table. Haley got nightmares. It was Big Bird or a Disney DVD. Although it was possible that too much Big Bird was now giving Sam nightmares.

When he actually slept, that is.

"Sam, hang on a sec." Jules put his hand over the receiver as he spoke to someone else on his end. Usually irreverent and upbeat, he sounded serious. h.e.l.l, he was calling Sam Sam instead of SpongeBob or Pollyanna or one of those other humiliating nicknames that he usually used.

"What happened?" Sam asked as Jules came back on the phone. He answered his own question. "Another dead woman without teeth in Colorado."

"This isn't about the Dentist," Jules told him as Sam found the remote and aimed it at the TV. "Listen, do yourself a favor and don't turn on the news."

Too late. Sam had already flipped to CNN where ...

"Oh, s.h.i.t," he breathed, sitting down heavily on the sofa.

Peacekeeper Attacked was the headline that hung over the anchor's right shoulder, along with a picture of Eugene Ryan. "... in northern Kazbekistan, where the former senator's helicopter was believed to have been shot down."

Oh, G.o.d, no.

"We just received confirmation," Jules told him, "that one of Eugene Ryan's helicopters was. .h.i.t by a shoulder-fired missile, just north of Ikrimah, which is a city in the northern province of-"

"I know where Ikrimah is," Sam interrupted him. "One of ...?" How many helos were transporting Ryan's delegation? Jesus, he couldn't breathe.

On the TV, the news anchor was now delivering a fluff piece on a pie-eating contest, a big smile on his face.

"One of two," Jules delivered the grim news as Sam hit the mute. Which meant there was a fifty/fifty chance Lys was on the helicopter that went down.

In flames.

"Before we lost radio contact," Jules continued, "the second chopper reported that there were definitely casualties, but we don't know how many and we don't know who."

"Before," Sam repeated, "you lost radio contact ...?"

"I am so sorry," Jules started, but Sam cut him off.

"f.u.c.k sorry!" Sam winced, looking toward the room where Haley was sleeping. He lowered his voice, but it came out no less intense. "I don't want sorry. I want the information that you've-"

"We don't have any information," Jules raised his voice to talk over him. "All we have is speculation. Rumors. You know as well as I do what good that-"

"What are the rumors?" Sam asked.

"Sam," Jules said. "You know rumors are just-"

"Did the second helo go down, too?" Sam had to know.

"No," Jules said, but then added, "Not exactly. What we think happened, and sweetie, breathe. This is mostly guesswork. Even though we have a few people who claim to be eyewitnesses, we have only their word that they were actually there. So yeah, they reported that after the first chopper crashed, the second swung back around to a.s.sist the survivors. According to these unreliable sources, it apparently landed, going out of view, behind several buildings. Then, allegedly, there was a second big explosion."

"And?" Sam asked tightly.

"And nothing," Jules said. "It's all speculation. You know as well as I do that this could be nothing more than one of the local warlords planting disinformation-"

"There was an and in your voice," Sam insisted. "G.o.d d.a.m.n it, Jules, tell me all of it."

Jules exhaled hard. "The attack happened shortly before sunset. There've been unconfirmed reports of a fierce firefight in that area pretty much all night."

Sam was going to be sick. "So, best-case scenario is that my wife is on the ground in a hostile part of Kaz-f.u.c.king-bekistan, engaged in a gun battle with people who don't just want to kill her for being American, but who want to kill her slowly, on camera, broadcast over the Internet."

Worst case was that Alyssa was already dead-that she had been dead for hours.

"Who's going in after them?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know," Jules said. "Look, I'm going to make some phone calls, see what I can find out, okay? It may take me awhile."