See what I mean? I could do no wrong in Kate's eyes.

She'd put two more little bottles of Scotch in her jacket pocket, and she opened them and poured them in our glasses. After a minute or so, she said, "I know about that thing that happened on Plum Island."

"What thing?"

"When you disemboweled that guy."

I took a deep breath, but didn't reply.

She let a few seconds pass, then said, "We all have a dark side. It's okay."

"Actually, I enjoyed it."

"No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't. But… there were extenuating circumstances."

"I know. He killed someone you cared for very much."

"Let's drop the subject."

"Sure. But I wanted you to know that I understand what happened and why."

"Good. I'll try not to do that again." See what I mean? I cut this guy's guts out, and it's okay. Actually, it was okay because he deserved it.

Anyway, we let that subject cool off awhile. We drank and stared at the mesmerizing ocean rolling toward the beach. You could hear the waves breaking softly against the shore. What a view. A breeze passed by, and I could smell the sea. I asked her, "You liked it here?"

" California is nice. The people are very friendly."

People often mistake spacey for friendly-but why ruin her memory? "Did you have a boyfriend here?"

"Sort of." She asked me, "Do you want my sexual history?"

"How long will that take?"

"Less than an hour."

I smiled.

She asked me, "Was your divorce nasty?"

"Not at all. The marriage was nasty."

"Why did you marry her?"

"She asked me."

"Can't you say no?"

"Well… I thought I was in love. Actually, she was an ADA, and we were on the side of the angels. Then she took a high-powered job as a criminal defense attorney. She changed."

"No, she didn't. The job changed. Could you be a criminal defense attorney? Could you be a criminal?"

"I see your point. But-"

"And she made a lot more money defending criminals than you did arresting them."

"Money had nothing to do-"

"I'm not saying what she does for a living is wrong. I'm saying that… what's her name?"

"Robin."

"Robin was not right for you even when she was an assistant district attorney."

"Good point. Can I jump now? Or is there more you need to tell me?"

"There is. Hold on. So, you meet Beth Penrose, who's on the same side of the law that you're on, and you're reacting against your ex-wife. You feel comfortable with a cop. Maybe less guilty. I'm sure it was no fun around the station house being married to a criminal defense attorney."

"I think that's enough."

"Actually, it's not. Then I came along. Perfect trophy. Right? FBI. Attorney. Your boss."

"Stop right there. Let me remind you that it was you-Forget it."

"Are you angry?"

"You're damned right I'm angry." I stood. "I gotta go."

She stood. "All right. Go. But you have to face some realities, John. You can't hide behind that tough-guy, wise-ass exterior forever. Someday, maybe soon, you're going to retire, and then you have to live with the real John Corey. No gun. No badge-"

"Shield."

"No one to arrest. No one who needs you to protect them or to protect society. It'll just be you, and you don't even know who you are."

"Neither do you. This is California psychobabble bullshit, and you've only been here since seven-thirty. Good night."

I left the balcony, left her room, and went out into the corridor. I found my room next door and went in.

I kicked off my shoes, threw my jacket on the bed, and took off my holster, shirt, tie, and armored vest. Then I made a drink from the mini-bar.

I was pretty worked up and actually felt like crap. I mean, I knew what Kate was doing, and I knew it wasn't malicious, but I really didn't need to be prodded into confronting the monster in the mirror.

Ms. Mayfield, if I'd given her a few more minutes, would have painted a beautiful picture of how life could be if we were facing it together.

Women think the perfect husband is all they need for a perfect life. Wrong. First, there are no perfect husbands. Not even many good ones. Second, she was right about me, and I wasn't going to get any better by living with Kate Mayfield.

I decided to wash my underwear, go to bed, and never see Kate Mayfield again after this case was concluded.

There was a knock on my door. I looked through the peephole and opened the door.

She stepped inside, and we stood there looking at each other.

I can be really tough in these situations, and I didn't intend to give an inch, or to kiss and make up. I didn't even feel like sex anymore.

However, she was wearing a white terry-cloth hotel robe, which she opened and let fall to the floor, revealing her perfect naked body.

I felt my resolve softening at the same rate Mr. Happy was getting hard.

She said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but my shower doesn't work. Could I use yours?"

"Help yourself."

She went into my bathroom, turned on the shower, and got in.

Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do? I got out of my pants, shorts, and socks, and got into the shower.

For purposes of propriety, in case there was a middle-of-the-night phone call from the FBI, she left my room at 1 A.M.

I didn't sleep particularly well and woke up at five-fifteen, which I guess was eight-fifteen on my body clock.

I went into the bathroom and saw that my undershorts were hanging on the retractable clothesline above the bathtub. They were clean, still damp, and someone had planted a lipstick kiss in a strategic spot.

I shaved, showered again, brushed my teeth and all that, then went out to the balcony and stood there naked in the breeze, looking at the dark ocean. The moon had set and the sky was full of stars. It doesn't get much better than this, I decided.

I stood there a long time because it felt good.

I heard the sliding glass door on the other side of the concrete partition open. I called out, "Good morning."

I heard her reply, "Good morning."

The partition jutted out beyond the balconies, so I couldn't peek around. I asked her, "Are you naked?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Of course. This feels great."

"Meet me for breakfast in half an hour."

"Okay. Hey, thanks for washing my shorts."

"Don't get used to it."

We were talking sort of loud, and I had the feeling other guests were listening. I think she had the same thought because she said, "What did you say your name was?"

"John."

"Right. You're a good lay, John."

"Thanks. You, too."

So, there we were, two mature Federal agents, standing naked on hotel balconies with a partition between us, acting silly, the way new lovers act.

She called out, "Are you married?"

"No. How about you?"

"No."

So, what was my next line? Two simultaneous thoughts ran through my head. One, that I was being manipulated by a pro. Two, I loved it. Realizing that this moment and this setting was going to be remembered forever, I took a deep breath and asked, "Will you marry me?"

There was a long silence.

Finally, a woman's voice, not Kate's, called out from overhead, "Answer him!"

Kate called out, "Okay. I'll marry you."

Two people somewhere applauded. This was really dopey. I think I was actually embarrassed, which barely masked my sense of panic. What had I done?

I heard her sliding door close, so I couldn't qualify my proposal.

I went into my room, got dressed sans body armor, and went downstairs to the breakfast room where I got coffee and a copy of the New York Times, hot off the press.

There was continuing coverage of the Flight 175 tragedy, but it seemed like a rehash of events with a few new quotes from Federal, state, and local officials.

There was a small paragraph about Mr. Leibowitz's murder in Frankfurt and an obituary. He lived in Manhattan and had a wife and two children. It struck me again how random life could be. The guy goes to Frankfurt for business and gets clipped because some people need a red herring to make it look like a guy in America on a secret mission is back in Europe. Whack. Just like that, without regard to the victim's wife, kids, or anything. These people sucked.