“Okay if I put your contaminated clothes in a laundry bag?” he said. “We’re going to need to get rid of them.”

“Please. I don’t want to look at them again. I’d burn them if I could.”

He found a plastic laundry bag in a drawer and went into the bathroom. Her clothes were in a pile on the floor. He picked them up and dropped them in the bag. Nothing had come off on the floor. The blood was dry. He dropped the bag in front of the room door so they couldn’t forget it when they left and sat down next to her again. She’d eaten about half the food and finished the beer.

“I can’t eat any more,” she said. “Thank you. That was good.”

“No problem.”

“Why are you being so nice to me now?”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. Usually you’re an asshole.”

“That’s just a cover. Underneath, I’m really a very caring person.”

She laughed. “Seriously.”

He shook his head. “That’s a hard thing, what happened to you today.”

“But you’re used to it.”

He shrugged. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean you are. Or that you should be.”

“So you’re going to stop being nice tomorrow?”

“You won’t be over it tomorrow.”

“When will I?”

“I don’t know. It’s different for different people.”

“How was it for you?”

He paused, remembering. “At the time?”

“Yes.”

“It was so chaotic, I didn’t even have time to think. But… exhilarating.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t think I’m going to fall asleep anytime soon.”

“It was Somalia. The battle of Mogadishu. Did you see the movie Black Hawk Down? Or read Mark Bowden’s book?”

“I saw the movie.”

“Well, that’s what it was. Bowden did a good job. So did Ridley Scott. No one had time to think. It was just a nonstop firefight.”

“But afterward.”

“Like I said, exhilarated. And devastated, because I lost friends.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“Stop being such a hard case.”

“I’m not. It was a long time ago. I don’t like thinking about it. Anyway, it was different for me.”

“How?”

“I was trained. I was prepared. You haven’t had any of that. You’ve never seen anyone die before, have you?”

“My mother.”

“I mean killed.”

“No.”

“Well, seeing a dozen or so people shot to death in front of your eyes is shocking even if you’ve been prepared for it.”

She nodded and didn’t answer.

He got up and squeezed her shoulder gently. “Going to take a shower. Be back in a few.”

He brushed his teeth, then took a scalding shower, soaping up and scrubbing off the day’s sweat and grime, the hot water loosening up his muscles and accessing the fatigue underneath. Post-combat parasympathetic backlash was a bitch, and he was coming down from an entire day fueled by adrenaline. His mind was still on fire from all that had happened, but his body was starting to get the upper hand.

He pulled on a hotel robe when he was done, turned off the light, and went back out into the bedroom. Paula had turned off all the lights but the little one on the desk. She was lying on her side on one of the beds and Ben thought she must have fallen asleep.

He walked around to the side of the bed to see if her eyes were closed and was surprised to find her awake, her face streaked with tears that shone amid the shadows.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer.

He squatted down next to the bed and put his hand on her arm. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

He didn’t know what to say. He tried, “You’re doing fine.”

“I mean, I’m a law enforcement officer. Fourteen people were killed today. I saw you kill two of them. And I’m not doing anything about it.”

“There’s nothing to be done.”

“I don’t know what my role is anymore.”

“You’re doing a good job. I didn’t mean it cruelly before when I said you’re out of your element. You’re law enforcement, and you just got dropped into a combat zone. You’re trying to learn your way.”

She nodded and a fresh flow of tears ran silently down her face.

He squeezed her arm. “Paula.”

She didn’t answer.

He got up and walked around to the other side of the bed, then lay down next to her. He stroked her arm.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

“I know.”

“His… his brains…”

Her voice rose on the last word and then choked off. She curled up and shook with silent tears.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I know. I know.”

A sob caught in her throat and she cried harder.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let it out. Let it out. That’s what I do, when I can’t take it anymore.”

She coughed out a laugh through her tears. “You do not.”

“Of course I do. All soldiers are crybabies, because we deal with so much shit. We just don’t tell anyone. It’s bad for our image.”

He realized he’d acknowledged he was a soldier, but decided it didn’t matter.

She laughed again, then cried harder. He put his arm around her, took her hand, and pulled her close. “Shh,” he said again. “It’s okay.”

She gripped his hand and pressed back into him. He was suddenly acutely aware of the feel of her ass through the material of the robe.

Oh, fuck, this wasn’t good. He didn’t want to let her go-it would have been awkward, and anyway he seemed to be making her feel better, but…

She shifted slightly, and the feel of her body moving against him was like a current of electricity against his skin.

Post-combat hard-on, he thought. That’s all it is. Should have seen that coming. Don’t be stupid now.

She shifted her hand to the back of his and pulled him closer, pressing his forearm across her breasts. A shock wave of lust coursed through him.

Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid…

She moved his hand lower. “Please,” she whispered.

“Paula…,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.

“I just… I need to feel something. Please.”

Somehow his hand had slipped under her robe. She pressed it tightly against her breasts. Her skin was warm and smooth. He could feel her heart pounding.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice low, his throat thick. “I don’t know if… I don’t think we should…”

He stopped, not sure what he was saying, feeling like he was babbling. His hand moved. He felt a hard nipple against his palm. He wanted her so much it made him groan.

“No,” he said, panting. “No, no, this is a bad idea. A bad idea.” Somehow he pried his hands off her and sat up. “Paula, no.”

She sat up and turned to him. The robe had opened partly, and in his peripheral vision he could see the muscles of her neck, her breasts contoured in shadow, the skin smooth and dark against the white terry cloth. He was massively hard and knew he’d never done anything as difficult as not reaching out and tearing the robe off her and throwing her back on the bed and-

“Fuck you, then,” she said.

He shook his head, not comprehending. “What?”

She slapped him. Hard. His head rocked back and he saw a white flash behind his eyes. He was so stunned by it that she managed to slap him again before he could do anything to stop her, another powerful, stinging shot from the opposite side. A red haze misted his vision and he felt his scalp tighten with anger. She drew back her arm again, her hand balled into a fist this time, and as the punch came forward, he snaked an arm inside and deflected it. He pushed her onto her back and straddled her. She twisted an arm free and punched him in the mouth. She couldn’t get any leverage behind the blow but it smashed his lips into his teeth and hurt like hell.

“Bitch,” he said, turning his head and spitting blood. She tried to hit him again and he caught her wrists and pinned them to the bed next to her head.

She struggled and kicked. He slid down onto her thighs to control her legs and looked down at her breasts. He couldn’t think anymore. He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth. She sucked in a breath and her pelvis arched and he almost let her go but then thought no way, he wasn’t going to let her hit him again.