“She’s dancing again,” said Calibrisi.

Dewey said nothing.

“Would you really have dropped her?” asked Calibrisi.

Dewey paused at the question, staring at Katya’s beautiful face for a few extra moments before continuing to flip through the magazine. He didn’t answer the question.

He found page sixty. He looked down at the photo. It was a glossy, full-page portrait of Tacoma. He was standing in a tight all-black Olympic-style swimsuit. His hair was slicked back and he was dripping wet. His arms and shoulders were tan and ripped in muscles. Each hand clutched a gun, and both were aimed at the camera. Kneeling to each side of him were females clad in skimpy string bikinis, one blond, the other brunette, both staring up adoringly at Tacoma.

“I’m going to puke,” said Dewey.

Calibrisi laughed.

#4 Rob Tacoma, America’s Hero

The only thing hotter than the bullets flying out of ex–Navy SEAL Rob Tacoma’s gun are the smoldering green eyes on his luscious Virginia-born face. With his Fourth of July heroics, 29-year-old Tacoma earned his place in America’s pantheon of legends. With his movie star good looks and chiseled physique, Tacoma earns #4 on this year’s list of the World’s Sexiest Men Alive. Tacoma is single and plans to stay that way—unless some girl out there can figure out a way to deliver a kill shot to this studmuffin’s flak jacket–covered heart.

Dewey shut the magazine and looked at the bartender.

“I need another bourbon.”

Just then, a commotion came from the door. Katie was standing just inside the door, waiting for Tacoma. Tacoma was outside, surrounded by girls. He had a pen out and was signing autographs. Katie’s eyes found Dewey. She rolled them and shook her head, then came over to the bar.

Katie was dressed in brown linen pants, high-heeled sandals, and a sleeveless see-through silk chemise. She’d let her hair grow out a bit. She resembled a young Ingrid Bergman.

Dewey looked at her as she approached, scanning her from head to toe, without taking his eyes off her.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“You.”

Katie blushed slightly.

“You look nice,” he said, reaching his arms out and wrapping them around her.

“Nice?” she whispered, holding Dewey tightly. “I like that. By the way, how are you, cutie? I missed the hell out of you.”

“I missed you too,” said Dewey. “I’m good.”

Katie let go of Dewey and wrapped her arms around Calibrisi.

“Hi, big fella.”

“Hi, Katie.”

Dewey nodded to Tacoma, who was still at the door.

“Is it like this everywhere?” he asked.

“Yes,” Katie said, exasperation in her voice. “It’s crazy. He had two girls in his room this morning when I went by to meet him. I think they were cheerleaders.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Dewey.

“They had cheerleader uniforms on.”

Dewey laughed.

“You guys are not going to believe his ego,” said Katie. “If you thought it was out of control before—”

“Let him enjoy it,” said Calibrisi. “He did something important. He’s young and single. Let him bask in his fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Katie, shaking her head. “As happy as I am that bomb didn’t go off, there are times I find myself wishing it had.”

Dewey, Calibrisi, and Katie all started laughing. They turned to see where Tacoma was. He signed the last autograph, then entered Freemans.

His hair was slicked back and combed neatly down the middle. He had on a light tan leather jacket. It was partially unzipped. He didn’t have a shirt on. He wore madras shorts and cowboy boots.

“I think I agree with Katie,” said Dewey, smiling and waving to Tacoma. “Hector, do you have Bokolov’s number?”

Tacoma nodded to Dewey, raising his hand like a gun and firing his index finger at him.

“Did he just wink at me?” asked Dewey.

“He doesn’t have a shirt on,” said Calibrisi, incredulous.

Tacoma stepped to the bar. He wrapped his arms around Dewey, then Calibrisi. He nodded to the bartender, who brought him a bottle of beer.

“Okay, before you guys say anything, I have three points I wanna make,” said Tacoma, looking at Dewey.

“Let me guess,” said Dewey. “You met someone who delivered a kill shot to your flak jacket–covered heart.”

Tacoma shook his head.

“First, I can’t help it if some magazine names me to their sexiest man alive list. Now, if you ask me, I should’ve been number two, but that’s water under the bridge. Second, I didn’t know about those two chicks they stuck in the picture.”

“Chicks?” asked Katie. “Can you possibly be more offensive?”

Tacoma took a big swig from the bottle.

“And what’s third?” asked Dewey.

“What?” asked Tacoma.

“You said you had three points,” said Dewey. “That was two.”

“I think I said two. I had two points.”

“Do us all a favor and put a lid on it for a few minutes, will ya, Mr. Sexy?” said Dewey.

Tacoma, slightly chastened, nodded, then grinned.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, man.”

Just then, the hostess approached.

“Your table is ready.”

They followed the hostess to a table in the dimly lit back room. They ordered several bottles of wine along with dinner. They caught up as they ate, eventually enjoying Tacoma’s regaling them with his various exploits since the fateful day he killed the terrorist in New York harbor. At some point, they all realized Tacoma was not, in fact, bragging. He was as surprised, dumbfounded, and amused by it all as they were.

After dessert had been cleared and there followed a lull in conversation, Dewey glanced at Calibrisi. His mind flashed to the beginning of it all. Castine. Calibrisi had flown up not because of the coming attack, not even because he needed Dewey. He came that day to rescue him. Dewey wasn’t good at saying thank-you, at least not with words, but he allowed a smile to come to his face. He picked up his wineglass.

“Here’s to Hector,” said Dewey.

“Here, here,” Tacoma chimed in, raising his glass.

“To our fearless leader,” added Katie.

Calibrisi smiled in silence and raised his glass, moving it to the other three.

“So what are you going to do about Gant and Roberts?” asked Dewey, after downing the remaining wine in his glass.

“Josh is spending some time in one of our more out-of-the-way stations,” said Calibrisi. “If there’s ever a terrorist threat in Biak, he’ll be the first to know.”

“Biak?” asked Katie.

“An island near Papua New Guinea,” said Calibrisi. “Apparently there’re still some cannibals running around, but personally I have my doubts.”

“What about Roberts?” asked Dewey.

Calibrisi smiled knowingly, but didn’t answer Dewey’s question.

Just then, the waitress brought over the check, which Calibrisi grabbed before anyone else could.

“So what are you up to tonight?” he asked Katie.

“Nothing too exciting,” she said. “I might stay in the city. I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t Igor live near here?” asked Tacoma, grinning at Katie.

“Yeah, I think he does,” said Calibrisi.

Katie smiled mischievously and then turned to Calibrisi.

“How about you?”

“I’m headed back tonight. I haven’t seen Vivian in a week.”

Calibrisi looked at Dewey.

“What about you?”

“Me?” asked Dewey. He looked at his watch. “Oh, shit. I’m actually going to see something.”

“Something?” asked Katie. “Or someone?”

“Someone. It’s nothing.”

Dewey got to his feet.

“You’re not leaving yet,” said Tacoma. “Let’s hear it.”

“No way.”

“Come on, Grampa. Who is she?”

Dewey shot Tacoma a look.

“Someone whose identity is above your pay grade, studmuffin.”

“So you won’t tell us who the lucky lady is?” asked Tacoma, flashing a smile.

“Tell you what, tough guy,” said Dewey, “let’s arm wrestle. You win, I’ll tell you her name. I win, I get that leather jacket.”