“Rain. Don’t like rain at night.”

“I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

Shaw stared at her in the mirror’s surface as her fingers traced a small scar near his throat. It was a little souvenir from a visit to the Ukraine. He’d told her it was from falling off a bike. Actually it was from a knife thrown by an ex-KGB agent whose only qualification for the job was that he was a homicidal maniac. It’d missed Shaw’s jugular by about two centimeters. Still, he’d come pretty damn near bleeding to death in a place that would have made the chop shop in Turkey he’d dumped Frank at look like Johns Hopkins.

He had another scar on his right side that he’d never explained to her for a simple reason: he wanted to forget it was even there, because every time he did think of it, he felt shame. Branded. Like a horse. No, like a slave. In fact, that was the other reason he was in Dublin, to do something about that little present.

She said again, “Were you talking to someone?”

Frank, scars, and the KGB butcher passed from his mind. What Shaw was really wondering was whether Anna was now having second thoughts. His proposal had been followed with a tearful “yes” from her that he could barely hear. And then the bride-to-be’s enthusiasm and excitement ratcheting up, she’d accepted his marriage proposal in nine other languages, her tears leaching onto his skin, finally bringing Shaw the man as close as he’d ever come to crying.

But something in her tone now was signaling a message other than happiness. It really was time, he thought.

He splashed water on his face, licked some off his fingers, and turned to face her.

“I’m not really a business consultant specializing in international mergers and acquisitions,” he said.

“I know that.”

“What?” he said sharply.

“I know many business consultants. They rarely can beat unconscious two armed men. They rarely have knife scars on their bodies. And they almost always want to show off their wealth. I’ve never even seen where you live. We always stay at my London flat.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“It’s different now. I just told you I’d marry you.”

“And if I’d still said nothing about what I did?”

“I’d have asked. Like I am now.”

“But you already said yes.”

“And I can also say no.”

“I’m no criminal.”

“I know that too. I can tell. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Now tell me the truth.”

He leaned back against the sink basin and marshaled his thoughts. “I work with an international law enforcement agency funded by several of the G8 countries. We handle stuff that’s either too dicey or too global for one country. Sort of like Interpol on steroids. I’m not in the field anymore. I’m in a desk position now,” he lied, carrying it off reasonably well, he thought.

“And what laws do you enforce?” she asked firmly.

“We try to stop bad people from doing bad things. Any way we can,” he added.

“And what you do now isn’t dangerous, though you get calls in the night?”

“Living is dangerous, Anna. You can turn the corner and get nailed by a bus.”

“Shaw, don’t condescend.”

“It’s not dangerous, no.” He could feel his skin growing hot. He could lie to a Persian madman with ease. But not to Anna.

“Will you continue to come and go as you have been?”

“Actually, I’m planning on retiring. Start doing something else.”

Her face brightened. “This… this is a surprise.”

I hope I live to carry it out. “Marriage is supposed to mean two people together, not apart.”

“You would do this for me?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

She stroked his cheek.

“Why?” he asked suddenly.

“Why what?”

“You could have any man you wanted. Why me?”

“Because you are a good man. A humble man. And a brave one. But as capable as you are, you need looking after, Shaw. You need me. And I need you.”

He kissed her, ran his fingers along her cheek.

“Do you have to leave now?”

He shook his head. “Two days.”

“Where to now?”

“Scotland.”

He took Anna in his arms, let her blonde hair touch his face, her scent mingle with his, canal stink and all.

“But first, to bed.”

They made love again. After she fell asleep, Shaw put one hand behind his head and the other protectively over Anna’s arm.

He listened to the rain and envisioned Frank chuckling at having screwed him again. He touched Anna’s face. Yes, it was different now.

The Dublin torrent poured on; each drop of water was a jacketed round fired right into his brain. Shaw had asked her to marry him. But after his conversation with Frank, he feared it might turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life.

“R.I.C.?” ANNA SAID as she held the paper up to Shaw, who was pouring coffee, still dressed in his boxers. She pushed the room service cart away a bit and unfolded the insert that had slipped out from the Herald Tribune.

Shaw looked over her shoulder. The article was long, brimming with factoids, and constituted another compelling broadside fired against the government of the Russian Federation. The title of the article might have been, “The Evil Empire, Act Two.”

Shaw read out loud, “The Russian Independent Congress, or R.I.C., and its adjunct division, the Free Russia Group, appeal to free countries everywhere to stand up to President Romuald Gorshkov and an administration of terror and oppression before it is too late.”

Anna glanced at another section. “The Gorshkov administration has filled secret prisons with political opponents, murdered rivals, instituted a policy of ethnic cleansing at the highest levels of power, and are secretly manufacturing and stockpiling WMDs in clear contravention of myriad disarmament treaties.” She gazed up at Shaw. “First the Konstantin business, then all those allegedly dead Russians, and now this? Have you ever heard of this organization, the R.I.C.?”

He shook his head. “There’s a Web site listed at the bottom of the page.”

She slid her laptop out, fired it up, and within a minute was hooked to the hotel’s wireless network. Her quick fingers skimmed across the keys and a colorful page sprang up on the screen.

“Look at this Web site.” She pointed to the screen. “This wasn’t online yesterday, I would’ve heard about it.”

Anna snatched up her ringing cell phone, listened, asked questions, and listened some more. She clicked off and glanced over at Shaw. “Well?” he said.

“That was my office. Everyone’s buzzing about this new article. Gorshkov and his ministers are said to be furious. They’re denying everything and demanding to know who’s behind what they call a grand smear campaign.”

“Any idea who did do it?”

She shook her head. “As yet unknown. It needn’t be a large group behind this. Or even lots of money. Although this newspaper insert wasn’t cheap, a few good computer people can swamp the globe with propaganda, we’ve all seen that.”

“And everyone else has sort of jumped on the bandwagon.”

She looked back at the computer and scrolled through the site. “It’s Russian evil this and Russian evil that. My office has done several white papers on the Russians’ slide back to an autocratic system of government. It’s of concern professionally and personally. Tensions are very high between Moscow and the rest of the world right now. And all of this certainly hasn’t helped matters.”

“Well, forewarned is forearmed,” Shaw said.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “That’s the problem. When one is forearmed, one tends to pull the trigger faster than one should.”

“Like old times, though,” he said. “Cold war redux.”

She stared at him strangely. “Perhaps someone wants the old world order back.”

The rain had broken. He only had two days left with Anna. Perhaps forever.