“How is Pete?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“Doctor’s say he’s coming along fine although it’s still too early to say absolutely about his leg. But Dr. Criner…you’ve probably heard of him. World famous orthopedic surgeon?”

“I think I’ve heard the name.”

“Dr. Criner read about the case in the papers and called to see if he could consult. It’s practically a miracle. Anyway, he seems to think that with a series of operations, maybe as many as six or seven, Pete could get enough use of his leg back so that he’ll at least be able to walk. Probably won’t be able to be a field agent anymore, but Mr. Harm’s already offered him a desk job when he can come back to work. Regular hours, an office and a raise.”

“I’m glad to hear things are going so well. Remember me to Pete the next time you see him.”

“I will, thanks. Can I…can I ask you a question, Ms. Forbes?”

“Sheila, please.”

“Okay, Sheila. I’m Jessica. It’s about Gillian…Ms. Collier.”

“Ask away. If it’s not too personal, I’ll try to answer.”

“Why did she agree to go away with Mr. Harm for three months? I mean, I know they don’t get along and he said they got in a terrible fight in less than five minutes at their last meeting. How can they possibly think they can go that long without killing each other?”

Sheila smiled. “When El and I were in college, we had a Western History class in our sophomore year. First day, she got into it with this great looking guy named Jeremy Hodge. Spent half her time telling me what a moron and a gorilla he was and the other what a great ass he had.

“Every time they saw each other, they ended up in a fight. Then, one Thursday afternoon before midterms, he up and calls her out of a clear blue sky and asks if she wants to come over to his place and study. Amazingly, she said yes.”

“What happened?” Jessica asked anxiously.

“I didn’t see her again until Sunday night. Her neck and other portions of her anatomy were covered in hickey bruises and teeth marks, she had her blouse on inside out, one sock missing and she could barely walk. In class the next day, you could see the scratches on Jeremy’s back through his T-shirt, his neck practically purple and he not walking any better than Elgin.”

“You mean…?” Her eyes were big with amazement.

Sheila grinned and nodded once.

“But…but I don’t understand. I mean…if they didn’t like each other how…?”

“When’s your boss’s birthday?”

“Uhm…July twenty-eighth. Why?”

The publisher nodded again. “I thought so. A Leo. Elgin’s August sixteenth. She hates wimpy men almost as much as she hates giving up control.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Have you ever seen those nature films? The ones about the big cats mating?”

Jessica nodded her head, the amazement in her eyes now replaced with bewilderment.

“And you’ve seen their foreplay usually consists of a lot of growling, snarling, snapping and biting?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well,” Sheila finished, the grin growing larger, “I have a feeling that when these two Leos finally get it on, the jungle will never be the same.”

Harm checked his rearview mirror again but the road behind them remained empty. Glancing at his watch, he saw that they’d been on the road for almost three hours and he still had no idea where they were going.

Expecting her to be “fashionably late,” Harm had been surprised when, pulling up to the garage entrance at six-thirty, he’d found her waiting for him, two large leather duffel bags and a computer carrying case sitting at her feet, an oversized maroon fanny pack around her slim waist. He also saw that her well- fitting blue jeans and simple long sleeved white turtleneck revealed nice curves of breast and hip he hadn’t noticed before.

After exchanging perfunctory greetings, he’d loaded her gear in the back of the SUV.

“Take the Barksdale Parkway to Thirty-six north,” she’d told him and that had been their last conversation. Tipping back her seat slightly, she’d buckled up and concentrated on the scenery sliding by outside her window.

The city had rapidly melted into the suburbs that had gradually given way to flat, open farmland, the interstate reduced to two lanes in each direction. In the last half an hour though, they’d begun a gentle climb into rolling hills covered with pine forests and small meadows. He didn’t know much about this part of the state and the knowledge two of his best agents were tracking them with the GPS did little to quiet his vague sense of unease.

Up ahead, a road sign appeared to let them know the next town lay three miles further on.

“If it’s all right with you,” she said, turning to look at him, “I’d like to stop at French Creek. I always like to top off the tank, check the car and get a bite to eat before I head into the mountains. Cabin’s still about three hours away and it makes a nice stopping place.”

“Well, since you’re the only one who knows where we are or where we’re going, I guess we’d better do it your way.”

Inside, Elgin grinned. She’d deliberately given him only sketchy directions. He liked doing things “Harm’s Way,” and she knew it must gall him not to be in control.

Get used to it, she thought maliciously. This is only the beginning.

The off-ramp curved to the right and became the main street of French Creek. A smallish, old-fashioned coffee shop called The Maple Grove and an adjoining gas station, a small market across the two-lane blacktop street, a few shops and a little post office completed the town.

At her direction, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of the restaurant and alighted. She stretched, raising the hem of her shirt and showing a couple of inches of pale, bare skin.

Soft, I’ll bet. The rogue thought vanished almost as soon as it appeared, but it surprised him even so.

Inside, the almost deserted shop consisted of large picture windows on either side of the glass entrance, a few scattered tables, three booths and a row of red stools in front of the white laminated counter. The walls were covered in knotty pine paneling, sharing their space with large framed photographs of what he supposed were the surrounding mountains and forests and advertising signs of all kinds, some modern, some not so modern. Cooking aromas hung in the air, completing the homey, Grandma’s kitchen sense of the place.

They slid into opposite sides of a high backed, knotty pine booth and almost instantly, a chubby, matronly woman appeared, a large floral apron covering her tee shirt and jeans.

“Mornin’ folks,” she remarked cheerfully. “Getcha somethin’ to drink?”

“Coffee, please,” Elgin answered.

“Make that two.”

“Okay then. Be right back.”

The menus were small, tucked neatly behind the stainless steel napkin holder.

“What’s good?” he asked scanning the page.

“If I were you, I’d definitely have the Country Breakfast. It’s the one at the top.”

“Juice, three eggs, any style, choice of ham, link or patty sausage, or bacon,” he read. “Cottage fries, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, grits or seasonal fruit, toast, English Muffins, short stack of pancakes or homemade biscuits and fresh preserves.”

“That sounds pretty good,” he said. “I’m hungry too.”

The woman arrived with their coffee. “Now, what ken I getcha?” She poised her pencil stub over her order pad and looked expectantly at Elgin.

“I’ll have the Good Morning platter, please. Scrambled eggs, bacon, fruit cup and biscuit.”

“And you?”

“I’ll have your Country Breakfast, please. Orange juice, eggs over easy, link sausage, cottage fries and fruit please and a double order of biscuits and preserves.”

“You must be hungry,” the waitress commented as she finished scribbling.

In a moment, she returned with a water glass of orange juice.

Harm, expecting a juice glass half the size, looked at it quizzically and then at Elgin.