Flames        

Prologue
Sandy Hingston

Chapter 1
Julie Ortolon

Chapter 2
Sue Swift

Chapter 3
Sherri Browning

Chapter 4
Susan Krinard

Chapter 5
Virginia Henley

Chapter 6
Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Chapter 7
Alina Adams

Chapter 8
Jewel Stone

Chapter 9
Alison Kent

Chapter 10
Lori Pepio

    Flames

A round-robin novel by the authors of the Mansion, in honor of the heroes of September 11th, 2001.

Chapter Ten

      Before Jack could even dignify that ridiculous statement of Marisol's with a reply, the alarm clock radio blared. With Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA" playing at an ear-splitting decibel level, the two came apart as hastily as they'd come together.
      Tossed as she had been, onto her back, Marisol covered her ears and shouted over the annoying din, "Madre de Dios, Bennett! What possessed you to set that damned thing?" She was so sick of hearing that hokey country crap!
      Slamming his fist down hard over the snooze button, Jack just as abruptly sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and snidely commented, "All part of the terror sex, Benitez." Rubbing his hands hard over his face, he finished, "Gives it that frightening edge, don't ya think?"
      "What's that supposed to mean?" Marisol shot back defensively.
      "You figure it out," Jack sighed wearily as he focused his bleary eyes on the illuminating digits of that offensive clock radio. Damn! It was well past 11 p.m., and they still had at least an hour’s ride ahead of them. Thinking that now was as good a time as any to get back on the road, Jack stood up, rolled his aching shoulders, and padded over to the bathroom.
      The scant light that seeped in through the slit in the drapes guided his way. "Ah, shit!" he muttered, tripping over the boots they'd carelessly dumped in the middle of the floor hours earlier. He managed to regain his footing, only to smash his big toe into the corner of a chair.
      Wondering if this day would ever show him any mercy, Jack hobbled into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch and experienced momentary blindness under the painfully bright fluorescent glare. Upon slamming the door shut behind him, he jerked the toilet lid up, closed his eyes, and for a few precious seconds found solace in the simple task of relieving himself.
      Never in her entire life had Marisol Benitez been rendered so speechless. Venting her frustration on a couple of pillows, she smacked and punched them into shape. "After all we've been through together," she complained in disgust while stacking the pillows against the headboard and leaning back into them. "After what we just did!" She couldn't believe he had the nerve to act all pissed off and dejected.
      "Typical," she muttered to herself. "Guess that's the thanks you get for giving a guy exactly what he wants!" she groused to the door he’d so rudely shut in her face.
      Not that Marisol hadn’t also enjoyed herself. It's just that Jack was making more out of this than was necessary. They’d had sex, pure and simple, Both worn out and their nerves raw from the events of these past few days it was inevitable. A common, natural occurrence, she reasoned, as if gathering evidence to support her case. Two consenting adults seek comfort through their deep physical attraction for one another, come together, make something good happen in a tragic world. Or so Marisol had thought, before Jack went all ballistic on her.
      "It's not like we're boyfriend and girlfriend or anything like that," she told the ceiling.
      When it suddenly hit her.
      How could she have been so dense?
      "Estupida!" Marisol muttered, staring out into the dark void enveloping her, guilt rubbing at her heart. It was only natural for a man as sweet and sensitive as Jack to assume there was something more between them. Especially after everything they'd been through together.
      As tough as it was for her to admit that she'd been wrong, Marisol knew the time for her to also acknowledge that what she and Jack shared was more than a mutual attraction for one another had finally come. Having been on the receiving end of callous remarks since her early days as a rookie, she knew exactly how Jack must have felt.
      How could she have diminished it all so easily?
      When she’d awakened earlier, sheltered in Jack's all-encompassing warmth, she’d snaked her arm around his waist not to seek his arousal, but just to feel the constant rhythmic beating of his heart. Strong, honorable Jack was like no other man she'd ever met. And that kind, unpretentious demeanor of his both captivated and frightened the hell out of her. Up until a few days ago, all Marisol Benitez had cared about was her family and her career. She’d lived to make detective, and wasn’t about to let anyone stand in her way.
      But now, she knew, all it would take was one look from Jack for her to consider tossing in the towel. All he had to do was ask.
      When he'd caught her in the act and assumed she was merely coming on to him, Marisol had sought to hide what she was truly feeling -- a deep, abiding love for Jack Bennett -- behind the guise of casual sex.
      The ruse, however, was on her.
      Jack obviously wasn't the kind of man who took sex lightly. Marisol had seen it in the disarming depths of his enthralling blue eyes; and she’d felt it in how possessively he’d clasped his hands to her hips. Moving together with her as one, using every last ounce of what little strength he still had
      - he hadn’t held back any part of himself.
      Over and over again, Jack's wish that he could give her even more than he was capable of this night echoed in Marisol's mind, reverberated through her entire body. The fact that he’d asked if she was sure this was what she wanted, that he hadn’t wanted to rush her in any way, was what had compelled her onward. Is this man for real? Marisol had wondered as Jack allowed her to take the lead. And even though she was the one on top, Jack Bennett had been the one who’d actually set their pace. He was the one in complete control.
      For that reason, Marisol had managed to stop just short of completely relinquishing herself to him. She was too prideful and unsure to risk losing her heart as well as everything else she'd worked so hard to achieve. And so she’d deliberately gone and spoiled it all by making that stupid remark.
      Slumping down against the pillows, Marisol glanced back at the bathroom door. Upon hearing a muffled string of curses mixed with the incessant patter of water against tile, she tossed her pride aside and headed in the same direction Jack had gone. Steering clear of both boots and chair, she opened the door and stepped inside.
      "Our Lady of the Sun," Jack muttered through clenched teeth as he adjusted the lever to an even colder setting and shivered under the pulsating arctic stream raining down upon him. He'd treated plenty of burns before, suffered a few of his own, yet none hurt as badly as getting this close to Marisol Benitez. Believing the best and only remedy for his ailment was a good cold shower; he planted his hands firmly against the stall wall, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and gave his head a good soaking.
      Jerking the shower curtain aside, Marisol peered up at Jack in disbelief. "What are you doing, Bennett?"
      Annoyed that the sound of her voice could still stir him to life even as the water rushed down over his body in freezing rivulets, Jack rubbed his eyes and stared at Marisol. Willing his teeth not to clatter, he ground out, "Taking a shower. What does it look like I'm doing?"
      "Boy, are you ever a sucker for punishment or what?" Marisol offered, with a nervous chuckle.
      Jack, unfortunately, didn't find any of this funny. Upon seeing his eyes take on a hooded glower, Marisol wondered if she should have left him to his own devices. Especially when Jack blandly remarked, "Apparently so," while his eyes roamed along the naked length from head to toe and then back up again.
      Harnessing the nasty retort that threatened to ricochet off her tongue, Marisol for once made an effort to ice her spicy Latina temper. Considering that Jack's intense gaze made her tingle and burn, that was a feat in itself. Staring at what felt like the barrel of a loaded pistol aimed straight for her heart, she quelled her roiling emotions with a deep, cleansing breath and said calmly, "We need to talk, Bennett."
      "Jack."
      "Excuse me?"
      "My name's Jack. Use it. It kind of puts us on a more personal level. Or are you afraid to get personal?" he said with an edginess that made Marisol's back straighten.
      If any other man had spoken to her that way, she would have told him right where he could shove his name. Feeling her cheeks turn as ruddy as the cold spray of water had made his, she cleared her throat, kept her temper in check, and said, "Well . . . Jack," deliberately enunciating his name before continuing: "If that makes you feel better. But we still need to talk."
      Feeling his resolve weaken under her unusual acquiescence, Jack had to turn back to the task at hand -- taking a cold shower. "So talk," he said gruffly, reaching for the soap.
      Watching Jack rub the bar briskly between his palms and lather up his face, Marisol began to panic. For a woman who thought nothing of giving her opinion or voicing her concerns and even complaints regardless of whether or not the time was appropriate, she was suddenly at a loss for words. How could she tell Jack everything she felt without exposing herself to the possibility of being hurt?
      While rinsing the soap off, Jack began to wonder why Marisol had yet to speak. The water, however, was growing warmer and warmer. As a soothing tepid spray washed over him, Jack blinked it out of his eyes and watched as Marisol's hand adjusted the regulator. He would have reached out to stop her, but couldn't risk touching her.
      With her heart pounding in the base of her throat, Marisol grabbed the tiny motel-size bar of soap and suggested, "Turn around, Jack," while stepping into the shower beside him.
      Giving her his back before she could notice how her curvaceous taut little taut body grazing his own affected him, Jack warned, "Mari, this isn't a good idea. You don't know what you're doing to me."
      "Tell me, Jack," she whispered, while rubbing the soap over his strong shoulders, down his firm arms. Although she was the one who’d insisted that they talk, she was hoping she could get away with showing him what words could never sufficiently express. Touching him like this, Marisol felt like crying.
      No. She felt more like weeping.
      Here in a shower stall at a Red Roof Inn with a man she'd met only days before, a man who was the complete antithesis of any man she'd ever dated or been attracted to, Marisol couldn’t even imagine everything that Jack promised. Overgrown Boy Scout, sexy Wilderness Man, caring and completely sincere -- Jack Bennett was all these things and so much more.
      When had it happened? When had she started to fall in love with him, she wondered. When he’d thought she was hurt that first night at the campfire, she realized – when he’d been so worried about her and made no attempt to hide his feelings.
      Of course, he also hadn’t hidden what he thought about her laughter when he’d realized Spanelli had been burned. Loath as she was to admit it back then, Jack's scorn cut Marisol more deeply than any of the crude remarks she'd ever had to endure on the force. Why should she have cared so much about how he felt and what he thought of her?
      She knew now why she had. And she cared even more now.
      Back then, Marisol had thought Jack was pretty damned cute. Now, "beautiful" was the one and only word she could think of to describe the man standing before her, water sluicing off his sun-dark body and drenched hair.
      She let the soap slip from her hand without a thought for where it might land. She wrapped her arms around Jack's waist, and she pressed her cheek against his warm, wet, muscled back, simply to hug him.
      He stiffened. "Please, Marisol," he told her, in a voice gone hoarse and raw with emotion.
      Thinking that maybe she'd pushed him too far, she let her hands drop and stepped away. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to hurt you." She turned to go.
      But before she could tug the shower curtain aside and step out, he was there, pinning her against the stall wall, breathing more heavily than the water could account for, staring down into her eyes, which, inexplicably, were filling with misty swirls of tears. It was her tears that had taken his breath away. "What's this?" he whispered, reaching to cup her lovely face in the palms of his hands and tilt it toward his. "Are these tears for me?" And he unleashed a warm, almost contrite, crooked smile.
      She shook her head in protest, or was it denial?
      Jack nodded, wiping her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "It's okay, Mari," he told her, in that deep, husky whisper. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about. I’m the one who’s been a jerk."
      "No, Jack. I shouldn't have treated you that way," she protested.
      "Oh, I liked the way you treated me just fine," Jack teased, the sizzling heat in his gaze insinuating more than Marisol could handle at the moment.
      "That's not what I meant," she said brokenly.
      "I know." All Jack cared about right now was coaxing a smile out of her.
      "You don't understand," Marisol countered uneasily. He’d been trying to give her an easy out. But all she wanted was to keep on talking about what had gone on between them. Loco! That's precisely what she had to be.
      Bewildered by this man's ability to make her cast aside the Ice Queen facade she'd so conveniently hidden behind all these years, she stared up at him quizzically, her black brows knitted together.
      Smiling in that heartwrenchingly sweet way of his, Jack whispered, "Oh, yes. I do," against her lips. And as he leaned in to claim her lush, full mouth for the kiss he’d been waiting for, Marisol knew exactly what it was about this man that made her stop resisting the inevitable.
      Jack really did understand.
      He understood her.
     
      By the time they'd turned off the interstate, it was clear that something major was going down outside Harrisburg. The helicopters flying overhead with their searchlights combing the dense woods the first indication. The roadblock they encountered at the entrance to the FEMA exercise ground was their second.
      Reaching over to give Marisol's thigh a tender squeeze, Jack glanced over and said, "Promise you'll meet me on the other side when this is over?"
      Marisol never did get to ask -- the other side of what? A grim-looking state trooper ordered them both out of the vehicle, and all she had time to do was nod in response to his odd request.
      Arms raised high in the air and hands outstretched, Jack and Marisol did as they were told. Stepping in front of the truck, they squinted against the glare of high beams and flashlights pointed directly in their faces.
      Thinking one of them should say something -- and fast -- Marisol explained in as professional and calm a tone as she could muster, "I'm Officer Marisol Benitez of the Philadelphia Police Department, and this is Jack Bennett . . ."
      "A Redsopple EMT and firefighter," Jack finished proudly.
      "You mean Detective Marisol Benitez," Captain Haring bellowed, stepping into the flood of light so suddenly that Marisol blinked and took an instinctive step backward. What was he doing here? she wondered, as her superior officer confided loud enough for all to hear, "If I have my way, you'll receive that promotion before we even get back home to Philly for a job well done, Benitez." Then he reached out to slap the flat of his palm down onto her shoulder while grabbing hold of her right hand and giving it a firm, brisk handshake.
      Captain Haring's actions set off a round of applause, hoots and hollers that made Marisol's ears ring. Wide-eyed, she turned to Jack, who shrugged and grinned down at her, his befuddlement clearly a match for her own. Then strangers and coworkers surged forward to offer their congratuations – why, even Spanelli gave her a friendly if not totally unbegrudging "atta girl" punch on the arm. More shocked than hurt by the uncharacteristic gesture, Marisol couldn't wait to find out what all the fuss was about.
      She hoped suddenly that no one had been hurt -- and wondered how deeply Marcus had been involved. Not too deeply, she prayed. …
      Then she steeled herself as a pair of men flashing FBI badges gave her grinning salutes. "Time for debriefing, Detective Benitez," one told her briskly. "The director is waiting."
      Did he mean the director of the whole FBI?
      Dazed as she was, as the agents led her away, all she could think of was Jack.
     
      As the sun slowly made its ascent above the mountain peaks in the east, Marisol sat on a camp stool and clutched a cup of lukewarm coffee between her hands. She’d been privately wishing for hours now that she and Jack had never left the warm confines of their room back at the Red Roof Inn. Where had he got to? What if he’d left, gone back to Redsopple? Although the perimeter of the grounds was still cordoned off, the vast host of police, firefighters and federal agents had dwindled down a skeletal crew of local law enforcement.
      Her work here was done. It was time, Marisol knew, to heed Sergeant O'Malley's suggestion that she head back home. Although she'd spoken to her parents via cell phone, they would want to see for themselves that she truly was safe and unharmed. And she felt an overwhelming need to hug them both, most especially her father. Aside from the fact that he was the one and only cop who’d never faltered in covering her back, she wanted to thank him for always believing in her.
      Had Captain Benitez not acted on his daughter's behalf, Dinah Louis and Marcus Winters might very well have succeeded. Marisol wondered how she could have let her sentimentality over the friendship she and Marcus once shared muddle her better judgment. He’d told her that risk was in his blood, that the challenge was tripled for all of them because terrorism had been added to the mix. Why hadn’t she recognized then that Marcus Winters had an agenda of his own? Especially after he’d all but revealed his plans by commenting that the Three Mile Island nuclear reactor was too close for them not to take their work seriously.
      It all made sense now, after all the debriefings. Marcus hadn’t moved to Somerset County in search of peace and quiet. He’d been running away – or rather, lying low. From what she'd been told, it had been her father who’d recalled that a rash of bombings in vacant buildings in Southwest Philly had ended just about the time Marcus moved away. Recalling that the Winters boy had worked for a demolitions contractor before joining the fire department, Marisol's father had contacted a friend of his in the fire marshal's office. It turned out they'd been compiling evidence against Marcus in those bombings for quite a while. Knowing that time was of the essence, Captain Benitez had made sure the proper state and federal authorities were put on high alert. Considering his experience with explosives, Marcus Winters was now more than a suspected accomplice in the assault and kidnapping attempts made on Marisol and Jack. He was a threat to national security.
      Apprehended by state police while heading south along Route 441 near the nuclear power plant, Marcus and Dinah turned out to have a trunk packed full of lethal plastic explosives. They might not have succeeded at creating nuclear havoc at Three Mile Island with their payload, but they would have cost damage – and lives.
      "La Loony," the FBI director told Marisol, had tried to claim innocence, insisting tearfully that Marcus had coerced her into participating in his scheme. When she heard that, Marisol had straightened her back, looked the director in the eye, and told him that was bullshit. If anything, Dinah had been the one who’d led Marcus astray. ...
      "Care to join me for that breakfast I promised you a few days ago?" Marisol looked up and smiled at a weary-looking Wyn McGregor. "It's good to see you alive and well, Dark Eyes," he told her, with a grin that deepened the dimples in his chiseled face and made his brown eyes glint with a hint of golden mischief.
      "It's good to see you too, Wyn," Marisol replied. The man was even more gorgeous than she’d remembered, even with a purpled bruise encircling his right eye, marking the spot where Jack had landed a solid left hook.
      Reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Marisol's ear, Wyn remarked, "I was right about you all along, wasn't I?"
      "How so?" Marisol couldn't keep the laughter from her voice any more than she could stop this man from shamelessly flirting with her.
      "I said you were an extraordinary and beautiful woman. And then you went and proved that theory by acting on a hunch."
      "Thanks for the compliment," she told him. "But I didn't do it all on my own."
      "Maybe not, but you were the brains behind it all," Wyn countered.
      "And Jack was the brawn?" Marisol smiled again.
      "Jack?" Wyn snorted. "I'd like to think he had nothing to do with it."
      "Well, you're dead wrong about that!" Marisol replied defensively. "If it wasn't for Jack Bennett -- "
      Before she could complete the thought, a woman's squeal interrupted their conversation. Marisol wasn't sure what all the commotion was about until Wyn nodded toward a tall, model-slim woman with long hair – long purple hair. "I reckoned it wouldn't be long before Jan showed up," he commented. "And there’s Jack, right on time." Marisol saw him emerge from a tent a few hundred yards away. "Well, he always was a sucker for her tight little ass."
      Yeah, and so were you, buddy, Marisol thought, barely able to contain her annoyance. Feeling as though a vice had been clamped around her heart, she looked on in dismay as this Jan flung herself into Jack's arms and proceeded to kiss his entire face silly.
      "Jack, honey!" she squealed, "Thank God you're safe. I was so worried about you baby," she shouted in a high pitched voice that Marisol knew was clearly intended to rivet all attention. It was exquisitely effective.
      Unsure whether Jack’s face had turned so red because of that unmerciful kissing or because he was embarrassed, Marisol listened in horror as he told the woman, "It's good to see you too, Jan."
      She snuggled up to him, her hands smoothing his buttocks through his jeans. "When I saw the picture of you on the news, baby, I just screamed. My Jack! My hero! And now you’re everybody's hero! America's hero! Didn't I tell you how smart you were to come to these exercises? Didn't I? What a wonderful story to tell our grandkids."
      Death. That was all Jack was praying for at that moment -- a quick and painless death that would put an end to his misery. This woman was going to push him right over the edge. And there was that snake Wyn, cozying up to Marisol – "You’ll have to excuse me for a moment, Jan," he told the woman who was clinging to him, gently disengaging from her clutches. Although he didn't plan on reenacting what had happened the last time that cocksure Irish son-of-a-bitch had gotten as close to Marisol as he was now, Jack wasn't going to back down in marking his territory. She was his. He knew it. She had to know it. And, he thought, storming across the grass separating them, Wyn McGregor was never going to forget it again.
      But before he could reach them, Jan was there, dive-bombing him like one of the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. He felt as paralyzed as a Trampled-on scarecrow. Marisol's eyes went round in confusion, then narrow in anger, before she wheeled around and stalked off with an all-too-happy Wyn McGregor in tow. Jack felt as though the stuffing had literally been plucked clean out of him.
      That did it! His days as Mr. Nice Guy were over. Jack pushed Jan from him, gently but firmly, and said, "It's been great seeing ya, Jan. But I'm afraid we're going to have to cut this little reunion short."
      "Huh? Where are you going?" Jan demanded, pouting. Reaching out to grab him, she dug her nails into his wrist.
      Jerking his arm free, Jack said grimly, "I'm going to secure a partnership." " But what about me? I came all the way out here all by myself, you know!" She stomped a spike heel. "Just where are all the reporters that were supposed to be here, anyway? I got my hair done special! A new color and all!"
      Jack took off at a sprint, and didn't look back.
      "Hey, Marisol, wait up!" he called after her.
      Stopping dead in her tracks at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue with that liquid familiarity that melted her resolve, Marisol turned at his request.
      "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked when he finally caught up with her.
      "She's leaving," Wyn took it on himself to explain.
      "She can talk for herself," Jack snapped.
      Folding her arms across her chest, cocking her hip to the side, Marisol told both men, with more than a fair amount of attitude, "Yes, she can. And, yes, she is leaving."
      "Why?" Jack demanded. But before she could even get any words out, Jan had run up behind him and was stroking him again.
      "Jack, honey, why'd you run off on me like that?"
      With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Jack bit off a frustrated curse.
      Then Jan's hand suddenly left his thigh and traveled up to her hair, to give it a self-conscious pat. "Why, I declare. Wyn McGregor, could that be you?"
      "Oh, give it a rest, lady," Marisol snorted indelicately.
      With an appalled tsk of her tongue, Jan asked, "Who's she, Jack?"
      Let the backwoods folk intermarry, Marisol thought grimly. Now would be a good time to book it on out of Western PA. "Hey, it’s been grand," she announced, "but I gotta go now. See you around!" She gave a bright little wave and left all three of them staring after her.
     
      As she stomping through the narrow copse that led to the parking lot, Marisol rebuked herself for being such an idiot. What did Jack and Wyn think, that she'd fit perfectly into their Neanderthal way of life? Jan didn't seem to mind it. She probably liked bouncing back and forth between both men as much as she changing the color of her hair.
      "Why are you leaving?"
      "Oh, God," she said in annoyed disbelief. "You’ve got to be kidding, Jack."
      "Do I sound like I'm kidding?" His face lacked any traces of humor.
      "Just go on back to your .. your girlfriend. Your fiancée. Your purple-headed man-eater. I’m sure she's waiting for you."
      "Even if she is, she’s not my fiancée, or my girlfriend either. I told you that already."
      "Oh, is it Wyn’s turn now? Don’t worry. I’ll bet in no time at all she’ll be running back to you."
      "She found me while I was looking for you."
      "To say goodbye, right? Okay, so – goodbye. Adios, amigo."
      "Is that what you want? To say good riddance?" His eyes darkening with every word he spoke. "Oh that's right. I forgot. You have a detective's badge waiting for you in Philly. I wouldn't want to stand in your way."
      "That's not fair."
      "Isn't it? You were making some pretty pathetic assumptions about me. What makes you so different? Although I never figured you for the type of person who'd break a promise."
      "Excuse me. I don't know what you're talking about."
      Although Jack didn't even attempt to explain himself to her, a mischievous glint had returned to his eyes, and it threw Marisol for a loop.
      "Look, Jack," she said in an attempt to cover up her discomfiture. "Sarge and the rest of the guys are waiting for me. They're all exhausted and in a rush to get back to Philly."
      "I won't keep you, then. But I'd like to know one thing. If you promised you'd meet me on the other side, why are running away?"
      "That's it? That's the promise you're accusing me of going back on? Not meeting you on the other side? On the other side of what?" Marisol demanded.
      "On the other side of this whole nightmare. The other side of 9/11, and everything that's happened since we first met," Jack explained.
      The color drained from Marisol's face. "Jack, what are you saying?"
      He took advantage of her momentary confusion and stepped even closer. He needed to close what little space lay between them, to gain her full and undivided attention.
      For an instant, Marisol had the wild notion that he was about to get down on one knee.
      He didn't.
      His eyes, however, took on a faraway, dreamy look that she'd never seen in any other man's gaze before. "Mari," he began, in a calm, even voice. Marisol recognized the tone. It was the voice she'd been trained to use on jumpers. Did he think she was going to bolt?
      "You and I both know that ever since September 11th," he continued, "nothing's been the same." She nodded. "We never knew when the next call would come, yet we somehow had a handle on anticipating how we'd respond. But 9/11 changed everything. It's like we live with this heightened awareness of the unknown -- or maybe it's a wariness." He shrugged. "But there's really nothing more we can do about it than we already have."
      Marisol knew exactly what he was talking about. She felt the same way.
      "It's too bad it took something like 9/11 to make us realize that we really don't know what tomorrow will bring," Jack said softly. "We don't even know about today. Look at everything that's happened these past few days. Life's too short and precious to take things for granted. Don't you think?"
      Even if she did agree, Marisol didn’t know what to say.
      "To be honest … " Jack paused, gazed past her, and then looked back down into her eyes with an intensity that made her knees weak. "If I only had today, I'd want to spend it with you."
      "Oh, Jack. Please don't -- "
      "No, let me finish. Like I said, we don't know what the future will hold. All we really have is the present. So here and now, I want to ask if you'll do me the honor of taking it one day at a time with me."
      Although part of her wanted to fling her arms around his neck and cry out, "Yes! Yes! Yes!," Marisol knew she needed to be level-headed. "Jack, so much has happened," she whispered. "I don't know if I can commit …"
      "I'm not asking you to change your entire life, you know. I never would. I want you to go back to Philly and pursue your career. I want you to become a detective. I'm so happy for you, I'm bursting inside."
      With a surge of something she'd never felt before, something she couldn't explain, Marisol smiled. She knew he really did wish her well. He really did care.
      "I have my own responsibilities in Redsopple," Jack said. "But Philly and Redsopple aren't as far away as we used to think. Are they?"
      "No, they're not," she agreed. Her voice sounded strange, she thought – softer, yet quietly confident and certain -- as she said, "It's amazing, when you think about it, how small our world actually is."
      He was still holding her hands. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to; she wasn’t about to leave him now. "So what do you say, Benitez?"
      "Marisol. It's my name."
      Jack's brows rose in question.
      "Use it." She tried not to laugh.
      "You trying to get personal with me … Marisol?"
      "Yeah. I guess it wouldn't be so bad to do that," she said. Then her stomach fluttered, and she asked, "How exactly are we going to arrange this? You know -- with me in Philly and you in Redsopple. When will we ever see each other?"
      Enfolding her in his arms, Jack brought Marisol's head to his chest. "We'll figure out a way. I'll come to Philly sometimes. You can come to Redsopple. And we can always meet someplace in between. Someplace like …"
      "The Red Roof Inn?" Marisol suggested.
      "That'd be fine by me," Jack said, breathing in the sultry fragrance of Spanish jasmine. Somehow, he knew he'd never tire of the intoxicating scent, or of Marisol. She would always be the exotic, treasured spice of his life.
      Tipping her head back to get a better look at his handsome face, Marisol said, "Does this mean I'm your steady girl?"
      "That's what you are -- for now." Then he kissed her in a way that left no doubt in Marisol's mind as to how serious he was about her.
     
     

THE END

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