Which alters when it alteration finds

by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)

JAG

Clark Palmer/Kate Fontaine (original character), Clayton Webb/Kate Fontaine, Kate Fontaine/other man

Rating: adult

Clark Palmer kidnaps his enemy's girlfriend and finds out that it isn't as simple to stay detached as he thought.

Disclaimer: Neither Clark Palmer nor Clayton Webb nor Harmon Rabb belong to me, but Kate Fontaine does, as do any other characters that show up.

Please do not archive this story without asking me first. It's more than likely that I'll agree, but I want to know where my stories are.

Warnings (written by my friend Scarlet): This story should not be read by anyone under the legal age of maturity, nor should you read it if you wish to avoid explicit descriptions of physical and mental abuse or sibling incest. This is a work of pure fantasy. The heroine has a very special history, and her reactions are *not* to be assumed to be the reactions and feelings of women in general. What I mean to say is, 'Don't try any of this at home,' and I don't mean this in a light-hearted way. This is a serious warning. This story does not in any way condone or excuse abuse of any kind, nor does it suggest that an abusive partner can be changed through love or kindness. The fairy tale of the Beauty and the Beast is just that; a fairy tale. And again, this story is a fantasy.

Specific warnings: bondage, use of a gun as a sexual instrument, sex between minors, sibling incest.

Timeline and Spoilers: This story takes place sometime after the episode Wilderness of Mirrors, probably in an AU of the fifth season. Assume spoilers for any and all Webb and Palmer episodes from the second to the fourth seasons.

The title is from Shakespeare's sonnet #116. Here are the relevant lines:

Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds

The dialogue at one point is taken from a JAG episode, Webb of Lies. There's an in-joke about the e-mail alias Clark Palmer uses; it's the name of a character in the movie 'Body Parts' who is portrayed by Peter Murnik, the same actor who portrays Clark Palmer so brilliantly.

This story was read by Tinnean, Athea, Scarlet, and Alexandra. Thanks to all of them for their kindness and encouragement. The story is still all my doing, and any mistakes are mine.

*****

Kate Fontaine gave the uniformed man standing attentively beside her desk a puzzled smile. "A car?"

"Yes, ma'am." He touched his brimmed hat. "Whenever you're ready."

"But I didn't order a car. There must be some kind of mistake."

"No mistake, ma'am. This is the address the gentleman gave me." He saw the startled look she gave him, and gave her a grave smile. "The one who sent me to get you."

"Oh. He did?" He nodded. "He's so extravagant," she murmured. It had to be Clayton's doing.

"Our rates aren't that high, ma'am, but I'm sure you're worth whatever the gentleman has to pay."

She smiled at the compliment, then remembered something Clayton had told her. "This is silly, but..." Her voice trailed off, and for the first time she realized that she was alone in the big room. She'd worked late, since she didn't have any plans bigger than making a box of macaroni and cheese and watching one of the movies she was always taping. What if this was one of the people Clayton had warned her about, like that agent he had nightmares about sometimes? Parker, or something like that... but why would anyone be after her? She couldn't help with any kind of plot, and no one really knew she was seeing him, anyway. He worried too much, she decided. It was a spinoff from his job, and she'd tell him so when she saw him again. Maybe that would even be tonight. She smiled at the prospect.

"Yes, ma'am?" His manner was perfectly respectful.

"Do you have any identification?" Maybe this was a test by Clay to see if she would listen to him. All right, she'd play along.

The man acted as though he got that question all the time. "Yes, ma'am. My ID from the agency. If you want to see my license," he managed to look a little sheepish, "I left that in the car."

"No, this is fine," she said absently, scanning the laminated card. Name, Douglas Dunlap, company Beltway Special Transportation, grainy picture, eight-digit license number: it all looked fine, very official. She handed it back to him.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He was holding her coat for her when another thought occurred to her. Clay had said something about being out of the country. Why hadn't he called, if he was back?

"Who sent you, Mr. Dunlap?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not allowed to give names. But the gentleman did arrange for white roses to be given to you when you were in the limo, and champagne. The French kind, ma'am, with a red ribbon across the label, if that tells you anything." His look and tone were earnest, and Kate smiled. That was just like Clay. Her favorite flowers and Cordon Rouge, what he always ordered when they were together.

"He's waiting for me?" Her voice was eager, but a little shy as the man deftly swept the coat around her.

"And why else would a gentleman send a car for such a lovely lady?"

He smiled at her in such a way that she didn't notice he hadn't directly answered the question, and took away the uneasiness at his wording. He was just trying to be nice to her, she thought, and went down the short flight of stairs to where a long, black limousine was parked.

He opened the door of the passenger compartment for her, and even waited until she was inside. "You have to wear a harness, ma'am. Company policy. If you like, I can help you with it."

Kate gave him a relieved smile and stopped fumbling with it. He pulled the straps across her and bucked it with a sure competence that made her feel safe. It was a lot more complex than anything she'd seen before.

"Comfortable?" She gave him a nod and another smile. The straps were a little tight, but she could deal with that. Hopefully it wouldn't be a long trip. "Great. And here are your roses, ma'am," he produced them almost magically from behind his back, and her smile brightened, "and I'll open the champagne if you'd like it now, ma'am."

"Yes, thank you. I'd like it very much." It was the perfect cap to this beautiful prelude to her evening with Clay, she thought happily, and took the flute from him, putting the flowers on the seat beside her.

"I don't like to rush you, ma'am, but I do know that I'm supposed to get you," she saw him swallow the rest of the phrase, "there," he substituted, "on time. May I start?"

"Please." She gave him another smile, and he returned it.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He got behind the wheel and started the engine, pulling out into the now-light traffic with a competence that made her relax.

They had been driving for about ten minutes, and her glass was empty, when she tried talking again. "How much longer, Mr. Dunlap?"

"Oh, please," there was something different about his voice now, "there's no need to be formal. Call me Clark."

"All right." It took a moment for that to sink in, but when it did, a frown crossed her face. "But that isn't your name," she managed, just before more of the harness came over to cover her. She struggled, then heard his light, mocking voice.

"Relax, Miss Fontaine. You won't get hurt any more than you want to be, but that gives us a lot of room, doesn't it?"

"Clayton," she gasped. It was hard to breathe.

"Mr. Webb is just fine. I understand he's in Brussels, or maybe London by now. I'll check when we get home, if you like. Now relax. You're going to sleep."

Everything was getting fuzzy, and she couldn't fight it any longer, even though she wanted to. "Clay," she breathed, and passed out.

Clark Palmer glanced in the rear view mirror, and smiled at the sight of the relaxed form. "Pretty girls shouldn't take drinks from strangers," he said casually, knowing she wouldn't hear him and enjoying this moment of his plans coming together. "But I guess it'll be all right. We won't be strangers that much longer."

He made one turn, then another.

*****

When Kate woke, she found that she couldn't move either her hands or legs, and she was lying down. She gasped and glanced around in panic, finding a man leaning against the wall. He straightened when he saw her move.

"Comfortable, Miss Fontaine?" From his voice she could tell that it was the driver. His face was vaguely familiar, but different from before.

"Let me go." Her voice trembled. "Please." She glanced down at herself, and found that she was dressed in the same clothes she'd worn to work.

He laughed softly and came over to stand by the bed. "What a polite girl you are." His voice was caressing. "But I can't do that. I've been looking forward to meeting you much too much for that. You were asking about Mr. Webb earlier. I checked my records, and I was totally wrong. He's on a plane back to Washington. But don't worry, I'll make sure he knows that you're fine. But you'll have to help me, you know."

"Who are you?" She pushed away the thought of what he might have in mind. He'd been looking forward to meeting her? That didn't sound good.

"Clark Palmer. I would have thought Webb would have told you about me." She tried not to show any reaction, but from his next words, she knew she had. "Ah, I can see he did. Much better." His face twisted into a grin. "And what did my old friend have to say?" She took a long, shaky breath. Should she lie? "The truth, Miss Fontaine. I can take it."

She was pretty sure that he'd call her on a lie. "He said you were dangerous." He laughed at that. "And crazy. That if I ever saw you..." Her voice died away.

"You should run away," he completed the sentence. "Right? And then he showed you my picture." She nodded. "It's a shame I didn't wear my own face, so that you could have done what he wanted. But that's done now." He came over to sit on the bed by her. "Such a pretty girl," he murmured. "And stuck with Clayton Webb. Honey, you must have had better offers than a spy like him. Did he tell you he helped put me in jail?"

She was trembling, terrified of what he was going to do, and even more, terrified of how she felt about it. There were parts of this that were too close to her own history, that were turning her on, and she didn't want him to know that. She wouldn't let him know that.

"But I don't want to talk about him. I want to talk about you." His hand came over to cup her cheek, the long fingers grazing her hair. "There's so much that I know about you, Kate. I've read and learned about you, and one thing I realized really soon was that you weren't getting what you needed from anyone, especially not Webb."

"I love Clayton," she cried out, surprising herself. She'd thought that before, but she hadn't said that to anyone, not even Clayton. They had fun together, and she had moments where she dreamed about marrying him, but he was going so slow that sometimes she wondered what he was after. Then he'd be so intent and loving, her doubts would go.

Palmer laughed. "Right. So he knows what you really like, then." He waited, and finally she shook her head. It wasn't going to help to lie to him, and it wasn't something she liked doing. "I didn't think so. He doesn't know you still want to be overpowered, taken, made to do things?"

She drew in a long, sobbing breath. "Please don't," she whispered. Maybe he wanted to hear her beg. She could do that, and would, if it would get her free.

"You're ashamed of that. Don't be, Kate. I'm going to see that you get everything you've been wanting. And when that's over," he shrugged, "I'll let you go. That is, if you still want to. Deal?"

"How can I trust you?"

"You have to," he said pleasantly. "You don't have a choice." Before she could take that in, his hands were undoing her blouse, pushing the soft fabric to the side and moving down to her skirt. "I can't untie you yet, Kate, but I think you'll like this, anyway. Just relax. I know what you want," he repeated, "and I'll give it to you."

Her brown eyes were wide. No one had said that to her before. It had always been more 'get over it, that's not how normal people make love'. But this was Clayton's enemy. She couldn't take any kind of pleasure from him.

He ripped off her pantyhose, and she jumped as his hand touched her bare skin "No. No!"

"But I haven't done anything yet, Kate," he murmured. "Give a man a fair shot, won't you?"

His hand lingered on her inner thigh, and she pulled against the restraints with a desperation that wasn't feigned. This was what she'd been wanting, and more, and from the way he was talking, he knew all that. But he couldn't, and she wasn't supposed to want it. Everyone said that.

"Be a good girl," his voice was harder, "and I won't have to hurt your boyfriend. That's right," he added more pleasantly as she stilled. "What you do keeps him safe. Remember that, Miss Fontaine." He was speaking louder now.

"Yes," she whispered, and gave up. He was trying to hurt Clayton, and if there was anything she could do to keep him from doing that, she would.

"Much better. I thought you were a reasonable woman."

He slid his hand up to cup her soft hair for a moment, then took his hand away. She bit her lip to control her body. It wanted to arch and beg for more. She hoped he hadn't felt the wetness, but she knew that was a faint hope.

"You like it rough," she heard him murmur. "Try this."

Something hard and smooth and cold nudged her thigh. She tried to see what it was, but the angle was wrong. Then he moved it into her line of sight, and she gasped. It was a gun. He slid it down between her legs and began tracing lines with it on her skin. At the same time his other hand was playing with her nipples, erect from the cool air, pinching and pulling them roughly enough for them to stiffen on their own. Kate felt herself get close to coming. He was doing just what she did when she was alone and hot, although she used something more ordinary, like a candle. This was pushing things.

"No," she moaned, then felt the cool metal brush her wetness. It pushed at her inner lips, and she began to struggle again. She didn't know if she meant to get away from it or get closer.

"You mean, yes," he whispered. "Here, I'll make it better for you."

He let go of her nipples and took her clitoris between two fingers, massaging and squeezing it. Even that was right. Her legs tensed, and then the metal penetrated her. It was too much. She came, her cry making Palmer smile. He waited until her body stilled, then drew out the gun. There was a click, then a humming noise that only lasted a little while, but she didn't know what had caused them, and really didn't care.

"And there's so much more, Kate." His eyes were bright. "So much more I can give you. No need to fight your true nature any longer."

She was too stunned to answer him. He knew so much about her. How could that be? He brought up a blanket to cover her and stood, with a last caress to her hair, then left the room.

"Be a good girl and get a little rest," his voice floated back to her. "I've got an errand," he chuckled, "to run. I'll give him your love."

She heard a door slam shut and knew he was gone. Whatever he was up to, she was sure it had something to do with Clayton, but she also knew that there was nothing she could do about now. And he'd been so good, so in her fantasy. He knew her, somehow, and she was lost. She didn't even want to fight. What would Clay think if he could see her now? At least that wasn't going to happen.

*****

Clayton Webb shut the door, hung up his overcoat, and checked the time before he let himself relax into his favorite chair. Just as he'd feared, it was eleven, too late to call Kate. His sweet, pretty Kate. The thought of her snuggled under a blanket, dark hair spread over a pillow, made him smile, even though he'd never seen that for himself. One day he would, and then he'd be one of the happiest men in Washington.

Tomorrow he'd show up at her office and take her to lunch, maybe even talk her into taking the afternoon off. His superior had ordered him to stay out of the office for two weeks, and once she knew that he was off, he was sure she'd want to spend some of that time with him. He'd take her riding, to museums, even to meet his mother. It was time for that, time to show Kate and his mother that he was serious about this relationship. Her mother would like Kate, he knew. The two of them were very much alike, intelligent, beautiful women. How could she resist, when he hadn't?

He got up to get some water and rehydrate from the long plane ride. Just then, there was a knock, then another. Maybe it was Kate. He shoved the glass back on the counter before he headed to the door. No, it wouldn't be. She didn't know he was back.

It wasn't Kate, but some kind of courier. "Mr. Clayton Webb?"

"Yes." He hoped whatever this was, it wasn't something urgent from the Company.

The man held out a clipboard. "Sign at the X, please."

Clayton picked up the pen but not the clipboard. This way the man had to hold it, and his hands weren't free. Everything looked fine, but you couldn't be too careful in his line of work.

"Thank you, sir." The man handed him the package and spoke again. "I'm to give you the message now. The man said so."

"All right, let's have it." Webb's tone was sharp, and the man's shoulders hunched.

"Sorry," he muttered and fixed his eyes on the floor before pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper. "Got to get it right," he explained, and Clayton fought the urge to tear the paper out of the man's hand. That wouldn't help. He made himself breathe deeply instead.

"A bedtime movie for you, with a happy ending. Hope you like it." The man looked up, hope in his eyes. "That's it, sir."

"Who sent this? Did you see him?" It was a very odd message, and no name at all.

"No, sir." The man's voice was fervent. "I get my jobs at the office, this one too. It was waiting when I got back from the last one, honest. Here's my card." He handed it to Webb, who pocketed it, keeping his eyes fixed on the man. He sounded sincere and looked it, but he might not be. "You can call them. They might know more. They've got the records. But I've got to get back."

He stepped back and was striding down the hall, and Clayton shut the door after a moment. Either the man was what he said he was or not, but he had no reason to go after him at this point. The whole thing sounded suspicious, but the box looked harmless enough. He opened it carefully and found nothing wrong, just a videotape. All right, he'd watch this 'bedtime movie' and see what the sender meant. Maybe it was a Company matter after all. It was just confusing enough to be.

He slid the tape into the machine and settled back in his chair before hitting the play button. With the first image, his eyes went wide with shock, anger, and pain, while swear words ripped out of his mouth. His beautiful, sweet, gentle Kate, stripped and helpless, Clark Palmer's eyes and hands all over her. How had Palmer gotten her into his power? Damn, he'd told her to be careful, he thought helplessly as the tape rolled, images of Palmer whispering to her, stroking her, burning into his mind.

He hadn't even tried to get a single button undone. The most they'd shared was a few kisses at the end of the evening. She'd told him about her brother and his games, even some specifics, enough to get him to decide that the best course of action was to go slow and be patient. If Kate wanted him, she'd let him know. Otherwise, he'd wait. It wasn't easy, but how could you expect someone who'd gone through a hell like that to want sex? It all made sense to him. And she was in therapy, so there was hope.

But now there seemed to be none. His voice rose in a sharp cry when Palmer produced the gun. God, was the bastard going to shoot her on tape? He could see, as Kate clearly hadn't, from her position, the intent glee on the agent's face as he aimed the weapon at her temple. Even when he saw him lower it and turn it to other uses, it didn't give him any comfort. Palmer was getting hot with every abusive stroke, and Kate, oh god, was getting hot, too. He'd never thought to see her that abandoned, that aroused, without a corresponding gentleness, hopefully from him. Instead, she was moaning, her body language begging Palmer for more, which, of course, he gave her.

His face was white by the time Kate came with the nozzle of the gun buried in her. He stabbed down on the stop button, and the screen mercifully went to a newscast. He muted it and made himself breathe. If there was more, and he would bet there was, it was going to have to wait. Palmer had Kate, and he had to find her and get her away from him.

He stood and reached for his gun with sure hands, then stopped. He had no idea whatsoever where to look, and the Company wasn't going to be interested in helping him find his girlfriend. They might not even believe him when he told them it was Palmer. He gave the screen with its sports scores a look of helplessness and anger. He couldn't show them the tape, and without that, it was his word. And that wasn't going to cut it. Palmer was supposed to be in jail, and if that had changed, they would have let him know. No. There was only one place to go where he could get help, and even that might not be safe. Knowing Palmer, he'd have an eye on JAG, too.

He was going to have to wait until morning. He'd search Kate's apartment for some clue, anything, think about who in the Company he could trust, check in with A. J. or Rabb, keep himself covered, and wait for more word from Palmer. At least that was something he could count on. The man was conceited enough to want to gloat, and he'd chosen him as the target.

He stored his gun by his bed, just in case Palmer decided to come after him. It could be that, he thought drowsily, the opening of a campaign against him, and that the distraction that Palmer was throwing him to see if he'd lose his cool. He wouldn't, he vowed, and fell asleep.

*****

Kate was sleeping, but lightly. She woke when Palmer came back in the room, dropping what looked like a mask on the dresser, then pulling parts of it off his face.

"Hey there." He sounded cheerful, and she hoped that wasn't a bad thing. Clayton had said he was a killer, cold, with no scruples. Maybe doing it made him happy. The thought made her tense. "Back in record time. How you doing?"

She had to ask. "Is Clay all right?"

"Just fine." He was stripping off a brown-colored jacket like the ones the package guys wore. "Tired, though." He chuckled. "I'll bet he's wide awake now."

"You didn't hurt him?" Her voice was anxious.

"No, Miss Fontaine, all I did was give him the tape."

"The tape," she echoed. There was a hollow feeling in her stomach, and not just because she was hungry.

He gave her an eyebrows-raised look. "Of us. Don't worry, I've got a copy if you want to see it."

She caught back a sob. "Poor Clayton," she whispered. She didn't doubt Palmer's word, and the thought of Clay seeing her that way was hard.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "He'll get over it. Or he won't. Why the hell should you care? A guy who doesn't even have the guts to make a move on you after six months dating?" He laughed, a hard edge to it. "And I thought Webb was smarter than that."

Her mouth tightened, then relaxed. "He was trying to be nice to me." That was the reason, and she knew it, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with.

"Sure." His voice was mocking. "Was he waiting for you to beg? Maybe that was it. Want me to call him and ask?"

Her eyes fixed on his, and from his smile she knew he could see the hope in hers. He laughed again. "Oh, no, Miss Fontaine. I'm not going to do that. Clayton Webb needs to sweat some more. It wouldn't be my style to let him off the hook that fast. I will be calling, just not today. I still have things to show you."

"And Clayton." She hoped he'd deny it, but he just shrugged.

"At least he knows you're alive. I imagine he had a moment or two where he thought he was getting a snuff film. I spared him that."

She shuddered at that thought. Clayton would have watched the part with the gun and thought, of course, that Palmer was going to kill her. He must have been out of his mind with fear and worry. "Why do you want to hurt him? Because he put you in jail?"

"Of course," he said smoothly. "And because he's in my way."

"Let me talk to him." She rushed on, not wanting any kind of comment until she was through. "I'll tell him to leave you alone, that if he does, you'll let me go. I think he will, for me."

His eyes had a strange look in them. "And you would, I'm sure. But I'm not going to let you go, Kate. What I'm doing to Webb needs to be done."

"It doesn't," she insisted, and he laughed.

"You don't know anything about this, Kate. Or about Webb." The words should have made her angry, but his voice was almost gentle. "And you should keep quiet about it. It ends up making you happy. Don't need to look so startled. I have nothing against you, Kate. Nothing at all."

"But you're hurting me, too. I," she wanted to say 'love', but couldn't, "care about Clayton."

"That's not what you said before," he taunted. "Then it was 'I love him'." She closed her eyes, and he smiled. "Guess that changed."

"No," she whispered. "I do." She hoped it was true. Right now she didn't know what she thought, or felt.

"You'll get over it. You're smart," he said with a casualness that chilled her suddenly.

She'd been so involved in the conversation that the whole context had slipped away from her. She was bound on a bed, with a man she didn't know, who seemed to know so many dark things about her, and who was doing this to hurt, no, torture her boyfriend. How could she talk to him as though he were someone to be reasoned with?

Palmer reached down and undid her feet. "You're about as dangerous as a kitten," he said dryly to her questioning look. "And smart enough not to try anything. Just the same," he was undoing her hands now, "I'm not going to take too many chances. I don't want you to get any ideas."

He kept one hand tight around her wrist as he helped her to sit up, then got her arms behind her back. With the click, she knew they were fastened together. She pulled at them, but only to confirm that, then took a long breath and relaxed. There was nothing she could do, and it would only make things worse to try. He was watching her with a thoughtful eye, and she flushed. He didn't say anything, surprising her, just drew together her blouse, then fastened the buttons. He swept her body with a critical eye, then smiled and nodded.

"It'll do for now. Lucky it's a decent night." He went out of the room, coming back quickly in an undershirt, jeans, and sneakers, holding another pair in his hand. He got down on the floor and slipped them on her feet. "A little big, but that's all I've got. Want something to eat?" He stood.

She forgot about asking him for some pants and gave him a wary look. Was he trying to trick her? "If you are," she said carefully, and he chuckled.

"Of course I am. I'm not going to starve you into submission. Especially since I don't have to." He took her upper arm with his hand and pulled her upright, then supported her when her legs gave out. "O.K.," he said briskly, "you're in no condition to walk," and shifted his arms to cradle her against his chest. She was out of the room and into another room, this a little more furnished with a rough table and chairs, a stove, sink, and other kitchen stuff. He put her down on one of the chairs and went over to the counter. "A power shake for each of us," he decided, opening a cabinet. "I've got crackers if that isn't enough. Tomorrow I'll get something more substantial. Chocolate." He stopped scanning and pulled out a box.

It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway. "Yes, thank you."

He turned to look at her with amusement. "Not much gets to you, does it? I'm impressed." He pulled out milk from the college-sized refrigerator and poured it into a measuring cup.

"Are you sure Clayton watched the tape?"

He didn't answer that until he had the milk and powdered mix in the blender. "Absolutely." His glance at her was bright. "I spied on the master spy. Wish I had a picture of his face. He looked absolutely stricken. I told you, Kate, he can't handle a woman like you. After all," he laughed, "you'd have a hard time really fitting in to the Virginia horsey set that's his thing."

A moan escaped her. "Poor Clay," she whispered. She thought that the sound of the blender would mask her words, but Palmer must have heard, because he answered.

"Yes, poor Clay." There was only pleasure in his voice as he poured the mixture into two glasses. "And I know what he's going to do next. Go to his JAG friends, since he'll decide that they're the only ones honest and dumb enough to be uncorrupted, and ask them for help. Maybe," he chuckled again, "he'll even show them the tape, although that I doubt. I wish there was some way I could sit in on that showing. That would shock Harm the boy scout. All that he knows to do with a gun is shoot somebody with it."

Since she hadn't met anyone from the Judge Advocate General Corps, she didn't know this person he kept talking about, but just listened, hoping that was enough. He brought the glasses to the table, producing a straw for her and positioning the glass where she could suck on it without straining. The consideration amazed her, but she tried to accept it. Clayton had said he was dangerous and volatile, and she didn't want to do anything to set him off when things were going all right, in a way.

He drank off half his shake, then focused on her. "You've got to relax, Kate." His voice was easy. "You and I are going to be here together for," she could see him calculating, "a week or so. I could get it done quicker, what I'm doing to Webb, but what I'm doing with you," his smile had echoes in it that made her draw a quick breath, "that needs more time."

She had some more chocolate shake. "I don't know what to call you." Her voice was hesitant. She didn't want to think about Clayton's pain any longer, since there wasn't anything she could do about it. She had to deal with this situation.

"I already told you. Clark. It is my name," he reminded her.

"All right, Clark."

"And you might mind me calling you by your name, but," he shrugged and drained off the last of his shake, "that's not open to discussion."

"I don't mind that." Why should she mind? It was her name. People used it all the time.

"Well, that's something." He stood in an easy motion. "Finish that up, Kate. You need your sleep. It's," he glanced at his wrist, "after one."

She blinked and took another long sip. "That late?"

"That late," he agreed gravely and stood, taking his glass to the sink. "Although tomorrow's not a work day, in the sense you're used to." He looked over, saw she was done, and scooped up her glass. "You'll have to tell me who to call. No reason to get you fired just because you got in the firing line between me and Webb."

"Why not? It's not like you're going to let me go." Her voice was bitter now. The liquid was helping her wake up, think more clearly. Whatever he was after, she couldn't help him, didn't want to help him. She was going to have to fight, and now was the time to start. "And if you know as much as you say you do, you already know."

She expected him to be angry at her words, but instead he shrugged. "Cynicism doesn't suit you at all," he said lightly. "Sure, I know who to call. I'll take care of that in the morning. And I'll let you go, when it's the right time. You have my word. Of course, you probably don't believe it's worth the calluses on Webb's little finger, but you'll see that you're wrong. Sleep will help with that, especially when you wake up and find that I haven't fulfilled any of your worst fears, only your hidden ones." He laughed. "Can you stand now? If you'd rather, I'll carry you to bed. Believe me, it's no trouble at all."

She flushed, hearing a note in his voice that said he clearly meant that. He wanted her, somehow. Could it be that this was more than just revenge on Clayton? No. It couldn't be. "I think I can manage," she said stiffly.

"Then stand up," he returned, still light. "First step to walking."

She tried, but the chair was too close to the table, and she didn't have her hands to help her. "Damn." The word escaped her when she bumped against the edge of the table.

Before she could say anything more, he was there, pulling the chair back and helping her up with a quickness and unobtrusiveness she hadn't expected. She was his captive. He didn't have to be nice to her, so why was he?

He led her toward the bedroom, but stopped outside the entrance. "You have to need a bathroom by now."

"Yes," she admitted.

"Good. Now you're being reasonable." He undid her cuffs, then fastened together, in front this time, then led her into a small bathroom. "Don't be too long," he cautioned, but his face was relaxed. "You need your rest."

He left, and somehow she managed to lower herself onto the seat. Everything was harder because her hands weren't free, but the fact that they were in front now made some things possible. When she was through, even managing to splash some water on her face and get the towel on it to dry most of it off, she reached for the knob, but before she could do more than clink the cuffs on it, the door opened. She looked for some kind of gloating in his smile, but all she saw was cool interest. Well, that was better than what she'd feared.

"You're not going to want to sleep in your good blouse," he said casually, holding out a t-shirt. "Do I have to keep a gun on you to make sure you're not going to try anything insane?"

It took her a moment to get his meaning, then she shook her head. She was too tired, anyway. The energy the shake had given her was going rapidly.

"I'll take your word," his fingers were undoing the catch that held the cuffs together, "and I don't do that too often."

"Then why?" She flexed her wrists, hearing them crack. The bonds weren't tight, but it was harder to move in them.

"Maybe just because I'm pretty sure I can take you down if you do decide to be an idiot," he said, still casual. "Or maybe it's just that I think you're telling the truth."

"Or maybe you don't think of me as any kind of threat." She couldn't believe she'd said that, but he laughed.

"Also true. Of course, anyone can get lucky and do some serious damage."

He held the shirt out to her, and she took it from him. She thought about asking him to turn away, but the coolness in his eyes told her that he wouldn't. Anyway, he'd already seen her naked. And she had nothing to be ashamed of. She liked her body just as it was. She made herself meet his gaze as she slipped off the blouse, trying to be cool about it.

To her relief, he didn't do anything more than watch with that same dispassion. He didn't speak until she had the shirt over her head. "I'd actually rather deal with a professional. Then I'd know what was coming. You," he laughed again, "could surprise the hell out of me. Like you already have. Why don't we see if you can again?"

She struggled with the fabric when she heard that. It sounded like he was telling her she should fight, but was he? Maybe, but the important thing was not to rise to this one. It might be some kind of test, especially since she had given her word.

"No, thank you."

She listened for some kind of reply, but got none as she tugged the shirt down until it was all the way down her torso. Thankfully, it reached to her thighs, although not by much. It was tight, clinging to all her curves, and sleeveless, and she remembered that he had been wearing one just like it. This was his clothing. Intimate, and strange. She was sharing more with this man than she ever had with Clayton, and she didn't know how she really felt about that. Too tired, she thought, and pushed all the thoughts away.

"That looks good on you," he offered.

She didn't know how to answer that, so before he could tell her to, she held out her wrists. "I'm ready."

"I guess you are." The amusement in his voice made her flush. "Come on."

He took her by her right wrist and towed her into the bedroom. Wasn't he going to bind her for the night? She didn't know if the thought was a relief or a burden. If she was free, she'd have to try and escape. Maybe that was what he wanted, to have her escape so he could justify getting rid of her.

They ended up on the far side of the double bed. He matter-of-factly picked up a chain with small links that was attached to the bedpost and clicked that to the wrist he was holding as she tried to keep herself calm. Chained? Like an animal? No, like a captive, she thought, and swallowed. That didn't help too much.

"Sit down, Kate. It's just a precaution."

The amusement was in his eyes now, too, and she plunked herself on the bed, hoping her color would subside someday soon. He went over to the other side, undoing his jeans and throwing them in a corner as she watched with wide eyes. He kept on his undershorts and climbed under the covers. He was going to sleep there? While she was staring, he flipped a corner of the sheet over her legs, and she started.

"Nice to know you find me so interesting," his voice was dry, but still amused, "but I'd like to get some sleep." He hit a switch on the wall and it was dark. "If you need to get up in the night, wake me. Or if you need anything else, I'm right here."

She managed to speak after a moment. "Thank you. Clark," she added diffidently.

"You're welcome, Kate. Sleep well." She expected him to try and kiss her, or maybe more, but instead she felt his hand touch her cheek. "Relax." His voice had a gentleness in it that surprised her. "I'm not going to rape you. I'm not Jim. That's not my style."

"How do you know that about my brother?" Her voice trembled. "How could you?" She was willing to bet she hadn't told anyone but her therapist about the first time it got bad, when her brother snuck into her bed and pushed into her, his hand firmly over her mouth to keep her quiet. Before that it had been games, stuff she could explain away to herself, but that act pushed everything over the line into reality.

"If it's on paper or in a computer, it's findable." His voice was patient. "You just have to be willing to do what it takes to get it."

She wasn't sure she wanted to know any more than that, but there was something that she did have to know. "Then Cheryl didn't tell you."

"Didn't even try her. Too obvious." He laughed. "But she doesn't lock her cabinets. She takes great notes. I wish all shrinks were that thorough. If you want to read yours, I've got copies." She could see now, so when he frowned, she knew. "Sleep, unless you want me to use drugs. And don't think I won't, Miss Fontaine."

She knew from the formal address that he meant it, and shut her eyes. "Yes, Clark," she murmured.

"I do like the way you say that," she heard him murmur back, then felt a touch on her hair. Before she could do more than wonder if it was his hand or his lips, she was asleep.

*****

Clayton sat in his kitchen, grimly staring at the coffee pot. It was too early to call anyone. The more he went over his list of people at the Company, the more he was convinced he couldn't tell any of them. And the more he thought about finding anything at Kate's apartment, the more he was sure Palmer hadn't taken her from there, or, if he had, had made damned sure not to leave anything. He knew only too well how smart the other man was. He lifted his mug and drained it, grimacing at the bitterness.

Was Kate safe? The thoughts rolled through his mind again, the images of her writhing under Palmer's touch, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn't give in to any kind of weakness now. In fact, he stood, maybe the best thing to do would be to appear as though he was fairly unaffected by the whole matter. Palmer might release her and look for another way to get to him. Frantic searching would just amuse him. He'd call the delivery company, of course, but he suspected that trail would go nowhere. It was easy enough to get something delivered; he'd done it himself. And there was no use torturing himself thinking Palmer had done his own dirty work. If he had, it was too late for him to do anything different now.

He poured himself some more coffee and sipped that. Finally, he sighed. No use fooling himself. He wasn't going to be able to be totally unconcerned. He had to search, Palmer and his amusement be damned. If he knew enough to take Kate, he knew that the two of them were an item. He'd go to Kate's work, see if they'd seen anything at all. After all, Palmer wasn't perfect. He'd been caught. And then he'd go to the other person who'd caught him, Rabb, and see if he had any advice. Rabb wasn't in any position to gloat. His girlfriend had been taken, too.

*****

Kate woke to find Palmer's arms around her as he stood by the edge of the bed. "What?" she managed before his lips stopped her from saying anything more. She blinked at him when he lifted his head. The kiss was very gentle, and tender, and she felt like starting it all over again. She couldn't, though, she reminded herself. This man was keeping her captive. Thinking that didn't make it any easier. It was too close to the games her brother and she had played.

"You are sweet in the morning." He smiled at her. He was carrying her now. He must have unchained her, and taken the cuffs off, while she was still sleeping, she noted. "How the hell did Webb manage to resist you? The man's a fool." He set her down in the bathroom. "A shower, but make it a quick one."

There was already a towel there, she saw in a glance around the room. He must have woken up before her, and decided how the morning was going to go. It was spooky, and a little bit exciting. "Clark," she called as he turned away.

"Yes, Kate?"

"Why are you trusting me like this?" She realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth that they were stupid, that whatever he was doing, was for his own reasons, and he wasn't about to let her in on them, but it was too late.

A smile came and went. "Baby, am I supposed to be a bastard, watch your every move?" She shook her head violently. No, she didn't want that. "All right. Then enjoy your moment of freedom. It won't last that long."

He left without another word, and she stared after him. He was right. She didn't want him to be that way, and she did want some time to shower and think. But she didn't want to be left alone so long that she got any ideas about getting out. When that thought hit, she pushed it away and turned on the water. She had to get out. She had to find a way to let Clayton know she was what he would want her to be.

As she soaped and dried herself, she tried not to think about how Clark was acting as though he didn't want her to be anyone but who she was. Clark Palmer was doing this to get Clayton back, she told herself fiercely. It had nothing to do with what she was. He was just using that.

When she opened the bathroom door, she automatically looked for him, but he wasn't there. She could smell coffee, and headed for the kitchen area, dressed in the clothes that she had found folded on the toilet seat. Clark must have put them there when she was showering. The thought of him coming in with a quietness that he must use all the time for his work, even watching her, was even more spooky and exciting. She tightened her mouth. What she had to do was fight him, she reminded herself. For Clay's sake. And her own.

*****

"Hey there," Palmer said cheerfully when she entered the kitchen area. He turned to give her a raking look, and she hoped she wasn't blushing. He had left her a clean undershirt, and a man's dress shirt to wear over it, along with the sneakers from last night. She was prepared for scorn or indifference, but not the admiration and frank lust she saw in his eyes. "Sorry about the wardrobe. My pants wouldn't fit you," he explained. She just nodded, knowing he was telling the truth about that. "I thought I'd go over to your place and get some of those pretty things you wear when you're alone," his eyes danced, "as soon as I'm sure Webb is finished."

She knew she had to be blushing now. "Clayton doesn't have a key to my apartment."

"He's CIA. He'll get in, don't worry about that." He nodded to a chair, and she sat. He passed her a mug before he continued. "Oh yeah, he'll go over it with all the latest equipment, but," he laughed, "he won't find a damned thing. He'll go to your office, too. Every place he thinks will give him some kind of clue about this."

"No one saw you." She took a sip. It was the right mixture of coffee and cream, no sugar. He did know her habits.

"I made sure of that," he agreed. "And if he was smart, he'd realize that it's up to me now. Not him."

She set the mug and made herself meet his eyes. "Clark, please. I don't know what you're planning to do to Clayton, but please don't."

"I told you last night," his voice was mild, "you don't know what you're talking about. He deserves it. He's a big boy, Kate. You don't have to try and protect him." He leaned against the counter. "Maybe you should take a minute and think about how he hasn't protected you."

"I don't understand."

"Sure you do." His eyes were bright and glittering. "Clayton Webb put you right in my path, Kate. Just as sure as if he'd called me and said, 'hey, Palmer, guess what you have to do to get to me?'" He laughed. "And you didn't have idea one what to do to get out of it. He should have warned you about all of my tricks, but he didn't, did he?" She mutely shook her head. It wasn't a thought she liked, but it was true. "So he's as much to blame for this as me. Remember that, Kate. Clayton Webb protects Clayton Webb, and that's the way it is."

He turned back and twisted the dial for one of the burners, and she drank her coffee. Clayton wasn't really like that. Or was he? She didn't want to think about it. "Did you call in for me?" she asked suddenly.

"Sure did. Talked to Brenda. She was really worried."

"Brenda's a good friend. What did you tell her?"

"That you had the flu. I know you're going to need a doctor's note, and I've got that covered."

"I don't like lying to them, Clark." Her face was troubled.

"You're not, baby. I am." He poured what looked like beaten eggs into a frying pan. "Now let it go."

"Where's the phone?"

He laughed. "You must really think I'm stupid, Kate." It was only then she realized what she'd asked of him, and winced. He continued. "I tell you that, the next thing I know you're begging Webb to rescue you. But don't worry. He's looking, not that he'll find you before I'm ready for him to."

"You don't understand. I have things set up, people who will worry..."

"All taken care of." The smooth assurance in his voice made her stop. Could he really have done all that? "E-mail is one of the best things to happen for someone in my profession, Kate. You really should think about getting a password for your computer."

"When did you do that?"

"Last night." He shrugged. "Before I made the delivery to Webb. I knew you'd be worrying."

"What if someone calls me? Won't they expect to talk to me?"

"People don't get that pissed to get a machine these days, Kate," he said with a patience that amazed her. "Webb's the only one who'd really worry, and he's in the loop. Of course, there's always your family..." He stopped stirring, snapped off the burner, and used the spoon to scoop the now-cooked eggs onto plastic plates. "But I wouldn't think you'd give a shit what *they* thought."

She took a long, shaky breath before speaking. "No, I don't." She wasn't on speaking terms with her family. Her parents were dead, her aunts and uncles basically uninterested, and her brother was her only sibling, He wanted to see her, but she had always refused. She wasn't ready for any kind of confrontation, or reconciliation. "But you know that, don't you?"

"That's right." He plunked one of the plates down in front of her, tossed a plastic fork down as well, and picked up her cup. He refilled it as he spoke. "Want me to take out your brother? It wouldn't be that hard. And I'd enjoy the hell out of it." He laughed. "I can think of a lot of things to do with him before I kill him, painful ones. How about it, Kate? Revenge sound good?"

"Kill him?" She couldn't control herself this time. "Clark, no!"

"After all he did to you," he observed pleasantly, bringing her refilled cup back over. "You're an amazing woman, but then I knew that."

She didn't let herself think about his comment, keeping to the subject. She wanted to make her point clearly enough that he'd get it. "He's still my brother. I'm working on dealing with all he did. Killing him won't help with that."

"You'd be surprised, Kate." The note in his voice told her as clearly as though he'd said it that he'd tried this particular method, and it had worked for him. "But it's your call." He sat down with his plate and began to eat. "Don't let it get cold."

She swallowed her reply and picked up her fork. She was still his captive, so she had to make sure he didn't get angry with her. "These are good," she offered after her first bite.

His eyes on her were amused. "I'll show you more of my talents later." Kate found herself blushing, an image of herself stripped and under his sure hands all she could think about. "And if you're the good girl I think you'll be, I'll even let you decide things. Like what you wear, what we eat, simple things. How about it, Kate? You want to be good?" He leaned back in his chair, cup in hand.

"You mean doing everything you say."

"That is one way to put it, yes. But I had in mind something a little more," his voice was a purr, "comprehensive."

She was trapped, and informed, by the intensity of his eyes. Even before he spoke again, she knew what he was getting at.

"You let yourself surrender to what I say, what I want, what I do. No more fighting me, Kate. I don't like it, and honestly, it's foolish. I know everything about you. I can make you like it. So why not give in? If you're worried about Webb's opinion, don't be."

"That's because you want me to hate him."

"No, because he's going to think the worst of me and the best of you." He paused to sip his coffee. "He adores you, you know. Meaning, he's put you up on a pedestal and won't let anyone bring you down. If he finds you in the mud, figuratively speaking, of course, he's going to blame the guy who did it, not you. He'd never have the brains to see what you really want. Never in a million years, Kate. So remember that when I've got you moaning. I know. He doesn't. He can't. No," he corrected himself, "he won't."

Kate blinked, hoping that would break the spell. It didn't. "I can't just give in like you want, Clark."

"Can't you?" His eyes flickered over her, and she knew he could tell that she was agitated. She was breathing too hard and probably flushed as well to look calm. "I think you already are. But that's all right, baby. You just keep on the way you're going. All roads lead to me." He stood. "Want some more coffee?"

She was glad of the change. "No, thank you."

"I've got to do some errands today, and since you won't give me your word, I guess I'm going to have to keep you locked up. Too bad," he added thoughtfully. "It does present a logistical problem. The only reasonable place is the bathroom, and that's going to get boring for you. I'll leave you some books to read."

"I won't try to escape."

He leaned against the counter. "Sure, you say that now, Kate. And then I'm gone, and you start poking your pretty nose into drawers and corners, and the next thing I know, you've set off one of the sensors, and I've got problems."

She swallowed. "What kind of problems?" She knew he was trying to bait her, make her scared, bring her onto his side, but she had to know.

"Guess I can tell you that much," he said casually. "It might even make you reconsider. The door's wired. Turn the lock from the inside, and it'll blow." His tone was cool and professional now, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't convince herself that he was lying. "Then the windows have sensors. You can get right up to them, but try to open one, and you'll get anything from a shock to a killing jolt. The bureau in the bedroom's fine, just like the kitchen, but if you've got any ideas about finding a knife to pull on me, don't. They're somewhere else. And any other room, stay out of the drawers. They've got some little surprises that only I can defuse." She was sitting very still, and he reached over to cradle her free hand in both of his. "Hey, baby, long as you stay away, you're fine. Don't be that scared."

"I can't help it, Clark. Just when I think..." She bit that off.

"You know what's going on, I change things," he finished it. "Sorry. Part of my charm."

That made her laugh, along with the wry grin he gave her. He might even be a nice guy under all the secret-agent stuff, she thought, then stuffed that thought away. He wasn't nice. He was Clayton's enemy, and hers.

He was still talking. "You know, I'd really rather leave you free. Will you give me your word?"

"How do you know it's worth anything?"

"You're not Webb. You won't try anything stupid."

"I won't."

"Good. Read, drink water, hang out." He gave her a mischievous grin. "And don't waste your time looking for a phone. I've got it with me."

"Clark," she had to ask, "you're not going to see Clayton, are you?"

"Doubt it," he said easily. "What, you want me to give him your love? Tell me what you want him to hear. He'll get the message."

"Really?"

"Sure. It's no skin off my nose, and what will it hurt? Whatever you say now, you'll take back in spades before I'm through with you." The bright look was back in his eyes, that both frightened and excited her. "Count on it, Kate."

"I wish you wouldn't say that," she managed.

He came over to stand over her. "You'd have it a lot easier if you accepted this, baby," he murmured and kissed her hair. "But then it's fun this way too." He straightened before she thought of a reply that wouldn't be totally dumb. "Anything to say to Clay?"

"I hope you don't see him." Her eyes were wide and dark. "Please don't, Clark. I don't want him hurt."

"Since you ask so sweetly, I'll stay away from him today. Promise, Kate." She nodded, but just as she was relaxing, he spoke again. "But just for today. He and I have business."

"I'm not all you're going to do to him," she whispered.

"Actually, you are. But remember, he's business. You're," a smile twisted his face, "pleasure." He leaned over and kissed her again, this time lingeringly on her cheek. "Take a long bath or something. I like the idea of you waiting for me covered with bubbles. There's some stuff on the counter I bought for you." There wasn't any hint of an idea in his voice that she wouldn't do what he said, and she found herself nodding agreement. "Great. And Kate? When you find the stuff I've got put away," she knew she was blushing again, "let yourself imagine just what I am going to do with it. With you. And remember you can't stop me. I know just how to make you want anything I want. Don't worry about the pan. I'll get to it later."

He was gone before she could do much more than blink, and that was all she managed for a few minutes. She was beginning to wish that she was pleasure to him, but that couldn't be. She was his revenge on Clayton, and somehow she had to find a way to stop him from getting it. The only problem was, she had no idea how. None whatsoever. And very little desire to.

*****

Palmer whistled to himself as he strolled down the street. He had a simple disguise on, and this part of town wasn't a dangerous one for him. Even if he did see someone who had known him, the word was out. He was dead. The people who knew better were professionals, and employers, and he had enough on all of them to take them down if they were stupid enough to try and out him.

He grinned, thinking of the stir it would make if he showed up in the JAG office, but dismissed the idea. His goal today was to keep an eye on Webb, see how the other man was going to proceed. For all his words to Kate, he still had his doubts. Anyone who'd lasted that long in the Company had some brains. And, he reminded himself, someone who'd beaten him. That thought made him frown. Webb had to be taken down. And, his grin returned, he was well on his way to doing that.

As he'd thought, Webb was at Kate's apartment. Palmer settled down in the coffee shop across the street to wait for him to emerge, ordering a large coffee and pulling out a book to read. He'd already made his arrangements. The other man was going to get a present.

*****

Clayton Webb was standing in the living room of Kate's apartment, telling himself that it was stupid to think that Palmer had left any kind of clues there, when the doorbell rang. His first reaction was to draw his gun, his second to advance on the door.

"Excuse me, Miss Fontaine," a man's voice called.

Clayton put his voice up an octave and made it hoarse. "What is it?" He knew he didn't really sound like Kate, but illness covered a lot of sins. He'd made a discreet check at her office and found that the word was she was out sick.

"Flowers." It might be Palmer, playing some kind of trick, but if so, he'd know it was Clayton answering. It was probably just a delivery guy. There was a thing as being too paranoid.

Clayton made a mental note to do something about the lack of security when Kate got back, and pushed out the thought that she might not be back. "Just leave them by the door. I don't want you to get my flu."

"Sure thing, Miss Fontaine. Hope you feel better real soon."

He rolled his eyes. The schools were definitely going downhill. "Thank you," he called back, and heard footsteps retreating with relief.

When he was sure the man was gone, he opened the door. Who in hell would be sending Kate flowers? Some other guy? His eyes narrowed at that thought, but he opened the box after a careful inspection of it.

*Clayton,* the card began, *buddy.* He swore. It had to be Palmer. *You're wasting your time. Don't you know I'm a dead man? Bet you'd love to watch my body going into the cold, cold ground, but that's not what's going on. Instead I'm going into your pretty Kate. Hope you liked the video. I'll be sending more, but she's so good, I forget to hit the record button. You'll have to understand. Give Harm my love. And tell him to keep an eye on that psychiatrist. I could think of a few things to do with her, too. Think Kate would mind? But that's right, you don't know how pretty Kate is in bed. I'd ask you over to play, too, but I can't think of a way to get you involved without expecting a bullet in the heart I don't have. Look all you like, but you'll never find me. Us. Until I want you too, and then it'll be too late. Best, Clark.*

He finally looked at the flowers and smiled grimly. White lilies. Of course. Flowers for a beautiful, dead girl, but Kate wasn't dead, nor was she going to be. Palmer wanted him to worry that he was going to kill Kate, but after that note, he was even more sure that Palmer had no such intention.

He pocketed the note and left the box on the counter. It was time to see Rabb. Someone needed to know what was going on, and the Company wasn't safe.

He headed down the stairs to his car. He almost thought he saw a guy at the cafe who looked like Palmer, but when he checked again, the man was gone. He shrugged it off and started the engine.

*****

From the shadows, Palmer watched the turn Webb's car took and smiled. Yeah, right to the cavalry. Like Rabb was going to be able to help him. Mr. Legal Cowboy, lucky but dense. What a good turn that the Admiral was busy with administration, and not in the field. That was a man Palmer did not want to tangle with. SEALs were sneaky shits, and Chegwidden one of the sneakiest. The man had a brain, even though he did put up with Rabb. And the Lieutenant Colonel, another formidable ally, was off to Australia with her new guy, happily in love. Rabb must be going through hell at that combo. Anyone with brains could see that Rabb was carrying a torch for the beautiful Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, but he wouldn't even let himself know that. No, Rabb was too dumb.

He idly wondered if he should try and do something to worry Rabb, like get to his precious Jordan, but dismissed it. His plan was worked out. Any deviations from it, without careful thought, were sheer foolishness, a pleasure he couldn't let himself indulge in. Webb would pass on the message, and Rabb would go crazy. That would have to be enough for this time. He'd get Rabb another time, give himself something to look forward to.

He paid the waiter and started strolling down the street again. Time to do some shopping. Would Kate like fish for dinner? He thought so, and some good white wine to go with it. Enough of that, and she might relax. Too tense, although he couldn't blame her. But he'd find out how to crack that shell of hers when she wasn't turned on. For a moment he wondered why the hell that was so important to him, then shrugged. He liked challenges. That was all it was.

*****

Kate finally settled down in the tub with one of the books she found stacked on a table in another room, one she hadn't seen before. There was a dresser, but she remembered Clark's warnings and stayed far away from it. He might be bluffing, but she couldn't take that chance.

She made it through ten pages before she threw the book down and stood up to start the shower and rinse off the bubbles. The musk scent rising from the water was making her squirm too much to concentrate on the words of the mystery, even though it was by an author she liked. She had to get out of there. He had told her to look through the drawers in the bedroom, she told herself fiercely as she dried herself. And, she admitted to herself, she wanted to. She wanted so much to think that he wanted *her*, not just because she was Clayton's girlfriend, but because of who she really was. And it was so easy to believe him. Just about everything he said and did supported it.

Her thoughts veered off in another direction as she dressed again. Why hadn't Clayton warned her? Why had he drawn her into his world and left her a target for men like this? If he did love her, which she wasn't sure of any more, he either trusted her a lot more than she deserved, or thought he could keep her hidden from his enemies. But he hadn't. And she hadn't deserved his trust, either, she thought sadly. She had fallen for what Clayton would probably say was the oldest trick in the book.

She sighed and went into the bedroom she slept in and pulled open the top drawer. There was nothing in it but some underclothes made of soft white cotton and clearly male. She reached out a finger to stroke them, then snatched it back. What she was thinking was how they'd look on Clark. She moved on to the next, which had shirts, folded as though from the dry cleaner. The next two were empty, but she kept going until the bottom one, which had a note covering something. She picked it up, flushed at the sight of what it was covering, a penis-shaped object in an absolutely ridiculous lilac shade, and made herself read the scrawled words.

*Caught you. Use it if you like, baby, but I'm better than any toy from a store. Miss me? I'll bet you do. Back in a few hours, and then we'll play. Love, Clark.*

She dropped the note. 'Love', he signed it, and oh, it sounded so good. He couldn't mean it, though, and she had to remember that.

She shut the drawer, not without a wistful look at the object, and made her way to the living room, where she determinedly sat down and made herself pick up the book. It would pass the time and keep her out of trouble. What if Clark walked in on her using that?

She bit her lip, knowing she wanted to use it, and even wanted him to find her. Anything could happen, not that it wouldn't anyway. But she wasn't going to go that far yet. She wasn't ready to. It would mean she'd given in, and she couldn't. Not and be true to Clayton.

*****

Webb pulled into the JAG parking lot and went through the signing-in with as much patience as he could muster. Damn Palmer for sending flowers. And damn him for taking, and keeping, Kate. Couldn't he handle this like a man, between men? He grimaced. This was Clark Palmer, DSD agent until the Defense Security Division was disbanded, then freelance weapons broker. Palmer wasn't interested in any kind of conventions. He did what it took. So that's what he'd do, Clayton vowed as he rode up in the elevator. What it took to get Kate back. And what it took to make her all right again.

He got lucky when he reached his floor. Rabb was passing right in front of the opening.

"Webb! What brings you here?" His face was lit with welcome, something that in another time Clayton would have been amused to see. But he didn't have time for that now.

"Your office. Now."

Rabb looked surprised, but nodded and led the way. He shut the door and motioned Clayton to a seat, but Clayton ignored him and stayed standing. He wasn't going to be there long, and he didn't feel like sitting.

"Palmer's free," he said tersely, and had the small satisfaction of seeing Rabb's face whiten.

"I heard he was dead."

"I know better."

"How did that happen?"

"I have no idea. And it gets worse. He's got a lady I've been seeing."

"Where?"

"I don't know. He sent me a video of her. I know it's him." The last thing he wanted to do was to tell Rabb, or anyone, what that video showed. "He's playing games with her head. And mine," he added harshly.

Rabb was leaning on his desk, staring at Clayton with a focus and intensity he was familiar with. "Can you get any help from your colleagues?"

"No. I told you, they think he's dead. They'd think I was crazy. Hell, my boss made me take time off because he thought I was working too hard. You don't get that too often in my business. It means they're worried about me, probably that I'm stuck in the wilderness of mirrors. And there's a good chance anyone I'd talk to is on his side. There's more than one mole in the CIA. I've been tracking them, and they know it. This is probably Palmer's way of telling me to lay off." He rubbed his head with a weary hand. "Harm, I need help."

Rabb grimaced. "The Admiral's got me going to Japan tomorrow, Clay. There's a case there I have to handle."

"I should have known. Palmer has all the angles covered. I have to find him by myself. Thanks." Clayton turned toward the door, but Rabb's voice stopped him.

"Palmer likes playing games, Clay. Don't let him think you're ready to end this one."

"I won't."

"I'll be in touch when I get back. It shouldn't be more than a week."

Clayton almost smiled at that. "I hope it's over by then."

"You could talk to the admiral, see if he'd be willing..."

"A. J.'s a good man, but he's got his career to protect. I can't go asking him to chase windmills with me. You know that's how everyone would see it. And to be involved with a sex scandal..." He stopped abruptly. "Forget it, Rabb. It was idiotic of me to ask you, too."

Rabb pushed that aside. "Palmer's having sex with your girlfriend?"

"Forget it."

"Is he?"

Clayton grimaced. Rabb was nothing if not persistent. "That's not the point."

Rabb took that as an answer. "Webb, he's not safe! He'll hurt anyone, without a second thought. You think Palmer will care she's a woman?"

"It's not like it's consensual, Harm," Webb snapped back. "Kate's a fine woman. She wouldn't fall for anything that man did. He grabbed her. Or are you saying you think she's working with him?"

"No, I'm sure she's not. But you've got to get her away from him. I'll go talk to the admiral, see if he'll give me some leave. I won't tell him anything."

"I'm sure Chegwidden would love to hear that I'm taking you somewhere on some unspecified mission, especially since no one at either State or the CIA will say it's authorized. No. I'm not interested in ruining your career either." Clayton reached out to touch Rabb's shoulder in the only gesture of thanks he could manage. "Go to Japan. I'll find Kate. With Palmer loose, you might want to warn your Jordan, too."

"I will, right away. Clay, you be careful. Palmer could be doing this to get to you more than anything."

"I'm sure of that. But Kate's the one he's got." His eyes were dark with pain. "And it's all my fault."

"Clay, you know Palmer. Once he's made up his mind to get someone, there's not much you can do. It wouldn't have mattered. He had her in his sights, and there's no way you could have known."

He ignored that. Rabb didn't understand, but he hadn't expected him to. "And they think he's dead," he muttered. "How the hell did he get away with that in Leavenworth? High-level help, Rabb. Very high." He shook his head and fixed his eyes on Rabb. "Have a good trip."

He turned, opened the door, and was gone.

*****

Kate was stretched out on the soft couch, lost in the book when she heard a laugh from behind her. She knew it was Palmer.

"You make a pretty picture, Kate Fontaine," he said lightly. His eyes lingered on her bare legs, and she resisted the urge to pull them under her. "But I was hoping to find you a little more relaxed. Say, in the bedroom." He was in front of her now, and she could see his grin. "With my present. You did find it?" She knew she was blushing. "Yes, you did. Liked it, too. It can wait till later." His eyes swept over her. "You're still fighting, aren't you?"

"I can't do what you want, Clark." Somewhere in her there was a longing to give in, but there was also that spark that said to fight him. It was getting dimmer all the time, though. She raised her eyes to his, unaware of how much they were pleading.

"Pretty, gentle Kate," he murmured and sank down beside her. "If you're going to insist on fighting, I'm going to have to keep you chained." Before she could do anything, he had a set of handcuffs on her. "I gave you a chance, baby. All you had to do was take it." His grin was wide as he watched her pull, then relax. "But maybe you like it better this way. I think so."

She was shaking. His eyes, boring into hers, his suddenness, even his unpredictability, all made it right for her. But how could she let him know that? "Please let me go, Clark. You don't have to do this. Really."

"But you wouldn't want Webb to know this was what you really wanted, would you, Kate? And we're just about ready to roll."

"Please don't hurt me, Clark."

His hands were reaching for her shoulders, but they stilled. "You know I'm not going to do that. I give you what you want. But fight all you want. Give Clay a really good show. I want him to see just how much better I am at you than he is." He stood, pulling her up with him. "Bedroom, baby. It's where the equipment is."

She let him pull her along. "Clark," she started, but he stopped her protests with a long kiss. She didn't want to talk after that.

"Today I'm going to show Webb a few more tricks."

He was stripping her with economical grace, undoing and redoing the handcuffs in the process, and she didn't even think to fight. It wouldn't be any good, anyway, she thought. He was a professional. Even Clayton wouldn't expect her to be faster than a trained professional.

"And all you have to do is lie there and enjoy it. That means, on the bed," he said pointedly when she just looked at him with dazed passion. He pushed at her gently. "Yes, that's right," he said as she fell on the rumpled sheets. "Hands over your head, good," she heard snapping sounds and knew he was attaching her wrists to something, "and spread your legs." She did, and he chained them as well. "Webb will think," he chuckled, "I'm keeping you like this all the time. You and I are the only ones who know the truth."

Since she was listening for it, she heard a quiet whirring sound and knew he was taping. "Hey, buddy," she heard him say. "I promised you another video. Here goes. See? She's just fine. Lonely, but I'll take care of that."

Kate closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears. She didn't want this to be about taunting Clayton. But then it wasn't. It was about her. She wanted it to be, so it was. The next thing she felt was hot breathing against her foot, then a light kiss on the sensitive skin of the sole. She squirmed. What was he doing down there? Slowly, so slowly she was pulling against the bonds, he kissed and licked his way up her legs, with a light touch that had her breathlessly pleading.

"Please, please, please..." Her voice died out, then resumed. "Please!" She didn't care that he was taping any more. She wanted him, wanted his lips and tongue to bring her off.

"Not yet, baby," he murmured, and somehow she knew it was too soft for the tape. "I've got more, and better. This is the soft-core stuff. But I like you desperate. Very much."

She opened her eyes when the breaths went away. He was standing now. She registered that he was still dressed, then that he was holding the gun again. Her breath caught, and held. So he wasn't going to take her himself. In a way, she was relieved. It was easier not to have to worry about him, too. "Please," she whispered.

"I can't hear you," he taunted, and that was from her brother's games, too. He knew too much. "You want something, ask again and say it louder this time."

"Please, use that on me."

The glittering in his eyes made her even hotter. "Don't you care that it might be loaded, Kate? That I might shoot you?"

"No." And she didn't. For one thing, she trusted enough that he didn't want to kill her, and for another, this would be taping a murder. From what little Clay had told her about Clark Palmer, he wasn't stupid enough to kill so blatantly.

"Why weren't there any girls like you in my high school?" she heard him murmur, just before he started running the gun all over her body.

She arched up into it, the metal cool against her warm skin, and exciting. This time, he was slower, teasing her, but like the last time, he used his other hand to play with other parts of her body, tracing patterns with both the gun and his fingers on her skin, pulling at her nipples, even sucking on them while his fingers stroked her clit and the gun nudged at her wetness. She was rocking in the bonds, whimpering, when he thrust the gun inside her, then fucked her with it. She froze and came, a long cry echoing through the room, then gulped some air and came again, the gun still pumping in and out of her.

The humming ended, and the gun was pulled out of her. "Clark," she murmured, and felt a touch on her cheek. She turned her head to find him crouched down next to her, a look on his face she couldn't read. "Don't go yet, please." She didn't know why she was saying that, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Not till you're all right, baby," the quiet reply came.

His reply puzzled her, but she was too tired to think about it. "Good."

He stood and started undoing her feet, then her hands. "Need the bathroom?"

She shook her head. "Not now."

"I'll be out, but," he hesitated, she thought, "I'll leave you loose while I'm gone. You'll be good?"

"I'll be," she yawned, "sleeping."

He chuckled. "When you wake up, we'll have dinner." All he heard for answer was a tiny snore. His smile stayed. "Pretty Kate," he murmured and kissed her hair, then left the room.

*****

When Clayton got back to his apartment, he was in an even worse mood than when he'd left. After seeing Rabb, he'd risked going to the Company for some files on Palmer, and his boss had ordered him out before he'd been able to get any of them. Then he'd driven to Georgetown to see his mother, who wasn't home, and, was told, wouldn't be back until late, so he didn't wait around. He'd gone to the supermarket, but nothing they had appealed to him, and it was too damned crowded.

Maybe some music would relax him. He went over to his grand piano, intending to play for a while, then saw the package with another lily. White, of course. Palmer had been there. He didn't bother to worry about how. The man had the same kind of training he did. He checked out the package, decided it was safe, and reached for the envelope that was under the lily.

*Nice place. But a little, oh, staid, don't you think? Next time maybe I'll bring you a present, something to jazz it up. Wouldn't want Kate to think you were just a stick-in-the-mud, would you? Don't worry, Webb, I don't want to kill you. Could have done that ten times over by now, and you know it. Isn't my way worse?*

Clayton's lips tightened. Yes, it was worse. He set down the paper on top of the envelope and took out the tape. He didn't want to see Palmer doing anything more to Kate, but he had to know. Was she all right? All of his certainty was gone.

The tape started, and he watched with grim and tired anger. The bastard had her bound and desperate. She probably wasn't getting enough food or water. No wonder she couldn't fight. Maybe he was even drugging her. He wouldn't put it past Palmer at all. Poor, poor Kate. He had to get her out of there. This kind of experience would put her back years, back in that horrible past. It could be a long time before he had any kind of chance with her at all. That must be Palmer's game, he realized in a sudden insight. He was making her like this rough treatment now, making sure she was so damaged that she wouldn't even be able to consider making love when he let her go. That is, a voice in him commented bleakly, if he let her go. Or let her live. And that was not a certainty, only a hope.

*****

Kate woke up to good smells and her stomach rumbling in reply. She put on the clothes folded at the end of the bed and wandered out into the kitchen, to find Clark checking a pan on top of the stove.

He put the lid back on and turned to face her. "Sleeping Beauty wakes. I have got to see about getting you some other clothes. Tomorrow, baby. I promise."

"These are fine."

"I'd like to see you in something other than my undershirt," he returned, and she knew she had to be flushing. "Tomorrow."

She sat down in the same chair she'd used before. "Oh. Is there any way I can help?"

She went to stand, but his raised hand checked her. "I can handle it. I like having you there watching. But there's one thing missing." She wondered what he meant. Did he want her chained again? But instead he picked up a wine glass and took a bottle out of the refrigerator, filling it and handing it to her. "There," he said lightly. "Now the picture's perfect." His smile was warm. "My best girl watching me cook. Doesn't get any better than this."

She blinked at the words. His best girl? "Clark, you can't mean that," she tried carefully.

He picked up his own glass. "Why not? You're mine now, Kate Fontaine." She made a noise of protest, and he glanced at her. "You going to argue that? I don't have a lot of time to show you otherwise, but I'll manage." His dark eyes held hers, and she dropped hers first. "No, you're not going to argue," he murmured. "Good. And you're most definitely a girl. Since you're the only one in my life, you get the position of best by default. It all checks." He lifted the lid of another pot, sniffed, then smiled. "As soon as the fish's done, we can eat."

"What are we having?" She was still trying to deal with what he'd said. Anyone who knew what was going on would assure her he didn't mean it, or at the least was saying it to get her to trust him more, but she was the one there, and she believed him. She meant something to him, more than just a tool of his revenge on Clayton. But if she was wrong, she was going to get hurt.

He was taking down plates from a cabinet, real ones this time, and she stole a look at him, then suppressed a sigh. In the real world, he wouldn't look twice at a girl like her. But here she was, with him. Well, no matter what she thought, she was going to get hurt. Why not go with her heart? There wasn't anyone else to tell her she was wrong.

"Something simple. I'm not that good a cook." Her stomach made a noise, and he turned around. "But maybe you won't care about that."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." She tried a smile. "It smells great."

"Thanks." He smiled with what she thought was pleasure. "It's not anyone I'd cook for you, you know."

"Then thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate it."

He studied her, then nodded. "No problem." He checked the larger pan again. "And we're ready." He served her a plate, salmon with a browned crust, buttered rice, and a plate of salad he took out of the refrigerator, then put the rest of the food on his own plate.

She ate quickly. It was good, and she was hungry. When she looked up, he was smiling again. "I've got to feed you more. Don't want Webb accusing me of starving you. Although he probably thinks I am."

"Tell him you're not," she urged.

"So now you want me to talk to the guy?" His tone was light, but she heard something behind it, a mockery, and flushed. "Be happy to. But give me a day or so. He's not ready for it yet."

She looked down at her plate. He had his agenda. He wasn't really going to listen to her. Why was she even thinking he would?

"Look at me." His voice was rough, and she made herself obey. He almost sounded upset. "Why did that get to you? Oh," he answered himself, "because you're still worried what I'm doing to him. Baby, I'm not going to kill him. He'll recover. You can even help him, if that's what you want."

"Then why are you bothering?"

The passion of her response startled both of them, although he recovered first. "Because he'll remember, Kate. He'll remember what I did," he laughed, "and I lied. No way he'll recover totally. That's the point."

"I can't help you hurt him." Her voice was husky. "I'm going to fight you. I don't care what you think."

His eyes were dark and thoughtful. "Fight all you like." He stood in a lithe motion. "In fact, start right now. I could get into that. Get some of those demons out, baby."

She stared at him. Fight? Now?

"Come on, Kate." His voice was goading. "You're not tied up. Run away. Go out that door and go home. I'll give you a head start." He gave her a smile and leaned against the counter. "But I'll bet you a hundred bucks you come right back in after you get a good look."

She didn't give herself any time to think, simply standing and running toward the door. She grabbed the knob and yanked it open, surprised for a second that nothing happened, as well as that there was no sound of him coming after her, then stopped. All she could see was a large, empty building, like a warehouse, around her. Where was there anything like that in D.C.? She couldn't even see an exit.

"Not very pretty, is it?" She started at his voice. He came up beside her. "You can sleep here, if you like, but you'll get pretty cold, and I'm not offering any blankets."

She turned to look at him, her face tired and bleak. "Where is this?"

"Not as far from home as you'd think," the casual answer came. "But I don't think you'll find your way out. Want to go for a look around? But I'll tell you, I could take you right past the door, and you wouldn't see it."

Kate shook her head. Her moment of rebellion was over. Clark knew her too well. She didn't have the guts to fight. Whatever he and Clayton were fighting out, she didn't care about any more.

He slid his arm around her. "You're shivering. Come on back inside. You know I'm not going to hurt you."

She let him lead her back. "The door didn't blow up."

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you, baby." He sat her down at the table and poured her another glass of wine. "And you won the bet. Want your money now?"

"My money." It took her a minute. "No, I lost."

"I had to bring you back," he corrected her. "That means I lost. Remember? I said you'd come right back in. You didn't." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet, then handed her five twenty-dollar bills. "Don't spend it all in one place." The light note was back in his voice. "Or all on Webb. Get yourself something pretty. Which," he glanced at the clock, "reminds me. Clothes for you." He stood. "You be a good girl, Kate, and don't get any ideas about the door. This time, it'll be wired."

"I won't," she said listlessly. The thought of trying to find her way out of the building, and then back home, was too big.

He stopped and looked at her again. "Kate, you've got to stop this."

"Stop what?" She really wasn't interested. He was going to do what he was going to do to her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Stop acting like this is the end of the world."

"Isn't it? How can I ever go back to Clayton after this? How?"

She expected him to say something light and cutting, then leave her to think about it, but he surprised her and came back over to sit, by her this time. He took her cold hands in his warm ones. "Listen, Kate, you're blaming yourself. I told you, this is Webb's fault, and he knows it."

"You don't understand. Would you," she gulped, "have taken me if I weren't a survivor?"

He shrugged. "Yes."

"And done all this to me." She didn't want to get specific, but he did.

"I would have handled the sex differently, you're right about that. But there would have been sex, make no mistake." His eyes were hard on hers. "Don't get that idea into your pretty head."

She drew a long, shaky breath. There were ways his statement made it easier, but more ways it didn't. "It didn't matter who I was?"

"Of course it mattered," he said patiently. "If Webb was seeing a horsey type, it would have been enough, probably, to grab her and," he cocked an amused eye at her, "take her, as you say. No challenge there. And then," he grimaced, "she might not have been as cute as you. Kate," he turned serious, she thought, "there are always ways to get to a guy, but the best is to take his girl. But you, you were a find. You're full of potential."

"Potential?" She was trembling. "You mean, I'm more fun for you. You like that I'm an abuse survivor. Is that right?"

Instead of answering her, he stood, bringing her with him. "You are in no condition for this kind of conversation." He dragged her into the bathroom as she struggled. "You need sleep."

"Don't drug me!" she cried out.

"Sorry, baby, but I can't," he was swabbing her upper arm with cotton and something that smelled antiseptic, "take the chance of you freaking out. And you're damned close. Just for tonight, I promise. Tomorrow we'll have a nice, long talk if you still want to." Before she could answer, she felt the sting of a needle and cried out. "It's O.K." His voice was soothing. "You're O.K. Just too wired. I shouldn't have shown you the outside. That was stupid. Come on, I'll get you to bed."

She found herself clinging to him, her legs not enough to support her. "I hate you," she muttered.

"Yeah, I know." There was a strange thread of sadness in his voice, she thought. "Why wouldn't you?" He put her down gently on the bed, then positioned her under the covers.

"You didn't think I'd..." Her voice died out as she fell asleep.

"No." His voice was quiet, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. "Didn't think, baby. Just hoped." He laughed shortly. "Falling for Webb's girl," he muttered to himself as he left the room. "Brilliant move. Just fucking brilliant. I must be going as insane as they've always thought."

He was back in the kitchen, reaching for a glass and a bottle of whiskey, when he stopped, put them back and went back to the bedroom, to watch Kate sleep. She might want him, he thought, his eyes full of a tenderness no one living had seen.

*****

Clayton couldn't sleep, couldn't even get into bed and stay there. He finally settled in the living room and switched on the television. Maybe he'd watch an old movie or something. But what he found himself doing after some channel-surfing was switching on the VCR and watching the tapes of Kate and Palmer. His hand found his shaft, already stiffening under his robe, and stroked it into hardness as he watched Kate come.

When he realized what he was doing, he stopped with an exclamation of disgust. Oh, no. He wasn't going to be like that man. Never. He stabbed the tape off and took himself off to bed, where he let himself finish. That wasn't the same, he told himself, and ruthlessly pushed out any pictures of the two from his mind. Not the same at all.

But it was, and he knew it. He was going to have to find a way to deal with this. When Kate was back safe and sound, he promised himself. He'd deal with it then.

*****

When Kate woke, she kept her eyes closed another minute. She felt good, but her mind insisted that she shouldn't. She gave up and let her eyes open.

"Nice to see those pretty eyes again," Palmer said dryly. "I was about to call a doctor I know to see if I gave you too big a dose."

She sat up. Everything came back to her. The panic, and then the drugging. But she couldn't fight, and she didn't want to. Either he was going to keep her alive, like he'd promised, and even let her go, or he wasn't, and there was nothing she could do, except go along. And that meant not fighting so much that she pissed him off. She had to be careful.

"Good morning." She had clothes on, she realized, the same ones from last night. She hadn't expected to.

"Morning." He was dressed in a suit. "I've got some business to take care of, so you're going to have to keep yourself amused again. Think you can be a good girl today?"

"I'll be good," she said huskily.

A spark of amusement lit his eyes. "Will you now?"

"I will." Her face was red, she was sure. Why did she have to get turned on by saying such a simple thing? "When will you be back?"

"By dinner." He didn't seem upset she was asking. "Sooner, if I can." He bent over and took her lips, and when he lifted his head, she didn't want him to. "Damned if you aren't the cutest thing," he murmured. "Wish I could put this off."

"It's Clayton, isn't it?" she both asked and answered. Something in the way he'd said that made her sure.

"Some of it," he returned lightly. "I'm seeing him today, though he doesn't know that yet. He will, though. Want me to take him a message?"

She looked down without answering. His finger under her chin lifted her face.

"If you're not going to say anything," his voice was still light, "I'll make up something of my own. That what you want?"

"Just tell him," her voice trembled, "I'm fine."

"And are you?" To her surprise, his voice was serious. "You are," he answered himself, and she thought he must have seen something in her eyes this time to tell him that. "Nice to know, baby. You have yourself a nice day." He kissed her again, this time lightly. "I will hurry. Having a conversation with Webb is like wading through a swamp. Hard work. You're a lot more fun."

He grinned, then went out. Kate wrapped her arms around herself. Why was this happening? He wasn't her brother, but somehow he was being like him, and in a way that didn't scare her. And she hadn't even really given him a good message for Clayton. Too late, she realized she should have told him to tell Clayton she loved him. And she hadn't even thought about that. Somehow she knew Clark would make sure Clayton knew that.

*****

Clayton Webb decided that he had to get out of his apartment, so he went to a nearby coffee place that was decent and usually quiet as long as you went after the morning rush. Since it was mid-morning now, he wasn't surprised to find that it was almost deserted, only one guy with his head bent over a paper, reading and marking it up with a pen. Probably looking for work, he thought as he ordered his drink and sat down to wait for it to be ready.

He was halfway through it when the guy folded his paper and got up. Clayton expected him to leave, but instead he sat down at Clayton's table. "Hi there," the guy drawled. He reached for Clayton's cup, but Clayton moved it away.

"This is my table." He couldn't see the man's face, but that didn't matter.

"But I like it," the man protested, laughter evident in his voice. "Is that your only greeting for an old friend?"

At that, Clayton looked up and saw that it was Palmer. He lunged for him, but Palmer leaned back to block his grab with an ease that infuriated him. Dammit, he shouldn't have grabbed in the first place.

"Come on, Webb, you don't think it's that easy to catch me, do you now?" Palmer taunted. "Especially since you left your gun at home." Clayton cursed the other man's perception even while he subsided back in his chair and tacitly admitted the rightness of his words. "No gun, no backup, and a dead man sitting at your table. You believe in ghosts?"

"You're no ghost." The sight of the man who held his Kate hostage, who had hurt her, without being able to do anything about it, made him tense and angry. But he couldn't do anything here.

"But you're the only one who knows that. Isn't it just breaking your heart, me free?" Without waiting for Clayton's reply, Palmer turned and got the attention of the man behind the counter. "Another coffee, please."

The man nodded and smiled, and Palmer flicked his eyes toward Clayton. "You want one too? I'm buying."

"No, thanks." Clayton wasn't going to take any chance at all of Palmer drugging him.

"Suit yourself." Palmer seemed unconcerned. "Me, I can use the caffeine. Kate's quite a handful," he added thoughtfully.

Clayton heard that and forced himself not to react. Palmer wanted that.

"Oh, was I wrong, and you don't give a damn about the girl? How embarrassing." Palmer didn't sound embarrassed, just amused. "And here I thought Kate Fontaine was your girlfriend. You'll be a gentleman and give back those tapes I sent you? Or, maybe you don't want to," he added softly when Clayton didn't answer. "Maybe you like seeing what I do to that pretty girl. I understand, Webb. It's not always easy to find good porn, is it? Glad I could help. I won't even use it against you, since it's so nice to find someone like me."

He knew he should stay quiet, that Palmer was trying to get to him, but it was too late. Palmer *had* gotten to him. "Kate does mean something to me, you know that damn well!" He managed to keep his voice low, but the anger was evident.

Palmer's coffee came then, and the other man made a small production out of tasting it, then paying for it. "Pity. It would have been so good to be able to tell her you don't give a damn. But then I can, can't I?" He gave Clayton a vicious smile. "No one's around to tell her any different."

"What do you want?" Clayton decided it was time to be blunt. There had to be a reason Palmer was showing himself. "Tell me."

"For Miss Fontaine's release?" Clayton nodded. "Oh, I'm going to have to think about that. There are so many things."

"Pick one," Clayton said as evenly as he could. Palmer was toying with him, he knew, but there was nothing he could do about it. At least he had his control back after his stupid outburst.

"And if I don't want to? After all, I've got the girl. You don't even have idea one about where she is. I'd say I hold all the cards, Webb."

"And if I say you're not as damn safe as you think?" Clayton knew running a bluff on this man was dangerous, but he had to. Palmer was just too damn complacent. "And I've got backup?"

Palmer shrugged. "Fine. Take me in. You be responsible for the pretty girl's death." Clayton started. "Oh, I didn't mention that?"

"What?" Clayton knew he was going to have to back down, but first he was going to hear this story. Palmer wouldn't kill Kate, not after admitting he had her. That would be insane.

Palmer smiled. "I set up a bomb where I've got her. She's perfectly safe, as long as I get back there in time to disarm it. And there's no way in hell I'll do that if you take me in." He lounged, perfectly calm and content. "Hell, you won't get through half of the paperwork by the time your girl's in little pieces."

"I won't play with her life."

"Then I assume I'm free to go." Palmer's eyes were dancing. "It's so good to do business with a reasonable man."

"Palmer," Clayton's tone was more desperate than he wanted, "why are you here? I know it's not a coincidence."

"Just wanted to remind you about the way things are, Webb. Oh," he added casually, as if he'd just thought of it, "and tell you Kate's fine."

"Like I'm going to believe you!" Clayton's jaw was clenched. "I can see you're keeping her tied up."

"And drugged, no doubt." Palmer tilted his head. "I'm sure you think that."

"And of course you're going to tell me you don't." He made his voice as sarcastic as he could. "Kate just lies down on your bed and begs you to do all that to her, right?"

Palmer smiled gently. "No, Webb. She's not begging. Not yet," he added with a calculated cruelty and stood. "I'll be in touch. I delivered her message. Want to send one back? No charge."

"Tell her to be strong. Tell her I love her." Clayton was sure Palmer would do nothing of the sort, but he had to try.

"Of course. But what about the big promise?" Palmer prompted. When Clayton frowned, he shrugged and went on. "About rescuing her, idiot. Aren't you going to promise to ride in on a white horse and take her away from the big, bad villain who's got her?" His eyes were mocking now, and Clayton fought to keep himself under control. It wasn't going to help to hit the man. Even though he was sure the bomb story was just that, he couldn't take the chance it was true.

"Kate knows I'll do what I can."

Palmer's smile grew broader. "Of course she does," he purred. "Of course. Tell me, don't you ever get tired of being a Company man?"

"Don't you ever get tired of being a free-lance weapons agent?" Clayton shot back.

"Not really. The hours are good, and the opportunities," he laughed, "are incredible." Webb knew he was referring to Kate, and kept quiet. "I'll be in touch. Think about just how far you'll go to save Miss Fontaine. Because when I decide what I want, I'm not going to be in the mood for hand-wringing, Webb. Remember that."

"I will," Clayton said steadily, but underneath his mind was racing. What was Palmer going to demand? Secrets, connections, assistance? If he was going to stay with the Company, he couldn't give in to any kind of blackmail. But if he was going to save Kate, it was looking like he would have to. He had to find another way out of this. He couldn't turn traitor, not even for Kate.

"Good." Palmer smiled pleasantly. "Have a good day. I will," he added with a soft intensity that made Clayton fume. "You can count on that. Oh," his eyes were bright now, "I'll give Kate all your messages. After all, I gave you all of hers. Did you notice she didn't send her love?"

And with that, he was out the door. Clayton sat there, taking deep breaths. This was Palmer. He lied for a living. Kate loved him. He knew that. He knew that very well.

It took him a long time to get up and go back to his apartment.

*****

"Hey, baby," the call came, and Kate put down her book. Palmer had a bag in his hand that he put by her, and another one he took into the kitchen. When he came back, he was grinning. "Told you I'd bring you some clothes. All your plants look fine, by the way." He hung up his jacket. "Aren't you at all curious?"

She shook her head. She didn't want to know what Clark had done to Clayton, or what Clayton had done to Clark. She felt caught in the middle, caring in a way about both sides, and totally unable to do anything to help either one.

"Too bad," he said lightly. "Because I'm going to tell you."

She kept quiet as he sat in the chair next to hers. He looked happy, but that could be because he thought he'd gotten the better of Clayton, her mind raced. It probably didn't mean Clayton was dead.

"Hey," he said, this time more gently. "What's with you? You're not going to freak out on me again?"

"No." She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"You forgot about eating, I can tell." He stood, taking her hand and tugging her up in the process. "We'll have a snack before I start on dinner. I'm hungry too. Just some coffee, and that was a while back. Had to check in with some connections," he explained casually, and Kate hoped that he really wouldn't tell her any more about that. She didn't want to know. Being here with him was more than enough to deal with.

"I did forget about lunch," she admitted. Her stomach was rumbling again, and this time much more loudly than before. "This book is really good."

"I'll have to read it, then." They were in the kitchen, and he pushed her down, though gently, into a chair, then went over to the cupboard. "Crackers," he muttered. "That's about it. But we'll have some steak for dinner tonight. And some good red wine." He took down two glasses. "Right now I'm going to get some white for me, and you too." He took out a bottle from the refrigerator and poured two generous glassfuls.

She took the glass he handed to her. "Trying to get me drunk?"

He turned around and handed her a stack of the saltines. "Sure. Why not?"

"Because it's only three-thirty."

"You'll have time to get sober again, before," his eyes were dancing, "we get down to the good stuff. Promise, baby."

She sat very still for a minute. How did he do it? Her brother would have said that, not quite in that way, but the feeling was right. It couldn't be just from her therapist's notes. He was in her head, at least that was how it felt.

"Hey." He was leaning over her, a look on his face that she thought was concern. "Wake up." The look changed to one of impishness. "You haven't even had a sip yet. Don't try and play drunk with me."

"You were going to tell me what happened with Clayton," she said carefully. She still didn't want to hear, but even from her short exposure to Clark, she knew he'd keep his word. Since she had to hear, she wanted to get it over with.

"Oh, he got all bent out of shape, threatened to haul me in." He laughed and shook his head. "Like I'd let him do that. Even claimed he had backup there. He's fine, Kate. Just worried about you." He took a cracker and chomped it while she waited for more. "Told you to be strong. Oh, and that he loves you." The mocking note she knew so well was back in his voice. "He didn't say anything, but I think he's liking the tapes."

"You talked about that? To him?" He couldn't have. But she could tell from his face that he had, even before he confirmed it.

"Sure, why not? He's got to face who you really are."

"I don't even know that. How is he supposed to?"

"*I* know." The mocking note was even more pronounced. "And you do, too. You just don't want to admit it to me. But you will, Kate. Because you'll stay here until you do."

"You can't keep me here forever."

"Won't have to." He lifted his glass in what looked like a toast. "You can't fight your own nature, baby. Won't work."

"And you're going to help with that, I gather." She put all the ice she could in her voice, but it only made him smile.

"I haven't shown you all I can do, yet." The look in his eyes made her wish she didn't have to fight all this. "Drink your wine and relax. Webb is fine, just frustrated. You'll see."

She was glad he was changing the subject, so she didn't reply, just picked up her glass, making sure to sip. It was a while before either of them spoke again, and Kate was the one who broke the silence.

"Clayton doesn't understand about my brother." She didn't know where those words had come from, but she couldn't seem to stop. "He thinks it was all horrible."

Clark's face had only interest when she looked at him. "He's wrong, then?" His voice was perfectly calm, and that made Kate feel better. "Come on, it's not like I'm going to judge you or anything. You know that much, I hope."

"I know," she said slowly. "But why do you care? Aside from the obvious."

"I'm curious. It's not every day I meet someone like me."

She flinched. "I'm not like you."

"You don't kill people, true," he agreed gravely and reached for the bottle, refilling both their glasses. "But you're still like me, different. You don't fit in. Oh, you've managed, but you've never managed to convince yourself totally that they're right and you're wrong." He set the bottle back down. "Tell me about him, Kate. Tell me about when it was horrible, and when it wasn't." He smiled faintly. "I've got time."

She closed her eyes, then opened them. "You can't tell anyone, ever." She didn't think about how stupid it was to make conditions with the man who was keeping her captive.

"Not a single soul." His voice was still calm, and grave. "This is between you and me."

She took a deep breath, then began.

*****

The room was dark by the time she was finished. She had thought that the story would come out in one huge glob, but it didn't. It came in fits and starts, one part calling up another only related by the thinnest of threads, and circling around itself much more than she wanted. Her brother's games, all starting out playful and ending up with either her touching him or the other way around, the way they both knew to keep quiet about all of it, what it was like to start to like the games for more than just the attention they got her - it all came out.

She finished her wine, which Clark had filled again, and waited for him to say something. He'd been quiet all through her ramblings. "Well?"

"Is that all?" He sounded amused. "And you feel guilty about that? Kate, you really should think about getting over it. All you did was play some innocent kid sex games. Pretty tame ones, really."

"When I got older, they got a lot less innocent." From his reaction, she thought she hadn't gotten specific enough. But she wasn't going to, not now.

"He was older, and he started it. Sounds to me like the only time you didn't like what he did, you stopped the whole thing."

He'd even gotten that. "Yes! And that's why I feel so bad. I should have stopped it a long time ago."

"But you liked it," he said, patiently. "So why shouldn't you do it?"

"Because it's wrong to like it. Little girls aren't supposed to," she faltered, but his bright gaze forced her to honesty, "like sex."

"A nice fiction," he said dryly. "Is that why you've been torturing yourself all this time? Because you were a little girl, and you like it when you got touched?"

A part of her was amazed that he'd put it both so bluntly and so kindly. "It isn't that easy," she managed.

"Why not? Isn't that what it is?"

She shook her head as she remembered more of how it had been.

*****

She is seven years old, reading when she hears someone on the ladder to the treehouse her father built.

"Hey there."

It's her brother, two years older and full of it, always bossing her around. But he won't let anyone else do that, beating up anyone who tries at recess. So she forgives him, most of the time, and does what he wants. It keeps her parents happy, and that's important, too.

He swings into the treehouse. She puts her finger in the book and closes it. "Is it dinnertime?"

"Nope." He sits down next to her. "Mom's getting it ready."

"She told you to get out, didn't she?" The words are a taunt, making him frown.

"Like it's never happened to you." He leans over. "What are you reading? Something for school?" He grabs the book and gets it away from her, then makes a face. "Dumb kid's book with pictures." He makes to throw it out the door opening and she yells and reaches over to grab it back. He holds it out of her reach. "Want it back?"

"Give it to me! I'll tell."

He laughs. "It won't hurt it that much to throw it out. You can still read it, if you still want to, Katie."

"Don't call me that!" She's furious now. "I hate that name."

"Katie, Katie, Katie," he half-sings, still holding the book too high for her to reach. She lunges for it, and this time he shrugs and hands it to her. She clutches it, eying him warily. "All right, brat. You can have the stupid thing."

She settles back down. "So, what do you want?"

"*You* know." His voice goes strange, full of secrets and longings. "The game."

"The game," she echoes. Her stomach feels funny, and she squirms. Her jeans feel too tight, and she wants to reach down and rub the thick seam. But she doesn't. If they're going to play the game, it's better to wait. "Now?"

"Mom's making mac and cheese. That takes forever." His brown eyes hold hers. "We've got time. Dad's not home, either. We'll hear the car when he drive in." He slides over closer to her. "Come on, Kate. It'll be fun."

"O.K." She wants to play, and he wants to play, so it's O.K. Isn't it?

He takes a deep breath as she waits. Every time the game is a little different. "You're sick." His voice is earnest now, and she squirms even more, and lies down on her back. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," she tries. He'll touch her now, but she doesn't want to tell him where to. It just doesn't feel right to do that.

"Here?" A finger pokes her shoulder, and she can't help giggling. "Stop that," he says sternly. "I'm the doctor. None of that."

And that's so much like their doctor that she stops. "Not there." She hesitates. "Lower."

"Lower," he repeats and moves his finger, clean, she sees. Mom must have caught him and made him scrub his hands. It traces a path down her chest, stopping at her stomach. "Here?"

"No. Lower."

"Lower," he says again, and now his voice is deepening. "Down there?"

His hand is between her legs, pressing on the seam of her jeans, and she pushes up toward it. "Yes. There."

"I'll have to get a closer look."

She doesn't know why this is so much fun, but it is. He undoes her jeans with his free hand and awkwardly pulls them down to her knees. His finger strokes her cotton flowered underpants, and she squirms again. His face is flushed as he lies down next to her, on his side, and the shadows from the leaves fall on both of their bodies.

"Yes, there's definitely something here." He pushes the fabric to one side and peers at her, and she swallows. He rubs her, and she squirms even more. "Is that good?"

"Up more," she gasps. He's staying around the hole, and that isn't where it feels really good.

"O.K." He moves up, and she takes in a sharp breath. "There, then," he says with assurance. "I'll make you better."

He keeps rubbing until her body stiffens and she cries out. It feels nice, and strange, like when she touches herself at night in bed, but it's more fun when he does it.

"Better now?"

"Better." She pulls on her jeans and sits up. "Now you."

"Yes." He doesn't bother with the game, just takes out his thing and puts her hand on it. "Make it better, Kate." He grits his teeth as she pulls at it, her stroking more sure than his. They've each had the practice. "Yeah, that's it." His words end in a moan as he shoots. She sits there, watching him, until he sits up and does up his jeans. "I didn't get any on you, did I?"

She checks. "Just my hands."

"Here." He holds out a tissue. "Wipe it off." He watches while she does, then stuffs it back in his pocket. "And wash your hands when you go in." They hear a car pulling into the driveway. "Wait till he's in, then come. I'll talk to him. And don't say anything."

She nods. There's a reason they have to hide their game, and she doesn't understand it, but he says so. "I'll go right to the bathroom."

He stares at her for a moment, making her feel funny. Not a good funny, an awkward funny. She wants it to stop.

"Good."

"You'd better get going," she says quickly. He's about to say something, but somehow she doesn't want to hear it.

"Yeah."

He swings out of the tree house, and she closes her eyes. Why can't she feel good about this? It feels good to do it. But there's something weird about it, about him. But it feels so good, and she puts it out of her mind as she hears him telling her father about something in school. It feels too good to stop. She starts to climb down from the tree house. Dinner soon, and she still has to wash her hands. Mom will check.

*****

To the rest of the story

JAG

Fiction