A/N: Some of you might recognize my inspiration. Given Mac’s psychic abilities I remembered an old movie, one of the scariest I’ve ever seen. The story is loosely based and I hope I can capture just a little of the suspense.

My special thank you to TxJAG_b, for help with the military stuff. The accurate part that is. Sorry if I had to improvise a little, any inaccuracies are due to me taking liberties for the sake of the story.

Minds Eye
Part One

Sunday 05:00

She’s watching me; I can feel her. The hair at the back of my neck tells me she’s there. It’s a signal I’ve depended on for years. I have to be careful. They won’t understand. I need to do this. I need to save them from the pain. They don’t deserve the pain. I know what it’s like; this pain, it’s too much to bear. My pain only stops, for a little while, when I help them.

I’ll dress now, and slip out before anyone comes. I won’t be able to finish my mission if they find me. How does she know? How can she see me?

The broad, bare back shifts; his dark head turned away. He looks down on the bed where a young, dark haired woman lies, unclothed and relaxed; except her neck is broken. She is dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Haaarm!!!!” I sit straight up in bed screaming his name, a cold sweat forming on my brow.

“Harm,” I call again, before realizing he isn’t here. Since we first shared this bed three weeks ago, this is the only night I’ve been alone, and the first time the nightmare has returned.

I tremble violently, as I pull the comforter close around me. Falling against his pillow, I curl into a tight ball. I hope the scent of him will lull me back into a less fitful sleep. If I breathe very deeply, and force my mind to recall pleasant thoughts, perhaps I can dispel the abject fear crawling deep inside me. This terror I feel, suddenly stronger, because I can’t decide if I called his name seeking comfort; or if, somehow, I believe the dreams were of Harm.

It was so real, so very real. The truth is, this horror that haunts me is back.

The dreams have visited me for three months. Four different women, all relatively young, all with dark hair, but each dream is the same. Each new nightmare is frighteningly real the first time, then repeating itself for days after, more veiled, but deeply disturbing. This is the first dream, since I’ve been with Harm, but he wasn’t here.

Our lives and our love were finally replacing the years of loneliness and separation, and now I believe I’m going crazy. I am so afraid, so terrified of the dream. It isn’t Harm; it can’t be Harm. But the dark hair, the broad back, the sudden aura of familiarity, and he isn’t here.

That’s it, I throw myself from the bed; it’s 05:30, and sleep will not return. Might as well make some coffee. This is crazy; it’s just a bad dream. I’m insane to believe the man I love so deeply, the man I’ve bonded with body and soul, could be the fiend of this nightmare.

It’s too early for a run, too dangerous alone, but I can catch up on my casework. Maybe I’ll call Harm in a little while. Yes, that’s it, I’ll call Harm, then I’ll know.

But first, I’ll make some good, strong coffee.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed and have my cup of coffee. It’s still too early to eat. I boot my laptop and pull out my files. The next two hours slide by in productive paperwork, before I realize my minds eye has wandered to an image of Harm.

It is Harm, but still, not him; the aura is dark. A sinister shadow that twists around him like a slithering fog. Distorting the warm, generous, loving man I know, into someone cold, merciless, and vengeful. It shifts and winds its tendrils through his image.

I pull myself forcefully from this likeness, this distorted copy of my friend and lover, appalled by the thoughts invading my consciousness. Quickly I stand, moving from the chair, the desk, my computer, my files, towards the window and light. Anything to remove myself from the vicinity of this figure my mind has conjured. I cannot accept this is Harm, I will not accept it.

They are just dreams, I don’t know why I’m dreaming these things, but that’s all they are just dreams. All but a small corner of my mind believes. I shut the door firmly on that corner.

The light snow swirling down the street holds my interest for fifteen minutes, before the phone startles me.

“Mackenzie,” I answer, my voice unsteady.

“Hi Mac, you OK? You sound funny. Didn’t wake you did I?” It’s Harm; thank god, it’s him. I’ve never been so happy to hear a voice on the phone. I sink gratefully onto the couch, instantly comforted by the feeling of soft warmth flowing through me.

“Uh, no, I’ve been up for a while,” a small lie, no need to worry him with my silliness. “I was just doing some paperwork.”

“All right, if you’re sure,” he still sounds unconvinced, but he continues, “how would you like some company tonight?” He offers.

“Who?” I ask, still a little distracted.

“Me of course, Mac I’m starting to worry here, you don’t sound right.” His voice is hinting at that obsessive edge he adopts, when he perceives something isn’t as it should be.

“I’m fine Harm… but you… how? I thought your investigation would take longer than a day.” I scramble for some chaff to distract him.

“It will, but I need some files, and I can’t access them from here. I have to get them from my secure terminal, so I’m coming back in a few hours. I’ll have to return tomorrow night or Tuesday morning, but we’ll have this evening. That is,” he teases, “unless you had other plans.”

Finally, I snap out of it, at his merry teasing, hoping the distraction worked.

“Don’t be silly flyboy; of course I don’t have plans. How soon can you be here?” I can’t wait to see him. I feel like jumping in my car and meeting him halfway, but I force myself to be rational.

“I just finished my first formal interview with Commander Kensington. I have one more person to interview this morning, before I can get on the road. Early afternoon, I guess, probably around 13:00 or 14:00. Can you wait that long for lunch? I’ll call if I’m going to be later.” He replies.

“Harm, you know I’ll wait. Hurry home flyboy,” I whisper, “and drive carefully.” It’s said with all my love, but I can’t help the small frantic note of desperation that creeps in.

“Mac,” he starts, then stops. He knows, but surrenders this moment. “I can’t wait to see you either, Mac.” I know I’m in for serious questioning when he arrives. But I don’t care. Suddenly, my world is filled with light again, as the image of him fills my mind, bright, unshadowed, and shining with love.

The sheer delight of anticipation floods my heart and soul, as I move to shower, prepare breakfast, and make a grocery list. We could go out tonight, but I want him all to myself.

God, how could I have been so foolish?

I firmly ignore that annoying little alarm, flashing desperately, but locked securely, in a deep compartment of my mind.

End of part one

Minds Eye
Part Two

Sunday 12:30

I wonder if this is how Harm feels when he flies. Like he owns the world and nothing can touch him. I’ve had a good run and a venture into domesticity at the grocery store. My mind is clear of this mornings cobwebs, my heart is full, knowing he will be here soon. Harm will make dinner; he’s a better cook. Right now, I’m going to seriously consider what we’ve been discussing, for most of three weeks.

We have to decide where we are going to live. It’s foolish to assume, that we will ever spend another voluntary night separated; so maintaining two apartments is a waste of money. If we are serious about a life together, and a family, then we have to start thinking about economy. OK, OK, I’m not insisting anyone sell their Corvette, yet, but two apartments are just dumb.

The space that he left unfinished, behind the bedroom, isn’t large enough for another room, not a whole room, maybe a cozy office, or a nursery.

But for it to be a nursery, we would have to make a more convenient door, besides I really don’t want to raise a baby here.

For now, it will give us room for our desks and files maybe a bookcase as well as a large closet for storage. He’s the handyman; I’ll let him decide how to make the space work. He’s currently only using one corner.

It’s comforting, running my hands over his power tools, things he used to build the loft. The big wooden wardrobe was an experiment in furniture making. Inside, are his out of season uniforms, and the dress uniforms. He also keeps his civilian suits in there. Some of them are expensive gifts from his mother. She has a weakness for Italian clothes.

Everything I touch, touches me back, with Harms essence. He is here, even when he is not here. This is his place and we will stay here until he is ready to go. My apartment is just a set of rooms in a building, with furniture. Most of it isn’t even mine. Yes, we definitely will stay here. He said it was my decision, and I’ve made it, but I know he prefers this too.

I’m completely lost in thought, when I feel, more than hear him enter the room.

“What are you doing back here Mac? I called, and you didn’t answer. Are you sure you’re OK?” He looks at me closely. Waves of tension and doubt roll from him, to break against the barrier I erected, against this mornings dream. It was foolish; I locked it away. I refuse to allow it to interfere with our happiness. I know how to divert his attention.

“I was just thinking Harm, about what we’ve been discussing. I think I want to live here, if that’s ok.” I’m a little uncertain, now that I suggest moving into his space, but he suggested it first. I’m just agreeing.

“OK? That’s wonderful Mac, are you sure? I mean we could leave things for a little while, until you’re sure.” It’s thoughtful of him, to give me space to be certain.

“Yes Harm, my minds made up. If you want me, I want to be here. We can store or sell my stuff that won’t fit. But if we finish this room, we would have plenty of space for a while.” I explain logically.

He hugs me from behind, clearly indicating how much he wants me. “So what’s this we business, since when do you know how to work power tools?” He teases, nibbling at my ear.

I cock my head sideways and flirt with him, suggestively. “Well big boy, I haven’t had any trouble so far.”

He throws back his head, and his laughter bursts forth, filling the small room, as he turns me in his arms, holding me close.

“Then I guess the next thing we need to discuss, is making babies.” He offers, smiling boldly.

“Harm,” I explain with mock patience, “you don’t get babies by discussing them.”

“Oh I think I have the practical application under control, I just wondered what your time frame was for releasing the little gremlins into the live fire zone,” He’s referring to my birth control pills. He chuckles, amused at himself, until I poke him playfully in the ribs.

“Harm, that is no way to talk about your future children.” I try to sound stern, but I stifle a giggle, as I visualize my little marine green eggs playing hide and seek with his little fighter jets.

“See,” he says popping me lightly on the nose, “you thought it was funny too.”

“Did not,” I respond grabbing the offending finger, “it’s a guy thing isn’t it? Saying crude stuff when you’re embarrassed by a biological function.”

He grins. “Tell you what, you give me a shot at that biological function, and I’ll show you how embarrassed I am.”

“Neanderthal,” I call him. Nudging him lightly in the stomach, I try to pull away.

“Neanderthal?” he raises one eyebrow, and dangerous smile forms. “I’ll show you Neanderthal,” and with one motion, he swoops me over his shoulder, carries me down the short hall, and around the corner to the bedroom.

“Harm, put me down,” I giggle, pounding on his back.

“Hold still, or I might drop you,” he warns, as he nears the bed.

With a buck of his shoulder, he launches me towards the bed, but catches me midair and lowers me, so I fall beneath him, completely pinned.

He tries to kiss me, but we’re both laughing so hard, we can’t close our mouths. That makes us giggle more, so he tries a love bite on my neck, which causes me to catch my breath suddenly. He thinks he has hurt me, and backs off just enough to allow me an advantage. I take it, and flip him over landing on top of him.

“Now,” I crow triumphantly, “well see just how well your caveman stuff works when you’re on the bottom.”

“My caveman stuff works from any angle Mac, just like a space pen.” He quips, flipping me back. “You should know that,” he continues in a low growl, as his mouth descends on mine. The warmth of our laughter gives way to more interesting activities, and lunch is delayed an hour.

22:15

I’m drifting in a sea of satisfaction, as we lay here spooned closely together. Harm prepared a simple dinner and I made a chocolate thing for dessert. I looked brilliant, it was so good, but actually, it’s super easy.

After dinner, we moved to the couch to discuss moving plans, which once again morphed into baby plans, which led to the co-operative practice at baby making, and now I’m almost asleep.

Unfortunately, our bliss is to be short lived for now. Harm has to go back to Norfolk tomorrow, and Coates called this evening; the Admiral requests Bud and I report an hour early tomorrow.

I don’t know which I like less, going in early, or Harm leaving for Norfolk. There’s just something about Norfolk that’s really bothering me. This alarm, somewhere in my head, keeps going off. There’s a horrible cold knot in the pit of my stomach. A knot of fear that’s centered on Harm.

“Sarah?” he murmurs against the back of my neck.

“Hmmm?” I respond sleepily.

“Will you marry me?” His tone is almost conversational.

“Ummhmmm.” It takes a beat to register, before I come fully awake and sit straight up. Turning to look at him I babble, “Will I what?… Harm… did you just ask???”

“I asked you to marry me. Will you?” He pulls me down against his chest.

“Isn’t this a little sudden?” I could kick myself for this, but I’m just so astonished I’m not coherent.

“Sudden?” he cocks an eyebrow, sardonically. “Eight years is sudden?”

I smile in agreement, shrugging at the absurdity.

“Besides,” he grins, “don’t these things spoil, if you leave them in the box too long?” He reaches into the drawer of the nightstand and brings out a small wooden box.

I know what’s in it, but my breath leaves me in a whoosh, and my hands tremble. I just look into his eyes; it’s all I can manage.

“Open it, Mac,” he whispers.

I look down at the small, carefully crafted box. Not a normal jewelry store box.

“Harm…” I start. I’m not sure what I’m scared of.

“We already agreed to forever and children, Mac, I just want it all the right way.” He pleads softly.

“Oh Harm.” I tuck my head under his chin. He holds me, stroking my hair, knowing somehow, my tears are of joy. I whisper, “yes,” against his chest several times between little hiccups.

Finally, I pull back “Open it,” he says again.

Inside is a small velvet pouch. I untie the silken cord and out tumbles the most exquisite engagement ring and wedding band I’ve ever seen, anywhere.

“Dear god, Harm, if this is real, it must have cost you two years pay.” I’m instantly aghast. Then quickly, I’m embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, that was unkind and rude.” I apologize. “I’m ashamed.”

He just chuckles. “Oh they’re real alright, but I’m afraid I’m guilty of bargain hunting. I found them while I was stationed back on the Seahawk. Another pilot took me on a quick liberty with him, and we visited a friend of his in Riyadh. He’s a jewelry merchant.” He explains.

My mouth is hanging open, a mixture of emotions.

“The Seahawk? Harm, that was four years ago. You were seeing Jordan then.” I’m not quite certain what to think.

“No, I wasn’t, Mac. Jordan and I broke up before I left. This was for you. It was always for you.” He fishes them out of my hand, and replaces the band in the pouch.

As he places the ring on my finger, he looks into my eyes. “No one has seen them, since the day I bought them, and no one would have, if you didn’t accept them.”

God I love this man.

He curls me back around, and snuggles up to me.

“Night Mac,” he whispers.

“Night Harm,” I sigh.

End of part two

Minds Eye
Part Three

Early Monday

I can see him, he’s there again, his back, his hair, the woman on the bed. As if through a frosted window, all blurry and indistinct. I move, try to get away, he knows about me, knows I can see him, knows I’m here. I move again, something is in my way. I should fight, but it’s warm, gentle, comforting. Arms… I feel his arms, he holds me close, tells me it’s ok. I believe him. I fall back someplace safe.

~~~~~~~~~~

06:30 Monday

“Wake up sleepyhead.” I insist. “I swear Harm, I don’t understand how the Navy gets their boats anyplace on time, if they can’t even get up in the morning.” I give him a swat on his beautiful backside, as I pass the bed.

His arm shoots out and grabs my wrist, pulling me down against his chest. “They aren’t boats, they’re ships,” he says sternly, before planting a firm kiss on me.

“Fine, ships,” I respond, “then get your ship out of bed, before we’re late.”

“Actually Marine, I don’t have a report time this morning. I’m on an investigation, remember.” He has the audacity to look smug.

“Well I do flyboy, and it’s an hour earlier than usual so turn me loose.” My words are stern, but I’m not making myself pull away as forcefully as I should.

“I know Mac, I’m sorry about that.” He is instantly contrite.

“Not your fault, but I still have to go.” I start to slide away, when he tightens his hold.

“Mac, you’re having nightmares again, aren’t you?” He asks gently.

“Oh Harm….” I start. There really isn’t time for this.

“C’mon Mac, you had one last night. How often?” He insists.

“Actually, I haven’t had any since we’ve been together,” I prevaricate, letting my eyes slip.

“But you had one last night, and the night before too, didn’t you, that’s why you sounded so upset.” He always was a bright one.

I nod, “But they’re really nothing. Last night it was barely more than a dream.” I’d love to tell him I’m OK when he’s here, but that would put undue pressure on him. After all we are both military, and subject to be sent anywhere at a moments notice. I can’t have him believing I’ll fall apart because I’m not sleeping in his arms. It would make him crazy, and make me sound like an insipid idiot.

“Do you want to talk about it Mac?” He looks like he’ll be hurt, if I don’t tell him.

“Not much to tell Harm.” I shrug casually. “It really doesn’t make much sense. Just vague images. It could be leftover from Paraguay, or any of a dozen other sources. I’ll be ok, I promise,” I give him a quick kiss. I’m not sure why I couldn’t tell him the truth. I convince myself it’s because I don’t want him to worry.

He seems to accept this for now, and his goodbye kiss forty-five minutes later certainly lifts the cloud of distress settling over my mind. Especially when he brings the hand that wears his ring to his lips. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asks, just before he opens the door for us.

“I think so,” I smile, “but you can show me anytime.”

“Count on it,” he answers with his full strength flyboy smile, as we walk to our cars.

08:00 Monday
JAG HQ

“Colonel Mackenzie and Lieutenant Roberts reporting as ordered, sir.” I’m afraid I’m still not fully comfortable with the Admiral, even though the situation has worked out well for Harm and me.

Harm has an interesting job, and we’re together. However, I still find it difficult to forgive him for the five months of hell, while Harm was with the CIA. In fact, I’m finding more things to not forgive him for, as time goes by.

The NCIS investigation wherein, I now think he hung Harm out to dry, and had us half convinced, with his behavior, that Harm was guilty. And, virtually challenging me to go with Webb, for whatever convoluted reason. What was that about? Was it just to separate me from Harm, or did he assume the operation would go to hell, and Harm would come running after me? I’m still working that one out. God I hate being manipulated, especially by someone I trusted. I know, in order to work here, I have to let it go at some time, but not today, and maybe not tomorrow either.

“Colonel, Lieutenant, have a seat,” the Admiral offers formally. Whatever he’s done, and for whatever reason, he is sincerely unrepentant.

“You have a murder to investigate. The body was found in Portsmouth, late yesterday afternoon. A female Navy Ensign. Colonel, I want you to join NCIS on the investigation, so you have first hand information. If the murderer turns out to be military, you will prosecute, if not, I want you to stay on top of whoever is prosecuted, in an unofficial capacity, to see that justice is done.

“Sir,” I ask, “are you saying no one’s been charged yet, we don’t have anyone in custody?”

“That’s what I’m saying Colonel, but this is the way I want it handled any questions.”

“No sir,” we reply in unison. Actually, I have several, this is unusual, but I’m entertaining vague thoughts about possible important connections, or a political agenda.

“Good then, here is the folder, it’s all we have at the moment. Lieutenant, you will be co-counsel on this when the time comes.” The Admiral explains Bud’s presence.

“Yes sir.” Bud replies, neutrally. I can almost feel Bud wondering why he had to come in an hour early to find out he was co-counsel on a case that hasn’t been filed.

Must be nice for the Admiral, he has everyone in the office at a disadvantage now. Bud is still battling his disability, and the perceptions it brings, Sturgis is under a cloud, due to his poor handling, and subsequent overturn of a high profile case, and I’m the office pariah for getting the shining star of JAG fired. Of course, I have a secret advantage, that shining star is now sleeping with me nightly. Well, almost nightly.

The Admiral spots my ring, when I reach for the folder.

“Uh… Colonel, was there something you wanted to share with us?” He asks pointedly.

“No sir,” I reply, “nothing that will interfere with my duties.”

“And what about with your career, with your position here at JAG,” he prods; referring tiredly, to the times I have left, or contemplated doing so.

“No sir, I don’t believe there will be any conflict.” I certainly hope this is true. “It’s a matter I can handle on a strictly personal level.”

It’s the most polite way I can think of, basically, to tell him it’s none of his business. Bud looks at me aghast.

“Close your mouth, Lieutenant,” he orders, brusquely.

“Yes sir,” Bud sits at attention.

“Fine then,” he heaves a deep, unsatisfied breath. “The folder should tell you everything.” I open the file and see an indistinct email photo of a woman lying on a bed, her head cocked at a strange angle.

“Oh god no,” the blood rushes in my ears.

I hear the admiral say, “She was killed sometime early Sunday morning, her neck was broken,” before my head spins.

It takes every ounce of will, to remain upright in my chair, but I know I swayed alarmingly, when both the Admiral and Bud reach to steady me.

“Colonel, are you sure there isn’t something I should know? A physical condition, that would prevent you from handling this case, perhaps?” I know what he’s indicating. Seeing the ring, he thinks I’m pregnant. It’s not only sexist, but also rude. Not everyone gets pregnant out of wedlock, but if I did, it would certainly be none of his damn business. I’m not on a ship. I contain my ire with difficulty.

“No sir, absolutely not. I….I didn’t sleep well last night, and…. well… the way she was killed. It brought back some memories sir.” I stammer out the best excuse I can think of quickly.

I know he has heard the story I shared with a few close friends, of how Harm had broken the terrorist’s neck with his hands, when he saved me. I didn’t talk about it much, but it just sort of slipped out in a weak moment. Perhaps he will buy this.

“Alright, if you’re sure you can continue.” His words seem to accept this, but his voice is less certain.

“Yes sir, rest assured it won’t happen again, it was just the surprise.” I know I’m over compensating.

“Very well Colonel, but I’m revising the plan. You take Lieutenant Roberts to Norfolk with you.” He orders

“Norfolk, sir?” He’s going to lose his patience any moment, if I don’t shut up.

“Norfolk, Colonel. The Naval base, it’s across the bridge from Portsmouth and it’s where the Ensign was stationed.” He explains in a tone that I should find offensive.

“You will coordinate with NCIS agent Jack Garrett, and offer any assistance. In return, they have agreed to keep you in the loop. You can help by looking into the woman’s background, her acquaintances, co-workers. Don’t get in their way but don’t let them shut you out. This Garrett can be a hard headed…. well never mind. Maybe you can find a way to handle him; he’s a former Navy pilot.” This is delivered blandly, but I feel the verbal knife slide cleanly between my ribs.

“If there are no other questions, you are dismissed. Get your travel vouchers from Coates.” He’s back to the business of being the Admiral. After that last barb, I wonder if he knows about Harm and me. I haven’t advertised it, and I know Harm has said nothing. Harm had the SECNAV’s tacit approval of our arrangement from the beginning, but it’s doubtful he is interested in a blow by blow of our progress, or that he has given it a second thought since.

I should also be offended by the innuendo, that I can’t handle this by myself, but I think …well, I feel….actually, I’m not sure what I feel, but Bud will understand about the dreams as no other, even if he is fascinated by the entire concept a little too much.

We take proper leave of the Admiral, and I urgently ask Bud to join me in my office. The minute the door is closed, he turns to me, “Sit down, Bud,” I set the tone, before I manage a controlled collapse into my chair.

Cradling my head in my hands, I am overwhelmed by the distorted images of those four women, as they swirl through my mind, calling and accusing. They wind in and out of the dark fog that shrouds my thoughts; I’m overcome by feelings of fear and guilt. I have to stop this; I should have stopped it. Somehow, I should have known it was real. If I had only done something, said something, but the only answer I had, was one I refused to accept.

How could I allow myself to accuse the man I love, who fills my heart and soul with a bright golden light, when I have only a dark shadow on my mind as evidence. It can’t be true, yet it is real. One of the women is truly dead. I have no doubt the others are too. This paradox is shredding me to pieces.

I try to reach for Harm with my mind, to reach for the glow I hold deep in my heart, but I can’t find it. All I encounter is a deadly, dark shade, blocking any contact beyond this room.

Struggling, I force myself back to awareness of my friend’s sympathetic eyes.

With quiet, gentle forcefulness, as only Bud can, he states, “You know something.”

“I’m not sure. Not here, Bud,” I answer.

“Colonel…Mac… don’t keep me in the dark.” He pleads. I know he thinks I have no confidence in him, either.

“I don’t intend to Bud.” I console him temporarily. “We need to get packed, and get down there as soon as we can. I’ll tell you on the way. But first, lets take a few minutes to review what information we have in this file. I need to be prepared for what I’m walking into.” I shudder visibly at the thought of going near the base, but try to recover by telling myself that Harm will be nearby. Oddly, I feel no comfort in the thought.

End of part three

Minds Eye
Part Four

10:30 Monday
JAG parking lot

I lean against my car, watching as Bud Roberts kisses his wife goodbye. Once I would have looked away, hiding the undeserved jealousy they might see. Now I take deep pleasure in sharing a common bond.

As he slides gracefully from his van, I realize that Bud Roberts has not only regained control of his body, but of himself as a man. The vestiges of a smile remaining on his face, mirrors the way Harm looks at me.

I make an instant decision.

“You can drive stick, right Bud?” I ask.

“Uh… yes ma’am,” he looks puzzled.

“Good you drive, I want to talk, and I don’t want to be distracted.” It’s an order, but not.

“Why aren’t we taking a vehicle from the motor pool, Colonel?” He looks slightly confused by my decision.

“Because Bud,” I admit, “when I’m done talking, I’m going to want to drive, and I don’t want to drive something that wallows like a garbage scow. I’ll turn in a mileage voucher later.”

His eyebrows shoot up in appreciation, but a smile spreads, as he realizes I’m letting him drive the Corvette. “Yes ma’am,” he agrees more forcefully.

“Good, stow your gear, I want to talk to your wife a minute. And quit calling me ma’am. At least, while were driving down,” I soften the order with a smile.

I climb in the door he just vacated, and give Harriet a quick hug. I ask about the children, and listen raptly as she fills me in on their latest accomplishments. Little Jimmy is sound asleep, but AJ is playing some kind of learning game on a small computer module, and not in the mood to be interrupted, even by his godmother. I hope to share this experience with her soon.

After a quick goodbye and take care, I slide off the seat and securely shut the door, before walking around, and lowering into the passenger seat of my sports car. I’m startled to realize that no one, except Harm, has ever driven this car before. Not even Mic.

Bud is skillful, but careful, as he guides my powerful car into traffic, and onto the I-95S. It takes me about fifteen minutes, before I can marshal my thoughts, and explain to Bud what’s bothering me. He waits patiently, and drives with his attention on the road, while I think.

“Bud, I don’t know how to tell you this, it’s crazy.” I begin, tentatively.

“I doubt that ma’am… uh Mac,” he smiles briefly in my direction, before turning back to the road.

I take another deep breath and plunge in. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Uh-huh,” he responds, unsurprised.

“How did you know?” I’m puzzled and off balance.

“I didn’t, but I know about your history of visions, and your reaction to the crime report was… well what else could it be? How much did you see?” He asks with the logic and calm of a Vulcan.

“That’s just it Bud, I saw too much, and not enough, but more it’s the feelings,” my voice is shaking. His knowing has given release to my emotions, and it’s all I can do to control the tears.

“Feelings? Of what? No, wait a minute. Please. Make this easier, tell me exactly what you’ve seen first,” he suggests. At least one of us is thinking like a lawyer.

“I see a man, from the back, he’s nude, broad shoulders, dark short hair,” I pause to see if he reacts, but his eyes remain on the road, and his neutral countenance tells me nothing. When I hesitate, he nods, urging me to continue. “He moves sideways, and I see a woman on the bed with a br…broken neck,” I stumble, breathe deeply again, and continue, “then, he dresses and leaves. I have the feeli….”

“No Mac, no feelings, not just yet. Sorry to interrupt, but these things can be hopeless, if we don’t sort it out a piece at a time. We could end up in a very wrong place. I don’t mean to give orders,” he looks faintly embarrassed, “but I’ve read a lot about this phenomenon.”

I nod. I remember how I was mislead, by the vision of the horse. “That’s why I didn’t get upset, when the Admiral insisted you come with me. I knew you could help.” I admit.

He understands, and smiles appreciatively at my confidence. “I know, normally you would have taken his head off, for suggesting you couldn’t handle a case alone. What do you think is behind this ground floor stuff?” He suddenly shifts direction; I recognize the technique. “We usually aren’t in on anything, until NCIS is finished, and have their man in custody. Or woman,” he amends

“Only one thing I can think of Bud. The last page of the report, there was a single line. She had just been accepted for SEAL training. She was due to ship out the first of the month.” Speculation on my part, but I think I may be on target.

“Do you think that had anything to do with her murder?” He wonders, trying to fit the pieces.

“Maybe, not sure, but no, I don’t think so.” I let my mind wander over the various thoughts that have played at the edges. Thinking aloud I offer, “It sounds more like the Admiral is getting involved because SEAL’s are involved, and someone else, possibly Bobbie, getting into it because of her ‘women in the military’ agenda. Although, they might not necessarily, be on the same side of the fence.” I comment thoughtfully, and smile at the thought of the Admiral trying to protect his SEAL’s from the likes of Congresswoman Latham. “No Bud, I really believe that part of it is entirely political.”

“Then what do you think was the reason, ma’am… sorry, Mac.” He corrects himself. “For her murder I mean,” he clarifies

“I didn’t tell you all about the dreams.” I hate doing this, but I know Bud will help me sort it out, and make me do the right thing, whatever that is.

“You saw more, you know who did it?” He sounds a little worried for me.

“Not exactly,” I hedge. “I had four nightmares Bud. Over the last three months.”

“You’ve been dreaming this for three months?” incredulous, he swerves slightly, then corrects.

“Not exactly, I’ve… I’ve seen four different women killed, over the last three months. Bud, I think we’re dealing with a serial killer.” There, that part is out, and admitting it aloud leaves me breathless and frightened.

Bud takes the next exit, and parks in the lot of a small coffee shop/diner. He just sits and stares ahead for a minute, trying to gather himself. I’ve just shocked the hell out of him.

“Mac, uh… what does Harm think of these nightmares?” It’s almost physically painful, to have him hit the core of the matter, with so much naiveté, and so much insight.

“Harm?” I respond nervously, then I try unsuccessfully, to cover my reaction. “Why would you ask that Bud?”

“It’s obvious you’ve been together Mac, and now the ring. You haven’t told him, have you?” He pounds his point home. Who taught him this stuff anyway? Oh yeah, it was Harm.

“No, I haven’t, but I have my reasons, or at least I think I do, they just don’t make sense. Why was it so obvious, Bud?” I thought I had been rather stealthy about the whole situation.

He gives me his huge Bud grin now. “Because Mac, I’ve never seen you smile the way you have the last three weeks. You completely dropped off everyone’s radar, at the holidays. You had to be with someone, and the office pool laid some pretty good odds, that Mr. Webb didn’t have what it took, to make you so happy.

I blush deeply knowing I’ve not only been so transparent, but that people have noticed. How dare they actually place bets on it. Harm will think it’s hilarious.

“I guess I thought I was being very clever, keeping it to myself.” I admit.

“People notice what you do Mac, and believe me the ones that count, are happy for you both.” He continues, with extraordinary kindness.

“Can you tell me where Harm is now? We, sort of, heard through the grapevine, that he was fired by the CIA.” Bud’s concern is evident.

“I can and I will, Bud, but with any luck you may see him yourself, when we get to Norfolk. As long as we’re here, why don’t we have some coffee, before we continue.” I’m somewhat stressed, and the story isn’t halfway told.

End of part four

Minds Eye
Part Five

I-95S

With coffee, and a piece of homemade style pecan pie with ice cream, firmly tucked away, we resume our journey south. After giving Bud a rough outline of Harms new job, he laughs appreciatively, at the irony of the assignment. But he’s happy to hear that Harm is returned to the Navy he so loves. I smile, inwardly, at the fact I am now partnered with someone who likes junk food more than I do. I may have to become the wise one, or we both will weigh three hundred pounds.

Bud is maneuvering the car back into traffic, when he picks up the thread of our conversation. “So now he’s in Norfolk, investigating the SEAL they want to decorate for heroism. Except the Admiral of NAVSPECWARCOM, wants him court-martialed. Sounds like a situation only Harm could get himself into, and out of, in one piece,” he whistles appreciatively. “This is the guy I saw on the BBC report, right? The story with the byline of the freelance journalist.” He concludes.

“Right, he was in charge of a black op, to extract two state department officials. They had been ‘relocated’ by ‘unfriendlies,’ at an undisclosed location. One was from the US, the other was a British minister of something.” I supply vaguely.

“All I know was on the news. Harm can’t and won’t talk about the classified part, if he even knows, and he can’t discuss the case. In the event it comes to court martial, I could be on the other side.”

“I remember the story,” Bud continues, “the Brit was seriously wounded, but when they passed near the school with the trapped children, he insisted the SEALs rescue them. The US official is complaining that Kensington, that’s his name, isn’t it?” I nod, and he continues, “that Kensington risked their lives, and the success of the mission in doing so. The British minister maintains that, from a humanitarian standpoint, once they were aware of the children’s danger, they had no choice. The school was caught in crossfire, wasn’t it?” This must be difficult for Bud to discuss. Schools and children in a war torn country, dealt him his injury, and almost cost him his career.

“The reporter claimed to have information,” he continues bravely, “from the families of the children, that the people they were fighting, were using faulty targeting equipment. Neither side knew the school was occupied. It was only a short time, before the school was turned to rubble; it had already taken several hits. If that nine year old hadn’t climbed out a back window, and found help, while everyone else hid under the furniture, the teacher and all seven children would have been killed.”

“Once they were safe the free-lance reporter sold his story to the highest bidder,” I supply the finish, “and it became world wide news. Now they can’t sweep it under the rug, but that Admiral, and several people at State, do not want to reward him, in spite of the fact that the public has acclaimed him a hero. They feel he overstepped his authority, and didn’t use the proper chain of command, when he wanted to change the mission parameters. It’s likely he knew permission would be denied, but proving or disproving it will be tough. That part is Harm’s job.”

“But didn’t this happen several months ago?”

“Yes. It did. About three months ago I think. But nothing was said until the request for his medal had reached a certain level in the chain of command. It was when it came to the attention of the Admiral and his friend from State, that the charges were filed.” I explain

“Wow, what a mess.” Bud comments in wonder, then he chuckles. “But I’ve never seen anyone better at untangling a giant can of worms, than the Commander.” It’s a slip, because he isn’t aware of Harm’s promotion.

“Captain,” I correct him, with a proud smile.

“Excuse me?” He’s both pleased and surprised.

“He’s a Captain, Bud.” The warmth and pleasure I feel, every time my thoughts and heart stray to Harm, only serves to confuse me more, contrasted with the feelings of the dream.

“Really? How cool is that?” He is so pleased he reverts to a vernacular I have rarely heard him use, lately. Bud hasn’t allowed himself to relax for quite a while. “Captain!” he muses again, “Awl right!!”

I unwind into my seat, as Bud enjoys this new information. He is taking great pleasure in handling my car, for the moment. However, I know his mind will come back to the issue at hand soon enough. It has to be discussed; I truly need his help. I just don’t know how to explain it all to him.

As I settle against the smooth leather, I allow my mind to wander to something he said before, ‘it can be hopeless, if we don’t sort it out a piece at a time’. Perhaps Bud can find a way to show me that hope is a reality.

It is relaxing, to ride in the comfort and safety provided, by giving control over to a trusted friend. I’m so very tired from my interrupted sleep. My mind drifts. The sun through the windshield is warm, and it lulls me into a half conscious state. The image of Harm slides through my thoughts, appearing first on the golden sunbeam that warms my eyelids.

But, as I sink deeper, the shadows appear, misty at first, like swirling fog, the tendrils wrap around him. Soon they begin to take form, morphing into a distorted version of the four women in my dreams, they wrap themselves around him covering him, twisting his image, turning light to darkness.

“Harm,” I snap awake, calling his name harshly. For a moment not realizing where I am.

“Are you alright, Mac?” Bud’s soft, strong voice calms me quickly, but I’m shaken by the strength of the image my mind just conjured. For the second time in two days, I’ve seen this image in daytime, this time stronger than the last.

“I’m fine Bud,” I try to cover quickly, “I guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, was it the same dream? You must have been frightened, to call for Harm that way,” he observes.

“Yes Bud, I was,” I take advantage of his misunderstanding; I’m not ready to do this yet. I know I have to, but not yet. Maybe, it’s because I feel we’re getting closer to the dark thing I don’t want to look upon.

Deliberately distracting myself, I check my internal clock and find its 12:27. “What do you say we find a place for lunch,” I suggest. “We’re past Richmond aren’t we?”

He nods, “There’s a nice little restaurant off the highway, about five miles from here. The Comm…uh Captain and I stopped there, last time we traveled this way.”

“Sounds good,” I agree, with forced cheerfulness. I’m not entirely certain I should go anywhere that holds a memory of Harm, yet curse myself for my foolishness.

Every time I open my eyes, my heart convinces me this is all some horrible trick being played on my mind. I’m desperate to sort it all out, and just as desperate, never to give my dark thoughts access to the light of day.

The restaurant proves every bit as good as Bud described. We order from a simple menu, but find every item prepared by hand, as if in someone’s own kitchen. In deference to the mid-morning snack, I take a page from Harm’s book and order a crab salad.

Indulging in a final cup of coffee, before returning to the road, Bud decides it’s time to revisit the original subject. He senses my reluctance to do this willingly.

“Mac, I need to ask you some questions. Before we get down there, we really need a plan. If what you suspect is true, we could meet with resistance, even hostility. We can’t solve this, if you and I aren’t on the same page.” He states reasonably.

I want to jump up and run into the woods behind this building, instead of answering a single question, but I know this must be done. I know he’s right. I sigh deeply and prepare myself the best I can. “What do you want to know Bud?”

“You said there were four women, right?” He lowers his voice, even though we are sitting in the rear of the room by a large window.

“Right,” easy enough.

“What did they look like?”

“What do you mean?” I’m puzzled.

“General appearance. Describe them if you can,” he prompts. I think I know where he’s going. Some serial killers are motivated by a personal relationship.

“I don’t know,” I start allowing my mind to wander briefly into each image, pulling back before I’m captured by the spell. “Sort of like me, I guess,” I supply, as I process this chilling new discovery. “Dark hair average build,” my thoughts scream in denial.

He nods. “You’re a little taller than average,” he suggests

“It’s hard to tell, they are all laying down, sort of crumpled,” my voice wavers. After a steadying breath, I continue, “still I would say taller, rather than short. Not overweight but not thin either that’s about all. Bud you…what do you think it means?”

“There’s not enough information yet Mac. Remember what I said, we have to put this together slowly.” He comforts. I almost believe he knows what thoughts are torturing my mind.

“What about their faces can you see their faces.” He continues calmly.

“Yes, not very distinctly, but I would know them if I saw them again.” I’m beginning to tremble

He nods again digesting this information. “When did you have each dream? When was the first one?” he asks switching tracks again.

I can remember it with crystal clarity. It was the week I was in Norfolk on a case, after that dreadful last encounter with Harm. I stayed the weekend in Virginia Beach. Harm had left on his first CIA mission, my mind clutches to the thought, that this may have had something to do with his work for the CIA. Could that be the explanation? But that doesn’t really work, he no longer works for them, and there was a death this weekend. Or does he? Do they ever really let someone go? God my head hurts……

“Ma’am… uh Mac,” Bud breaks into my thoughts, “the first dream, can you remember?”

“Yes Bud, I was assigned a case in Norfolk. I came down and spent the weekend in Virginia Beach. It was three months ago, the week Harm left for his first assignment with the CIA,” I finish, my voice shaking.

He nods for a minute. “So, that’s where you were.”

“Excuse me,” I’m confused now.

“The Admiral was livid. He kept calling me, and Sturgis, to find out if we had heard from you. Harm called him four times that weekend, trying to find you. He was relentless, finally the Admiral hung up on him, after telling him not to call again. It was a real mess. The Admiral was angry the entire week you were gone,” he explains.

“I…I let the battery on my cell phone go dead,” I explain lamely. “The Admiral assigned the case, he should have known where to find me,” I add defensively. Even I wouldn’t believe it, why should they, but it’s my story and I’m sticking to it. So, it was Harm making waves, Webb indicated as much, but never actually confirmed it.

“You saw Harm before he left, didn’t you?” this question sounds more personal.

I hesitate for several moments before nodding.

“Nasty fight?” He concludes.

Again, I nod.

He just sighs, accepting that what Harm and I have, has been gained by a road hard traveled. No one could ever accuse our relationship of resembling a fairy tale. Although, I smile briefly at the fantasy quality of his final approach, and our joint surrender,

Seeing my ghost of a smile, he brightens somewhat, “I guess it all finally worked out, huh Mac?” he says almost like a kid referring to his favorite bedtime story.

“Yeah Bud. Yeah it sure did.” I’m reassuring myself as much as him.

For a few minutes, we look out the window, watching several horses graze peacefully in the pasture nearby. The tranquility of the scene has a calming effect, and we both regain the strength to continue. I harden my resolve. I really need to get this out, to share the burden. I’m not sure I can carry it much longer.

We look back at each other in mutual agreement. At the same instant, he reads my eyes and continues.

“What about the other two Mac, when did they happen?” He questions gently.

I take a deep breath, “One was about a month later, and the other was just about four weeks ago, just before Harm and I….before we found each other again,” I finish in a rush.

“And you saw the same thing?” He queries.

“Yeah, just about, the middle two are less distinct, but still very real. The women’s faces are different, the scene is nearly identical, the way they’re killed the same, the… the man is the same.” I finish in a rush.

“So, the scenes and the man are all identical, just the faces are different?” He’s pushing at me.

“Yes….uh, no, not exactly.” I’m grasping at wisps of memories, trying not to be trapped by them.

“Ma’am?” He slips.

“Not exactly… Bud, the first one is different,” I only just now realize.

“How different?”

“I’m not sure… it’s the floor, that’s it, she on a floor, not a bed, at the foot of the stairs,” I whisper.

“Like she fell?” he asks

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think she was pushed.” My voice is barely controlled, now.

“But it’s still the same man?” he reiterates.

I sob a quiet, “Yes,” as I nod my head.

I can’t say any more now. I excuse myself quickly and head for the ladies room. After several gallons of cold water on my face, between sessions of crying, until no more tears will come, I finally compose myself. Once again, I regain the tough façade of Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, JAG’s Chief of Staff. It takes me a good fifteen minutes, but I forcefully retake control.

I’ve shared the burden, at least the factual part. Now I have to tend to the business of solving this. Hopefully, Bud can help; possibly, the NCIS agent will help, what was his name? Garrett?

I convince myself that telling Bud about the feelings won’t be necessary, he has all the pertinent information, but a nagging little voice tugs at me, whispering I’m wrong.

End of part five

Minds Eye
Part Six

13:20
Restaurant parking lot
South of Richmond

I’m emotionally exhausted. As we pay our bill, and walk back to the car, I feel my nerve endings pinging from the battle raging within me. A battle between the dark and terrible fear that resides in my mind, and the golden wall of hope that protects my soul. The victor in this horrid battle will win my heart. My heart is willing the outcome in favor of my soul, but the onslaught from my mind remains relentless.

“Bud, I need to drive now,” I ask, absently reaching my hand for the keys.

“Sure Mac,” he hands them over. Only then, do I realize I may have hurt his feelings.

I smile at him the best I can, “Nothing personal Bud, I just need to do something physical, to take my mind to a different place. Running the rest of the way to Norfolk isn’t a viable option.”

He grins at the thought and climbs in the passenger side.

“No I don’t suppose it would be,” he agrees as we buckle up.

We pass the rest of the trip in small talk and intermittent bouts of silence, broken by a few best unheard duets to the radio. By the time we pull into the parking area facing the CO’s office, we have lightened our mood considerably. We can once again focus on the task before us. Truthfully, I’m still a little unfocused, but I’m not dwelling on it for now.

Our meeting with the CO, though impromptu, was quickly accomplished. He had little to say to us, other than to apologize for lack of base accommodations. That was pure courtesy on his part. His primary request, addressed the investigation be handled as swiftly and cleanly as possible, so he could concentrate on preparing his men and ships for their mission.

He commented wryly, on the frequent visitation of JAG lawyers and NCIS investigators to the base recently, and he wanted answers that would avoid future incidents.

Although Bud and I weren’t privy to all his references, I assumed he very likely included Harms project, as well as my visit several months ago. We agreed to do everything in our power to find his answers. We were dismissed, after securing his permission to access any records or personnel we deemed necessary.

Back in the car within fifteen minutes, we headed for the Marriott business suites, where Coates had already arranged for our stay. Upon arriving, we were surprised to find a mini suite, with a living and kitchen area, plus two separate bed and bath rooms. Coates efficiency was quickly approaching legendary. I assumed she arranged this, not only to expedite our investigation, but because it was probably cheaper than separate rooms. The kitchen area suggested she wouldn’t welcome a large expense voucher for restaurant meals. Clever young lady.

We dropped off our bags, and freshened up quickly, before heading for Portsmouth and the crime scene. A quick call to the cell phone of NCIS investigator Garrett, produced the impression that his patience with our presence was thin, but his orders to cooperate were firm, so he gave us directions that let us find the place without too much difficulty.

We found ourselves climbing the front steps of a semi townhouse with four attached residences, each had an entrance that faced a different direction. This one faced the rear and a small wooded area. It would be very easy for someone to slip away from here completely unnoticed.

We introduced ourselves to the overtly surly agent in charge, one Jack Garrett, who possessed all the worst aspects of pilot arrogance that I had witnessed over the years.

“I want to make myself clear Colonel, this is my crime scene, you will touch nothing, and any information shared, will be approved by me. Don’t start questioning my staff they have a job to do.” His attitude was classic petty bureaucrat.

“Our joint orders, seem to indicate a cooperative effort is expected by both our superiors,” I challenged him

He backed off only slightly, “You will find Colonel, I will withhold nothing,” he agreed stubbornly, but I had the distinct impression he would release his facts in his own good time.

I wandered around the living room, looking but not touching, gathering a feel for the occupant. Her file said she was married to a deployed Marine Captain, and it was obvious she was using a sizeable portion of both their incomes to provide her accommodations. I asked permission to look at the crime scene, and after additional admonishment to touch nothing, was directed to a bedroom at the head of the stairs.

Fortunately, Bud sensed what my response would be, and was quick on my heels. One look into the room of my nightmare, confirmed that I had witnessed the act with little distortion. I swayed slightly, but Bud steadied me in a way, that made my lapse unnoticeable to any one nearby. I needed to see no more. I knew what had happened, and how. The dark shadow was drifting over my mind again, but as a residual rather than active entity.

We descended the stairs, and as I regained control, I posed the question burning my consciousness.

“Mr. Garrett, have you had reports of any other similar murders?” I asked with what I thought was casual suggestion.

He spun on me, swiftly pointing out, “Colonel I am a senior investigator and I certainly don’t need any reactionary ideas to muddy my investigation. If I had any other matching crimes, I am perfectly capable of making the comparative conclusion. I don’t need you messing things up, by suggesting anything so volatile as serial events. He carefully avoided giving my suggestion the name it deserved.

At that moment, Bud had a stroke of brilliance. Not having spoken more than a few words, he was able to fall easily into a trademark game Harm had taught him, several years ago, and give this overweening little toad, not only a target, but a reason to underestimate him.

“Say sir,” he began, “Our CO told us you used to fly,” he was using his hero worship tone and look. I just sat and watched, my knees were still a little weak from confronting the murder room.

“Yeah, so what?” Garrett replied defensively.

Uh oh, I thought, perhaps another Buxton.

“Well, it’s just that one of my best friends is a pilot, and I just wondered what you fly.” Bud was giving him the full treatment.

“Lieutenant, we are not here to bond, I don’t see how my flying has any bearing on this investigation.” Garrett responded ungraciously.

“No sir,” Bud looked hurt, “It’s just I admire anyone who can fly, and well, I just thought…” he let his voice trail off effectively.

“Fine I flew Vikings off the Guadal, I retired five years ago,” he relented slightly. There was resentment in his tone, but it’s hard for a pilot to turn loose of his flying. We’ve both learned that over the years.

“That must have been terribly interesting,” Bud gushed, then turned to me. “What’s that plane the Commander flies?” He asked somewhat muddled, deliberately misidentifying Harm. “The yellow one with the two wings?”

“You mean the Stearman, Bud?” I played along, not sure where Bud was going.

“A biplane? Garrett is incredulous He flies a biplane?” his tone dripped derision; Bud had him.

“Well, only in his spare time, when he flies for the Navy, he flies the one that has the moving wings.” Bud’s scattered hero worship broke through, because Garrett now fully underestimates him.

“The F-14,” I supply, “mostly that is, although he has flown a C130 and a 747 too.” I’m doing the, not too checked out female, thing now.

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Bud beams, then he turns back, “and you flew a Viking. Wow,” he takes it to the limit. Mentally placing Garrett in the same category with Harm’s accomplishments causes the man’s chest to swell, and he begins to respond to Bud’s admiration.

“Well Lieutenant, I wish there was more I could tell you,” he re-enters the area of the investigation. At this point, he probably has decided we wouldn’t know what to do with a fact if we had one. “The only thing we have is a DNA sample that has been sent to CODIS, a few generic fibers that could have come from uniform cloth, possibly dress blues, and the fact that there was no sign of forced entry into the apartment. The ME has already reported that the sexual encounter was consensual. The fibers may be from her uniform or not, but we may catch a break if the DNA turns up in the database.”

“Has her husband returned?” I asked immediately.

“No Colonel,” he replies disapprovingly, “he is deployed in an unknown location. Chain of command is handling notification. This was apparently an extra curricular affair. Her assailant had sex with her, then cut off her air at her windpipe, most likely with his forearm, before snapping her neck.” I know I pale visibly, at his description as it replays in my head, with all the attendant shadows, but I firmly hold myself from outward reaction.

“And there’s no record of any similar crimes lately, even at other bases?” Bud sneaks the comment in innocently, but Garret reacts strongly again.

“I told you before, I know how to do my job, if there had been others, I would know.” He snaps

“I’m not so sure of that, I think this little lady is on to something,” comes a gravelly voice from behind me.

I turn swiftly, rising to my full height, to see who has dared to use such a dismissive reference to my rank and gender.

I’m stunned to find myself staring into nearly the strongest pair of clear blue eyes I’ve ever seen. The man is taller than Harm, which I’ve usually doubted was gracefully possible. He’s about ten years older, with a heavy mane of wavy silver hair that drapes around his head, only about half and inch too long. He has a massive body, just slightly less than perfectly toned, but showing signs that he works and uses his muscle structure. The tendency towards weight gain, that softens his appearance, is a battle he appears to fight successfully.

His face is dancing with amusement, as though he has overheard most of our conversation, but also contains a core of deadly serious interest in my premise, that allows me to forgive his familiar form of address.

Rather than tear into him, which was my first instinct, I find myself strangely drawn to him, and in a somewhat breathless tone, I respond with, “What do you mean, you think I’m on to something? And, for the record,” I straighten myself, “I’m Lt Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, JAG corps. This,” I wave towards Bud, “is my partner Lt. Bud Roberts.”

He stretches a large, firm, but gentle handshake in my direction, then takes Buds hand as well.

“Welcome to Portsmouth. Too bad the circumstances aren’t better. I’m Sheriff Ben Farraday. As I was saying… by the way,” he looks at me, narrowly, “where did you get the idea there were more murders?”

Bud pipes up and distracts his attention. “We were reading an online seminar last week,” he explains smoothly and with complete falsity. “It suggested that sometimes murders containing certain elements, are actually serial in nature, but you need the resources to search for the other crimes. Occasionally, distance or jurisdiction can allow them to go unidentified for lengthy periods of time.” I stare at him in amazement. Perhaps his response was not entirely fictional, in any case it diverted the sheriffs attention momentarily from me. “Now sir, you were saying?” Bud prompts innocently.

Sheriff Farraday eyes Bud for a moment with perfect understanding of what has occurred, but insufficient evidence to call him on it.

“I was saying,” he continues, “there have been two others in the last three months, and yes, Lieutenant you are correct, they are cross jurisdictional.”

“You know, this is nonsense,” Garrett pipes up, “Colonel, do you have any more questions for me, because if you’re going to go chasing fantasies, I need to get back to work. My information was, you would work on her contacts and personal activities from the base, and share your findings so we could build a complete picture.” He remarks pointedly.

I nod, “That’s my intention, Bud and I will begin as soon as we’re finished here, and report to you when we have pertinent information.” I use my voice, to leave no doubt in his mind, we will conduct our end of the investigation thoroughly.

“Good, then if you have no more question, you’ll excuse me,” and with that, he turns and heads back upstairs.

“Nice guy,” the gravelly voice penetrates my thoughts.

I nod and shrug, before turning my best smile on him, the one that’s only slightly less potent than the one I reserve for Harm. “Sheriff, is there somewhere we can go for coffee? I really want to hear about these other murders.” I stop the charm just short of full scale flirting.

“Well, little lady,” he continues, as he offers his arm, “I think I may have just what you’re looking for.”

I link my hand through his arm in a way that purposely displays the diamond resting there. The knowing smile he returns, as he holds the door of the ‘vette for me, shows me we are on exactly the same page.

Murder investigations are never fun, and this one has such deep issues for me. In spite of that, I think this sheriff is going to prove much more interesting to work with, than the NCIS agent we have left behind.

End of part six

Minds Eye
Part Seven

16:00
Portsmouth

We follow the sheriff to a local coffee shop that is right out of a 50’s film noir. Upon pushing open the heavy chrome and glass door, he allows me to enter first, and I see him signal the waitress with three fingers. We find seats in the rear, at one of the Formica tables. I look around, and take in the counter with its jukebox remotes, the blackboard with the daily specials, the freshly scrubbed but well-worn linoleum floors.

The waitress, whose name is Rosie, arrives expertly balancing a precarious collection of coffee cups, silverware, menus, cream, and coffee. Predictably, the sugar resides on the table, in the customary glass cylinders, with pour top spouts. I would ask how he found this place, but it’s obvious he is completely at home here.

I decline his gracious offer for anything but coffee. However Bud is drawn to the idea of homemade apple pie, and I mentally note to keep an eye on where we eat, and how I indulge when we are together. I have a completely different metabolism from Bud, and it could easily be responsible for him not passing his next physical.

After we have been served, and settle into several sips of excellent coffee, the sheriff turns to me.

“Well now Colonel…” he starts

“Call me Mac,” I smile, “all my friends do.”

“And you think we will be friends?” he studies me.

“Oh yes sir, the Colonel is an excellent judge of character” Bud jumps in, “almost as good as Comm….. that is, Captain Rabb,” then he catches himself, “er… uh… sorry ma’am,” he stumbles.

“It’s Ok Bud, I know what you mean.” I allow his slip.

The Sheriff eyes us carefully as we speak, and waits for an opening.

“Have you two been doing this long?” He asks somewhat amused.

“Oh no sir,” Bud starts again, “you see we only just were assigned to work together…”

“It’s Ok Bud,” I pat his arm, as I see Ben Farrday roll his eyes.

I turn my attention to him and he just shakes his head, “You know you really ought to take this act on the road, you’d make a fortune.”

Bud frowns, and tries to interject again, around a mouthful of pie, but I stop him with a look and turn back.

“I don’t know what you mean Sheriff.” I try my best smile.

“Call me Ben, all my friends do.” He manages to say it without sounding sarcastic.

“And you think we will be friends,” I mimic his earlier statement, also with a straight delivery.

“Not if you two don’t quit trying to mess with me, every time I want some information,” he says almost harshly.

I just look at him for a minute, trying to judge what I’m dealing with, but my gut feeling wins out, and I smile genuinely this time. “What do you want to know Ben?” I ask straightforwardly.

“Now that’s better,” he leans back in his chair, which threatens to bend under his massive frame.

“First Mac,” he begins, “I want to know why you think there have been more murders, and I don’t want any more of your partner’s interference.”

I know I have to tell him something, but I’m not sure I can tell him the truth. He isn’t going to understand, and the way it haunts me, is something difficult to share. I’m not sure what crosses my face, but he studies it closely, watching my silence deepen.

Finally, he speaks first. “You’ve seen them,” he states quietly, but with conviction. “Nightmares or visions,” he asks, going straight to the heart of the matter.

It’s the last thing I expect to hear, and I catch my breath. “Nightmares, mostly. How did you know?” I can barely breathe.

“My Gramma,” he explains, “she used to do the same thing. Spooked the daylights out of the family. She would get that same haunted look on her face that you have, until she figured out what her visions meant. Sometimes she never knew, some of them haunted her until she died.” He shakes his head sadly.

I have nothing to say to that, I’m too stunned to respond.

“Does it happen much?” he asks sympathetically.

“Enough,” I answer.

“What about this case?” he questions.

I take a deep breath, look around, and make a decision. “Four times, mainly. Four different women.” For the second time today, I’m pulling this horror out, and holding it up to the light of day.

“We only have three,” he points out. “Is one in the future?”

“Perhaps,” I shudder, “but I don’t think so. The first one may have looked like an accident, and may have gone undetected.” I describe my nightmares in detail, leaving out only the feelings associated with Harm. Until I figure out what that means, I don’t intend to share it with anyone.

He nods seriously, as though he were being presented with hard evidence gathered at the crime scene. I suddenly gain a new respect for this unlikely ally, who doesn’t discount information because it’s not conventional. On the other hand, I have a feeling he will be ruthless, to whoever did this. I’m still uncertain about the cloud that surrounds Harm. If any of this concerns him, I can only pray there’s some deep explanation, involving his association with the agency. Somehow that doesn’t seem plausible enough to make my mind rest easy.

“Anything else?” he looks sharply at me, as I wander among the memories and emotions of my dreams.

I shake my head and continue, “They are very disturbing the first time; they are literally crystal clear. Then later, they repeat more faintly, like an echo of a memory visited. But lately, they all seem to coalesce, and I’m seeing the victims together, all sort of swirled.” I have to stop and pull my mind away. I’m terrified I’ve said too much, but he seems to understand, and allow for the emotional strain I’m experiencing.

“Yeah, it used to really mess with my Gramma too. I can remember sitting with her at night, sometimes when they were especially clear. You’ve had others?” he questions and I tell him broadly about the other times, Chloe, Harm, and the investigation into Commander Laura Aiken’s death.

“What about things you never learn about, people you never know?” he probes.

I shake my head uncertainly. “I’ve had nightmares for years. Most I can’t remember, except for the feelings afterwards. Some I can relate to…uh… past experience. A few are clearer, but don’t make sense. Maybe it’s just a suggestion, or something else I encounter when I’m awake, something that registers, but isn’t primary in my mind. I can’t really tell. The most vivid ones are about people I know; this is the first time…” I trail off.

“Are you sure there’s no one you know involved?” he studies me suspiciously.

“Well, sheriff,” I try a shaky smile, “until I solve it, I won’t know that, will I?” I answer his question with a question before I continue. “Now, you said you had some cases that matched the murder of Ensign Lansing. There are going to be hard facts there, can you share those? I’d really like to get to the bottom of this, and see if there’s a connection.”

Whatever he’s after, he decides to drop it for now. He seems as intent on solving these murders as I am.

“You’re right Mac, and yes I’m willing to share, but that’s a two way street. This murder may have been military personnel, and she may have been killed by one of yours, but if she wasn’t, I have to deal with the prosecution and trial of a civilian. I will need everything I can get, to lock this son of a bitch up for good.”

I’m mildly shocked, it’s the first time I’ve heard him utter a remotely impolite epithet. “Unfortunately, since NCIS is the original investigator, I can’t officially turn anything over until he sees a reason.” I begin, “I do believe we have a dilemma. However, I would rather see justice done than protocol observed. As long as chain of evidence is preserved and no laws are broken, that will give the defense a loophole, I think we can establish a cautious working relationship, don’t you sheriff?” I ask tilting my head suggestively.

He laughs heartily, “I’ll bet you’re a real piece of work in the courtroom,” he graces Bud with a look, for the first time in several minutes, and Bud just smiles.

He’s dropped the act established at the crime scene, and I’ve felt his inadvertent protectiveness, as Ben and I talked. Now he looks almost proud, “You have no idea sir, you have absolutely no idea.”

A few minutes later, we leave the coffee shop, and take separate paths, with a promise to touch base tomorrow. One of the other murders was Ben’s jurisdiction, but the second belonged to the chief in Newport News, and he will be hard pressed to get the full file. He has a file, collected from various personal sources, but it is neither the complete file nor the official one. Eventually we may have to subpoena that one, or get the FBI involved, if we find enough evidence before we reach a solution.

Bud and I drive directly to the base to talk to Ensign Lansing’s coworkers. We will have a better idea of what we are looking for, after we have more information about her background and recent activities. Somewhere, this evening I hope we can make a connection with Harm. I have to find the answers; I have to prove this has nothing to do with him.

19:30
Marriott suites

“Hi sweetheart, are you hungry?” I hear on my cell phone, the only voice that can make me smile, at this moment. I was just about to send Bud to dinner on his own. It’s been an exhausting day, both physically and emotionally, and for once in recent history, I truly didn’t feel like eating.

One sentence, delivered by that voice, has turned the entire evening around for me.

“Uh, sure Harm,” I’m somewhat at a loss here, “Bud and I are sharing a suite, where are you?”

“I’m down in the lobby,” his cheerful voice continues, “with enough bags of Chinese to feed the 7th Cavalry.”

“Harm, how did you find us?” He can be full of surprises.

“Need to know,” he jokes, “after all, I used to be a spook.” He laughs, obviously amusing himself.

“Oh Harm,” I exclaim, patiently, “come on up. Since you’re so smart, I don’t need to tell you the room number,” I tease.

“Uh… well, my source didn’t have that information,” he falters a little, “can I bribe you with…?”

“It’s 925 Harm,” I provide knowing he has a bag full of my favorites, and suddenly I’m starving.

“Be right up,” he closes the connection.

Bud and Harms reunion is heartwarming. We spend the next hour, stuffing ourselves silly and catching up. Finally, Bud offers to retire, so Harm and I can be alone, but reality intrudes, as we realize that we are both working investigations.

Unfortunately, Harm has to return to base, to continue the work he missed today, while he was in Washington. Bud and I still have several hours work to do, on the information gathered in our interviews.

Harm and I walk to the door, where he doesn’t resist claiming a goodnight kiss, or maybe two. It will have to replace the activity we both would prefer to indulge in. Bud gallantly volunteers to clear the food and put the leftovers away.

I suddenly question if ending this separation from Harm, is going to become the primary inducement for getting this case solved. At the moment, the glow surrounding me is pushing aside the shadows that truly motivate me.

After Harm leaves, Bud and I spend an hour correlating the interviews with Ensign Lansing’s coworkers. Most of them didn’t socialize with her, and had no actual knowledge of her habits. But one, an Ensign Carlyle, had been to a small gathering the previous week, to celebrate her new assignment. Carlyle claimed to have gone home early, but mentioned she thought Lansing might have met someone, and was evasive about some of her responses. Bud and I determine to re-interview her tomorrow. She seems to be our strongest lead, at this point.

The day is catching up with me. This is not normal, as I’m often able to work long hours during an investigation. However we are at a standstill, and the fear, frustration and stress I’ve experienced today have taken their toll. It was difficult telling Bud about the dreams, but sharing them with a near stranger has multiplied the exhaustion. I finally accept the fact, that without rest I will do this investigation no good at all. And I’m driven to find the truth.

It is equally unusual, that I feel myself drifting to sleep, almost the minute I touch my pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After all the darkness, it’s warming to see Harm walking towards me, arms outstretched. He calls my name, but I can’t hear his voice.

I hear them. They are surrounding him, holding him back, the cloud is forming. They float through the cloud covering him, smothering him, wailing mournfully, screaming for help.

He reaches for me, but he is held back, all I hear are the cries of the women, and the voice repeating, ‘you can’t trust them, they will betray you, we give them everything, and they betray you, you can’t ever trust, you can never trust, they will betray…..’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Harm, oh god, Harm!” I scream over, and over, I’m running to him, crying his name. Strong arms catch me, hold me, but they aren’t his arms. I fight frantically, screaming ‘Harm’ again, and again, the arms that hold me are shaking me, I fight but they are strong, I’m surprised they are so strong, why am I so surprised?

“Mac…Mac, wake up Mac, please,” the arms shake me again.

Finally, I understand, it’s Bud, he’s holding me, shaking me, soothing me.

“Mac please, it’s ok, please, it’s just a dream, please wake up.” I look up into his very concerned eyes.

It’s Harm, isn’t it Mac, it’s him you see? Something about Harm, that’s why you’re so upset.” Bud asks, his voice deep with sympathy.

I can’t hold it any more, the sobs come, and I can’t stop them. Bud knows, god help me, Bud knows. ‘Please god, let him help me,’ I pray silently. I sink to the couch, as the wracking sobs pour out against his shoulder.

End of part seven

Minds Eye
Part Eight

Marriott Suites
06:00

Struggling from the fog of an exhausted sleep, I question where to concentrate my attention. I’m divided between the grogginess and cramped muscles of sleeping on the couch where Bud left me, after laying a blanket over me; or the new terror, that Bud now knows everything. The first can re repaired with a hot shower and strong coffee. The second could be catastrophic. I can’t bear this anymore. I have to find a way to know this isn’t Harm. My heart tells me, and my soul. The logical investigator in me says the evidence is barely circumstantial. It’s only this ghastly feeling, of Harms presence in the dreams, which causes my shattering doubt.

Today. Today I will find a way to know. This isn’t about evidence. If he were any other person I could question him, search his whereabouts at the time of the crimes, even check his DNA. Harm would give permission. If it were anyone else. However, it isn’t anyone else, it’s Harm, and I can’t ask. I cannot allow my lack of faith in him to go that far, to a need to ask.

He’d answer my questions, but something would die between us, because I had to ask. No, I have to find this deep inside myself, somehow I have to know, without a shadow of a doubt, and I have to do it without evidence. Dammit! it’s just a feeling, and as Bud says, feelings can confuse things. I just have to determine why this feeling exists. I know somehow, somewhere, there is a reason for it. I have to find it.

10:30 JAG office
Norfolk Naval station

Returning to the base this morning, we interviewed more of Ensign Lansing’s coworkers, people who had been unavailable yesterday. After discussing what we learned, which was little, Bud went to touch bases with the security police and I sent for Ensign Carlyle. We thought perhaps, she might speak more freely, if I were alone.

It is normally not my habit, to make a reluctant witness comfortable; however, I felt she had information that was vital. Whether she knew it or not, remained to be seen. There would be time enough to take a tough line if necessary.

The ensign enters our temporary office, with a definite look of trepidation on her face. I could almost believe she is frightened; the question is why.

“Have a seat ensign,” I invite, trying to relax her. She won’t volunteer anything at attention.

Yes, the look on her face closely resembles frightened stubbornness. Her superficial similarity to the dead woman, as well as the other women in my dreams, is not lost on me.

“Ensign, yesterday you told me you went to a party for the deceased,” I consult my notes, “at a club, on the Portsmouth waterfront, called ‘Beaches’. Is that correct?”

“Yes ma’am,” she answers stiffly.

“And that was Friday?” I ask, to see if she will be consistent.

“No ma’am, it was Saturday. Four of us went to the club to celebrate Laura’s new assignment.” She corrects me with veiled contempt for my inefficiency. I consider trying Bud’s game on her. We’ll see.

“I see, and you said she met someone?” I continue casually, as though her information had little importance.

“Most people go there to meet someone ma’am, it’s that kind of place.” Her manner now patronizingly indicates I might be too old to recognize the type of establishment in question. Her demeanor could be termed insolent, if I didn’t have a deep feeling she’s terrified. I try a different angle.

“You’re married aren’t you Ensign?” I approach this question as though it were an accusation.

“Yes ma’am,” she answers stiffly.

“Your husband is deployed?” I push further.

“Yes ma’am, and for the record, I want to say I’m very happy. I only went with the others to celebrate. That’s why I left early; I went home.” She’s defensive now.

“What do you mean?” She can go in several directions with the answer to that one.

“Well, Laura and one of the other women were married as well. I went along, sort of figuring on safety in numbers. You know ma’am, girls’ night out.” She’s not quite so impolite, this time.

“Go on,” I nod encouragingly. I have her almost turned around now. Just a little more.

“It was Ok for a while, but then…Ma’am, I really don’t want to speak ill, but…,” she falters. Something is holding her back.

“Please tell me ensign; at least it might help us find him.” I prod gently.

“Well, the other women started flirting with the men who were hanging around. We were approached almost as soon as we arrived, and we sort of stayed to ourselves for a while, but after a few drinks the two single women started really flirting…, Laura and her friend Jaynie said something about not being outdone. Ma’am I couldn’t do it, I wasn’t there for that, I love my husband. So I left.” Concern for her own reputation is breaking her down.

“Did any of the men approach you?” I ask pointedly. I still believe there is more.

“A lot of them talked to us all, you know, they would stop by the table, talk a while, drift off, then come back. I didn’t mind small talk and all, but when the subjects became more personal….um….more suggestive, I excused myself and went home.” Her reply is vague. She keeps emphasizing how she went home. There is still something here.

“Now, you said Laura, Ensign Lansing, spoke of someone she met?” I try another change of subject.

“Yes ma’am,” I was going to have to drag this out of her.

“Did she tell you who?” I ask with false patience. I’m tired, and not in the mood any longer.

“No, she didn’t tell me a name.” Not helpful, but it could be the truth.

“But you know who it was?” I corner her.

“No ma’am, not for sure, there were a lot of men there. Everyone was talking to everyone. I left before the choosing of partners really became serious. Look, I know what she did was wrong, but she didn’t deserve to die.” She started to cry.

“No, you’re right, she didn’t deserve to die.” I agree quietly. I still feel she’s hiding something, but I can’t put my finger on it. She neatly sidestepped my question. I dismiss her back to her duties for now.

11:30 JAG office
Norfolk Naval Base

My cell phone rings, and a familiar voice greets me with the sound of a warm smile.

“Hi little lady, you about ready to swap some information?” His voice always seems to contain a note of simple laughter.

“Hi Ben,” I laugh lightly in response. His friendship is fast becoming one of the warm spots of this investigation. I’m amazed that I don’t get angry at his form of address, but I just can’t make myself be offended by it.

“Look, Bud and I are just finishing here, and then we’re heading back to the hotel to sort it all out. But first we have to check with the NCIS agent Garrett. I need to let him know what I’ve found, which isn’t much, and see if he has anything. Want to stop by about 14:00 we’ll be there by then?” I offer. “It’s the Marriott suites, by the waterfront in Norfolk, room 925.”

“Navy letting you people share a room now? Maybe I should have stayed in a little longer,” he teases.

“Ben,” I explain not too patiently, “it’s a suite; we each have our own rooms.”

He chuckles because he knows he’s pushed my buttons. I can’t believe how quickly I’ve become comfortable with a perfect stranger. Nevertheless, I also possess an underlying crankiness, because of my disrupted sleep, and the reason behind it. I need to curtail that emotion. I won’t accomplish anything, if I alienate everyone who can help, and Ben is much too perceptive to allow him access to my real feelings.

We agree on the time and after hanging up, I call Bud. He’s nearly ready to go back, and I start reviewing this morning’s interview while I wait for him.

A short time later

Navigating the roads is a bear because it’s lunchtime. It takes most of two hours to get to the NCIS office and then back to our hotel. Bud makes short work of the leftover Chinese food, but I decline. My stomach is still upset from last night, and the light breakfast I had isn’t sitting well.

We haven’t had time to talk about what happened, and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, but I’m not feeling anything different in Bud’s attitude, and that’s a small comfort. If Bud were attaching a great amount of importance to this newly revealed part of my dreams, he would be deeply troubled. He has been thoughtful this morning, but not troubled.

At once, I have the feeling there is something bedeviling his mind that won’t give him rest.

“What is it Bud?” I ask, aware of what I’m opening up.

“It’s about your dream, or nightmare, Mac.” His voice is quiet, but firm. I need to give him some answers.

“Last night, or the others?” I stall.

“Well, last night but the others too I guess.” He seems to be looking for specific information, but uncertain where to find it.

I take a deep breath, “What can I tell you?”

“When you told me about them, the dreams, I told you not to include the feelings….could you explain the feelings now?”

“I think I gave you most of it last night, Bud,” I reply, God I don’t want to go into this.

“Not really, only that you feel or see Harm in these dreams. Which is it Mac?” he tries for clarification as gently as possible.

“Both, depends on the dream.” I frown not certain what he is after, I hadn’t really separated the two messages.

“Revisiting this is tough, I know, but it would help to sort it out, if you can. Can you be more specific?” he forges on.

He’s hesitant but stubborn, I know he doesn’t want to push, but something is driving him. I decide to trust his instincts; mine seem to be impaired.

Closing my eyes, I concentrate; consciously picturing the dreams is much too easy, and very disturbing. Trying to sort the attached emotions is almost more than I can handle.

I take several deep breaths and open my eyes. “I see the murder scene, as I told you,” he nods, “virtually as we saw it yesterday.”

He waits patiently a look of deep concern on his face. Finally he asks, “What do you feel when you see this image? Mac do you think the man you see is Harm?”

“No!!” My answer is explosive and quick, erupting from deep inside.

He just looks at me, “What do you feel? Do you feel it’s him?”

“No,” again, then, “No Bud, I feel Harm’s presence, and I feel a very black presence. Sometimes, I feel they are the same, but still not the same, but I really don’t feel it’s him. I don’t think so anyway. Different parts of me are telling me different things.” That sounds confusing, and I’m not completely convinced, but another part of my mind just succumbed.

“Fair enough, now what about the other dreams?” He presses on.

Slowly my mind drifts over the other scene, it almost disturbs me more. It’s less specific but somehow more symbolic, but symbolic of what?

“I see all the women, they sort of float around Harm, he’s reaching for me, calling me, but I don’t hear his words. They seem to be surrounding him, holding him or closing him off….I don’t know, it just doesn’t make sense, Bud. Why Harm, why is he there…. he can’t be involved…. yet his presence….” I let the rest hang. I know I’m rambling; this is making me crazy. I feel like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Mac. Mac I’m sorry, truly. I know how upsetting this must be. Don’t you see, Harm’s presence is there for a reason? We just have to find the reason. We both know Harm wouldn’t be involved with anything like this, but there is some connection.” He turns thoughtful. “I keep almost forming a thought. It’s sort of on the tip of my brain,” he smiles slightly at the twisted turn of phrase.

“Bud, this all started months ago. Harm was with the CIA, what if….” I start but I can’t seem to put full voice to the thought.

“Maybe,” he sounds doubtful, “I don’t really think so. No, this doesn’t feel like CIA, and anyway Harm was a pilot. If they tried to make him into an assassin, he would have walked. We both know that. No, I think it’s something else. We don’t have all the information. It’s like having the most important piece of a puzzle missing, the one that holds the others all together. It’s sort of like Harm is the key, but we just don’t know which door.” By the time he finishes, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself.

I nod my head, both confused and consoled by what Bud is saying. Somewhere in this mess, there’s an answer. I feel it too. If I could just clear my head, I know I could find it.

A knock at the door brings me out of my reverie.

“Hi there, Bud, where’s my favorite Marine?” I hear Ben’s voice. “I think we have some horse trading to do.”

End of part eight

Minds Eye
Part Nine

“Hi Ben,” I call, almost too cheerfully. “Come in.” I’m relieved for the moment to avoid more questions, yet strangely comforted by Bud’s confidence. I know, however, I must hide these revelations from Ben. He’s been much too perceptive, and I have a gut feeling, given his experience with his grandmother, he will need little in the way of clues to understand everything. I can’t put Harm at risk until I understand it all myself.

Ben enters with a smile of accomplishment a mile wide. “I’d say you’ll never believe what I found, but I think you may be more worried about how accurately you saw everything,” he begins, with a tinge of concern.

I try a reassuring look, as I anticipate the information he has brought. “Maybe, but this case cannot come to a conclusion too soon for me,” I declare.

Though a tiny part of my mind is still unconvinced, dreading the outcome, the remainder is fighting harder to dispel my fears. I know there is something I need to find deep inside me that will hold the key.

As we begin to spread the files for sharing, Bud suggests lunch. I cock an eyebrow because he has just polished off the leftover Chinese, but as he logically points out, we have a guest who may not have eaten lunch. I also know he is worried that I haven’t taken much food today.

“You know Bud that sounds terrific, I didn’t realize how hungry I was until you mentioned it,” Ben agrees, once again reading everyone’s mind. “Why don’t you hand me that menu?”

After ordering a huge hamburger, he pointedly passes the menu to me, with a look that suggests ‘no’ is not an option. I sometimes wonder at this universal male obligation to save me from myself. However, at the moment I’m too tired, confused, and emotionally drained, to fight. I surrender to a salad and a bowl of chicken soup. Bud orders a sandwich, then offers to make fresh coffee. Ben’s robust appetite and outgoing manner are having a positive effect on my outlook.

The food arrives as Bud’s coffee finishes brewing, and we arrange ourselves around the table for a working lunch.

I hear Bud chuckle, and look up as he pours the coffee.

“I’m sorry Mac, it’s just you’re usually the one ordering the double everything cheeseburger, and the Captain has the salad.” I smile at the irony, avoiding the penetrating gaze of the local sheriff. He already senses something is wrong; I don’t need him gathering any more information.

“Captain?” He queries, before devouring a portion of a steak fry.

Bud smiles and distracts Ben handily. “They used to be partners. The Commander….um well, he was the Commander then…. he used to tease the Colonel unmercifully about her eating habits.” He explains ingenuously, as he examines, then launches an attack on his ham and cheese.

“What happened, was he transferred?” he asks sensing something deeper.

“Oh no,” Bud explains as only he can. “They just can’t be partners any more.” Somehow, Bud’s angelic innocence tells more than a blatantly suggestive look or comment would.

“Ahhh! I see,” Ben leaps to the correct conclusion. “The ring?”

I nod and smile, as an unblemished image of Harm, all white and gold, passes through my mind. I’m not certain why I always have the best images of Harm in his whites. Perhaps for now, it is because he is so often surrounded by darkness in my mind. The no-nonsense, business like heaviness of the dark blue is too overwhelming. My mind craves the brightness of the whites with gold wings.

He sees the look that grazes my face, “Someone very special I take it?”

“Very special, Ben,” I reply, feeling almost like a schoolgirl, revealing her first crush.

“How long did you work together?” he probes further.

“Seven years,” I’m guarded now, not certain why he is asking.

“It took him that long?” he exclaims incredulously. His meaning is obvious.

“It took us both that long,” I explain, with a revealing sigh.

He seems to accept that, but I know how his memory banks work, they work a lot like Harm’s. He is more interested in the tone of my response than the words. For now, we return to the files.

I share what I’ve uncovered about the club and Ensign Carlyle, and he suggests a few questions that should have occurred to me. I’m embarrassed for the depth of my distraction, and he notices my subtle self-chastisement. I have a feeling my lapse surprised him as well.

Although the files are arranged differently, the information contained is so identical it could have all been taken from the same investigation.

Aside from names and addresses, the facts are eerily similar. All three women were married, their husbands deployed overseas. All had been to the club ‘Beaches’ within two weeks of their death. All had confided to a co-worker of meeting someone they planned to see again. Each one had a consensual sexual encounter within hours of their death, and the DNA left behind was identical and unidentified. Finally, and most frightening they were all killed precisely the same way. The air supply was diminished until they lost consciousness, before their necks were snapped.

There is little doubt it was the work of one man, and now that we had the information we would be required to contact the FBI. The only loophole we had, to give ourselves a few hours, was that we shouldn’t have this information. Ben wasn’t entitled to the NCIS investigation, nor to my files. I wasn’t entitled to his investigation and the third murder was a file cobbled together of newspaper articles and hand written notes. We would have to work fast. The only thing missing was the information on the first death. We still had nothing.

“Colonel,” Bud breaks our concentration, “when did you say you had the first dream?” He asks absently.

“The week Harm went to fly for the CIA,” I answer in an unguarded split second, fear immediately flooding my veins as I realize I’ve made an indiscreet disclosure.

“Harm? Who is Harm?” is the only reaction from Ben. He either hasn’t realized the importance of my statement, or mistakes my reaction to it. I’m not comfortable with either explanation.

“Captain Rabb,” Bud maintains a conversational demeanor, as though it had no importance other than fixing a date.

“The same Captain?” Ben asks, tapping my ring lightly with his pen. I nod mutely, hoping this proves sufficient distraction. “Is this the same person as the Commander you referred to, when you were jerking that NCIS guy around?” He seems amused.

Bud nods and blushes at having been caught out. I wonder at Ben’s perceptiveness, but how we have completely skirted, what is to me the most important aspect of this case, astonishes me further.

“But he’s Navy, what was he doing flying for the CIA?” Oh god, now this is going to get complicated. How can I speak of Harm in detail, without revealing the emotions I’ve worked so hard to conceal?

“A long and dreary story,” I sigh, with tired despair creeping into my voice.

His look is intensely curious, but undemanding. I have the sudden deep feeling his interest is as a friend, and not an adversary. I hope I’m right.

“I told you we worked together for a long time,” he nods encouragement. “I was assigned a mission out of the country and it went sour.” I supply further.

“Classified, I assume,” Ben interjects. Nodding, I continue

“Harm came after me, but lost his commission because of it.” He raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t interrupt. “The CIA offered him a job, but after a short time they decided his talents were more suited to the military. Somewhere up the chain of command, someone talked to someone else, and he’s back in the Navy.” This is a seriously condensed account, but I don’t even know all the details, especially of Harm’s reinstatement.

Ben leans back and cocks a sardonic eye at me. “I take it that’s the simple version,” he remarks dryly.

His comment seems to break whatever tension accompanied my recital, and a floodgate opens on comfortable laughter for a few stolen moments.

“You know,” Bud continues, as though he were never interrupted, “it occurred to me, if the sheriff couldn’t find the other murder, or accident, or whatever, maybe it happened on one of the nearby bases. You were so close; it may have been what triggered the first dream.” His musings grab our attention.

We both quicken to the idea, “It’s a long shot, Bud, but a perfectly reasonable one. It’s also going to require a search we may not have time for,” I comment ruefully.

I believe Ben and I have the same agenda. We want to catch this man without outside interference. At least I hope that’s my intention. Snapping back and forth from dedicated investigator to tormented lover is scrambling all my motives, and straining my integrity.

“I’ll go,” Bud suddenly volunteers.

“Bud, you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” I protest

“Really Colonel, I can handle it. I have several ideas, for search parameters that should narrow the results. The only problem will be if I have to visit each base. In that case, I may need the Admiral to clear the way, and that could take some explaining. I may get lucky though, and be able to access all the files from Norfolk.” He smiles confidently. “Let me try Colonel.” I’m suddenly aware of Bud’s residual need to prove himself useful. His recovery, while remarkable, is nowhere near complete as it appears.

I nod my permission, “If you find anything call me.” It’s more an urgent request than an order.

As Bud leaves, I find myself drawn back to the files before me; something definitely bothers me about them. A few minutes later, I discover the cause of my discomfort.

“Ben,” I call. He’s refilling his coffee cup, and turns back to the table.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“This file, the ‘bootleg’ one,” I point to the unofficial file. He leans over my shoulder to see what I’m indicating.

“What about it?” I can feel the hidden satisfaction in his voice.

“The ME’s report, it’s all in longhand, but the information is as complete as the other two that are on regulation forms. Where did you get this?” I direct my challenge into his ice blue eyes. They begin to twinkle

“I have an inside source,” he confides, in his rumbley voice.

I lift my eyebrows, “An inside source?” I query.

He leans a little closer, and in barely a whisper he discloses, “We have five police jurisdictions but only one ME. I’m sleeping with the county coroner, she’s my wife.” At that moment, as we smile over the shared secret, the door opens.

“Hi,” I hear Harm’s voice, cool and hollow.

His immediate response to the scene is one of alpha possessiveness. I sit and watch fascinated, as the wave of male territoriality rolls from him, to ricochet off the walls. In just the amount of time I anticipated, I observe his emotions rebound to wash over him. Swamped by this unnatural reaction, he imperceptibly shakes himself, before resuming the shell of his familiar personality.

“Hi Harm, come on in,” I call. I’m little shocked at his reaction, but without the necessary guilty embarrassment to feed his response. “We’re just going over these case files; I didn’t expect you.”

He looks at me for a moment, as though he wants to remark on how obvious my statement is, but he holds his tongue, and walks uncomfortably across the room.

“Ben, this is Captain Harmon Rabb my fiancé, Harm this is Sheriff Ben Farraday. He’s helping with the case; it took place in his jurisdiction. If our killer turns out to be civilian, Bud and I will be working with him.” To me this explains everything.

Harm nods, and steps forward to offer his hand, like a proper officer and gentleman. Ben stretches his equally large hand in cordial greeting. I wince, wondering if I’m going to hear bones crack.

Harm apparently finds it no small shock, when, upon introduction, he has to look up to greet an adversary. It is possibly one of the very few times in his life this has occurred.

“So, you’re the Captain I’ve been hearing so much about?” Ben opens with disarming sincerity. Harm is quickly taken off guard by his candor.

The byplay between Harm and Ben is subtle, a complex dance that might have gone unnoticed, if I didn’t know Harm so well. He’s succumbing to decidedly un-Harm-like emotions, and I’m uncomfortable with what might be feeding them.

“Well, little lady,” Ben offers, correctly interpreting the atmosphere of the room. “I think my next stop is back in Portsmouth. In about two hours, George’s security team will be at that club, and I want to talk to them.”

“George?” I ask absently, still fixed on Harm’s unusual stance.

“George Larson,” he explains allowing his gaze to drift back to Harm. “He owns ‘Beaches’. It’s not only very popular with the young military and locals; it’s also large. It’s a perfect place for questionable behavior. He keeps about a dozen men on his staff, and his security manager, Jim Baldwin, is an old friend of mine. Jim has an office with a one-way window. He may have spotted something. He has a great memory, and the incident is still fairly fresh. If you hear from Bud let me know. I’ll get back to you with what I find out.” He finishes.

His final look at me is questioning, and I barely nod; indicating I’ll be fine. He has assimilated my feelings today, and may have misinterpreted them. Or maybe not, I’ve become more uncertain, as I become aware of the dark wraiths that slipped silently into the room with Harm.

“Nice to meet you Captain,” he offers, still reluctant to leave, but accepting my tacit dismissal.

“Harm gives him regulation politeness, that would pass muster with most, I’m not certain it gets by Ben. “Nice to meet you sir,” he replies. “I’m sure Mac and Bud appreciate your help.” His smile is very nearly genuine, as the door closes on Ben.

“What’s going on Mac?” He pounces the minute we’re alone. My temper almost flares, a move that will not give me the results I need. My second instinct tells me to withdraw, to seek safety, but I have to do this, I have to know. I do know, but I have to banish the shadows that cling to the doubt.

“What do you mean Harm?” my attempt to be casual rings hollow.

“I feel like I’m losing you. You’re slipping away, he likes you, he’s attracted to you.” Harm nearly accuses.

I could easily dispel his unfounded fears, defend myself, tell him about Ben. But then I would have to tell him the rest, and it will tear us apart further. No, this can’t be all words; this has to play out.

“Perhaps,” I answer, “but nothing’s wrong. I’m not going anywhere.” I stand and walk a few steps away, in contradiction of my words.

“Aren’t you? The distance between us….I might as well be on the other side of the world. I’m telling you he likes you….a lot.” His voice rises slightly as he paces, rubbing his head in fully agitated Harm mode, before turning in my direction.

“What he likes isn’t important, only what I want is important. Do you trust me Harm?”

The line is crossed; there is no going back.

He takes a step closer, I can feel his breath on my neck, but the cloud is so strong so dark. His hands encircle my arms, and I feel the primitive strength in them. I close my eyes, and await what is to come.

End of Part Nine

Minds Eye
Part Ten

“Yes,” his voice comes in a hiss; his hands tighten. Then immediately, “I’m sorry, so sorry,” he softens, as he lays his forehead against my hair.

“Mac I….this is so bizarre….I…I went to the ‘O’ club last night….listening to the talk….the men who have been deployed. Some…. not all…. but some have come home to find their wives, girlfriends, lovers gone….drifted to more accessible relationships. It all seemed so shallow, so unjust. I don’t know what happened…. it was like a cloud…..a black suffocating cloud drifted over me; I felt I was strangling. That doesn’t make sense I know, but….” His voice sounds lost. His dissertation is so rambling, so disjointed but the pieces begin to rearrange in my mind.

“When Harm?” I take a shaky breath.

“What?” He sounds bereft, tangled.

“When….when did this happen?” My voice trembles.

“After I got back to the base, I couldn’t sleep so I went by the club for a beer. 22:30 23:00 maybe. Why?” He sounds confused, but a little stronger

Somehow there’s an answer here, but I tense not knowing how to untangle it. My mind reaches for him suddenly, desperately pulling him in.

He responds to the silent plea, moving his body in contact with mine. “What is it Mac?” “Let me in, let me help,” he pleads gently, as he enfolds me.

His touch is golden, his voice warm, his presence reassuring, in spite of the dark shades that swirl around the room. I know now, he feels them too. The smoky wraiths hold to the edges of our perception, unwilling to intrude on the luster of our union. Fearful of the light that will disperse them, they accept grudgingly, that their retribution lies in our combined strength.

In opposition to all that should be, the closer he comes, the more the shadows recede. I should be afraid, but I am comforted. I reach for his mind and his soul, inflaming him with my needs, coaxing and encouraging, taunting and teasing. A dangerous game I concede, but a necessary one to find the truth. If I perish for my misjudgment, I don’t want to live.

He responds by leading me into an elemental and primitive lovers dance, descending with me to a level never before visited; a level where civilized control is not acknowledged, where passion and desire nourish the soul and the heart finds its own truths. A place we had perpetually yearned for, imagined its existence, but never dared hope to attain.

Lost in the maelstrom of our spirits, tangling, blending, and finally colliding, the force of our impact drops us suddenly back to earth without hope of a breath.

Suddenly, our bodies shudder in unison, and our newborn life as a single entity takes its first gasping breath. Never again will we exist as two, the essence of our survival is as one.

My first awareness is the absence of anguish. The doubts, the fears, the terrors are gone, the shadows banished, replaced by a bond no longer tenuous, but unbreakable as nothing in mortal existence.

I feel him stir, then tremble. His fear is real, but of a completely different nature. He draws me close, and moves to look in my eyes.

“Oh god, Mac,” is all that falls from his lips, before he crushes me to his chest.

Somehow, he straightens my clothing; somehow, he pulls his together, before untangling us from the mundane furnishings of this sterile, impersonal public accommodation. Lifting me, he utters no sound as he carries me through to my private room. Gently setting me on my feet, he turns me to face him.

“I don’t know what happened.” His voice trembles desperately, “Why did that happen, Mac? Can you ever forgive me?” He has just given me the greatest gift of half his immortal soul, and he begs forgiveness. Yet he feels it as well, this unbreakable link, for he holds me close, he searches my eyes. Not running, not hiding, not avoiding, as would certainly have been his response in times past.

“It was me, Harm. I needed you; I needed this. I needed your strength, the power of your heart to fight away the shadows. I couldn’t do it alone, and I had to make them go away.” I try urgently to explain.

“Mac what…please tell me? I felt you moving away, but I didn’t know how to get you back. I was afraid I ruined everything. I don’t understand.” His plea is simple.

“I don’t understand either Harm.” I shake my head. “I don’t know how to explain. It was the nightmares, I couldn’t shake them, they kept getting stronger and stranger, and I couldn’t fight them alone. I needed you to help me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He takes my hands in his and pulls me down beside him on the bed. “You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Because if I told you, I was worried you would hate me. Turn away from me. I had to find it inside myself, but I needed you to help me. This was the only way.” How can I explain I’ve risked our future on an instinctive reaction?

“I’m still confused, what about the nightmares frightened you so badly....? Oh lord, Mac,” he finally understands. “It was me, somehow in those twisted dreams, you saw me?” This time he almost pulls away, but I hold him tight.

“Yes Harm, Yes,” I admit harshly, “but I knew it wasn’t about you, at least the deep down part of me did,” I try to explain something I don’t understand.

He looks curious, cautious, uncertain, yet believing, and more than a little worried; but now the weld has cooled on our bond, and he has no power to turn away. It cannot be broken. “Tell me,” he says simply.

“The murders Harm,” I start, and he nods. “I’ve seen them all.”

“Oh Sarah,” he pulls me close, understanding the depth of my fear, but not interrupting.

“I didn’t understand before, but it’s clearer now; with the fear gone I can think again,” I explain abstractly. “I understand the feelings now, it wasn’t about you; somehow you were bringing it all to me. I still don’t understand how, or why, but you’re like a link, a conduit to what has occurred.” Clarity comes, as I speak it aloud.

“Wait, you said murders. Has there been another?” He is puzzled.

“No, I mean yes, but they were before, not after.” My thoughts tumble out unsorted. “The first was the week you left to fly for the CIA. I was here in Norfolk, and my last day I woke up screaming with the first dream. It haunted me for weeks. Then the second came to me, and about a month ago the third.” I wonder if I’m making this clearer than mud.

“And Sunday was the newest one?” He considers this, “And you felt me in all of them, but how, I wasn’t even in the country most of the time,” he wonders. His tone is not accusatory but that of an investigator.

I look at him, stunned, as I realize in one simple statement he has summed up the solution, or at least the path to the solution.

“No, Harm,” I answer in amazement.

“No, what?” He’s confused again.

“No, you weren’t there, not in the first three.” I exclaim, stumbling on a pertinent truth.

“But, I thought you said…” his effort to unscramble this is valiant.

“I thought so too, but I think in my fear, I extrapolated backward. Now my mind has cleared, and I realize you were only in the last one, and the visions and dreams since Sunday, not in the others.” It’s so clear now.

“God, why couldn’t I see this before?” I ask the air. I start to rise in my nervousness and distress, but he pulls me back, sensing my need for reassurance. I’ve spent days torturing myself, and obviously shunning Harm, for nothing. This clarity, that his presence was lacking in the earlier dreams thrills me, but intensifies the confusion over the messages I received. If not from him, where did they come from, how did I receive them?

“I’m not sure any more Harm,” I almost whimper, “I don’t want to go back into them, but I have to, if I’m to find out what I really saw.” I sink against his hard chest, and dissolve into quiet tears of repentance, frustration and a new fear. There’s a vicious killer out there; I have a connection to him, but no idea who he is. Moreover, I have to stop him before he kills again.

He holds me close soothing me, stroking my back, whispering comforts and love. In a sense, we need a moment to regroup I lose my time sense, as the soothing becomes a caress my response turns outward and open, not demanding and teasing this time, but asking and returning. His giving is gentle and sweet, as we set the capstone to the reconstruction of our love. Our bodies entwine in a restful lovers sleep, the slumber though brief, renews us for the task ahead.

An hour later, we awaken refreshed, though feeling somewhat guilty for the stolen moments.

“I guess I should feel bad for taking you away from your job,” I begin. “I should have been working on those files too, looking for a connection.” We’ve dedicated years to putting the job first, and yet, I find the guilt is only in my words this time, and not in my heart.

He looks at me as he dresses, handing me garments that he sorts from the tangled pile. “I’m not so sure, Mac,” he shakes his head slowly. “Certainly, it’s not a technique I learned in ‘Investigations 101’,” he smiles charmingly, “but this was not an orthodox case. I’m convinced that anything that could clear your mind, and realign your thought processes, might be justified. I guess we just can’t help if it was also fun,” he grins slyly, from the corner of his eye.

I lift my eyebrows in a quick movement, and cock my head at him, “I suppose I don’t have to reveal all my investigative techniques in my report,” I muse.

He laughs and pulls me into a bear hug. “You know what, Mac? We’re still going to be a great team, no matter what the world throws at us. We’re going to be OK.”

I just nod against his chest. I could stay here forever, and yet now that I have a clear path, I can’t wait to work on finding the destination. All the distractions are gone. This must be the way a bloodhound feels, when he quickens to the scent.

Harm knows the look on my face, and concedes the moment. I see the wrinkles appear on his brow. I know those lines; they foretell a thought path all his own.

“What Harm?” I needn’t explain myself; he knows I’m inside his mind.

“I’m not sure, an idea is forming, but it’s not clear. Where’s Bud?” Uh-oh he’s after the fox now.

“He went back to the base to try to find the associated case, the one that started it all.” I explain.

“Does he have an exact date?” he queries.

“No, not exactly, he has a time frame, but I don’t think I pinned it down to an exact day. I was…uh…distracted. I wasn’t correlating the facts clearly, and matching them to the dreams.” Bud warned me to be cautious of the feelings. I was just too close to the subject.

“I know sweetheart,” he brushes my arms with his hands, and lays a soft, comforting kiss on my forehead. His understanding is complete. I’m almost ashamed for having underestimated him, even in the deepest recesses of my mind, where these black messages were received and stored.

“Harm I…”

“Shhh,” he quiets me. “I’m not trying to upset you, and we’ve worked way beyond reasons, apologies, or explanations. We have a job to do.”

“Harm, this isn’t your case. You have your own work.” I’m puzzled he would go off track like this.

“I’m about wrapped up,” he explains, “and I’m not so certain we aren’t on a parallel course. Your case is wrapped around the base SEALs, and so is mine. Somehow we have a cross connection. It brought us together on this for a reason. We can’t do anything for the dead women, but we can be certain there will be no more. Trust me on this, if I’m wrong I don’t want to distract you. Let me check something out, then I’ll share what I’m thinking. I’ll be back in an hour OK?” he barters mysteriously.

I nod, “One hour sailor, then I want answers. I try for sternness, but it doesn’t really work.”

He smiles and kisses my nose, before he slips through the door. Ducking his head back in, he looks serious. “I know you’ll hate me for this, but lock the door and don’t let anyone in, except me, Bud, or your pet sheriff, OK?” He winks mischievously at me, but there is an undercurrent of concern.

“Harm,” I warn him. He closes the door, just as the throw pillow hits where his head was. In this case, I admit to myself, he may have a point. The one thing clear from my dreams now, is that the killer acknowledged my presence. If it’s someone we have already encountered, he may have recognized me. For some reason, my Marine thing decides to be sensible instead of gung ho, and wait for backup. Besides, I still don’t have a suspect. I make a cup of tea, before tackling the files to look for the clues I need.

18:40

I’ve researched the files twice in the last hour, to my utter frustration. The murders are nearly identical, and match my dreams perfectly. The DNA matches on all three, but remains damnably elusive in identity. Whoever he is, his record is spotless. There is no match in any searchable database we can use.

I’m startled from my reverie when my phone rings.

“Mackenzie.”

“Colonel it’s me, Ensign Carlyle.” The shaky voice identifies itself.

“Yes ensign,” my hair is crawling on the back of my neck. “What can I do for you? Have you remembered something else?”

“Uh…not exactly, that is yes, well no. I mean I knew it all the time. Can you meet me? I’m so frightened Colonel.” Something in my stomach identifies her as the next victim.

“Can you come here Ensign, to my hotel?” It seems a safe choice.

“No! Nowhere he can find me.” She shudders audibly.

“He won’t find you here,” I reassure her.

“Yes he can, not there.” She insists stubbornly.

“OK ensign, where?” I surrender, uncertain why she is so afraid to come here.

“Beaches’, meet me at ‘Beaches’ in half an hour,” the line goes dead.

I won’t find out what she wants to tell me by sitting here. ‘Beaches’ is in the opposite direction from the base. Logically, it takes me further from the danger Harm fears, and I know exists. I write Harm and Bud a note, and grab my cap, before I head for the front entrance to hail a cab.

End of part ten

Minds Eye
Chapter Eleven

The cab ride only adds to the agitation of my already highly anxious mental state. Something tells me I shouldn’t be doing this. If I get hurt, Harm will kill me. I contain a rueful chuckle at the allusion. The thought puts my sensors on full alert, as we pull up in front of the club.

As I enter the ‘Happy Hour’ atmosphere, I could kick myself for not changing clothes. My uniform makes me a target. I’m not certain what kind of target, but my worst fear is that the killer may actually be here.

It’s early though, and the after work crowd are just gathering, prepared to enjoy the softer music and lights that allow for quiet conversations, before the more hedonistic rituals begin. The late crowd will expect a stronger atmosphere of darkness, punctuated by bright flashing lights, and music that thunders through their edgy hormones, setting the tone for anticipated alliances.

I pick a seat and order my usual tonic with lime. Pre-emptively, I position myself for a panoramic view of the area behind me, in the huge mirror that backs the bar. From here, I can see the entire room, including the entrance and side exit, with only the slightest movement of my eyes.

She’s fifteen minutes late. I’m getting anxious; she sounded so frightened. I wonder if she decided not to show up, or if this has a more sinister meaning. The sound of my cell buzzing softly in my pocket startles me, and I bark into it more harshly than I intended.

“Mackenzie”

“Mac, where are you,” It’s Harm, and he sounds both angry and worried.

“Harm, I left you a note. Carlyle called, she has information, I think she knows who he is but…..” he cuts me off.

“I know who he is, Mac, where are you,” he demands again, anxiously.

“At ‘Beaches,’ the club in Portsmouth, where are you?”

“I’m in my car; Bud is just ahead of me. We were worried when you didn’t answer the room phone. I thought I told you to stay put.” I hold my temper just long enough to realize that this is bad, if Harm is daring to take that tone with me.

“Harm what’s up? What did you find?” I think my voice holds just a note of fear, that I’ve pushed my luck too far, and he relents a little.

“Ok listen, we’re sure it Kensington.” He blurts without preamble.

“God, Harm. Really, are you certain?” I can’t believe this; it doesn’t make sense. A chill goes through me at the ramifications; not the least of which, is facing down a murderous, combat ready SEAL.

“Too certain to take any chances,” he answers. “According to his records, he came back from his mission the same week you were down here. He apparently discovered his wife was three months pregnant.”

“I take it that wasn’t good,” I leap ahead of his information

“No, it wasn’t,” I can hear Harms jaw clench, “he’d been gone four months. If not for the episode with the school, his deployment would have been for six months. Maybe she thought she could mess with the dates. Who knows? The night after he returned, she fell down the stairs and broke her neck. No one correlated the timing of the pregnancy, they just ruled it a tragic accident, and filed it away. He was supposed to be a hero, Mac, no one suspected a thing. He apparently made it his personal mission to stop this from happening to other servicemen.”

“Still Harm, that’s mostly conjecture, how can you be sure?” It seems to be a leap of logic, but I know Harm’s powers of reasoning. My skin is starting to crawl.

“The DNA, Mac, Bud had a copy with him from the other cases. Since Kensington told the investigators at the time, that he woke up and found his wife dead, they took his DNA to rule out an intruder. It was on file with the security report.” Harm answers coldly.

“So he preyed on anyone who….?” I let the sentence hang, astonished at the conclusion.

“Yes Mac, but right now we can’t find him. You have to get out of there.” Harm insists frantically.

It’s that moment, I feel the enveloping darkness creep over me, my vision turns inward. I’ve fought this for days and months, and now centered in the cloud covering my minds eye, is my own back and head. Slowly, it comes closer, until I feel its cold tendrils on the back of my neck. Straightening in my seat, I lift my gaze to the mirror before me, completing the psychic circle. I find myself staring straight into the deep green eyes of a paradox, a man who is at once, both a hero and a monster. He has found me, he knows me, I am trapped.

I hear Harm’s voice barely cutting through the fog, as he desperately calls my name.

“It’s too late Harm. He’s here, he’s found me.” My voice sounds unearthly to my ears.

“Maaac!!! I hear him cry, as I fold the phone and drop it into my pocket.

Desperately fighting the image and the cloud, I find a small zone of safety, as my Marine training instinctively engages. ‘You know your enemy,’ it whispers, ‘plan your battle, anticipate his moves.’ If I can just stall him, keep him from finding the ensign, maybe Harm will have time…

“Evening colonel,” the silky voice of a national hero slides over me. Softly, suggestively, without foreknowledge, the man’s charm and style could easily win an advantage. Looking at him one would never suspect, the warped mind of a vicious killer lurks beneath the still pond of his penetrating gaze.

“Good evening,” I answer with my most charming smile, a question in my voice. My inquiring tone is accepted byplay, among prowling strangers in a singles bar. I’m familiar with the game; the difficulty is to prolong it.

“Are you waiting for someone?” He doesn’t waste time establishing my availability.

“I don’t know, are you someone,” I smile saucily, sucking on the straw from my drink. I have to slow this down. I can’t be certain he’s made the same connection I have, but for my safety, I have to assume so. This is tricky and dangerous, but I doubt he’ll try anything in here.

“Is it wise to do this in uniform, Colonel?” he arches an eyebrow, not disapproving, more amused.

“I just returned from a trip. I stopped to relax for a few minutes before going home. I so hate to be alone. Don’t you?” I glance at him through my lashes, sounding both vague and specific.

“Yes I do. Are you looking for company?” He seems less interested than he should be; perhaps he isn’t sure about me. That could be an advantage. I decide to play my trump card. Moving my hand, I flash Harm’s ring. I get my reward. His eyes flare, his interest renewed.

“Engaged?” he asks. Now I hear the faint tone of disapproval. It’s masked, nevertheless present.

I nod once. “Deployed,” I explain. “Three months,” I add a dramatic heavy sigh.

“Do you miss him?” He’s curious.

“Sometimes. I miss parts of him,” I smile suggestively, holding my small lunch down with an effort. If he doesn’t take the bait soon, I’m certain to throw up. Harm and Bud can’t be too far away, unless Harm was stopped or speeding.

“I see,” he leans closer. I can feel the heat radiating from him. My first instinct is to have him on the floor, on his face, but I remind myself he is a combat ready SEAL, and he outweighs me by a good eighty pounds of muscle. He is likely to know every trick I know, for hand to hand, as well as a few I never heard of. My mind searches for ways to stall for backup. For once, I have to admit I’m outclassed, there’s no way I can do this alone. My only advantage is surprise, if he doesn’t know me.

Struggling to think clearly, I tear my eyes away from his grasp, for a moment, just a brief moment. I have to break from this filthy charade to clear my thoughts.

Glancing desperately around the room, I see the one thing I hoped to avoid. The terrified face of Ensign Carlyle, as she pushes the side door open, and flees into the dark parking lot.

Quickly I look back to Kensington, hoping to recapture his attention, but my heart sinks when I realize I’m too late. He’s seen Carlyle, and with a knowing smile, he throws me a half salute and turns to the door. He knows who I am; dear god I can feel it. He’s going after our only witness, and he knows I will follow. I can’t allow the woman to be killed; my only hope is that he can’t handle us both. As I hurry through the door behind them, I pray Harm is near. If I can just get to them, perhaps Carlyle and I together, can delay him.

For one brief moment, I feel another presence, but I haven’t time to identify it, before bursting through the door, into the high contrast lighting of the parking lot. Bright lights and deep shadows are difficult to adjust to, after the soft even lighting of the club, and it takes me a fateful moment to locate the ensign, already on the ground between two cars.

Kensington is nowhere to be seen, but I feel his presence. With extreme caution, I move to check the woman. Praying silently she isn’t dead, I approach her limp form, watching the shadows, using my skill and training, to search for danger. My fatal mistake is evident, as I bend to check her pulse point. I see him behind me, as I feel his arm slip silently around my neck, pulling me between the parked vehicles.

As my vision narrows with diminished air, I hear Harm’s voice, “Kensington, let her go, talk to me,” he coaxes with quiet desperation.

“No, he nearly screams, “she’s one of them. I have to stop them from hurting anyone else.” His voice now changed, with an underlying madness.

“No she isn’t, she mine, Commander. She wouldn’t betray me,” he says softly, his voice strong and confident.

“You’re wrong, you’re a fool Rabb. She would have gone with me. She said so,” he declares triumphant in his conquest.

“No she wouldn’t, she knew you; she said that to stop you. It won’t help anyone if you hurt her. Please, let her go,” Harm pleads desperately.

My mind is sinking; my vision is gone, overcome now by a permanent darkness. Somehow, as I drift towards numbing cold, I hear the words “Be still, little lady”.

End of part eleven

Minds Eye
Part Twelve

My next awareness is of strong arms restraining me, something over my face and a pressing tightness around my neck. My instinct to fight resurfaces. As I tear my way to consciousness, fighting and struggling against the restraints, the strong arms become familiar, the muscle structure intimate. The plastic cup over my face falls away, and with a deep, gasping, breath, my lungs fill with the scent of his aftershave, his body. Layered beneath is the unmistakable adrenaline, present from his attempt to save me; and very likely his residual fear when he thought he failed.

“Mac, please” I feel his words tickle my temple. “Mac, it’s ok, you’re safe. Thank god, you’re safe” I relax slightly against him, as my mind, now freed from possession, fights the fog of near asphyxiation.

“Wha…?” my voice croaks unable to form the word.

“Here,” someone hands Harm a bottle of water, and he gently applies it to my lips.

“Thanks,” I offer my gratitude generally, as my throat gathers moisture, and my voice returns. After a few sips I began assessing myself, torn between the comfort of Harms embrace, and a still frantic need for freedom.

“What’s this,” I demand tearing at the restraint around my neck. My returning personal strength, is replacing the weakness that is my voice.

“It’s a collar ma’am, we weren’t sure….” a voice comes from somewhere behind me.

“It’s ok Mac, it’s just a precaution he almost….” Harms voice falters.

“Take it off, Harm.” I demand interrupting him.

“Maaaac.” I know that tone, and it’s pissing me off.

“Hold on a minute,” he bargains, looking to the medic.

“Ma’am we can’t do that until….” His tone is placating but it’s not helping.

“Harm please,” I plead, getting agitated. “I can’t breathe, please.” my voice is rising as I claw at the offending appliance.

“Ma’am please listen,” his voice, lowered slightly, is soothing and deeply concerned, “let me give you some air.” he replaces the heavy mask from before, with a small plastic tube, almost as effective, but less intrusive. “Now, just breathe slow and deep ma’am, that’s it slow and deep, in and out. He drags the words in an hypnotic cadence that is strangely calming. I take a deep gasping breath, then another; each comes easier.

One second at a time my agitation is released, my nerves untense, and I melt more closely against Harm’s surrounding arms, nearly succumbing to an overwhelming sleepiness.

In a smaller voice, I finally protest, “But I’m really alright, really.” Harm looks unconvinced.

“Ma’am, I’d say judging by the salad on your uniform, you’ve been some pretty nasty places, but he had a real bad hold on you, and we just want to be sure, ok? We want to get you back in action. Just let us be sure there won’t be any problems,” his drawling voice is sincere and I relent further, turning my head the slight distance it will move. He adjusts his position until I can see him; his name is Darren. He’s very young, maybe twenty-two or three, and very accomplished at his job. “The Captain here is a lot bigger than me,” he gives me a half smile, indicating Harm with a nod, “and I sure don’t want to have to go head on with him again. We had to pry you away from him; you were out for about…”

Six minutes and forty seven seconds,” I provide to his astonishment. He looks at Harm with his mouth open.

“It’s a Marine thing,” Harm grins nervously at him.

“A little bit of déjà vu sailor?” I smile apologetically

“Something like that,” he turns to Darren, “Sorry,” he offers, for whatever his previous behavior had been.

“You two must have an interesting history,” the medic ventures, looking between us and catching the unspoken intimacy.

“Yeah,” I lock my eyes on Harm, “and we’re about to start having an interesting future.”

“Thanks, Mac,” Harm breathes a sigh of relief, as I relax completely.

I still object to all this coddling and the restraint, but my trust in Harm allows it. As my mind clears more, parts of my memory return.

“Thank you flyboy, thanks for saving my six. I owe you one. Tell me what happened,” I look up at Harm. He’s propped on the side of the gurney that I now realize I’m occupying. His arms surround me and he’s half leaning into me to keep me still. As I relax, he sits back slightly, but his arms remain against me for comfort.

“Well to start with, you have two other people to thank. Bud found the file before I arrived, and correlated it with your dream,” he explains. “After we cross checked all our information, we sent the base guards to check the commander’s residence with no luck.”

I lift my eyes to see Bud standing behind Harm, a mile wide grin on his face, “Glad you’re all right ma’am, uh…Mac,” he says, uncertain which address to use. “You really had us worried. The Captain, that is Harm, was the one who figured out all the motivation. When we checked the gate, and found he had left the base….”Bud let the sentence hang. We all appreciate what Harms reaction was at that point.

“Thanks Bud, I knew I could count on you.” I offer sincerely.

“And Ben was already in position when I arrived,” he indicates Ben Farraday, who is just approaching from the other side.

“Ben, it was you I felt.” I move my glance to the familiar china blue eyes, and tousled silver mane.

“I was in the security office talking with Jim,” he nods, “when he recognized the Commander as a regular. I noticed you at the same time. Couldn’t figure out what the devil you were doing. When we saw what was happening, I went out the other door. I worked my way behind him just as he grabbed you. Harm was there a heartbeat after me,” he explains.

I have to wonder just how many lives I have left, I really pushed the envelope this time, I doubt I’ll hear the end of it anytime soon.

“You….you said to hold still. I remember that, I just didn’t know what it meant.” I know I heard him, yet he couldn’t have voiced it aloud.

He smiles at me wryly, “Yeah it was kind of a tricky move, he had you pretty tight, and he wasn’t letting go, I didn’t have a choice, but I had to do it fast.” His voice has a tinge of sadness but no real regret.

“Had to do what Ben. Is he….?” I know, but I need to hear it. “‘Fraid so, it was him or you, and we didn’t use up any time making our choice. I…uh…” he looks away then back, “I had to use his move on him. Sorry I can’t bring him to trial.” He shakes his head, the only real remorse I sense, is that of the dedicated lawman.

“His move?” I’m puzzled, “how did you learn that?”

“I used to be a SEAL,” he shrugs, strangely modest at this admission.

“Aren’t you kind of tall for a SEAL?” I ask curiously.

“That’s what everyone thought, made a lot of people underestimate me,” he finishes confidently.

“And…and Carlyle,” I ask, afraid of the answer.

“She survived,” Harm provides quickly, sensing my returning tension, “she’s badly injured but she’s alive. You were damn lucky Marine.”

“I think we need to have a conversation about waiting for backup little lady, I thought they taught you better than that in Marine school,” Ben scolds sternly.

“Yeah, little lady,” Harm jumps in mimicking Ben’s tone, “and I thought I strongly suggested you stay put until I got back.”

I smile at Ben, and glare at Harm. “Harm don’t you dare call me that, ‘I’m a marine’,” we both finish the sentence together.

Ben smirks, commenting, “You two do that act better than you do it with Bud.”

“We’ve been practicing longer,” Harm smiles, gathering me a tiny bit closer. “And why can’t I call you that, he can.”

“Because Captain,” I point out, “you have other privileges.”

Ben laughs and claps Harm on the shoulder, “Better quit while you’re ahead Cap’n,” he suggests.

“Uh… ma’am, sir, I hate to interrupt, but we really need to get the Colonel to the hospital. She should be checked over.” The paramedic is still nervous over my desire to remove the collar, and turning me over to the emergency room can’t happen too soon for him.

“Harm, I’m not going to any hospital. We’ll be there all night, then they’ll want to keep me for observation, it’s just not going to happen.” I protest.

“Now Mac, be reasonable,” he cajoles, “after all, unless you mend, how will we explore those other privileges?” he whispers the last sentence, suggestively into her ear.

I turned slightly, to look at him, giving him the full force of my most alluring smile, but the blush suffusing my cheeks does not escape notice.

“Tell you what Captain.” I bargain, “I promise to be good and follow the doctors orders, if you will take me to the base, instead of making me go to the hospital in town, deal?”

He hesitates for a full minute before agreeing. “Deal,” he relents with a sigh, knowing I won’t budge any further.

“Uh sir, I really don’t think that’s wise,” Darren tries to intervene.

Harm turns to address him, “I know this woman, Darren. We’ve been through a lot worse than tonight. She’s tough as nails, but she isn’t stupid,” he smiles down at me. “If she says she’s ok, then she’s ok. Believe me; she is perfectly capable of putting us both on the ground and driving herself home. Work with me here, I promise she’ll keep the collar on until I get her to a doctor.”

“And he never breaks a promise,” I add softly, too tired now to be offended by the fact he’s talking around me. I know there is little wrong with me that a good night’s sleep, in a very special Captain’s arms, won’t cure.

Ben stands aside with his arms crossed, and chuckles lightly, “You two are quite a pair, you know?

“We know,” Harm replies smugly, and standing, he reaches for Ben’s hand, “I can never repay you for saving her,” he admits.

Ben nods his acceptance, but adds, “Without her we might not have nailed the guy, that idiot from NCIS wouldn’t listen, and no-one else would have known about him.”

Harms voice shows his appreciation of the situation. “Mac does have an interesting gift, it saved my life.”

“A story I’d love to hear,” Ben answers.

“Look us up if you get to DC. We’ll give you a call, next time we’re down here,” Harm offers.

“You have a deal,” Ben agrees. “May I,” he indicates me.

Harm cocks an eye at me, and I nod.

Ben leans over and kisses my cheek, “Take care little lady,” he murmurs before retreating.

“You too Ben,” I smile at him.

Harm leans down, and scoops me into his arms, turning towards his car, parked sideways at the entrance to the lot.

The small gathering of news people fire up their cameras, as they capture the scene of a tall, handsome, Navy Captain carrying an injured Marine colonel to his cherry red corvette. At the last minute, he turns and calls to Darren.

The young man approaches in two strides. “Just remember, you instructed me to take her for medical attention.” Darren looks perplexed. “There’s an Admiral out there somewhere, who might pick up a paper tomorrow.” Harm explains, indicating the reporters.

“Right, gotcha sir. I’ll be sure the local newsies are filled in on my suggestion,” he smiles conspiratorially, and turns back to the voracious group of reporters.

“C’mon Marine,” Harm smiles softly, relief is evident in his face, as we leave this place of near tragedy for us, “let’s go.”

“Where are we going, Harm?” I ask as he tucks me into his car. I’m hoping I can talk him into going straight home, but I realize it isn’t going to happen when he replies.

“To the base hospital, then maybe home, if the doctor releases you.” His soft smile remains, but it’s teased at the edges by a wicked grin, “when you’re all better, you can tell me about those privileges.” Folding himself into the driver’s seat, he fires the powerful engine.

Slowly he pulls into traffic and turns towards the naval base. After running through the gears, he reaches for my hand.

The end

End Notes

I know:
There’s a military hospital in Portsmouth, but it didn’t fit my riding off into the sunset finish.
It’s unwise, for a person to refuse the aid of an ambulance, but they can if they are coherent.
They can’t go home, they have too much paperwork to do in the morning.
None of that stuff is romantic and this is after all a romance.

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