Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

by Chrissy

The man cast a lonely figure as he strolled along wet pavements, beads of rain dripping from the tip of his nose, steam clouding before him as he exhaled warm breath into the frigid night air. He tugged up his collar and hunched over against the onslaught. The rain had picked up speed. When he left his apartment it had been just a drizzle, but now driving rain lashed at him, its ice cold pellets stinging his face. Still, it didn't matter. He liked to walk in the rain. People scurried by, not bothering to look up. He was invisible and he liked it that way.

Wet curls fell into his eyes and he brushed them back impatiently. He had meant to get a haircut today, but as usual he had forgotten. These days he had a hard time remembering the little details of daily life.

He slowed at the sight of brightly coloured neon lights reflecting onto the wet pavement before him. He was passing a bar and on a whim he decided to go inside for a drink. He stepped through the door and into a blast of snug warmth and creature comforts. Soft music played in the background and the friendly hum of voices surrounded him.

"Can I help you, sir?" The maitre d' eyed his drenched attire with a raised eyebrow of displeasure.

"No, it's okay," the man mumbled, "I just want a drink."

"The bar is through there, sir," the maitre d' pointed. "Can I take your coat?"

"No, it's okay," the man mumbled again and headed in the direction of the bar.

The man settled himself on a barstool. Rivers of rain streamed from his raincoat on to the floor soaking the carpet. He rubbed a hand over his wet face and shoved back the dripping curls that continued to fall into his eyes.

"What'll it be?" the barman asked. He raised his eyebrows in a friendly manner as he noticed the saturated condition of his customer, "Wow! You're soaked through! What happened? Car break down? They say this is gonna keep up all night, you know."

The man did not return the smile. "Whiskey, no ice," he said, his voice flat, his eyes avoiding those of the barman.

The drink was put before him and the barman moved away, his years of human experience telling him that this customer wanted no friendly conversation. This customer wanted to drink alone.

The man took up the glass and took several sips. Then he pulled a cigarette package and lighter from his pocket. He was about to light up when the barman returned before him.

"You can't smoke in here."

"What? Why not?" The man's eyes narrowed as he flicked the lighter and exhaled a stream of smoke that curled back into his face.

The barman looked around quickly. "You know! The no smoking bylaw! You can't smoke here."

The man drew hard, took the cigarette from his lips and exhaled again. "I can't?"

"You'll have to put it out or leave."

The man frowned and looked around in bewilderment. "This is a bar, isn't it?"

"Well, not really. Actually it's a restaurant. This is just the bar area of the restaurant. And the law says no smoking."

The man stood up from the barstool. "Well, I guess I'll leave, then."

"Jeez, man, you can't go back out there. It's pouring cats and dogs. You're already soaked through." The barman seemed to possess a genuine concern for his customer. "Listen, why don't you go downstairs? You can smoke down there."

"Downstairs? I can smoke downstairs but not up here?"

The barman nodded. "Yeah, see, like I said - this is a restaurant."

"What's downstairs, then?"

The barman winked suggestively, "Well, - it's a strip club. Just opened up. You can watch the floor show and get dried out. It might even put a smile on your face."

The man stood up from the bar stool and threw some bills onto the bar. It had been a while since he'd smiled.

"It's ten bucks cover charge and ten bucks a drink," the barman called after him, "but the girls are the sweetest meat in town."

The man walked to a dark, carpeted staircase and began to descend. A curved corridor led into a noisy club where several groups of young men whooped and whistled at the half naked girl strutting in the strobe lights of the catwalk. Hardly noticing the activity around him, the man found a table at the back and sat down. The waitress was instantly at his side. She wore black fishnet stockings and a thong. That was all. Her breasts hung naked and unimpeded. "It's ten bucks cover charge and ten bucks a drink," she said, her voice apathetic with boredom. "I know," he returned, pulling more crumpled bills from his pocket.

"Can I smoke in here?" he asked, indicating the cigarette between his fingers. The woman nodded, "Sure, course you can!" She peered through the dimness, interest filling her eyes. Wow! This one was a looker. You didn't notice at first glance. The bare breasted woman smiled and leaned closer. "You Mexican?" she asked, her eyes roving over the handsome Latin features before her. He looked tired, but he was cute as hell.

But he hardly acknowledged her presence. "Whiskey, no ice," he said, placing money on the small tray she carried. "Keep it coming."

She bent even closer, her breath on his face. "You can touch them if you like, no charge."

He frowned and looked up at her. "Touch what?"

She smiled and licked her lips and leaned even closer. "My tits - you can touch if you want. I usually charge, but for you it's free."

He hesitated, his eyes looking away. "No thanks," he said, pulling his cigarettes from a pocket in his pale blue shirt and setting the package down before him on the table.

She recoiled, looking hurt, "What's wrong with you? Are you gay or something?" She sneered nastily her eyes suddenly hard.

He shook his head. "I just want to be left alone," he whispered. "They said I could smoke down here, that's all."

The girl breezed off, chin in the air. "Well, there's the ashtray! Smoke away!" she declared. "I'll bring your drink. And don't worry, I won't bother you again. Just snap your fingers when you want a refill."

He felt bad that he had offended her. Women were always coming on to him, yet he did nothing to encourage their advances. He rubbed his chin and felt coarse stubble. Christ - he hadn't shaved for days and was this a clean shirt? He couldn't remember.

The drink was put before him. He smiled politely at the bare breasted woman hoping to make amends, but she flounced away, her large breasts bobbing with indignation.

He sipped his drink slowly and lit another cigarette.

***

"There's a guy out in the audience who's got the same accent as you" Tonya announced to Vancie. "I think he's Mexican or something. He's weird, though. He's not even looking at the girls. Just stares into his drink like a loser."

Vancie cursed under her breath. She was late for work and she had no time for the blabbering Tonya who had followed her into her dressing room. It had been hell finding a taxi in this rain. Still, not to worry. She had time. She was the final act after all. She was the main event. She was THE best stripper in town. She worked hard and, unlike the top heavy Tonya, her long, lean body was in perfect symmetrical shape. She spent hours at the gym. She was a trained gymnast. She was good. Very good. The customers LOVED her.

Vancie quickly spread out her makeup and began preparations for her performance but Tonya's chattering was beginning to annoy her. "I've got to get ready, I'm late" she snapped in exasperation. But the girl could not take a hint it seemed, for she continued to chat, complaining about a customer who'd spurned her.

Vancie's patience snapped. She spun at the girl. "Don't you have something to do?" she cried in annoyance.

"Hey! It's my break, okay!" Angrily Tonya stomped off. Jeez! These Spanish types were so stuck up! First the guy and now Vancie. Thought they were better than everybody else!

Vancie heard the music for Zoe's act coming to an end and knew she had to get out there. She was next on stage. She had only minutes. Hurriedly she removed her clothes and dusted her skin with glitter powder. Her act was completely different from everyone else's, for she was totally naked when she first stepped out onto the stage. During her performance she recruited someone from the audience - usually some swaggering college kid wanting to impress his buddies - and slowly and seductively dressed herself with the help of the audience recruit. At the end of her act she was fully dressed instead of naked. She had choreographed the whole thing herself. It was always a big hit with the crowd.

As she brushed her long raven hair she reflected how strip clubs had changed over the past few years. No longer seedy establishments frequented by lecherous types with a hand down their pants - the new strip clubs catered to a much younger, much noisier crowd. Mostly college students or stag night parties. The men were loud and cheering in their appreciation of the woman on the stage before them. And the women who stripped had changed along with their audience. The girls were fit and athletic and proud of their vocation. It took hard work and discipline to keep a body lean and tight and cellulite free. Vancie was 29 years old and in incredible shape.

The deep thud of her music sounded. Vancie flung back the curtain and stomped onto the stage totally naked except for a pair of red stilettos. As usual the crowd cheered, some first-timers gasping in shock as their startled eyes roved over her nakedness.

Slowly, sexily she squirmed, bumping and grinding to the sensuous beat. All around her the young kids hollered and roared and clapped. She looked down at the crowd. Who should she choose to come up on stage and dress her? But her interest was piqued. Tonya had said he was Mexican. There weren't too many Mexicans in Vancouver. Her eyes peered into the shadows at the back of the room and she saw him.

It was true what Tonya had said. Despite all the noisy uproar the man was not even looking at the stage. His dark head was down resting in his hand. She thought for a moment he might even be passed out.

With a flick of her long hair, Vancie ignored the crowd of enthusiastic men gathered around the stage and made her way to the dim shadows at the back of the room. She came next to the man's table. Still, he did not look up. A cigarette burned between the fingers of the hand upon which his head rested and she took it from him and crushed it into the overflowing ashtray. He looked up at her in surprise. "What are you doing?' he mumbled.

Vancie was taken aback. She wasn't expecting to confront someone so exceptionally good looking. He was an extraordinarily handsome man, despite tired, puffy eyes and 2-day silver stubble on his cheeks. He had the kind of features that would always make one's mouth drop.

She spoke to him in Spanish. "How are you, sir?" she asked, "Are you enjoying the show?"

He seemed confused, dumfounded at her presence. His eyes blinked. "What? What did you say?" His reply was in the same language.

Then the man's bewildered eyes dropped to her nakedness. She stood in silhouette with bright lights behind her and he could not quite see her face, but her long dark hair fell in glossy waves across breasts that were just like Vinn's. She spoke Spanish. Was this Vinn?

"I just wondered, sir, if you would like to help dress me," the woman whispered. "Up there on the stage."

"Vinn?" His head spun with confusion. "Is that you?" he asked frowning. He rose to his feet and almost stumbled. "You didn't die?"

Vancie caught his arm before he fell. She quickly realized something was going on here. He wasn't drunk. He was in shock. She reminded him of someone. Someone who had died. A wife perhaps or a lover?

He continued to stare at her body in confusion. He raked shaking fingers through his hair and said the name again, "Vinn?" - His voice husky with a sudden eager happiness. All at once Vancie felt bad. What was she thinking? This man could not be part of her strip club routine. He had obviously just suffered some terrible tragedy.

"It's okay," she smiled. "You just sit back down and enjoy the show."

But he was nodding and moving around the table toward her. "Yes, yes, I will help," he whispered eagerly, his amber eyes alight with unveiled joy. "Vinn, is that really you?"

She leaned into his ear. "I'm not Vinn," she whispered dryly. "But sometimes they call me Van. My name is Vancie. Listen, you go back to your drink. I'm sorry I bothered you."

But he did not sit down. Instead he moved to follow her toward the stage. She turned to him. "I told you! I'm not Vinn," she said again through tight lips. She wished now that she had left the poor guy alone. But he caught her arm and she turned to find his feverish eyes on her.

"I'll do it," he said, a sudden small grin crinkling his mouth. "Do what?" she couldn't help but smile back.

"Dress you. I will help dress you." He seemed breathlessly keen.

All around them the crowd roared, yet she had the strangest feeling she was alone with the man.

"What's your name?" She took his hand and together they climbed the few steps to the brilliantly lit stage, the only prop being a bed upon which clothes were laid out ready for him to take and dress her. "Jeremiah," he replied. She frowned. Jeremiah? Somehow he didn't look like a Jeremiah.

Vancie went into her routine, bumping and grinding to the music. "Well, I'm Vancie," she returned. He stood, legs apart, arms at his sides, befuddled, his eyes roving over her nakedness.

As she danced around him she took stock of him. Not overly tall, but from what she could see he had a nice body to go with those handsome good looks. Still, he certainly was no fashion plate. He wore a shabby black raincoat, a blue shirt that had never seen an iron, his tie was crumpled, his curly dark hair unkempt and falling into his eyes. Yet her heart pumped. This guy was sexy. Sensuous. And sad. He definitely was sad.

She came in close and whispered instructions, still speaking in Spanish. "Get the red garter belt from the bed and hook it around my waist. And then take the stockings..."

He gazed at her. Was this a dream? Had he stumbled into a dream? It was Vinn. Surely it was Vinn who danced so seductively before him. Well, whoever it was he would never let her out of his sight. Moving to the bed he took up the garter belt as instructed.

As his arms went around her to hook the garter at her waist their faces were so close they shared the same hot breath. She looked into his handsome eyes. The thud of music, the noise of the crowd - it all faded away. Just me and Jeremiah, she thought. It seemed so natural when he leaned down and kissed her, the name 'Vinn' just a sigh on his lips. Their mouths touched softly at first and then he became rougher. His tongue moved between her teeth and they suddenly were engulfed in each other's arms, their tongues wild, their bodies crushed in passion. Neither heard the cheering from the enthusiastic crowd who thought this was all part of the floor show.

When they broke apart she swayed in confusion. Jeremiah's driving sensuality was heady and potent, and she could not think. But he was doing the thinking for her. He understood at once what to do next and took up the sheer stockings. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs apart and he kneeled before her carefully placing a stocking over the toes of her foot.

'He's done this before," she thought. "Maybe with Vinn."

Slowly and with ultimate care he rolled the sheer hose up her leg until he reached the thigh. Then he leaned his head in between her legs. She gasped thinking he might mean to kiss her cunt but instead his soft lips caressed the skin inside one leg. Vancie squirmed as a flux of wet pleasure flooded her groin. He had taken over her act and she was melting with helplessness. Oh God. What a man she had before her! He was taking up the other stocking. Slowly, slowly he rolled it over her calf, kissing her knee, and then softly licking and sucking the flesh of her inner thigh before hooking the stocking onto the garter strap. She was so filled with longing it almost overpowered her.

Her thighs trembled as he gently stood her up from the bed, "Let's get out of here," he whispered, his voice husky, his head down, his eyes roving on her body.

"No, you must put the bra on me" she whispered, discretion beginning to return to her wild senses. "I've got to finish my act."

"Fuck the act!" his voice was urgent, his eyes glazed with passion.

Her hips gyrating to the thud of music, Vancie took the red lace bra and dangled it from her fingers giving him seductive wink. But with a frown of annoyance he snatched the bra and flung it out into the hollering crowd. A scuffle broke as the men fought for possession. Jeremiah moved closer, one arm went about her waist and roughly he pulled her in, his lips finding her breast. He was arched over her, his tongue suckled each nipple in turn, his scratchy beard sending electric currents through her body. "I want you," he breathed.

Vancie could hear her own heart pumping in excitement. She wanted him too. She wanted him like she had never wanted a man.

With an impatient growl he pushed urgently against her and she could feel his hardness, his hips began to grind and thrust against her as his palms cupped her bare buttocks butting her tight into him. His breath was hard and fast and again he whispered the name 'Vinn', but she did not hear.

From miles away she became aware of the crowd urging them on, wanting to see two people fuck on stage and from a sane corner of her brain common sense prevailed. She could be fired for this. It was against all the rules. She tried to think clearly, but, oh, again she felt herself sinking into the pleasure of him. His body grinding into her body, his hot breath on her skin, his stubble tickling her breasts. He was to die for.

But the fogginess of wild passion was pushed aside as she became aware that the music for her act was coming to its conclusion. By now her performance should be over and she should be fully dressed yet she still stood naked with only stockings and high heels and she was wrapped in a stranger's arms. She shoved at Jeremiah's insistent body.

"Jeremiah, Jeremiah, stop it. Stop it."

He pulled away and stared at her in confusion.

"The show's over," she whispered.

He frowned, "Show? What show?"

But reality was coming back to him also. He felt the mood of the crowd. He heard their cries. "Fuck her, fuck her," they cried in unison and he shook his head to clear the spinning senses.

Where the hell am I? He wondered. And what in fuck am I doing?

The woman named Vancie suddenly grabbed his hand and jerked him through bright red sequined curtains. He stumbled and tripped as he followed her along a corridor and then she shoved him into a room the size of a cubicle. She flung the door shut and slid the lock with a click.

For a few silent moments they stood facing each other, their chests rising and falling with a combination of desire and the exertion of sudden running. She noticed that her red lipstick was smeared on his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. He raked his fingers through tangled curly hair. "Listen, I'll go now. I'm sorry for that. I don't know what got into me."

"Who's Vinn?" she asked softly.

He seemed surprised that she knew the name but his expression told her he did not want to discuss anything. "No one. Just a dream." His accent was very different from hers.

"You're not from Mexico, are you?" she asked quickly. He didn't answer. Instead he looked around taking in his confined surroundings as if suddenly realizing where he was. "What is this place?" he asked with a frown that seemed to make him even more handsome.

She smiled. "Welcome to my dressing room. Not too big, but nice and cozy."

He pulled out a package of cigarettes. "Can I smoke in here?"

She nodded and asked her question again. "Where are you from? Spain?"

He lit the cigarette and took it from his lips. "I was born in Malaga, but I grew up in Madrid."

Vancie felt herself so drawn to this man. It wasn't just the good looks. It wasn't that he was Spanish. He was a mystery. A tragic mystery and she loved a mystery.

He exhaled a stream of smoke. "Listen, I've got to go," he smiled tightly as if trying to pretend a sudden politeness. But his eyes could not stop their hungry tour of her near naked body.

"Oh, come on. Don't go," She said, pulling on a satin robe. The sexual tension between them remained strong. She could not let him go. Not now. "Let's make a night of it, Jeremiah. We could go upstairs to Rosario's and get something to eat. The food's fabulous."

His eyes were puffy, probably from lack of sleep, but the tired eyes, the silver stubble, the unkempt curls, the rumpled clothes all seemed to add to his roguish attractiveness. Vancie saw that he was still hard as a bone, his cock clearly visible as it strained against the material of his pants.

He pulled on his cigarette again, holding it between his thumb and finger. "I'm not hungry. And anyway you can't smoke up there."

"Well, we could head back to my place if you like. Grab a bottle of wine. What do you think?"

He was hesitating at her suggestion and with a sinking heart she felt he was about to say no when a sudden sharp rapping at the door interrupted them. A muffled furious voice could be heard on the other side of the locked door.

"Vancie! Open up!"

The door shuddered on its hinges as more loud rapping sounded. "It's Shawn," she whispered, her eyes bright with fear. Jeremiah looked at her questioningly "Shawn?" he asked.

"He's the owner! He … HEY! Jeremiah … he's a violent bastard. Don't open the door!" But Jeremiah had flicked back the lock and pulled the door inward. Shawn almost fell into the room, his large body quivering in all its enraged glory. Taller and heavier than Jeremiah by at least hundred pounds he shoved the stranger in the raincoat aside and came face to face with a very frightened Vancie.

"You're fired," he yelled. "You know the fucking rules. No messing with the customers. NO FUCKING TOUCHING!!" As he spat the words he poked Vancie viciously in the chest with his finger, his bulging eyes inches from her eyes, his lips wet and spitting rage. "There's laws! You could've got me shut down, you crazy bitch! What in hell did you think you were doing up there on stage? What in fuck's name is wrong with you?!!"

He grabbed Vancie's hair and shoved her face hard into the wall. "Get your stuff and get out, you stupid whoring bitch! You're fired!"

He was about to turn and stomp from the room when he realized the man he had ignored and brushed aside on entering was still there. The man was leaning against the wall and quietly smoking a cigarette, while his eyes regarded Shawn with a cold disdain.

Shawn swung to face the man and pointed the stubby finger once more. "YOU can get out too, fuckface. And don't bother coming back. You're banned!"

Having said his piece, Shawn was about to breeze through the door. The man seemed no threat, dressed as he was in a shabby raincoat and suit and tie. He'd met the type a thousand times before. A sniveling office clerk tied to a boring desk job with a fat nagging wife at home.

So he was surprised when the man suddenly stepped in front of him, his eyes cold and steady and definitely unafraid. "Apologize!" the man hissed; his anger made all the more apparent by his rich Spanish accent. "Apologize to her!"

Shawn grinned slowly. He loved to smash his fist into soft flesh and feel bones break and this Latino pretty boy was just begging for a whipping.

"Apologize to HER?!" he mocked. "ME apologize to a street whore like Vancie? You GOT to be kidding."

Vancie's cheekbone was bruised where Shawn had smashed her into the wall. She rubbed it tenderly as she watched Jeremiah swing back and hit the much larger Shawn with a skilled strike to the throat that resembled the swift martial arts moves of a trained ninja. Shawn's eyes rolled back in his head as he went down with a heavy thud, his thick body flat on its back blocking the door. Vancie raised her eyes and stared at Jeremiah with renewed interest and awe.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she gasped in shock.

Jeremiah had taken down the big man without any sign of exertion on his part. He still held the cigarette in his hand and he brought it up to his lips as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"For what?" she cried. She looked down at Shawn. He was still out cold.

"Well, I guess you're unemployed because of me," Jeremiah ran his fingers through his hair, a worried frown crossing his features.

She waved her hand. "Hey - it was worth it just to see you in action. Wow," her eyes shone with admiration, "Still waters run deep. Are you some kind of government agent? Double oh seven, something like that?"

To her complete astonishment he nodded, his face serious. "I am what you would call a government agent, I guess," he said.

She almost laughed out loud. The disheveled appearance. The dogged, fearless composure. She'd seen it all a hundred times on TV. She should have known. It all added up.

"Well, what a night this has turned out to be!" She looked around. "I guess I should get my stuff and get going before the dumb shit wakes up. He can get pretty brutal if he's crossed."

Quickly she pulled on jeans and sweater and tugged on a leather coat and pulled boots onto her feet. She took out a large canvass knapsack and stuffed the contents of the dressing table into it. She yanked clothes from the hangers and crammed them into the bag.

"Let's go," she said moving through the door. Shawn was beginning to moan, strange gurgling sounds coming from his mouth. Gingerly she stepped over him. "Come on Jeremiah, let's get out of here."

"Where's your car?' she asked as they stepped out into the cold night. The rain was now a freezing drizzle and their breath steamed and clouded the air. It was 2 a.m. and all about them the streets stood cold, silent and empty.

He seemed unsure. "I don't think I drove it here," he mumbled. Had he left it at the apartment? Where was his car? He frowned and remembered suddenly that he had walked here.

"Not to worry," Vancie pulled a cell phone from her pocket and called a cab company. "They'll be here any second. Are you coming back to my place?" She looked at him expectantly and was pleased to see him nod.

Jeremiah hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets. He stared down the darkened street with a puzzled frown between his narrowed eyes. He didn't know why he agreed. He wanted nothing to do with women and relationships. Life was difficult enough. But she reminded him so much of Vinn. I wasn't just the fact that they spoke Spanish together. Her wide spaced eyes were nut brown, just like Vinn's. And she was tall and leggy with long dark hair. And he wanted her. Oh God, he wanted her. He could feel his hard-on, still demanding and insistent. He longed for release, to release himself inside her.

A taxi drew up next to the curb and they both climbed in. Vancie instantly snuggled up close and kissed his cheek as they rode through the city. Jeremiah put an arm around her and when she turned to face him, his lips parted and together they sunk into a tongue kiss filled with wanton unrestraint.

He couldn't fight his desire. Her leather coat was open and she wore a soft mauve sweater very similar to a sweater Vinn would wear. She even smelled like Vinn. Sighing heavily his hand moved up beneath the sweater and cupped a breast. He tugged up the bra and let the breast fall into his hand. In the bright streetlights he saw that the nipple was a pearly bronze, just like Vinn's, and he couldn't help but lean down over her and tenderly kiss the nub. He watched as it hardened.

Vancie gazed down at his curly head and she stroked the curls with a tender hand. She had never felt this way with a man before in her life. She had found such a connection with him so quickly. It was rare for her to date a man she met at the strip club. They were mostly losers. But this man - this Jeremiah - well, he could have her right here in this Vancouver taxi cab. She didn't care. She knew the driver was watching them in his rear view mirror, but still she didn't care. She wasn't about to give up these pleasurable stirrings within her. Not for anything.

Jeremiah's breath was rapid, his gasps loud as he once again found her lips and crushed her into another wild kiss.

"Hey, lovebirds," the taxi driver had pulled up to the curb and he turned to smile at them. "We're here. That'll be sixteen bucks." They broke apart guiltily and Jeremiah pulled a twenty from his pocket.

Vancie lived in a three story brick house converted into apartments. They did not speak as they climbed the stairs and Vancie opened the door to her apartment.

Jeremiah followed her into the room. Vancie flicked on some table lamps and from a corner of her eye she saw that he seemed suddenly restless and uneasy.

"Well, make yourself at home," she said pleasantly, throwing off her coat. He continued to pace the room and then abruptly he spun to face her, a tight smile on his lips.

"Home? Yeah, there's no place like home, is there? - Always the best place for a quick fuck!" His face darkened, his amber eyes blazed angrily at her.

She stared in bewilderment. "What's the matter?" she asked. What was wrong with him? Why was he so upset all of a sudden?

He gave a strange almost hysterical laugh of fury and nervous regression. "I'm just stating the bare facts. That's what we are going to do here tonight, isn't it? Fuck? That's why I'm here?" His lips appeared so stiff with anger that they scarcely moved to form the words.

She stared open mouthed, stunned into frozen silence at his sudden uncalled-for hostility. He had been all over her in the taxi and now he seemed almost gigantic in his fury. He continued to pace, breathing hard, quivering in every muscle, continually raking his fingers through his hair, mumbling and cursing to himself.

Vancie's puzzled eyes followed him as he stomped back and forth. "I'm sorry if I've given you the wrong impression," she started, her voice cold with confusion. "It's just that I like you and I thought you liked me…and…" her words trailed off uncertainly, a sick feeling starting in the pit of her stomach.

With fumbling fingers he took out his cigarettes and lit one, his movements quick and angry. For a few moments he stood smoking and awkwardly looking around. Then he gave another short unpleasant laugh.

"What in hell am I doing here?" he muttered to himself. "I'm bad news. You've lost your job because of me…and…"

"Jeremiah…" She cut in moving toward him.

But he stepped back as she approached. "Listen, I'm sorry." Again the nervous gesture of running his fingers through his curly hair. He gave a heavy sigh. His shoulders slumped. The anger seemed to diminish as quickly as it had surfaced. "I'm sorry," his voice was now soft, his amber eyes penitent. "I didn't mean any of that. Don't take any notice of me. I haven't slept much lately. I'm not used to being with people…"

She stared at him, puzzled and uneasy. "Do you want to go, then?"

To her surprise, he shook his head, "No, no - I'm just tired, that's all. It's okay if I smoke?"

Despite the tension between them, Vancie had to hold back a smile. He'd been smoking without asking for the past several minutes.

"Sure, I've got an ashtray around here somewhere." Vancie moved to the kitchen. "I quit smoking a few years ago," she said over her shoulder.

"I wish I could," he returned as she found the ashtray and gave it to him. "I smoke too much."

"You should look after yourself, Jeremiah."

"Why?" He asked with shrug.

"Well," she hesitated, "Don't you want to live a long life?"

"No, not really," came the indifferent reply.

She stared aghast. "That's a terrible thing to say! Life is precious. My God! Jeremiah! You should be more appreciative of life. I can't believe you said that!"

To her absolute surprise he threw back his head and laughed, appearing amused at her outraged concern for his health.

"Okay" he grinned, "I will appreciate life. I'll be a good boy, I promise."

She returned the grin. "Well now, I didn't say anything about being GOOD, did I?"

And all at once everything was okay between them. His face relaxed, for a second their eyes met and they shared a smile. The moment eased the atmosphere. It was nice. She felt they had broken through some kind of barrier and become closer.

"So, what do you want - coffee? Wine, perhaps…?"

He stopped pacing and finally sat on the sofa, "Er…wine is good," he said. He pulled off his raincoat and suit jacket. She noticed his light blue cotton shirt had been washed but never ironed. 'He has no woman to look after him,' she thought. She was surprised at how good this made her feel.

She moved to the kitchen and poured the wine. She returned to the small living room placing the wine before him.

"You know, just because I'm a stripper doesn't mean I'm easy," she said softly as she sat next to him. "Actually, you're the first man that's ever been in this apartment. I don't sleep around, Jeremiah."

He took a sip of the wine and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I just wanted to make the point," she said. "I don't know what you were thinking earlier but I never bring men home from the strip club. I've never done it before."

She didn't know why she had blurted out her thoughts. But his rant on first entering the apartment had her worried. She wanted him to understand. Men held a certain impression of strippers and she felt it important that Jeremiah not hold that perception of her. She had known only a few lovers in her lifetime.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Jeremiah took a deep breath, "I think we are two souls seeking solace from the lonely night," he whispered softly. She was surprised at such lyrical words coming from the mouth of a government agent. There was so much more to Jeremiah than first imagined.

He turned to her. "I am sorry for my outburst a few minutes ago. I didn't mean to imply that you were easy, that you slept around with men. I was angry at myself for being here with you." He shoved his hair out of his eyes. "I get confused sometimes. I spend so much time alone. I forget how to function with people."

"Why are you alone so much?"

He sighed, taking more wine. She watched as he swallowed, his beautiful pouting lips moist with wine. "It's my job, I guess. I can spend days sitting in a car on a stakeout. I stay awake with pills, my mind gets numb. I forget about feelings. About life. It's like I'm dead, sometimes. I just function. I do my job. That's all there is for me."

An intense sympathy for him washed over her. What a sad, lonely man she had before her.

"I could be Vinn tonight," she whispered without knowing why she said such words. Her eyes became earnest as they locked onto his. "You thought I was her at first, so I must look like her."

He seemed startled. "What are you talking about?"

"I'll do it for you, Jeremiah. Okay, so it's true. We both know it. We're going to make love tonight. That's why we're here together. And when you take me in your arms, I can be her. I can be Vinn. You can call me Vinn. She's Spanish like me, isn't she? Who is she? Your wife?"

He sighed. "Yeah, she was my wife."

"Was? What happened to her?"

"She died in a car accident." She wondered how much effort it took for him to keep his voice so indifferent, his look so cool. He dragged hard on his cigarette.

"I'm so sorry, Jeremiah," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible.

He sighed again with a resigned exasperation. "I don't want to talk about this any more, Vancie." He said her name as if making a point.

She looked up into his face, her hand covering his. "Then tonight will be just for us, okay?" she whispered. "What was it you just said? Two lonely souls come together in the cold night. That's us."

He smiled. He was so beautiful when he smiled. "Yeah, that's us." He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. "That's us." He pulled away and looked deep into her eyes.

The sexual tension between them grew. Jeremiah could feel himself growing hard. Crunching out his cigarette he leaned closer. She inclined toward him, her eyes closing, her mouth wanting him, her heart pounding in excitement and together they sunk into an open mouthed passionate tongue kiss.

Suddenly they were all wild action. Vancie tugged down her jeans, while Jeremiah pulled the sweater over her head. She was naked in seconds. She watched as he ripped at his clothes.

Vancie held her breath and then released it with a whistle. "For someone who doesn't look after himself, you sure have a great body," she declared, her eyes bright with admiration. His arms were thick and strong, his shoulders wide, his torso lean.

"Just luck, I guess" he shrugged as he flung his shirt onto the pile of clothes on the floor.

He leaned down kissing her all over and as he did so she felt his hand in between her thighs and she gasped in surprise as his fingers entered her, his thumb playing gently with her clit. Oh God! She slumped against him, her body suddenly weak with pleasure. It was sheer heaven. He knew exactly what to do. He brought her to orgasm within seconds.

"Oh, oh, oh," she moaned, squirming about. His fingers continued to play inside her, his thumb ever so soft as it stroked back and forth over the centre of her world.

They writhed and thrust in each others arms, never stopping the kisses, their tongues savage and demanding, his hand between each her legs, his lips all over her body. His fingers and thumb - oh, that thumb, it felt so good. But she wanted him inside. She ached to have him inside.

"Jeremiah," she whispered. "Shall we go to the bedroom? It'll be more comfortable."

His fingers left her suddenly empty. "Okay," he breathed heavily, standing up from the sofa.

He followed her into the bedroom. She lay down on the burgundy silk coverlet and looked up at him expectantly. Her eyes roved over him again in the dimness of the bedroom. This man should never be without a lover, she thought.

He stood by the bed watching her, steadily, carefully. She stared up at him, wondering why he hesitated. After a moment he climbed onto the bed and he kneeled over her. But still he did not move. Her heart pounded with unbearable anticipation. There began to steal over her a torment and longing so consuming that she felt she might go crazy with wanting him. At last his arm reached under her and he lifted her up to him, her head tipping to meet his mouth, her arms slipping about him as she nestled into his lap. Any attempt at restraint he had shown thus far now vanished swiftly, giving way to a passion that was savage, violent, almost ruthlessly selfish. He pulled her onto him, she was so wet that he slid in easily and at once his hands gripped her buttocks and he pumped her back and forth.

Their squirming bodies twisted and thrust, joined at the groin, their arms and legs entwined, each holding the other. Sweat glistened on flushed skin as passion grew even stronger, even wilder. Oh God! Jeremiah! What a lover he was. Rough and hard and exciting. It must be the Spanish in him. She had never experienced a Latin man until now. It was indescribable - this feeling. She wanted to abandon everything to this wonderful, overwhelming mind blowing moment. She never wanted this to stop.

But the orgasm was coming for both of them. His hands dug harder into the flesh of her buttocks, his lips left hers and he cried into the night, his breath hard and ragged, his movements growing faster, more furious. She did not realize she gripped the curls of his hair as she clung to him, her own breath coming in gulps and moans. They writhed and twisted as the sensation grew for both of them. Vancie's eyes opened and she looked at him expectantly. Here it comes. Oh God! The anticipation. The wonderful anticipation. Any second now.

He threw his head back, his eyes closed. He pumped and thrust with a mad wildness as he climaxed. "Vinn," he cried, his voice broken and raspy with passion.

"Vinn," he moaned again and Vancie felt the orgasm die within her.

He spilled into her, his body jerking in the final throes of passion. He even whispered the name once more, "Vinn" a sigh on his lips as he fell against her - his energy spent.

He pulled from her and fell back, his head on the cushions of the bed. After a moment, his amber eyes opened and he looked at her. He frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You look upset."

"I'm fine. You're a wild a crazy guy," she smiled tightly. Her throat was dry and constricted, and hot tears pricked at her eyes. She looked away so that he wouldn't see.

He rolled over and climbed from the bed, "Just getting a cigarette," he explained as he moved to the other room. Vancie took the opportunity to gather the feelings that threatened to spill into a gush of foolish tears. She could not explain even to herself why she was so hurt. She had told him she would be Vinn. She had offered to be his dead wife. So why did it hurt so bad that he had not called out HER name? Christ! She hardly knew the guy. What the hell did it matter WHOSE name he called? But in her heart of hearts she knew that even in this short time, she had developed feelings for him. She watched as he returned, walking with a kind of animal grace, lighting his cigarette. God Almighty - how could one man be so perfectly beautiful?

He climbed back onto the bed next to her. "We didn't use a condom," she remarked, brushing back her hair.

His face fell. "Christ! I'm sorry. I didn't think…"

"If I get pregnant, what will you do?" Her voice was brusque and she didn't know why she said such a thing to him. But he had hurt her feelings and she wanted to make him squirm. However, the dismay on his handsome face was enough to cause her to regret the remark.

"Hey - I'm just kidding. It's okay." She patted his arm.

"If you become pregnant I would look after you and the baby," he replied, his voice serious. "I would love to have a child of my own."

She hated herself for the flippant words. "Listen, forget it! I'm not pregnant, okay. I'm on the pill. Give me one of those cigarettes."

"But you have quit?"

"Oh - I can quit again." She leaned forward as he flicked the lighter for her.

"Are you staying the night?" she asked, inhaling deeply, her voice sharp. She didn't know which answer she wanted to hear.

The nicotine made her dizzy and nauseous, but the sick feeling was preferable to the painful ache that had clutched her heart and formed hot tears behind her eyes. She couldn't believe she was experiencing such strong possessive feelings for a man she had just met. A man with problems of his own. Major problems. He had said he was bad news and he probably was. He would never make her happy. He was still mourning his dead wife. It was better that they say goodbye now before they hurt each other.

But when he swung his legs over the side of the bed and her heart sank with disappointment. "I guess I'd better get going," he said softly.

"No, no," she gasped urgently, an arm going out quickly to grab his shoulder. She didn't want him to go. She had to admit it. Her common sense told her it was best if he left, but in her heart she wanted him to stay. She wanted to get to know him. She wanted him to get to know her. Maybe they could begin a relationship, maybe get married one day - who knew? Maybe she could fill the void in his heart left by the death of Vinn. Maybe she could make him happy again.

"Please stay, Jeremiah."

He turned and looked at her. He had a devastating habit of lowering his head and narrowing his eyes. It was quite disconcerting to confront.

"You sure?"

She nodded with a smile. The tears behind her eyes were diminishing. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He crushed out his cigarette and burrowed under the covers, his warm arms reaching to hold her. She snuggled against him. "It's a nasty night out there - listen to that wind. I couldn't send you out into that, now could I?"

His arms tightened, pulling her in close, his breath against her ear.

They lay cuddled together for a while. Vancie listened as his breathing became regular and deep. Her cheek lay against his chest and she could hear his heart beating. She could feel his lungs fill with air at every breath. Was it possible to love so quickly? She had known him how long - three? Four hours? Was it just his looks? He was staggeringly handsome. But good looks could encase an empty soul. But this soul was not empty, was it? Jeremiah was a man of extreme passion and sensuous emotion, no matter how he tried to hide it. And she wanted him. She truly wanted him. She had to find a way to make him her own.

When she awoke it was daylight. She remained in his arms, her cheek against the hairs on his chest. His breathing told her he was still asleep. She wondered what time it was. She had the feeling they had both slept well into the morning. Did he have to be anywhere today? Maybe they could spend the day together?

She nestled against him. It was nice waking up like this - in a man's arms. He held her tightly next to his body, a muscular thigh between her legs. She closed her eyes and dozed for a while longer, but she was becoming uncomfortable and the need to pee could not be ignored.

As gently as she could, she slipped from him and stood up from the bed. He moved restlessly and turned onto his other side, falling quickly back to sleep, his wild dark curls a contrast against the whiteness of the pillowcase. A silver stubble of beard covered his smooth olive cheeks.

She tiptoed to the bathroom and showered, trying not to make too much noise. When she stepped from the bathroom fifteen minutes later wrapped in a pink terrycloth robe she was surprised to see Jeremiah still fast asleep. She decided that he was probably catching up on some extreme sleep deprivation and moved to the kitchen to make coffee. She sat drinking the coffee, waiting for him to wake up. It was almost noon. She poured some cereal and ate it slowly.

Finally she heard him moving about in the bedroom and he stood in the doorway, totally naked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking at her. "Christ! What time is it?"

"Hello sleepyhead," she replied with a smile. "It's one-thirty. Do you have to be somewhere?"

"What day is it?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, "It's Sunday, don't you secret agents follow the calendar?"

She watched as he turned back toward the bedroom, his little round ass dimpling as he walked away from her. He came back wearing the rumpled pale blue shirt and nothing else, buttoning it as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Shit! I don't think I've ever slept so well in my life!" he smiled, stretching and yawning.

She looked at him. The puffiness was gone from his eyes. With his curls springing about his head he appeared ten years younger - boyish almost.

"That coffee smells good," he laughed, pulling back a chair and joining her at the table.

"What would you like for breakfast?" she asked as she poured the coffee.

"Oh, I never eat breakfast," he returned.

"Just a pack of cigarettes and a carafe of coffee? Is that usually it?" she smiled with feigned disapproval. He ginned sheepishly. "Yeah, that's breakfast for me most days."

"Well not today! And remember what you said last night? You're going to start looking after yourself from now on. So? What do you want to eat?"

He laughed again. "Well, then. How about some spinach salad and a glass of carrot juice? What do you think? Is that healthy enough for you?"

"How about some bacon and eggs?" She waved a spatula and pulled a face.

He nodded agreement. "Sounds delicious. Not exactly healthy, but delicious." He looked around. "Er…can I get cleaned up? Would you mind if I used your bathroom?"

"Sure, go ahead. I'll fix breakfast while you're in the shower." Once again she was presented with the opportunity to admire his dimpled bare butt as he removed the shirt and headed toward the bathroom.

Vancie felt a surge of contented happiness she could not explain as she went about frying the bacon. She hummed as she heard the shower running and had just placed hot bacon on paper towels to drain when she was startled by a loud curse of pain. Rushing to the bathroom, she found him standing in the steamy room, his cheeks covered with her jasmine scented shaving foam, a pink plastic Daisy disposable razor in his hand.

"What are you doing?" she laughed pushing away an irresistible urge to kiss the soft lips all covered in foam. He looked so young and adorable.

"How in the hell do you women shave with these flimsy things?" he grumbled. He turned back to the mirror, wiped the steam away and began to shave only to nick himself once again.

"Here, give me the razor," she could not stop laughing. Jeremiah sat on the edge of the bathtub and regarded her with a raised eyebrow of skepticism.

"Oh, and I suppose YOU are going to do a better job?"

"Yes, and I want you to sit still and stop grumbling." She bent over him and carefully pulled the skin tight as she ran the razor over his jaw. As she wiped off the foam, she leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

"You'll probably slit my throat," he continued to protest, but the next time she kissed him his tongue found its way inside her mouth and his arms went around her waist.

They began kissing with passion, shaving foam everywhere. He forced the bathrobe from her shoulders and pushed her back to the bathroom floor. Falling to the carpet, they rolled and panted as their arms and legs entwined tightly, each fiercely wanting the other. He was inside her quickly, his cock huge and throbbing with urgency. With gasps and grunts he thrust, holding her tight in his arms the shaving foam all over them as he kissed her nipples and stomach, his little ass working up and down, up and down driving her wild.

This time he did not call out the name of his dead wife. This time Vancie enjoyed an orgasm that blew her mind, and sent her spiraling into euphoria she had never known

Panting and laughing, he pulled from her. "I'll have to let you do the shaving from now on" he smiled kissing her softly. "It's much more fun when you do it."

She smiled back and her heart burst with happiness. He obviously saw a future for them.

***

That afternoon they walked through Stanley Park hand in hand. The morning drizzle had given way to a watery sunshine that filled the air with a lush taste of a fresh new spring.

"What will you do now that you have lost your job?" he asked as they followed the path through green ferns. "I feel responsible for your unemployment."

"Oh don't worry. I was on the verge of quitting stripping anyway. I'll find something quick enough. I'm thinking of becoming a personal trainer. I've been licensed for years. Anyway, Jeremiah, it was worth it to see you in action. Shawn is a vicious thug. It's about time he was at the receiving end of a punch." She turned to look up at him as they walked, "I guess that's part of your training? All that kung fu stuff?"

"Yeah," he looked away. "I can't really talk about what I do, Vancie," he said.

"Oh, I understand," she cut in quickly. "Actually I think it's real cool what you do. Do you work for the Canadian government?"

"No, I work internationally. I'm just based in Vancouver."

She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. "So are you on a vacation now?"

"Actually I just came off of an assignment. That's why I was such a goddamn prick last night. I'm wound up for days afterwards. It's hard to come back down after a job. I get crazy. I don't eat. I don't sleep."

"Well, you certainly slept good last night," she giggled. "When's your next assignment?" She hoped they would have some time together to get to know one another.

"I never know. They just come for me. They always know where to find me."

Her eyes widened. "How do they know? Do they follow you about? Are they watching us now?" she looked around uncertainly.

"I doubt it," he replied. "But they have a good idea where I am. Who I'm with. …Does it bother you?"

"Well," she hesitated, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "It does a bit. But I hope they'll give you some time to relax and recuperate."

"I hope so too," he smiled and put an arm around her shoulder pulling her in close.

***

The next day she accompanied him to his apartment to pick up some of his things. They had decided to take the ferry across to the Island and do some sightseeing for a few days. The winter had given way to a sudden burst of warm humid sunshine and everywhere everything seemed to be erupting into life. Just like Jeremiah, Vance thought. He's springing back into life.

He had explained that his home base with the Agency was Vancouver. He had told her he spent little time in the apartment provided with the assignment. However, she was unprepared to find his apartment so stark and bare and drearily meagre in its furnishing. The air hung thick with stale tobacco and the ashtrays overflowed with butts. As he packed his things, she wandered to the fridge and opened it to find the contents consisted of two bottles of beer and an empty greasy pizza box. A wave of sympathy overwhelmed her. Such a beautiful man living a life of such crippling emptiness.

"Can secret agents marry?" she called over her shoulder to him as he packed clothes in the other room.

He came into the room, his face serious, his eyes cold. "Of course they can. I was married."

Vancie realized her blunder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," he stated, pulling out his cigarettes. But he was. He always reached for a cigarette when he was agitated.

"I just thought that it didn't seem like the kind of job that would be conducive to a happy marriage, that's all."

He took a deep breath. "I didn't do the dangerous work when I was married," his voice was slow his face hard. "Now that I'm alone I don't care what the assignment is. Or where they send me. So, I might get killed? So what? I honestly don't give a fuck!"

She felt frightened for him. This cavalier attitude. This idle indifference to his own safety put him at great risk. She also knew he concealed a temper that was at once relentless, fierce and perhaps a little cruel. She had seen the stormy power which was there, just below the surface, not dormant but carefully leashed. It could get him killed. One day he might not come back.

She put her lips to his smooth shaven cheek. "Give a fuck, now Jeremiah," she said, her voice low, her eyes serious. "Give a fuck now. Maybe you're not alone anymore."

"Maybe I'm not," he remarked, looking at her thoughtfully. His eyes burned into hers and she saw desire leap in the amber depths. Suddenly he swung her up off the floor. Holding her easily, he carried her to his bedroom.

They made love in his rumpled bed. She didn't care that the sheets were dirty. She didn't care that pizza crumbs stuck to her buttocks as he ground into her. All she cared about was him. His wild, lusty untamableness. His mind blowing expertise in sex play. He understood a woman's needs. He knew what to do to drive her over the edge. He knew about the clitoris.

The orgasm shot through her, arching her back, muscles straining in concentrated pleasure. She cried out, her voice hoarse, grunting and moaning, her fingers clenching into his back.

Gasping for air, Jeremiah rolled from her. The orgasm had been intense, even now his cock still spurted its cream, he brought his hand down and squeezed, his eyes closed, his expression one of acute almost painful rapture.

Like loving kitten, she snuggled up to kiss him and he wondered if he was being fair to her. He had begun to care for her. But was it because she reminded him of Vinn? She was a dead ringer for his dead wife. They even spoke Spanish together. Van and Vinn. Even the names were similar.

But Vancie was Vancie. Not Vinn. He had to remember that. He wondered again about the fairness of it all.

***

They spent two weeks on Vancouver Island. It was the most special two weeks of Vancie's entire life. As they returned to the mainland, standing on the deck of the ferry, bracing against the fierce gale, two lovers against the wind, Vancie smiled with contentment. For the past two weeks her thoughts had had just one theme: Jeremiah Ecks. She was violently in love, completely dazzled, wildly happy

Jeremiah was also experiencing new feelings of connection with another person. It was as if his cold heart had warmed and come alive. A strange new exhilarating sensation of happiness. And it was all because of Vancie. She was the joyful ray of sunshine that had evaporated his sorrow. He had spent too long mourning Vinn. Vinn was gone. Vinn was dead. And he'd been presented with a new opportunity at life. Vancie was fun and good company. She was beautiful and affectionate and generous and kind. She was an unashamed and adventurous lover. He had begun to love everything about her and it suddenly seemed that he could not lose her. He smiled to himself, but then his eyes alighted on something that brought frown of annoyance. It seemed that reality was about to rear its ugly head.

As they joined the lines of cars leaving the ferry Vancie turned to Jeremiah and noticed his profile tense, his jaw stiffen. He quickly lit a cigarette. "What's wrong?" she asked. He flicked the lighter and did not answer. She followed his gaze and saw a long dark limo parked at the side of the parking lot. A man beckoned them and Jeremiah steered across the line of cars and parked behind the limo. "What is it?" she asked again, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. It was early evening and difficult to see in the shadowy twilight.

"They've come for me," Jeremiah's reply was simple, but the few words said a thousand things -sending a chill through her guts.

He shoved the car into 'park' and, without a word to her, climbed from the vehicle and slammed the door. Vancie sat for several minutes watching the men talk with Jeremiah, a cold sweat on her skin as her stomach churned in knots.

Jeremiah climbed back into the driver's seat. He sat for a full minute smoking not saying a word, his jaw tight. Finally he turned to her.

"I've got to go to New York," he said abruptly.

She looked at him in frightened agitation. "What? When?"

"Now. I have to leave now."

"Right now? Right this minute? But you can't! We're supposed to have dinner at the White Spot Restaurant!" Her agitated words died as she realized the silliness of her comment. Of course, his work was far more important than a stupid meal at a restaurant.

He frowned. "I have to go. Right now."

She searched for words to say. "When will I see you again? Oh Jeremiah! Can't you say no? Can't you tell them you're busy?" Her voice came high pitched and panicky, bouncing around the interior of the car.

He took in a long breath and then released it slowly, all the while looking straight ahead. "I have to go," he said again. He leaned across the seat and kissed her gently on the lips. Then his handsome eyes locked onto hers with earnest reflection.

"I think I love you," he murmured and her heart almost jumped into her mouth with surprise.

She flung her arms around his neck. "Oh God! Jeremiah! I KNOW I love you, goddamn it! I think I fell in love the second I laid eyes on you."

They kissed passionately for a few seconds. Then he reached up and grasped her wrists, pulling her arms from him.

Hot tears filled her eyes, her lips babbled garbled words. "Oh Jeremiah, don't go. You might die. Let them send someone else. Don't go, darling. Don't die. Not now that we have found each other."

He grinned and wiped her wet cheeks with his fingers. "It's nothing dangerous," he said smiling softly. "It's just a briefing, Vancie. I'll phone you." He pulled away and opened the door. With a smile he turned back to her. "Drive carefully, now. I'll call you."

She leaned toward him, almost climbing over the seat in frenzied agitation. "I love you, I love you," she called.

He put his fingers to his lips and sent a kiss to her through the air as he walked away. "I love you," he mimed with a smile. She watched as he flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and climbed into the black limo and drove away into the darkening night. Then she burst in crazy tears of joy. He loved her! He actually loved her! He would phone in a couple of days. It was just a briefing. Nothing dangerous.

***

It was so strange to lie in a cold empty bed. She missed his kisses, his arms, his warm hard body next to hers. She awoke early the next morning feeling agitated and restless and decided to head for the gym for a workout. She smiled as she pulled into the parking lot of the GetFit Gym, her mind on flights of fantasy. She was thinking about weddings. It was early spring. Maybe they should aim for an August Wedding? As it turned out - both their birthdays were in August. Maybe they could marry in New York in one of those glorious old churches? Her family lived in Mexico City, she would send them the money for airfare. Jeremiah had parents and a younger brother living in Spain. Surely they could come to his wedding? It would be absolutely wonderful. She missed her family. She had been alone for too long. They both had. It was time reunite with their families again.

The future seemed so rosy as she jumped from her car and headed toward the gym doors. From the corner of her eye she sensed a presence and turned to see a tall, overweight man in a vivid yellow shirt leaning against a car reading a newspaper. He seemed visibly startled to see her and stared openly as Vancie walked into the gym almost dropping his newspaper. She saw his reflection in the glass doors as she entered and he was definitely blatantly gaping at her.

She worked out for over two hours, her mind constantly on Jeremiah. His touch, his smile, his body inside her body. What a lover he was!

When she exited the gym she was surprised to see the man in the yellow shirt was still there. But now he sat inside his car and he watched with obvious close attention as Vancie climbed into her car and started the engine. She pulled out of the parking lot and saw the man pulling out behind her.

'Who IS this weirdo?' she thought to herself as she joined the bustling Vancouver traffic. But the heavyset man was soon forgotten as she maneuvered through city traffic and headed to a local supermarket to purchase supplies.

She hummed as she pushed the shopping cart around the store, her thoughts on Jeremiah, a smile on her face. But she came to a sudden jolting halt as she rounded an aisle and saw the man in the yellow shirt standing right in front of her. He was pretending to study a display of canned peas, but he had no shopping cart and had obviously followed her to the supermarket. Who WAS he? What did he want with her?

Shoving the shopping cart away she headed for the exit. She rushed to her car and as she started the engine she saw the man getting into his car. Heart thumping with fear, Vancie's tires squealed as she raced through the parking lot and into the stream of highway traffic. In the rear view mirror she saw that he was right behind her.

She made several sudden right hand turns, but he was right there with her, following close behind, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was following her. Vancie knew the city well, but obviously he did too, and when she thought she had dodged him, there he was right behind her again.

Mouth dry and heart pounding she decided to head for the police station. As she parked she swiveled her head, glancing around, but the man in the yellow shirt was nowhere to be seen.

Detective Turl took her report with great seriousness, but as she explained what had happened it seemed lame, even to her.

"He's enjoying scaring you," Detective Turl said. "Probably does this kind of thing all the time."

"But I'm scared to go home," she cried with alarm, "Supposing he follows me?"

"I'll have a police car accompany you to your residence, ma'am," the Detective replied. "And then I'll have a car drive by several times over the next twelve hours. Here's my number." He handed her a card. "Call me if you see him again or if anything seems suspicious. We'll be there in seconds."

She had given the Detective a description of the man and his car but she had not had the forethought to take down the license number.

A police car trailed her to the parking lot of her apartment building. "Do you want me to come up with you, miss?" the fresh faced policeman asked her.

She shook her head. There was no sign of the creepy guy. She was certain she had scared him off when she went to the police station. "No, it's okay. I think he's gone for good."

As she ran up the stairs to her apartment on the third floor she heard the phone ringing. Fumbling and cursing with keys in her shaking hands, she burst through the door and grabbed the phone.

"Hello."

"Hello, darling," Her heart skipped a beat. It was Jeremiah…calling her darling.

"Oh God, I've missed you," she blabbered. "I've had this creepy pervert following me. I had to go to the police station and file a report."

"What!" Jeremiah gripped the cell phone in his hands, "Who was following you?"

"I don't know - some big fat guy. He was chasing me in his car."

"Fuck!" Jeremiah cursed loudly, "This is unbelievable! Don't worry honey, it's the department. It's probably one of our operatives sent to watch you."

Vancie felt her fear dissipate. Of course, that was it. It wasn't any pervert. Why hadn't she realized right away? It was the department! One of Jeremiah's operatives!

"I'm sorry you got scared, honey." Honey - the way his voice slid over the word - her heart melted.

"Well, I feel a bit better now. When are you coming back?" she asked quickly. "I hate being alone."

He laughed. "Tonight. I'm boarding the plane right now. And I've got a proposition to make to you."

Her mouth went dry. "What? What kind of proposition?" Was he going to ask her to marry him?

"How would you like to live in New York City? Manhattan, just off Times Square?"

"What are you talking about?"

His voice was filled with laughter. "They've offered me an assignment, Vancie, in New York City and I've accepted."

"What kind of assignment?"

"Orientation. Training. I'll be training operatives. No danger. No risks. A desk job. And it comes with an apartment in Manhattan."

She clutched the phone in her hands, her heart bouncing with joy. "Oh God! Jeremiah. It sounds wonderful. Too good to be true. New York City! Broadway shows … walks in Central Park. Oh! Jeremiah!" But then she hesitated, frowning. "By the way...er…?" she murmured with hesitation. "I've been meaning to ask … Is your name really Jeremiah Ecks?" She didn't fancy the idea of going through life as Mrs. Ecks.

"Hell no! My name's Antonio!"

"Antonio? Whew! What a relief! Antonio what?"

"This isn't a secure line. What till I'm in Vancouver and I'll whisper it in your ear. I've got to go now, darling. No cell phones allowed while the plane takes off. See you in a few hours. I love you."

"I love you too, Antonio Whatever-your-name-is," she laughed. She felt wet tears of happiness on her cheeks as she replaced the phone. The future was going to be so wonderful. She had found the man of her dreams.

Jeremiah dialed another number and barked into the phone. "Why is she being tailed?" He asked his superior. "Whoever he is, the operative fucking scared the shit out of her. Who's on her tail?"

"She's not being tailed, Ecks," came the gruff reply. "What do you think we've got unlimited resources? We work on a budget, man. There's no one following your woman in Canada."

Jeremiah's blood ran cold. It suddenly seemed imperative that he get back to Vancouver right away. Vancie could be in trouble. Heart racing, he watched the ground disappear as the plane rose above the La Guardia tarmac. The flickering 'No Smoking' signal was an annoying reminder as he ripped open a stick of gum and shoved it into his mouth.

Replacing the phone, Vancie laughed out loud and then hugged herself with joy. This couldn't be happening! Living in New York! With gorgeous, sexy Jeremiah! Every night in her bed!

She didn't notice that she had not closed the door to her apartment when she entered. In fact it was wide open and a large man in a yellow shirt had slipped into the room and was watching her with raw hatred.

Vancie became aware of sudden movement behind her and her nose filled with the smothering odour of acrid sweat. All at once he was on her. A fleshy hand covered her mouth and she was spun around to confront the flabby bloated face of the man in the yellow shirt. She tried to speak, but all that came out were grunts. The hand covering her mouth was very effective in cutting off her air supply.

She started to fight and struggle, kicking at him but he was huge and strong. He held her easily at bay. He leaned down to eye level and she was forced to confront a pair of pale blue piggy eyes that seemed somehow familiar.

"I knew you'd show up sooner or later at that fancy gym. Now tell me. Where's that pretty-boy Latino, honey? Where's he at? I got a date with him."

Her heart missed a beat. So the man was looking for Jeremiah? Had he heard her conversation on the phone moments before?

He took his hand away from her mouth for a second and she desperately gulped in a breath of air. "He's not here." She managed to gasp before the fleshy hand covered her mouth once more.

"I can't see that for myself, darling. I can see he's not here. My question is - where is he?" His piggy eyes peered questioningly into hers.

Vancie struggled with all her might. Twisting and pushing against him. But her violent endeavours were futile, the man was taller, bigger, stronger. He held her easily with one hand clamped across her mouth. She tried to kick his groin, but he was too far away. She clawed at his eyes, but her arms were just not long enough to reach him. All she managed to do was to rip and scratch at his arms with her long nails.

Grunting with effort and lack of oxygen, she decided that when he took his hand away again she would scream with all her might. But he did it so quickly she hardly had time to take a breath and all that came out was a frightened high pitched squeal. He punched her hard on the cheekbone and she tasted a spurt of warm blood before her mouth was covered again by his clammy hand.

"If you scream again, I'll kill you," he hissed. "Now I'll ask you nicely again. Where is he?"

His hand moved from her mouth and she gulped another lungful of cool oxygen gratefully. "He's gone to back to Mexico," she lied her voice breathless and quick. "I didn't even know him. He was just a one night stand."

The hand was clamped over her mouth again and the man lowered his head so that his piggy eyes were once again on a level with hers.

"Back to Mexico, eh? Well, I got to find him. I got to make retribution." Despite her fear, Vancie felt relief as she realized he had not heard her phone conversation with Jeremiah.

"Do you know what that bastard did to my brother?" he cried in outrage. "Do you know what he did to Shawn?"

And all at once it all fell into place for Vancie. Of course, why didn't she realize before? She knew this man. His name was Kenny Burnett. This was Shawn's brother. She had met him a few times at the strip club. Everyone, even Shawn, was afraid of Kenny. He was a cold-blooded ruthless thug. He openly bragged that he had killed people. Her heart froze with fear and she frantically renewed the efforts of kicking and clawing at him.

"Keep still, you fucking bitch!" his other hand came up to catch her arm, holding it in a vice-like grip. He continued talking, his face filled with ugly loathing.

"My brother is in hospital because of that pretty-boy Mexican boyfriend of yours. My brother is finished! His life is over. He can't swallow. He has to be fed by a fucking tube! A fucking tube stuck in his stomach feeds him! He can't talk. He'll never talk again. There's bones shattered in his throat that can't be fixed. He may live. He may die. And your Mexican lover-boy did that to my brother and I want him. I want him dead. What's his name? Where's he at in Mexico?"

Lack of oxygen was causing Vancie to lose consciousness. Kenny's voice came through a muffled wall and she had trouble processing what he had just said. When the hand left her mouth again she almost fell to the floor, but he caught her. "Hey, bitch!" he shouted, smacking her across the face again.

Fresh oxygen in her lungs quickly restored her brain function and this time she tried to run. But he caught her easily, slamming her into the wall and the meaty hand clamped tightly around her throat. "You're useless to me," he sneered bitterly. "Fucking useless! I've wasted my time."

Arms flailing uselessly she gagged and gasped, little wheezing sounds come from her mouth. She became panicked, terrified. She renewed her efforts at escape but he was sapping all her strength. There was no doubt now, he meant to kill her. He was strangling her and she was dying. Her lungs burned, her eyes felt they might pop from her head. She attempted a final futile struggle, but her body had grown numb and useless. The world faded away into darkness.

And then suddenly a brilliant light enveloped her and Kenny's hold on her throat was gone. She could breathe. Cool fresh beautiful air filled her body. And Jeremiah, no … Antonio … was there, holding her, kissing her, loving her, calling her darling. "I love you," he whispered, his breath warm on her skin. She opened her eyes and he was there, all amber-eyed and handsome. The sun shone blindingly bright about them, its glare almost white. Vancie gazed into the eyes of the man she would love forever. She had never been so completely happy in her entire life.

Kenny cursed as the girl slid to the floor a strangely serene smile on her face. He'd wasted his time with this bitch. The fuck was lost to him. Mexico! How the hell do you find a Mexican in Mexico? He spat with disgust as he exited slamming the apartment door behind him.

Jeremiah found the cold body of Vancie five hours later. DNA taken from the skin under her fingernails led the police to Kenny Burnett. He stood trial and was sentenced to life without parole for the murder of Vancie Fernandes. It took seven burly policemen to keep Agent Jeremiah Ecks from attacking the man in the sentence box during the trial. Jeremiah was assigned to cool his heels in Ecuador for one year before returning to his home base in Vancouver.

He returned a broken but resigned man. He decided that life would offer him nothing but pain. He accepted this fate. Happiness was for other people - not him. Happiness was not his destiny.

The man cast a lonely figure as he strolled along wet pavements, beads of rain dripping from the tip of his nose, steam clouding before him as he exhaled warm breath into the frigid night air. He tugged up his collar and hunched over against the onslaught. The rain had picked up speed. When he left his apartment it had been just a drizzle, but now driving rain lashed at him, its ice cold pellets stinging his face. Still, it didn't matter. He liked to walk in the rain. People scurried by, not bothering to look up. He was invisible and he liked it that way.