He was close, so very close. She could practically feel his warmth next to her. Reaching out a hand, the sensation felt as though she had made contact with his skin which sent coils of need throughout her body. She could hear him breathe and listened to him swallow when her touch moved up and down his chest and stomach, lingering in places to savor the texture of his muscles beneath her fingertips. He seemed so real. She nuzzled closer and could feel his expelled air against the top of her head, his chest hair against her cheek and his nipple under her mouth. She parted her lips and ran her tongue over it. The response was instantaneous. A light moan rumbled from the chest against her ear followed by a heavy sigh. Why couldn't he be real?

"Sam," she whispered in the dark as reality closed in. She was alone. Sam Beckett's naked body was not lying next to hers. It had only been a dream, a wonderfully sensuous dream which had seemed so tangible that accepting it as only a fantasy left her aching. The fact that after more than three years she could still remember the intimate details of their lovemaking and the glorious responses her ministrations had evoked, astounded her. Too much time had passed and with it the particulars of their short time together had become clouded. Or so she thought before tonight. Every element had been so vivid.
She rolled over to face the edge of the bed and tried to clear her mind of the yearning. All attempts at falling back asleep were fruitless until the first early morning light hitting the trees outside began casting shadows on her bedroom walls.

Dr. Sam Beckett checked over his right shoulder for what seemed the hundredth time that night. Ever since leaping into the young, pimply faced, man-child five hours before he felt like someone was watching him which was exactly what he had leapt in to prevent. According to Ziggy, Leonard Jacobs was a man on the run from not only his former employer but also the United States government. In the original history, Inca Imports, a company that had engaged in illegal importing activities, had been the subject of an investigation by the Drug Enforcement Agency. While in protective custody, Lennie, who was only a part-time employee while attending classes at the University of California at Los Angeles, had been killed by order of his former boss before any incriminating evidence could be divulged. Sam's objective was to not only avoid being picked up by the DEA but to also avert being murdered by an anonymous assailant.

"Take it easy, Sam," Al Calavicci instructed while he watched his best friend cast yet another worried glance over his shoulder. "I said I'd cover your backside. Jeez, just relax."

Sam stopped walking up Hollywood Boulevard and threw an irritated squint toward the older man. "I'm sorry if my paranoia is bothering you but keeping an eye open for my own murderer is not my choice for a fun night." He turned away and began scouting the surroundings, his face falling into a look of confusion as he took in the late night, early morning activities that were the norm for Hollywood: tourists meandering on the sidewalks, teen-agers cruising the boulevard looking for adventure and the street people searching for their next victim.

"What's the matter now?" Al asked, watching Sam's expression take on a confused and frustrated look.

"How the hell am I supposed to know what I'm supposed to do when whoever-it-is leaps me in in the middle of the night?" He watched a conservative sedan slow down as it approached him then losing interest, he glanced down at his left wrist looking for a watch which wasn't there. "What time is it?" he asked with a huff of exasperation.

The car he had casually acknowledged stopped next to him and a late middle-aged man leaned over from the drivers seat. "One twenty-five," the stranger offered, his face spreading into a lecherous grin. "Can I offer you a lift?"

Al noticed that the grin appeared totally lost on Sam. He figured the idea that someone would try to pick up Lennie would never occur to the physicist even though he was walking down one of the most notorious boulevards for prostitution in the world. Al shook his head at the Midwestern naivete which Sam seemed to excel at and, not giving his friend a chance to answer on his own, cleared his throat and said, while making an away sweeping motion away with his hand, "tell him 'no', Sam." When his companion threw back a questioning and perplexed look Al added, "Trust me. You don't want to take a ride with this guy. Just get rid of him."

"Ah...no thanks. I'd rather walk," Sam stated with the incredulous expression still on his face.

"Suit yourself," the stranger answered a little disgruntled then sped off.

"You know, for a genius you can be awfully stupid."

"So you keep telling me. What dumb thing did I just do?"

"That guy was a john."

Sam's face twisted into an exaggerated look of disbelief, eyes wide, eyebrows arched high in his forehead as his mouth fell open. "No..." he whispered facetiously and resumed walking.

The sarcasm was lost on Al. "I don't believe you sometimes," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Didn't you know he thought you were a prostitute? I swear, it's a wonder you've survived as long as you have."

Sam laughed and regarded his friend closely. "You really think I'm that gullible, don't you?" he quipped then, knowing the answer, quickly added, "What does that say about my mother? Don't you think she taught me at an early age never to accept rides or candy from strangers?"

Al rolled his cigar between his fingers and contemplated it for a moment before replying. "Well, if she did you haven't been a very good boy since you started leaping, have you? As I recall, you've accepted quite a few rides and several pieces of candy over the past few years."

"You won't tell her about them will you?" Sam requested with genuine concern in his voice. Impervious to the glittering lights of Hollywood Boulevard, his thoughts traveled to his mother and what she was doing at that very moment but then not only did resentment surface because he couldn't contact her but his musings became snagged on which moment was he pining for; the one when he was in Los Angeles or the one when Al was years in the future. He took a deep breath, shook his head and brought himself back to the physical present.

"No, I won't tell her," Al promised softly after watching the chaos play across the younger man's face. Then turning his attention to the building directly next to them, he instructed, "Okay, here's the hotel where you should stay tonight. Check in under your own name, get some rest and I'll see you in the morning."

"Is it night where you are?" Sam needed to know.

"Kind of," Al answered, checking his watch then turning his wrist for his companion to see. "Four-fifteen in the morning."

Glancing at the timepiece, Sam took another deep breath then studied his best friend's face. The worry lines seemed a little deeper and there were dark circles of fatigue surrounded his eyes. "You ought to talk to your boss about these horrible hours you have to keep."

"Nah, I kinda like them. I've always been a night person." He pulled the handlink from his pocket and began punching the keys. "Get a good night's sleep, Sammy boy." As the L.A. night began to waver before his eyes, he watched Sam enter the hotel lobby.

He appeared before her fully clothed and, without seeing the evidence of his physical need, she could see the desire in him. The question in his eyes, the slight pout of that wonderful lower lip, the slouch in his shoulders and the clenching and unclenching of his hands all spoke of his hunger. She took a tentative step toward him, then another until she was standing directly in front of him, only a hair's breath separating them. Reaching a hand out, she expected to touch thin air, expected him to vanish, but her fingers connected with the cotton shirt and then the substance of him. She ran her hand up his left arm to his shoulder and felt the corded muscles sheathed by the cloth. She began trembling all over in anticipation while her fingers started fumbling with the shirt buttons, the top one, the second one. The fabric fell away, exposing his chest and the backs of her fingers brushed the hair that grew there. The third and fourth buttons released their hold. She gathered fistfuls of material at his hips and pulled the shirttail up. The garment magically disappeared from her grasp allowing her to tuck her hands inside the waistband of his jeans. Pulling his hips closer to her, she heard him swallow then gulp for air. She massaged her way to his hard flat belly and played with the fine hairs then began to travel downward to the point where the fine hair gave way to coarser. He moaned and thrust against her touch as she grabbed him.

Sam awoke with a start to a racing heart and a body pulsing on the brink of release. Panting, he struggled to gain control. He fumbled with the light switch next to the bed and, once the room was bathed in light, he reoriented himself with the hotel room. The wallpaper still peeled away from the corner, the walls underneath were still painted a faded lime-green and the same big-eyed Keane print still hung over the dresser. And he was still alone.

His skin broke out in a new sheen of sweat as he recalled the dream, an erotic dream that held such an air of familiarity that it left him swathed in loneliness. Moreover, he could still perceive the faceless woman's touch on his body, the sensitive nerve-endings crying out for more intimate contact. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, trying to obtain dominance over his hormones.

He angrily threw the bed covers off and stumbled to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face, he leaned over the sink and forced himself to calm down. A dream! He'd reacted so strongly to a damned dream. He couldn't remember suffering in such a manner since he'd been a kid experiencing the effects of pubescent overload.

She had seemed so real, her touch familiar but he couldn't identify her, that frustrating Swiss cheese memory intruding again. What he would give for a vivid recollection instead of the fog laden remembrances that perpetually clouded his mind. Just once he would like to search for and find something crystal clear the first time rather than have to wade through deep endless caverns. In a fit of self-pity, he cursed the recklessness that had caused his premature entrance into the Accelerator.

"How long do you figure I'll be here?" Sam whispered to Al then started eating the breakfast a waitress had just placed before him. He ignored the woman's questioning look over her shoulder as she walked away from his table. Her demeanor matched the tired diner which was a hold out from the forties and had probably not been remodeled since. Cracking plastic covered the booth seats, formica topped the wobbly tables and a broken Wurlizer jukebox sat forgotten in a dark corner. The only reason the place remained in business, Sam quickly realized, was the food was fantastic.

Al punched the handlink keys then out of habit whacked the side even though data came up almost instantaneously. "Until the DEA finishes their investigation and your...I mean, Lennie's boss gets arrested."

"When's that supposed to be?" Sam quickly dropped his eyes to the scrambled eggs on his plate when the other customers started to throw him reproachful looks.

"Don't know," Al answered a little too quickly.

Instinctively, Sam knew there was a problem that Al wasn't telling him about. He calmly put the fork down and reached for the cup of coffee, while casting a warning glance toward his companion. "Al," he quizzed softly.

"What?"

"When did Lennie get killed?"

"March eighteenth."

"That's today, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"What time?" Sam wasn't in the mood for playing Al's guessing game this morning. He didn't want to spend time prying for the information which he knew by his friend's body language was not good and wondered if the older man really thought sidestepping would soften the blow. Resigning to himself that some things never change, he took a biteful of hash browns then patiently waited for an answer.

"Eight twenty-seven a.m." The response came quicker than he expected.

"And what time is it now?"

"Nine oh two."

"So, what's the problem? I've avoided getting killed therefore I've changed history. The boss does get arrested, doesn't he?"

"Well, you see, Sam, that's the problem." Al's eyes shifted downward as he rocked on the balls of his feet and avoided his friend's inquisitive look. "According to Ziggy all you've done so far is change the date and time of Lennie's murder. There's still no record of an arrest."

Sam's expression changed from curious to annoyed. "Just once I'd like this to be easy. No snags, no muss, no fuss." He pitched the fork in a fit of temper, sending it flying to land with a clink on the plate. "Get in there, do the job and leap out. No wrong information, no dealing with shifting history while I'm still there. Do what's expected of me and leave everyone behind with a 'happily ever after.'"

"Don't whine, Sam."

"I'm not whining," Sam replied louder than he should have. He sheepishly exchanged glances with an elderly man in the booth in front of him. "I'm not whining," he repeated quieter this time, paused then took another bite of food before going on. "What's the new day and time?"

Al studied his friend's face. Eyelids drooped with fatigue while the bushy eyebrows over them seemed less animated than normal. His mouth looked tense which caused the lines around it to appear more deeply etched. And there was a sag to his shoulders. His entire bearing indicated exhaustion. "What's the matter, didn't you get any sleep last night?"

"Yeah, I slept," came the reply followed by a inquiring lift of his eyebrows. After a few more seconds, he stopped chewing and stared at his companion, indicating that his question had still not been answered.

Al tore his eyes away from Sam's and returned his attention to the handlink. "March twentieth at around three a.m."

"Was he with the DEA?"

"No." Al grimaced before going on, knowing that the information he was about to relay could very possibly be the details of Sam's own murder. "His body was found in an alley behind the Pussy Cat theater on Santa Monica. He'd been stabbed to death."

"No problem," came the assurance. "I won't be behind the Pussy Cat Theater at three a.m., will I? I'll be tucked in bed in yet another wonderful flop house." His expression turned wistful. "Do I have a house, Al, or do I just rent an apartment?"

Knowing Sam like he did, Al didn't hesitate with his response."Yeah, you have a house," he replied, knowing he was entering territory that was specifically forbidden but recognizing that Sam needed a little bit of home. "But most times you'd just fall asleep on the couch in your office. Leisure time, which you used to lump sleep in with, has never been high on your list of priorities."

"Oh." Sam scooped up the last of the hash browns, shoved them into his mouth then grabbed the check as he slid from the booth. He exchanged an expression of understanding with Al while he dug in his pocket for money. "Then why do I suddenly want a long vacation?"

Tamlyn Matsuda scrutinized her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked tired which wasn't a surprise considering herlack of sleep the night before. And, with daylight, the sense that she was surrounded by the aura of Sam had not dissipated. His presence was everywhere. Not since he had leapt out of her life so abruptly did she feel so empty. She thought that that night he had left had been the worst of her life. Going back to the empty apartment where they had shared so much had hurt so immensely that within a week she had packed up and moved to Los Angeles, hoping the new environment would help heal the pain. And it had for awhile. But now her body and mind ached to see him, to touch him and she was confused by why this need had developed so suddenly.

She tried to push him from her mind all day but his image kept intruding; in the middle of lecturing about the role of the psychic to a criminology class at USC, while traveling the Santa Monica Freeway in the middle of the worst afternoon rush hour she had experienced since moving from San Francisco and during her aimless wandering of the Von's Supermarket aisles where she could find nothing appealing because she had no appetite for food. By the time she got home at eight p.m. she was exhausted. Falling on the bed with the intention of only resting for a moment, she quickly fell asleep.

The desirous countenance to his stance communicated that he was hers for the taking. Anticipation mixed with hesitation played across his features while he waited for her to make the first move.

"Sam," she breathed and reached for him. Her senses overflowed with the essence of him, the smell that was uniquely his of sweat mingling with soap, the feel of masculine muscle beneath her touch, the enigmatic mixture of the hard planes of his face with the warmth and tenderness in his eyes, the anticipatory sounds he unconsciously released as the air moved in and out of his lungs and the flavor of him when she tasted his lips. "Let me love you."

She pulled the tee shirt over his head then gently pushed against his chest, directing him backward toward the bed. Splaying her fingers over naked skin, she followed their path with her mouth, leaving a trail of small fluttering kisses in its wake. When she had him backed up to the bed she reached for the snap of his jeans. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered the zipper, one tooth at a time, careful to avoid his rising erection. He stirred to help but she quelled his hands by taking one and teasing the long, slender fingers with her tongue. She knelt down and removed the high tops and white socks. Coming up to her knees, she placed her hands inside his waistband and maneuvered his jeans and underwear downward, massaging and groping and lingering along the way, loving the feel of his well developed hips, thighs and calves. He sank down to the bed as she began peeling the pants from his legs. Once the job was completed she sat back on her haunches to admire the splendor of his naked form and realized with utmost clarity that he was the embodiment of the perfect male figure, the ideal combination of bone and muscle and skin and hair all surrounding a heart and soul as perfect as a member of the human species could be. And her only ambition at that moment was to pleasure him.

Forcing him down on the bed, she shimmied up his length to hover over him. Her fingers twined through his hair as she lowered her mouth to his left temple and gently kissed the spot where the white hair grew. Her tongue tasted his eyebrow, journeyed to his eye then licked down the length of his nose.

Sam bolted up in bed, wide awake and incredulous. The fact that he was hard surprised him since he was not normally a man driven by his glands. But what concerned him more was the impression that the faceless woman's caresses had been real, touches that had transcended space since he was definitely alone. He had felt them, really felt them like she had been in the bed with him. And he knew that he knew her, recognizing the familiar feel of her mouth on his lips and her hands on his body.

He took a deep breath, shook his mind of lascivious musings and laid back down. Within minutes he was back asleep.

Tamlyn, too awoke at that moment. She could still taste the salt from his skin and that frightened her. Over the years, she had experienced potent dreams and visions on a regular basis but never had one lost its link between fantasy and reality like this one had. She had connected with Sam, not the ethereal quality that was the stuff of dreams but the real and the physical. She had felt his substance and it made her ache for more. She yearned to be playing out the actions of her dream on the flesh and blood man. Amid the sense of deep longing, she drifted back to sleep.

Her lips and tongue laved the hollow at the base of his throat then began their descent. Finding his right nipple, she tenderly rolled it between her teeth while entrapping his arms that had stirred to enfold her. Without a word he seemed to understand and, yielding to her wishes, allowed her to continue unfettered. And continue she did. Traveling downward, she followed the thin line of hair that bisected his body, tugging and teasing along the way, feeling both the headiness of power and the tenderness of giving when he began to shake in anticipation. She brushed by his throbbing erection with a promise of what would follow then continued her southern trek, moving down the outside of his left thigh to his knee, his calf and finally his toes. Pausing to look at him from her vantage point, she saw an expression of expectation mixed with delight play across his features and then a quivering of the muscles in his arms as though he had started reaching for her again but, remembering her earlier gentle reproach, changed his mind and settled back down. At that moment, Tamlyn became overwhelmed by a wave of love for this man and knew that she could deny him nothing. And the fact that she had never done what she was about to do did not deter or frighten her. She wanted only to give him everything she could possibly give.

She slowly inched up the inside of his leg, stopping to savor the firmness of his inner thigh, playing her tongue over the tense muscles. She knew he was nearing the end of his control, his entire body quaking with the need for release but she continued her torturously slow journey. When a small bead of moisture fell on her cheek she knew the time for games was over, the sweet agony had given way to real pain. Kissing her way up, she took him in her mouth and played her tongue across the tip. His pelvis thrust against her sucking three times then his mouth opened in a soundless cry as his body shuddered in climaxed.

While wondering how a man could feel both sated and frustrated at the same time, Sam struggled to shake the grogginess of sleep from his brain. Then the details of his dream congealed and a wave of humiliation washed over him, not because of his physical reaction, as a doctor he understood male physiological responses, but by the fact that he had dreamt something so erotic in the first place. He was positive, even with his Swiss-cheesed memory, that he had never in his life experienced such an explicit reverie. Slowly, humiliation gave way to confusion. Since the small hotel room was bathed in morning sunshine and his drowsiness had cleared, by all rights the particulars should have begun to fade but they hadn't. They remained as clear as if they had actually happened and he couldn't understand why.

Who was the faceless woman and why was she affecting him the way she was? Was she someone he knew or merely a siren he had conjured up in his subconscious? The questions kept flowing and he had no answers which aggravated him even more. In a fit of pique, he threw off the bedcovers and started rolling off the bed to head for the bathroom.

He had moved only six inches when the window pane shattered and the pillow where his head had been seconds before exploded into a flurry of swirling feathers. He dropped to the floor instantly then began to frantically crawl toward the spot where he had carelessly thrown his clothes the night before. As quickly as his tremulous fingers would allow, he struggled into his jeans while lying flat on his back, slipped on the high tops sans socks, grabbed his shirt and wormed his way to the door. The same instant that he gingerly reached for the doorknob Al sprinted through the Imaging Chamber portal in a frenzied state.

"Sam, get off the bed!"

"Agh!" Sam yelled, collapsing into a heap of destroyed nerves.

Al quickly scanned the room, his observation going from the blown out pillow to his friend slumped against the door jamb. Kneeling down next to Sam's holographic image, he sent a silent prayer to the powers that be. Having only just received the information about the attempt from Ziggy a minute before, he feared that he had not arrived in time.

"Sam, are you hit? Where're you hit?" he babbled. "...You okay, buddy?"

Sam gathered his wits and finally opened his eyes. They still held a look of terror in them. "Yeah, I'm okay," he whispered resignedly.

"I'll go check outside. You just take it easy for a minute." Al punched the handlink and disappeared.

Sam was in the same position when he returned three minutes later. "Nothing. The guy got away but he left a spent casing on the building's roof across the street."

The younger man shakily stood up, paused for a second then silently opened the door and walked out of the hotel through the back entrance. Respected his need for time to recoup his composure, Al quietly kept up with the brisk pace, keeping alert for any sudden motion that may indicate further danger.

"I need a shower," were the first words out of Sam's mouth after they had gone three blocks and they were spoken so sullenly that Al, for the first time in years, couldn't read Sam's mood. There was something strange going on that went beyond the morning's attempted.

"There's probably a 'Y' somewhere close by," Al suggested brightly, hoping that after a shower his friend's grim frame of mind would somehow be magically diverted.

Sam stopped to scowl at him. "Don't you think I should first get out of this neighborhood?" he asked caustically then began to scout the busy traffic for a bus.

"Yeah...you're probably right." Al looked around and a billboard with a beach scene came into view. "Maybe you should try Santa Monica." A whimsical expression crossed his face. "I have quite a few fond memories about Santa Monica. As I recall, there are lots of small, inexpensive hotels and the air's cleaner." Al curbed his reminiscing to consult the handlink. "Catch the thirty-four bus to La Cienega and Olympic. It should be here in about two minutes...no, there it is right now." He pointed up the street. "Ziggy says to check into the Dawn Dee Motel on Santa Monica Boulevard." He hit the gummybear keys then searched his companion's face. "I'll be right back, Sam. I need to chew out that useless compilation of microchips about her less than satisfactory performance this morning."

Sam managed to return a halfhearted smile.

He had to be close, Tamlyn realized with absolute conviction while she lay awake on the bed, replaying what had just happened. There was no other explanation. For some reason, she had become connected with Sam Beckett's presence and, after the intensity of that last nexus, she knew their bond was getting stronger.

Rapture gave way to dread when the afterglow wore off and reality stepped in. She knew her gift was almost always the portent of danger. If he was in peril, wouldn't she have dreamt about that and not about passion? Wouldn't she have seen what was threatening him? No, she finally conceded. Love always interfered with her ability to see clearly. How had she forgotten? She chuckled softly to herself as the thought occurred to her that, when it came to Sam, her reasoning always had a tendency toward cloudiness.

Finding him was not going to be an easy task. Not only was Los Angeles a huge city with millions of people but she had no idea into whom he had leapt and whether she would be able to see through the physical aura right way. With Dylan Powell, they had spent time together before the facade had dissolved away. There was no way of knowing what would happen the next time. And then there was the added complication of whether he would remember her. During their time together he had described in minute detail the pain and frustration over his Swiss cheesed memory. For all she knew, she could have already passed him by on a street and, if the holes were just so, he wouldn't have known her.

Thankful that her day was free from commitments and aware that her only leads might be what she could recall from her dreams, she closed her eyes, tucked the bedcovers under her chin and tried to resurrect the background imagery. Pictures started flowing easily into her mind but they were all of Sam's body and Sam's face. She smiled wistfully then struggled for will power. She forced her musings to move slowly away from the bed to the wall behind the headboard where the sun-bleached blue, floral wallpaper peeled away at the seams then along the wall, past the first corner, past the Keane print, past the second corner to finally rest on the entry door. She could see the room information card in its small frame where it hung a foot above the doorknob but couldn't read the printing. In her mind's eye, she tried to zoom in but, like a photograph taken out of focus, the words remained fuzzy. Hoping something outside might be familiar, she abandoned the card for the window across the room. However, when the glass appeared a murky gray she realized that her vision was connected only with Sam and, because of what she had been doing to him, his attention had not been on the view out the window.

Tamlyn brought her observations back to the room's interior, searching for some sort of clue. She scanned the night stand, looking for a telephone with a phone number on dial face but there wasn't one nor was there a telephone book on the bottom shelf next to the Gideon Bible. Her eyes next moved to the chest of drawers where she finally hit paydirt. By itself in one corner was a small brochure advertising bus tours of famous Hollywood, California, home of the glamorous movie industry. She had at least narrowed the search down, he was staying in a sleazy hotel somewhere in Hollywood.

Feeling exhausted yet inordinately pleased with herself, Tamlyn settled back into the pillows and spoke out loud, "Maybe next time I dream about you, love, I'll be able to keep my hands and eyes off you long enough to get you to look out the window."

The trek to Santa Monica turned out to be a trip through hell. Sam had been unceremoniously dumped on the corner of La Cienega and Olympic Boulevards and, after waiting for forty-five minutes for the connecting bus to arrive, ended up walking to the intersection of Pico and Robertson where he caught another bus that took him only as far as Westwood. After taking the wrong bus and needing four more transfers to get back on track, he was certain there was no way to get to Santa Monica without a sightseeing trip of the entire Greater Los Angeles basin. By the time he checked into the Dawn Dee Motel, an establishment which appeared to be designed for the professional transient, Sam was wrung out, ticked off and had still not had his shower. He had not eaten since the night before, thinking it unwise to stop long enough in one spot and, although his stomach rumbled its protest, the very thought of food made him nauseous. The only bright spot he had found all day was that the kid he had leapt in to had at least had the common sense to make sure he wouldn't run out of money. Every pocket he had explored had been neatly stuffed with twenty and fifty dollar bills totaling over two thousand dollars.

As Sam stripped off his ripening clothes he promised himself that if he survived until the next morning he would celebrate with the purchase of a new wardrobe. He stepped into the shower, cursing at the less than adequate water pressure as the flow struggled to get past years of mineral deposits on the shower head. Then, while he tried to work up a lather from the puny bar of soap, the thought occurred to him that he hadn't seen Al in hours, not since the bus stop at Pico and Westwood when his supposedly best friend had given him the wrong information and Sam had ended up on a bus toward Culver City. Leave it to Al to know when to avoid a confrontation because, in his present state of mind, Sam knew he'd want to rake his buddy over hot coals just to watch him squirm.

"Jeez, Beckett," he scolded himself. "You're sure developing one hell of a vicious streak." He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes and tried to use Eastern disciplines to force himself to relax, focusing on his hands while they worked the soap over his body but he didn't relax. Instead, the faceless woman's image popped into his head and with it the memories of the dreams. His body immediately tightened in response just like an immature school kid's would who hadn't learned to control his hormones when looking at a Playboy centerfold.

"Damn it," he hissed when the soap slipped from his grasp. As he bent over to retrieve it, he chastised himself over the fact that ever since this leap had started he seemed to be experiencing an excessive number of hard-ons. Who was this mystery woman who could elicit such basically animalistic reactions from the normally self-controlled Dr. Beckett? And on a regular basis, too. He silently thanked God, Fate, Time or Whatever that Al wasn't around to see this and returned to his washing.

Feeling clean yet thoroughly exhausted after his shower, Sam laid down on the bed for a short nap. His growling belly kept him awake for a few minutes but he lacked the energy necessary to get up, put those foul clothes on again and search the area for a decent restaurant. Maybe he'd be more motivated after a quick catnap.

The first thing Tamlyn noticed was he appeared worn out. Even in sleep his forehead was creased with furrows and there was tension in his mouth. She fought her hormones and valiantly tried not to look at his naked body while he lay sprawled asleep on top of the bedcovers but the battle had been lost before it had even begun. Her eyes started to roam, taking in the width of his shoulders and the strength in his arms, the breadth of his chest covered by just the right amount of hair and how it tapered perfectly past his firm stomach to his narrow hips. Her attention next became fixed on his flaccid penis and images within the vision started flowing into her head. No sooner had she thought about reaching out to touch it when she was doing just that, running her fingers along the velvety shaft then feeling it start to grow beneath her hand. He unconsciously moved away from her exploration which caused a wave of guilt to spread over her. He was tired and, although his body was responsive to her fondling, passion was probably the last thing on his mind.

Lust was suddenly replace with protectiveness and a yearning to shield him from anything and everything that may harm him. She laid down next to him and snuggled as close as she could get, placing her body alongside his as a buffer against danger, real or imagined. Her caresses no longer conveyed desire. Instead, they resembled those of a mother soothing a child out of a nightmare, calming strokes on the cheek and arm accompanied by murmured words of reassurance. The rigidity in his muscles slowly eased, his breathing became regular and the tension flowed out of his face. She had served her purpose. He should sleep comfortably now.

The tranquilizing effect of the dream was the first thing Sam became aware of. Still asleep, he tried to cuddle closer to the warm body, seeking its heat like an addict gravitating toward his drug of choice. He wanted to wrap his arms around her but they wouldn't budge. Like all the other dreams, he couldn't initiate any of the moves. They had to come from her. He was only allowed to respond to them. And, he reminded himself, respond to them, he had.

At first he'd been annoyed when she'd started to manipulate him, he was burnt out and sex was the last thing on his mind but then her touch had changed. It had turned into a series of sedate pettings which had calmed his frazzled nerves and had allowed him a moment's respite from the seriousness of his present situation. Now that the threat was only a vague needling at the back of his brain he remembered her original intent which gave way to prurient desires.

The degree with which he craved her advances not only surprised him but scared and angered him, too. He couldn't ever recall wanting a woman so badly that the need bordered on agony. He was Dr. Samuel Beckett, a man with six degrees who was famous for his ability to stay focused on what was important, a man who had never allowed his hormones to take over his life. Hell, he could count on one hand the number of sexual encounters he had experienced, not exactly the sort of data a normal man would be proud of. But he wasn't normal. From the time he was two years old nothing he had ever done had even approached normal. And what confounded him even more was he didn't even know who she was.

She stirred against him like she was starting to move away. Again he tried to reach for her but his arms could not or would not obey, he didn't know which. She must have sensed his feeble attempt because she settled back down and nuzzled his armpit with her face. Then her hands began their quest. There was no coyness to her movements as she reached down and rolled his testicles through her fingers then lightly skimmed his rising penis. He battled with the partial paralysis that had taken over his body, partial because, although he couldn't move, he could feel everything. When she crawled up and positioned herself over him he tried to scream out his frustration at not being able to place his hands on her hips to help guide her down but nothing came out of his mouth. And then he was surrounded by her. He could feel himself sheathed in her moist warmth and there was nothing he wanted more than to be able to answer the rhythm of her body. But he couldn't. He could only lay there passively, feeling her move around him, forcing him deeper then lifting up so he was almost out, then down again. Over and over and over until finally the convulsions of her orgasm triggered his and he spilled deep inside her.

When Sam awoke the next morning he was drained both mentally and physically, not at all refreshed like he should have been after nine hours of sleep. The intensity of the dreams was beginning to take its toll and he was no closer to understanding them then he had been when they'd first started. The only thing he was sure of was they had to stop or at least ease up so he could get some much needed rest. In his present state, he wouldn't be capable of swatting a fly let alone thwarting a murder attempt.

He staggered to the bathroom and turned on the shower. While he waited for the water to get warm he examined the reflection in the mirror. The kid looked worse than he felt.

"You don't look so good, Sam," Al's voice broke through the sound of rushing water.

Sam jumped in reflex. "I sure wish you'd reflect," he complained.

"You always hate when I reflect, or have you forgotten?"

Sam shook his head at the bad pun while a smile broke over his face. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in hours."

"We've been trying to figure out why Ziggy almost missed that very pertinent information yesterday morning. Gushie swears there's nothing wrong but I have my doubts so I had him do a Priority One analysis. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased and neither was Ziggy. I had to listen to both of them bitch and moan all day."

"Did you find anything?"

"Other than a computer with a smug streak the size of the Grand Canyon? No. I swear, Sam, when you get home I'm going to enjoy watching that narcissistic she-monster torn out by her..." Al's face lit up at the prospect.

"Who says I'm going to dismantle her?" Sam interrupted.

Al's expression twisted into a look of disbelief. "You'd better or I'll do it myself and I guarantee I won't be gentle."

Sam laughed at his friend's vehemence. "You're just angry at her. You'll get over it."

Al studied Sam's face. He hadn't thought it possible but the physicist look even more haggard than he had the morning before. "I don't think so. One look at you makes me mad all over again. What's going on, Sam? I'll admit this is a pretty tough leap but you look like you haven't slept in days."

"I just need a shave," Sam suggested casually. "Remind me to buy a razor today." He looked down at his naked body. "Did you bring me some clothes?" he asked innocently, trying to direct the subject away from his run-down appearance.

"Clothes? How can I bring you clothes? I'm a hologram."

"Wishful thinking on my part, I guess. The very thought of putting those filthy things back on is enough to make me want to let the murder find me so I won't have to."

"It'll only be for a little while. There's a mall just a couple of miles up the street." Al rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Shopping...I love to shop. It's my second favorite pastime."

"I thought eating was your second favorite pastime." Sam's smile got a little wider then it sagged as he began to search for a memory. "Or was it sleeping?" He asked.

"It doesn't matter just so long as you remember what my favorite one is."

Sam blushed.

Afraid of what would happen if his attention strayed, Sam tried to keep his mind centered on their shopping expedition which immediately sent up a red flag for Al because, as a rule, Sam hated shopping. He was the sort of man who would wear whatever someone bought him since that meant he didn't have to go out and buy it himself. To him, shopping was a waste of time.

For over an hour Al tried to ignore the uncharacteristic behavior but when he popped into the younger man's dressing room and found the physicist standing there with his eyes closed and sporting a huge erection he couldn't ignore the situation any longer. Sam Beckett was generally not a man susceptible to sexual fantasies.

Not wanting to scare the daylights out of his friend and in order to give him time to recover, Al quietly disappeared from the cubicle to wait outside. Sam emerged five minutes later wearing not only new clothes but also a chagrined look as he carried four more shirts and two more pairs of jeans which he would add to the packages of shorts and socks he had already purchased.

Al knew he had to say something and he also knew that at the slightest mention of human sexuality Sam would blush first then turn tail and run, therefore, the subject had to be broached carefully. Over the years he had become a master at beating around the bush, perfecting the art since Sam had started leaping, but Al didn't know how to open the conversation without letting the other know what he had seen. He tried to work the conversation in his head but quickly remembered that, although his scenarios might work with the average person, they never seemed to work with Sam.

"I need to talk, Al," Sam stated boldly.

There were no assurances that Sam's revelation was even remotely connected to what Al had been brooding over but the Observer could hope. He stifled a heavy sigh of relief, feigned surprise then leaned forward to relay his interest.

"Not here," Sam said. "There're too many people around." He smiled sheepishly while he took in the crowd of shoppers. "I hate it when people think I'm talking to myself."

"There's a park overlooking the ocean," Al offered. "It's only a couple of blocks away."

Sam pulled four fifties out of his pocket. "Let me pay for these first. I'll meet you there after I get some take-out. I'm starving."

As Sam walked west on Santa Monica Boulevard munching on a burrito, he wondered not only why he wanted to tell Al about his predicament in the first place but how he was going to go about explaining it. The situation was getting out of hand, he knew that and if he didn't talk about it, his condition would only get more embarrassing, not that it could get any more awkward. He had heard the sound of Ziggy's handlink when Al had popped in then quickly out of the dressing room and was well aware of what his friend had seen.

Al was waiting for him, standing next to a park bench. "Whatcha got?" the Observer asked while craning his neck to see inside the bag.

"Taco Bell," Sam replied while he sat down, took out a taco and waved it in under Al's holographic nose. "Too bad you can't have some. It's very good."

"You forget where I am, Sammy. None of that ersatz Mexican food for me. Only the real thing, hot and spicy."

He had his opening so Sam took it before he could change his mind. He took a deep breath, paused for a moment then declared, "I'm having some really weird dreams, Al."

This wasn't what Al had been expecting. He had been expecting some big confession about rampaging hormones and sexual fantasies after what he'd seen in that dressing room. Lord only knew when the kid had last gotten any. "About what?"

The color rose in the younger man's face. "Sex," he whispered.

So Al had been right, not that it had taken a genius to figure it out. "You're having erotic dreams and that bothers you? Jeez, Sam, every man has erotic dreams, even you, whether you want to admit to them or not."

"These are different," Sam confessed.

Leave it to Mr. Morals to change the nature of dirty dreams, Al thought. "How so?" he asked aloud.

"They're so real." Sam got up and started to pace around the bench. He stopped suddenly, put his fingers to his forehead in concentration, took them away then looked at Al. "You know when you first wake up there's a remnant of the dream, a little residual feeling that wears off after a couple of minutes?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, these dreams don't wear off." He resumed his pacing. "It's like they really happened." He paused for a second as though trying to gain the courage to go on. "And in them I'm unable to move."

"What fun is that?"

Sam gave him that tilt-of-the-head-look that meant Al might not take the subject seriously but Sam did. Al cleared his throat, gave the proper "I'm sorry" look and nodded his head for Sam to continue.

"There's not much more."

"How many have there been?"

"Three."

"And how long have they been going on?" For the umpteenth time Al understood Dr. Beeks' role in the Project and wished he could turn Sam over to her.

"Since I leaped in here three nights ago."

Al studied his friend's face. The fatigued look had started showing up at about the same time. "So it has something to do with this leap." Al began inputting into the handlink. "Do they involve different women or is it always the same one?"

"It's always the same one but I can't see her face."

"Then how do you know it's the same woman?"

"I just do and if I could see her face I'd recognize her. I'd know right away who she is. Don't ask me how I know, I just do."

Sam was flustered. Al could always tell. When the physicist started talking in circles that meant he was becoming unhinged. There wasn't a whole lot in the world that Sam didn't understand but when he did come face to face with one of them he would worry the topic to death until he had full comprehension. Al wondered what would happen if there were no answers to be found.

Tamlyn spent the entire day cursing herself. After she'd promised herself that she'd pay more attention to the surroundings than to Sam, she'd gone ahead and played out the most ardent dream yet without taking one little look around. How the hell did she expect to find him if she kept up these little vignettes? She was a mature, intelligent woman. She had known ahead of time what she had to do but no, she hadn't had the will power to keep her hands off of him so she'd lost another chance to identify where he was. All she could recollect now, hours later, was that the background seemed somehow different from the other two dreams. The furniture wasn't the same, or at least the headboard wasn't because that's really all she got a good look at. The headboard and Sam's face as he came inside her.

"Get a grip, Tamlyn," she scolded herself. She was perfectly capable of noticing the slightest little trace of evidence for the various police departments she consulted with. She had helped solve major crimes with the measliest of information but when her talent involved Sam Beckett the best she could do was create amatory illusions. "Stupid woman." She again made a vow to herself that if and when she "saw" Sam again she wouldn't bungle the opportunity.

The second murder attempt took place at six forty-three p.m. on Sunday evening in the parking lot of the Dawn Dee Motel. Sam walked between two cars parked in front of his room when a man wearing a ski mask jumped out brandishing a knife. In the split second it took for Sam to realize what was going on, the knife ripped a slash six inches long in his new shirt. His reflexes quickly kicked in and when he jumped back, the maneuver prevented the blade from doing little more than barely breaking the skin across his stomach. He gathered himself for a defensive kick to the face but the assailant was already on the run, dodging between cars on Santa Monica Boulevard, heading east. While the adrenalin rushing through his bloodstream started it's decline, leaving him slightly wobbly and weak kneed, Al burst through the Imaging Chamber door.

"Look out, Sam!"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the late model sedan and threw his friend a casual look. "Look out for what, Al?" he asked calmly, belying the turmoil that still coursed through his veins.

"Someone's gonna come after you with a knife." Al crouched down then scanned the area thoroughly looking for hidden danger.

"Oh, do you mean like this?" Sam uncrossed his arms and held his shirt out for Al to see.

Al did a double-take on the split fabric then slowly moved his gaze to his friend's face. The aftereffects of the adrenalin was causing the blood to drain away, leaving him white as a sheet. "You don't look so good, Sam. Maybe you'd better sit down."

"I'm okay," Sam announced vehemently. "It's only a scratch." He took his key out of his pocket and walked the five steps to his room. "But what's the good of having all that easily accessible information if it doesn't get to me on time?" He opened the door and made a beeline for the bathroom where he removed the ruined shirt and proceeded to wash the wound.

"Ziggy says that since Lennie didn't die on March 18, history changed and, with each attempt you thwart, the ripple effect gets even bigger, therefore she can't predict what's going to happen next."

"Great, just great," Sam announced to no one in particular.

"Don't you think you ought to be getting out of here?" Al asked, grimacing while he watched the process of cleaning the slash.

"They won't be back tonight," Sam stated matter-of-factly. He rinsed out the washcloth, then placed it on the rack to dry. He then started rinsing out the tattered shirt. "I'll leave first thing in the morning."

"What are you doing, Sam?" Al quizzed while the younger man continued hand washing the shirt.

"There's blood on this. If I leave it the way it is someone might find it and, assuming the worst, call the police. We can't have the police involved since the DEA is probably using them to help find Lennie."

"Oh," came the reply.

Tamlyn watched him toss fitfully in his sleep for several moments then investigated the motel room. Even in the dark she could see bright seascape paintings hanging over new wallpaper and the typical, pressed-board, contemporary styled furniture was free of thick dust coating notches and deep scratches. A late model television hung from a bracket on the wall and there was even a telephone on the night stand next to the bed. At least he wasn't staying in another filthy, run-down hotel.

As she tried to read the phone number on the dial, Sam twisted violently, sending the sheet flying toward the bottom of the bed. That's when she saw the four inch long cut high on his stomach. Not wanting to awaken him, she tentatively placed her right hand over the spot without making contact but when he turned again her hand brushed the wound. Images of violence coalesced into her head and with them, the ski-masked individual with his appetite for brutality. Tamlyn became paralyzed with fear as she recognized that the man had intended to kill Sam. Overpowered by a need to protect and comfort him, she laid down, placed her lips over the cut and tenderly ran her tongue once over the scab while vowing that she wouldn't let anything else happen to him.

Tamlyn awoke, according to her standards, bright and early the next morning at six fifty-five. While she lounged in bed she called the telephone number she had seen in her dream the night before.
"Dawn Dee Motel."

Tamlyn paused. She hadn't really thought about what she was going to say. Knowing she couldn't just ask for Sam Beckett's room since she assumed he'd be there under someone else's name, and without knowing into whom he had leapt there was no way she could describe him, she quickly hung up. Her only option, now that she knew the name of the place, was to go there and knock on every door herself.
She looked up the address in the phone book, showered and dressed then got into her car for the relatively short drive from West Hollywood to Santa Monica.

He wasn't there. After knocking on all the doors to find only five of the rooms occupied, Tamlyn walked to the front office to inquire about anyone who might have checked out earlier. The older woman who came to the glass window looked like she wasn't quite fully awake yet. Her hair was still in curlers covered by a net, her gaudy make-up was either half on or half off, Tamlyn couldn't tell and her eyes had the puffy appearance that came with to little sleep or too much alcohol.

"I'm looking for someone," Tamlyn began.

"Ain't we all, honey?"

"I thought he was staying here. Have you had any check-outs this morning?"

The woman gave Tamlyn the once over. "The only check-out I've had in the last day was a young guy about twenty, much too wet behind the ears for you, dear. Told me last night that he wasn't gonna be staying. I heard him leave this morning a little before dawn."

Tamlyn's hopes dropped. "I don't suppose he told you where he was going?"

"Nah, around here they're in and out then gone, if you catch my drift?"

A very depressed young woman drove toward UCLA to give yet another boring lecture to a class of very uninterested kids on the benefits of psychic abilities to criminal investigations.

"You know, Al, I'm getting pretty tired of playing hopscotch all around L.A." Sam picked up a brochure about the famous Farmer's Market, scanned the cover then returned it to the small desk. He turned to regard his friend. "Why can't you just zero in on Lennie's boss, tell me where he is and I'll call in an anonymous tip to the DEA?" He sat down on the bed at the Beverly Laurel Motor Hotel and began pulling off his shoes. "I mean, first in Hollywood, then in Santa Monica now back to West Hollywood..."

"If it were that easy don't you think I would have tried it already. We can't just lock on to anyone our little hearts desire. If we could, this leaping stuff would be easy. They have to have been near you at least once so Ziggy can get a reading on them. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don't remember." Sam absently rubbed the bare toes on his left foot then abruptly stopped the massage and stared out the second story window. "I can't keep running forever, Al."

Al had been waiting for this moment all day, knowing that Sam wasn't the sort of man who let things happen. He'd always been a do-er which had put his life in jeopardy more times than one, starting with the rash act of stepping into the Accelerator. "Not yet, Sam." the Observer advised aware that, if he thought it would get results, Sam would try to flush out the bad guy himself. "Let's wait a little longer before you put yourself in any more danger. Two murder attempts are enough for me." He circled the room wishing he could lean against something. "Give the DEA some more time." He followed Sam's stare out the window. "Meanwhile, why don't you go get some dinner? There's a fantastic Jewish Deli not three blocks away from here. Canter's. The waitresses are cranky but the chopped liver's the best."

When Tamlyn finally settled down after a hectic day to sip a cup of orange spice tea, she became deluged by Sam's aura. The power of the feeling was enough to make her knees weak and her head swim. There was no longer the question of he had to be close, he was close, closer than he had been before. She was positive. Her chest tightened in anticipation.

For over two hours she tried to mollify herself, first with television and then a book she had been meaning to start but she couldn't concentrate. Every minute or two she'd find her thoughts drifting to Sam. Her self-control finally broke when she found herself pacing the living room like a caged animal. Gathering her purse and jacket, she got in her car and started combing the neighborhood.

With every pedestrian she passed on the street her stomach churned with anxiety that if he or she was Sam, she was letting him get away. But she couldn't just walk up to every one of them, stare them in the eye and ask if they were Sam Beckett, even though she wanted to. After an hour and a half of cruising up and down every street within a five mile radius, Tamlyn returned home crestfallen.

The damned dreams again with that faceless, nameless woman. She appeared out of nowhere and hovered over him from the side of the bed. Her eyes captured his then her expression turned pensive as she turned away from him and started searching the room. She must have seen something on the night stand because her head abruptly jerked toward him, a wide smile spread across her face and then the dream ended with her sudden disappearance.

A faint rapping on the door, which sounded like someone lightly tapping their fingernails against the wood, awakened Sam. Fear rose in his throat. The murderer had found Lennie. However, as his head cleared of sleep, logic returned. If the murderer was standing on the other side why would he be knocking?

"Sam," came the feminine whisper. "Sam I know you're in there."

Sam? Sam thought. Who would know him by his own name? There had to be a mistake. He relaxed a little. After all, he was in a hotel. One of the guests had gotten lost and thought she was knocking on the right door. "Sam" wasn't exactly an uncommon name.

Then she whispered, "Sam Beckett."

There was no mistaking what she had said. Instinctively, he knew that the person on the other side of the door did not pose a threat even without identifying who she was. He read one seventeen on the clock as he got out of bed, put on his pants and padded to the door. Without delay, he turned the knob and swung the door wide.

For a brief second they both hesitated as Sam and Tamlyn locked eyes. Immediately, recognition registered on both their faces then she turned into a whirl of motion and flew into his arms. She grabbed his face, pulled it down and began smearing kisses all over while murmuring unintelligible endearments.

Sam held on for dear life. The faceless woman of his dreams finally had an identity and she was Tamlyn, dear sweet Tamlyn, the only woman who knew him as himself, the only woman he could remember who loved him, Sam Beckett, and not the person into whom he had leapt. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer and he breathed a sigh of relief and words of thanks to whomever had brought her to him.

"I didn't know if you'd remember me," she finally managed to say after they separated from the embrace they had held for several moments.

"I remember you," he replied softly. Thinking that if he broke his touch she might disappear, his hands continued stroking her arms. The brim of tears that had filled her lower eyelids spilled over and started streaming down her cheeks. He tenderly wiped them away with the back of his forefinger then cradled her head and looked deeply into her eyes. "'Though I didn't know who you were in my dreams until I saw you at the door."

Tamlyn's face turned bright red. "Dreams? You've been having dreams?"

"Yeah." Sam's face spread into a wide grin. "And I think you know what they've been about."

Tamlyn wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. "I couldn't help it, Sam. You were close. I could feel that you were close and they helped me to find you. I almost caught up with you in yesterday morning but you left a few hours before I got there." A look of concern crossed her face when she remembered the slash across his stomach. "You're in danger, aren't you?"

"Shhh," he replied and muffled her next words by placing his mouth over hers.

"You've been running all over the city," she finally got out when he released her. "First Hollywood, then Santa Monica and now here. Why?"

"Why are you here?" he asked, trying to turn the topic away from himself.

She lowered her eyes. "I couldn't stay in San Francisco," she answered then raised her head to meet his piercing look. "I may have grown up there but after you left it wasn't the same. With my family gone there was nothing to keep me there and everything about it reminded me of you so I left. I'm doing quite well here but you didn't answer my question, Sam. What's going on?"

He let her go, closed the door then sat down on the bed. He took a deep breath, said, "Just another leap," and proceeded to explain everything to her, opening himself up to the only person, besides Al, who came close to understanding his plight.

She took a place next to him and watched his expressions and gestures closely; head bent as though he couldn't meet her eyes, hands that waved palms up in a subconscious signal of desperation and shoulders that slumped in defeat, all of which evinced the amount of strain he was under.

When he finished he looked at her and gave her an embarrassed half-smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to unload on you."

She laid her hand on his cheek and delved into his hazel-green eyes. Overwhelm by love, she whispered, "I want you." Without saying another word, she picked up the duffel bag from the floor near her feet, walked to the bathroom and started stuffing his toiletries into it. Toothbrush followed toothpaste, razor, shaving cream and hairbrush. Sam watched in silence when she returned to the bedroom and began transferring his clothes from the dresser drawers. She handed him a shirt, zipped up the duffel bag then said, "Let's go home."

He wanted to say no, that being with him was too dangerous and he didn't want to put her in that kind of jeopardy but he couldn't, so he put on the shirt, took the duffel bag from her grasp and let her lead the way out.

The tension in the car during the short, four block ride home became palpable by the time she pulled into her driveway. Sam's attention was so thoroughly riveted on her that he didn't even notice the features of her quaint, Mediterranean-style house as he got out of the car, climbed the three stairs and followed her inside.

They paused briefly in the entryway. When Tamlyn reached to close the door, it swung away from her hand as Sam hit it with his hip and captured her in his arms all in one fluid motion.

The impact of his lips meeting her in a demanding and possessive kiss broke the tension and unleashed her appetite. Feeling her legs weaken, she leaned against him and opened her mouth to his prodding. His tongue dove past her lips, reaching for deep recesses while he crushed her body to the wall.

Tamlyn was sure she was melting into a pool of liquid when the bulge in his jeans made contact. From somewhere, she found the strength to rub her hips against it. He groaned in response, clutched her left thigh and brought her leg up, opening her to his seeking fingers from behind. When he started pressing against her harder she forced her hands between them, carefully unzipped his pants and freed him from his restraints. He pulled the crouch of her panties to one side and entered her with one swift thrust. She cried out her satisfaction at the feel of him, the real feel of him inside and answered his thrusts with a drive that surprised her. She couldn't believe how good it felt and then her body exploded as she felt him stiffen and pulsate deep within her.

Even as he withdrew from her, Tamlyn knew something was wrong. She watched the color seep into his face and then he started stammering while attempting to right his clothes. "I ca..can't believe I did that. I'm so so..sorry..."

"It's okay, Sam."

"No it's not," he stated boldly. "I've never done anything like that before. Please forgive me. I don't know what came over me.

"I do," she replied knowingly and gave him an affectionate smile. "Besides, if you hadn't done it, I would have." She took his face and forced him to look down at her. "But," she continued, "you must admit, it just wouldn't have had the same impact if I'd tried crushing you against the wall." She reached up on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. "Are you hungry?"

"Are you?"

"Yes," she said, laughing provocatively. "But I'll settle for food for the time being." She took his hand and led him to the kitchen.

The kitchen was one of those airy, country types with copper pots and pans hanging from a hood over the stove, Italian tile covering the counters and floor and a butcher block table standing as an island in the middle. Tamlyn directed Sam to a seat in the oak breakfast nook from where he watched her bustle about the room. She took two plates and two glasses from a cupboard and placed them on the butcher block. From the refrigerator, she brought out bread, peanut butter, strawberry jam and a half gallon of milk then returned to the table.

Sam felt an intimacy while watching her perform such domestic activities. Being deeply moved by something so mundane did not surprise him, he'd been accused by Al of worse, and rightly so, many times before, but his body's reaction to it did. He wanted her again. He couldn't believe the effect she had on him, from those dreams to that embarrassing display in the entry hall. The blood started pounding in his ears as he began to visualize what he'd like to do at that table. Shaking his head, he rubbed his hand down his face and silently lectured himself that behavior like this was unacceptable but he lost his direction when she paused, studied him for a moment and sent him a enticing smile.

"I forgot a knife," she cooed. "There's one in that drawer to your left."

Sam opened the drawer, picked up two knives and took them to the table. Hoping to distract himself, he began spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread while Tamlyn applied the jam to another. When he was finished he placed the bread on one of the plates and started the second one. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tamlyn carefully put her bread on top of his and gently pressed down. He stifled a moan. They repeated the steps with the second sandwich.

She poured milk into both glasses, took a sandwich and began to eat, making smacking sounds as she fought with the peanut butter that he had spread on too thickly, all the while throwing him alluring glances. She stopped, her eyes fixated on his lower lip when he bit into his sandwich and then they focused on the small dollop of strawberry jam that stuck to the corner of his mouth. Wondering how a man could be so unobtrusively sexy, Tamlyn stood on her tiptoes and seductively licked the jam off.
She quickly realized that her craving for him had merely been whetted at the front door, that she wanted and needed him again with an urgency that overpowered her senses. Shocked at her wanton behavior but unable to control herself, she started tearing at his teeshirt, aching to touch bare skin. He seemed briefly taken aback at her aggression but his apathy was short lived. He became a flurry of activity as he grappled with her blouse, practically ripping the buttons from their holes, and yanked it off. Her bra promptly followed.

Tamlyn was still struggling to get the shirt over his head, fighting with it because he was too tall for her to be successful, when she felt his hands on her breasts. She finally aborted her assault on his clothing and gave in to the sensations that began coursing through her body. He took her left nipple in his mouth and flickered it lightly with his tongue, sending a ripple of delight straight down to the point between her legs.

Knowing her rubbery limbs wouldn't hold her much longer, she was thankful when she felt herself being lifted up on the table even though everything in their way went flying and the sound of breaking glass hit her ears. But all thoughts about shattered dishware vanished when his hands reached under her skirt and began to tug frantically at the waistband of her panties. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she impatiently shifted her position to give him easier access but his normally deft fingers were surprisingly clumsy and he couldn't manage to get them off. She writhed against his hand, letting him know how hot and ready she was for him and that he needed to hurry up, until, through the sound of her heart hammering in her chest, she heard the muttering of a word she was sure he rarely, if ever, used followed by the rending of cloth as lust took its toll and he ripped them from her.

Tamlyn breathed a sigh of relief as the popping of a snap followed by the rasping of a zipper and the rustling of denim, reached her ears. Knowing he was free of all encumbrances, she extended her hands to fondle him but he entrapped her wrists while determinedly nudging her legs apart with his body. Still wet from their previous encounter, he easily slipped into her when she arched her back and wrapped her legs around his hips. She came almost immediately, the spasms, with their tightening around him, worked their way from her core to encompass her entire body until she was shaking all over, needing more, wanting more and getting more as he kept up the fierce rhythm, plunging deeper then almost withdrawing then deeper again. She wrapped herself around him tighter, milking him from both the inside and out, until she felt like she was literally imploding, every nerve ending in her body shattering with such fulfillment that she didn't even feel his climax.

Which is why when they were finished, Tamlyn couldn't look Sam in the eye and tried to disengage herself from his embrace. She was appalled by her selfishness. Never before in her life had she so blithely taken without a single regard for anyone else. She had been so centered on the sensations coursing through her body that she hadn't even thought about Sam's pleasure. And that fact bothered her.

"What's wrong?" Sam whispered, holding her close despite her feeble struggles. "Did I hurt you?" His body tensed at the possibility. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Tamlyn." He released her, pulled his jeans up and zipped them closed all the while thinking that she probably thought he was some sort of sex-crazed monster, which wasn't too far from the truth. The spectacle in the entry had been humiliating enough but what he'd just done here in the kitchen was downright culpable. He'd practically ravaging her and, to his further mortification, had done so on a kitchen table. He couldn't ever remember being so out of control, of losing his power of rational thinking so completely. Where was Mr. Morals or the Prudent Prince that Al was so fond of calling him. That man, he sadly realized, had somehow transformed into a raging, hormone-driven maniac whenever she even just looked at him. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off of her.

Tamlyn's attention had moved to the kitchen floor and became fixed on the shattered dishes, glasses and jars as well as her blouse and bra all laying in a large puddle of milk mixed with peanut butter and strawberry jam. "What a mess," she mumbled to herself and knelt down to begin carefully picking up the glass and china shards.

"Talk to me, Tamlyn," Sam pleaded as he bent over, grabbed the milk carton and placed the empty container on the table. He searched for and found the garbage can under the sink, placed it between them then began helping her with the broken glass, sneaking little looks at her while trying to figure out how to apologize for his abhorrent behavior.

"It seems it's my turn to apologize this time," Tamlyn, smiling nervously, said after several more tense moments. She stood up, went to the sink and brought back a sponge and large bowl. She began cleaning up the gooey mess.

"Apologize?" Sam asked incredulously as he reached for a large chunk of glass dripping with jam.  "Apologize for what? I'm the one who's been acting like an animal." He stopped and studied her face from the side. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

"No, Sam, you didn't hurt me." A small smile played across her face with the memory. "Quite the opposite, love."

At the sound of the endearment, Sam relaxed a little. She didn't hate and fear him. "Then what's the problem?"

"I guess ashamed of myself is the best description."

"Join the club," Sam chuckled.

"Not for the same reason, I'm sure." She wrung the sponge out in the bowl then put it down and, when she looked at him, noticed he was blushing again. "I wanted you for purely selfish reasons," she explained. "I didn't even consider your enjoyment at all and I've never done that before. Making love has always been that, 'making love', not just sex for personal gratification but that's all I was thinking about. I didn't think about you, and what I could do to make it better for you."

"I wouldn't worry about me. Everything was just fine."

"But you don't understand." Tamlyn picked up the sponge and started twisting it nervously. "It wasn't just fine for me, it was incredible, the best I've ever experience and, because of my selfishness, I can't share that with you."

Sam shifted forward and enfolded her in his arms. "This is silly, you know," he said as he cradled her head to his chest and stroked her hair. "We've both been acting like a pair of rutting animals, it's three o'clock in the morning and we're exhausted. What do you say we go take a shower, get some sleep and finish cleaning this mess up in the morning?" He let her go, stood up and held his hand out to her.

Tamlyn looked up at him. With the love for him growing more intense as she studied his beautiful face, she took his hand and led him to the bathroom.

Their shower started out innocently at first. They helped each other out of their clothes, with Sam's taking most of their attention since Tamlyn had been left with nothing on but her skirt, stepped under the warm water together and began washing one another. But, as Tamlyn lathered up Sam's shoulders from behind, she became enthralled by the feel of him under her touch and embarked on an exploration of his body.  Working her way down, she rubbed suds across his back and massaging the corded muscles underneath, trying to knead the tension out of them. She heard him emit a moan of deep pleasure then he relaxed and rested his forehead against the shower wall.

"Mmmm, that feels good," he sighed.

She moved her hands to his waist and started manipulating her thumbs and fingertips into the kinks, applying pressure as she pushed up his sides then down to his narrow hips, all the while unable to take her eyes off his glorious buttocks and fighting the subliminal message that said "place hands here." No longer able to resist, she giggled out loud at the thought.

"What?"

"Nothing," she replied demurely, quickly stifling her mirth.

"You laughed at something. What was it?"

Tamlyn considered his demand for a second, shrugged her shoulders even though he couldn't see the gesture and gave in to her urges. Placing a hand on both sides, she squeezed the objects in question gently. Sam jumped. "That's what you get for being so demanding, Beckett," she lectured through her laughter. "I was going to fight the temptation but remember, you insisted."

"I did, didn't I?" He took a deep breath and returned his forehead to the wall. "I don't suppose I could ask you to get back to what you were doing before."

"Sure you can but turn around. Let's do the other side."

Sam complied, leaned back and closed his eyes. Too exhausted to respond, he basked in the sensations while her hands worked magic on his tired bones. She started at his waist and moved around to his stomach, rubbing and kneading every square inch of it. Between her ministrations and the water beating against him, he began to revive.

When her hands began massaging his chest he reached for her, intent on returning the kindness, but she gently caught his forearms and pushed them back to the wall. He watched her head go to his stomach and felt her lick the quickly healing cut. Then her lips climbed to his chest, her tongue twirling through his hair while her mouth suckled his skin.

He dislodged his right arm from her hold, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her head up toward him. Probing her dark eyes, he saw a glazed look of emotion in the dark pupils which touched his heart. "I love you, you know," he said softly and, after watching her eyes acknowledge comprehension, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her lightly.

Finishing the kiss, he turned her around and said, "Your turn." He took the soap from the dish, worked up a lather then, after replacing the soap, turned his attention to her back, manipulating her with his strong fingers. His hands worked their way to her sides then under her arms to slightly brushing the undersides of her breasts as he seized her rib cage and pulled her to him. "Relax," he instructed when he felt her tense up. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I wasn't worried about you hurting me," she answered then took his hands and placed them directly on her breasts while she settled back against him.

Her nipples hardened into tight peaks as his palms passed over them. Rolling them between his fingers, Tamlyn reacted by squirming in delight, rubbing her bottom against his penis. Sam grit his teeth and made a solemn oath to both himself and to her that this was not going to evolve into another vulgar display of unbridled lust. He wanted to make love to her slowly and sweetly the next time. He removed his hands, turned the water off then turned her around to face him.

"Let's go to bed," he suggested.

They toweled each other off slowly, letting anticipation build but not allowing it to overwhelm them, savoring the feel of the other while keeping a check on themselves. And when he laid her down on the bed and kissed her, it was a leisurely tour of her mouth that he took, gliding his tongue past hers to rub her teeth and gums while his hands blazed a route over her body, mapping out the places he returned to again and again.

Tamlyn settled back in the bed and reveled in his indulgences for a time, relishing the way he squeezed her hip or flickered his tongue over her nipple but when he grabbed her thigh she knew if she allowed him to continue she'd be past the point of control within seconds. She didn't want to lose control. She wanted to give him what he had given her earlier and there was no way she was going to be capable of that if he didn't stop.

"Sam..." she whispered.

He ignored her and rubbed up and down the inside of her leg.

"Sam," she said a little louder.

He squeezed her thigh and separated her legs.

"Not yet, Sam."

She wasn't getting through to him as his hand moved higher up the inside of her thigh.

"Sam!" She yelped then thought to herself with affection that even geniuses, once the blood left the brain to pool in other places, lost the power of all coherent thought. But when she forced her eyes open and expected to see him deep in the throes of passion only to find him warmly smiling down on her, she was bewildered. "What are you smiling at?" she asked.

"You."

"And why are you smiling at me?"

"Because you're beautiful."

Her insides tingled at the flattery but she ignored it to continue her interrogation. "Why didn't you stop when I asked you to?"

"You didn't really want me to stop."

"Yes I did."

He gave her a cock-eyed knowing look.

"Okay," she conceded. "Maybe I didn't want you to stop but I asked you to stop."

"Why?"

She sat up, placed her hands on his chest and pushed him down. Figuring it was easier to show him then to tell him, she grabbed his earlobe with her teeth and teased the end of it with her tongue.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Tamlyn, but I'm really spent."

She released his ear, placed her arms on his chest and rested her chin on top to look him in the eye. He did have that worn around the edges look. "Then I suggest, Dr. Beckett, that you just lay back and enjoy."

"I may fall asleep."

I don't think so, Tamlyn said to herself and started running her tongue over his chest. Excitement built as the images of one of her dreams blurred the line between fantasy and reality. She remembered aching for the real flesh and blood man and, even though she didn't know how long she would have him for, at least he was hers for the time being, something she had never thought would happen again after he'd left her three years before. She planned to make the best of what ever Time, Fate or God allowed them.

She kissed and sucked her way down to his naval where she lingered awhile then moved down further, passing her tongue low on his belly and brushing his limp penis. Feeling his stomach rise as he took in a breath, she heard him exhale a heavy sigh followed by a swallow. When she licked up his shaft, playing her tongue over the tip and a groan was the only response, she wondered if maybe he'd been right, maybe he was spent. Well, she resigned to herself, even if he was, she wasn't and she planned to bring her fantasy to life whether he participated or not.

She positioned her body lower and began to suckled the muscle of his inner thigh, starting low near his knee and working her way up to his testicles which she rolled with her tongue then kissed the underside of his penis at the base. She heard him utter another moan as he shifted under her.

He was getting hard again. As drained as he was he didn't believe it was possible. And, although he was weary to the bone, he wanted her again, slowly and thoroughly but his muscles would not respond. He tried to reach for her but his arms seemed too heavy to lift, filling him with dread as he remembered his frustration during the dreams where he was powerless to do anything. Was this just another dream? He couldn't seem to tell until he felt her mouth surround him and the warmth felt too real.

He forced his body to respond and reached for her again. He made contact with her hair, then her head as he bent forward at the waist. When he caught her arms, he pulled her up to the top of the bed and rolled her over until she was under him. Her expressive dark eyes peered up at him expectantly. "You're a little devil," he chided good-naturedly.

"No, love, I'm a psychic," she corrected in a breathless whisper. "And I always get my man."

Slow and sweet, slow and sweet, Sam chanted to himself when he felt himself losing control. He positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her with the tip then pulling back when she would arch her back to him. He put his hand between her legs, baiting her with his fingers and then he scooted down and replaced his fingers with his tongue, lapping at her, sucking at her until he felt her muscles convulse in an orgasm. Only then did he enter her, knowing that if he'd attempted it before she would have tried to set too fast a pace and he wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds. Instead, his rhythm was slow and sweet the way he wanted it to be. He reached for her deepest recesses then withdrew, inflamed by the feeling of being surrounded by her, sheathed within her, becoming one with her.

Over and over, thrust answering thrust, her hands coming around to grab his buttocks, pulling him in even deeper, until he felt her tighten around him, squeezing him one last time and his body shattered into a series of pulsating eruptions.

Al, knowing something was hinky because of the information Ziggy had given him when he'd entered the Control Room, walked through the Imaging Chamber Door with much trepidation. He'd been prepared to enter a location different from where he'd left Sam the night before, Ziggy had informed him that Sam had moved to a house that belonged to Tamlyn Matsuda, but even with his vivid imagination, nothing could prepare him for the scene set before him.

Two naked, lifeless bodies lay draped over one another on a bed that looked as though it had gone through a tornado and had not survived. The top sheet with the blankets was twisted and draped on the floor while the bottom form-fitting one had been wrested from the corners.

After Al peered closer and confirmed that that was Sam asleep on the bed, he shook his head and cleared his throat to speak. "Sam, wake up."

Nothing.

"Sam, it's time to get up." He paused for a second then a wide grin spread across his face. "Or maybe I should use another phrase."

Still no response.

"Sam, get your ass off that bed!"

A low grunt was the only answer.

"If you don't get off that bed now..."

"I'm awake," came the groggy reply.

"We need to talk." Al canvassed the room again. "Boy, do we need to talk. I'll meet you in the kitchen."

If Al had thought the scene in the bedroom was amusing, he couldn't believe what he saw when he popped into the kitchen. His mouth dropped open in shock as he took in the blouse and bra lying amid the ruins on the floor. And, if the broken jars and dishes mixed into the peanut butter and jam all weren't enough to set his mind reeling, when his eyes lit on the ripped panties he practically became unglued. He'd never, absolutely never, seen or been a party to such an escapade which, considering his rather extensive experience on the subject and Sam's lack thereof, left him dumbfounded. Boy, he thought to himself as he recovered and rubbed his hands together conspiratorially, was he going to have a field day with this.
At about that time, Sam, still half asleep and having completely forgotten about the way they'd left the kitchen, padded into the room wearing only his jeans. However, the moment a chunk of peanut butter splattered on the floor came into view, he knew he was in deep trouble.

"I'd, ah, watch myself on the broken glass there, Sammy. You should have remembered to put shoes on." Al, as he bouncing up and down on his toes, could barely control his amusement. He watched the younger man halt abruptly, pause in resignation then lift his head. The sheepish expression was the best Al had ever seen. "You okay, pal? You seem to be walking a little funny."

"Cute, Al, real cute." Sam said as he carefully picked his way to the coffeemaker and started to make a pot.

"How did you stumble on to her, if you'll pardon the pun?"

Sam turned around to glare at his friend.

"I'm sorry," Al replied even though he wasn't. He rephrased the question. "I mean, where did you find her?"

"She found me. Now can we drop it?"

"Oh sure, but it looks like you already did." He gestured to the mess on the floor.

"Al..."

"Okay, okay, but you've got to admit, it is a little out of character." He vacillated a second. "Actually, a lot out of character."

"Who are you talking to, Sam?" Tamlyn asked as she entered the room. "Oh, my," she added when she saw the devastation. Taken by a sudden chill, she pulled the terry cloth robe tighter around herself. She searched the room looking for the source.

Sam saw her shudder and knew what, or rather who, was causing her discomfort. Being careful of the glass, he went to her, took her upper arms in his hand and decided to explain. "Tamlyn, there's something I never told you," he began. "I have an Observer in this debacle of an experiment. His name's Al Calavicci."

"Sam," Al warned.

"She already knows everything else, Al. Why can't I tell her this?"

"Where is he?" Tamlyn asked, scanning around. "I don't see him."

Sam turned his attention back to her. "He's a hologram tuned to the neurons and mesons of my brain. You can't see or hear him but, because of your psychic ability, you can sense him, which is why you're suddenly cold right now." He wrapped his arms around her in an effort to warm her.

"Can he see and hear me?"

"Yes."

She turned her head and gave him an venerating look. "You're a pretty clever man, aren't you, Dr. Beckett?"

Sam answered with an questioning tilt of his head.

"I know all about you, or at least all there is to know up to now. After you leaped out three years ago, I looked your name up in Who's Who and have kept up with your career ever since. You're quite famous, you know, even in this timeline."

Tamlyn, no, Al pleaded silently as he cringed inside.

"Am I?"

"Oh, yes," she said lightly. "I know all about your preliminary research in holographic imagery, artificial intelligence and a whole bunch of other stuff." She broke his hold to start cleaning up the kitchen. "And I also know that if you don't go and put some shoes on you're going to cut yourself on this glass." She gave him a playful swat on the butt. "Hurry up. I'm hungry but I refuse to cook breakfast till this is all cleaned up." She watched him leave the room.

"I don't know if you're still in here, Al," Tamlyn whispered to the thin air, her head darting around, trying to see the phantom she was addressing. "But I'm going to assume that you are." She cleared her throat and choked back the emotions. "I know he's married but I'm guessing he doesn't remember, since I'm positive that he wouldn't be with me if he did. I love him, Al, and he's mine for such a little while. Please don't judge me too harshly when I don't tell him that he has a wife."

As Al watched the tears streams down her face, he realized that Sam Beckett had two amazing women in his life.

The third murder attempt occurred behind a mini mall near the corner of Beverly and Crescent Heights at nine sixteen, Tuesday evening.

After repairing the kitchen, Sam and Tamlyn spent the day cuddling, talking and catching up on some much needed sleep. When Tamlyn left at five thirty to give two lectures at the University of Metaphysics in Hollywood, Sam promised her that dinner would be waiting for her when she returned at ten. Finding no butter for the garlic bread he had his heart set on making, he walked to the closest convenience store two blocks away. He was jumped the moment he passed the alleyway behind the store on Laurel Avenue.

He might have prevented the attack had he been paying attention but his thoughts had been on Tamlyn when two assailants, both wearing ski masks, pounced on him. One grabbed his arms from behind, wrapped a leg around his to preclude any fancy footwork and dragged him into the alley while the other pulled out the same forbidding four inch switch blade knife.

"Sorry, kid," the man holding the knife said. "But a job's a job." He clutched the hilt tightly and thrust it forward with all his weight behind it.

Sam, who had been squirming against the iron clad hold on his biceps, twisted his body at the last second, suddenly freeing his captured right leg. He brought his foot up in an attempt to deflect the weapon at the same time the man who was holding him encircled his other leg. As his foot was pulled out from under him, he started to fall, taking his captor, who was caught off balance, with him. He heard, rather than felt, the knife tear through the cloth, skin and muscle of his left side as gravity dropped him on the blade and wrenched it out of the brandisher's hand. Feeling like he was falling in slow motion while he struggled to pull the knife out, Sam didn't even see the pavement his head impacted on, knocking him out.

Al ran through the Imaging Chamber Door in time to see two men fleeing west up the dark alley. Snapping his head around, he laid eyes on the shadowy figure crumpled against the dumpster. Damn, damn, damn, he thought. He was too late. He knelt down to get a closer look and became overwhelmed by his impotence when he saw the knife protruding from his friend's body. He watched and listened for five endless seconds, looking for life signs. Finally, the shallow rise and fall of Sam's chest indicated that the man was still alive.

"Gushie, center me on Tamlyn, now...I don't care, I'll make her know I'm there..."

Tamlyn had her mouth open in mid-sentence when she was taken by a sudden, familiar, and now identifiable chill. Al was nearby. But why would Al be coming to her? The reason, when it finally hit her, sent her running from the room without a word of explanation to the thirty people who had paid twenty dollars each to hear her speak. Sam. Something was wrong with Sam.

She was barely aware of her surroundings as she weaved her car in and out traffic. Running three stop signs and one red light on her way home, she hoped she was just experiencing an overactive imagination and that Sam was safe and sound, patiently waiting for her so they could eat dinner. But Sam wasn't home. The lights were all on and something was baking in the oven but Sam was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he, Al," she spoke outloud, wishing and praying that Al could communicate with her. She twirled around the room in desperation, not knowing where to look or what to do next. "I have to find him, don't I?" Well aware that no one would answer, she returned to her car and started scouring the neighborhood.

She found him at nine fifty-eight, lying unconscious in a small pool of blood with a knife sticking out of his side. Her first instinct was to call 9-1-1 but she recalled the information he had told her about his leap. A call for help for a stabbing victim would surely bring the police and Lennie's life depended upon no law enforcement involvement. But what about Sam's life? she wondered while she labored to get his prone body into her car. Wasn't Sam's life as important, if not more so, than Lennie's, especially to her? No, she concluded as she finally got him in the passenger seat and closed the door, Lennie's and Sam's lives were not interchangeable, they were one in the same.

Getting Sam into the car had been easy. The adrenalin rush had given her the strength necessary but getting him out and into the house was going to be a whole different matter. No longer fortified by a chemical reaction caused by fear, Tamlyn was left weak and trembling when she drove the car over the front lawn and stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door. Three stairs, three, small, little stairs. But for the barrier they placed between danger outside and sanctuary inside, they may as well have been three miles. She had no idea how she was going to get one hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight up those steps, let alone without hurting him further.

She ran into the house and started a frantic search for anything she might use. Snatching a blanket off the bed, she figured she could wrap it under his arms and use it to drag him but what about those damn steps? There had to be something in the house she could use to get him past those hurdles. She toyed with the idea of stuffing them with sheets and blankets until they filled up but abandoned the idea when she realized they wouldn't stay in place under his bulk. Flat. She needed something strong, flat and long, strong enough to support his weight and long enough to cover all three stairs. Her eyes jerked around looking for something that matched her needs. When they landed on the dining room table and its long, flat, wooden leaf, she practically shrieked her delight. With renewed hope, Tamlyn grabbed the leaf and returned to the car and to Sam.

Al had watched Tamlyn with deep respect as she had wrestled Sam's inert form up the makeshift plank and into the house. He had stood in awe when she first wrapped the blanket over Sam's chest and under his arms and began to tug and pull and yank with determination even though she would gained only a few scant inches at a time. But she never gave up. After frequent rest stops to massage her taxed muscles, she finally had him on the bedroom floor. Al observed her head yo-yo between the floor and the bed indecisively then silently applauded her when she got a blanket out of the linen closet and covered Sam where he lay. Leaving the room for a short time, she returned carrying a sewing kit, soap, several heavy towels and a bottle of peroxide. Upon recognized the accouterments and aware that he couldn't help, Al nervously punched the handlink keys and retreated through the Imaging Chamber Door before his queasy stomach had a chance to react.

Tamlyn took an upholstery needle from the sewing kit and ran heavy nylon thread through the eye. She then wadded up a handful of towels against and under his side and unscrewed the cap on the bottle of peroxide. But once her preparations were made she didn't know where to start. Well...she did but she didn't know how to do it. She tentatively extended her hand toward the hilt of the knife then quickly snapped it away. She didn't want to hurt him more but looking at it and the way it protruded from his side angling up forty five degrees toward his ribs, she knew that ugly thing had to be removed and that she was the only one around to do it. Clenching her bottom lip between her teeth and closing her eyes to find the fortitude, she grabbed the handle and pulled it out in one clean motion. However, she was not prepared for the amount of blood that followed. The blade had been the finger in the dike and, once removed, the flood ensued.

For a fraction of a second Tamlyn sat in transfixed horror, watching the dark red puddle spread over the bedroom carpet but then the severity of the matter sank in. As she snatched up the towels and pressed them against his side, she was all too aware that that was Sam's blood and, if she didn't hurry up, the very life of him would drain out before her eyes. She held the towels down with all her might, locking her elbows and putting all of her weight on top of them, holding that position until her arms shook with fatigue. After ten minutes, she cautiously lifted the towel and moved his shirt aside to make sure the bleeding had stopped. She then picked up the needle in one hand and poured peroxide over the wound with the other. She paused, the needle pose over one end of the gaping hole, and searched for the courage to push the point through the first piece of skin. Convinced that if she didn't sew him up Sam could die, she forced herself to pretend that she was just mending something that had gotten torn but was still too nice to throw away yet. Once she got past that first stitch the rest were relatively easy. Within five minutes the two flaps of skin were closed shut.

Tamlyn next turned her attention to the gash and bump on the side of Sam's head. While wondering how he got them, she retrieved soap and bowl of steaming water from the kitchen and washed the injuries out thoroughly then, running back and forth to the bathroom to frequently change the water, cleaned the blood off his side. By the time she was finished with all the repairs, she was exhausted. She laid down next to his unmoving body, intending to rest her eyes for only a moment but quickly fell into a wearied sleep.

Shaking and clammy cold skin against her face awakened her five minutes later. The symptoms immediately registered even through her lassitude. Sam was going into shock. In a sudden panic, Tamlyn scrambled to her feet and dragged the big overstuffed, wing-back chair from the corner of the bedroom. She then struggled with his heavy legs and placed them on the seat of the chair. Elevate his feet, keep him warm, she repeated to herself as she started tearing around the house to gather up every blanket, afghan and coat that she owned and piled them up on top of him.

When she was done, she stood over him, watching for any signs of change. Shock was caused by blood loss which was counteracted with transfusions. But there was no way Tamlyn could give him a transfusion. She strained her memory. The details of the last time she had donated blood popped into her mind. Orange juice, they'd forced her to drink orange juice and to eat a cookie afterward.

From that remembrance, Tamlyn's mind conjured up a scene from that morning's breakfast. She had been scrambling eggs when, out of the corner of her eye, she had seen Sam grab the orange juice carton out of the refrigerator, take a swig directly from the spout then return it to the shelf. For some reason, the memory of something so mundane gave her such a warm, fuzzy feeling that she thought she would burst from the joy of it. But then reality stepped in. Sam could die if she didn't do everything right but how the hell was she going to get massive quantities of orange juice down an unconscious man's throat?

Staring down at him while trying to figure out the logistics, she noticed that his color seemed to be getting better, going from that pale, ashen complexion to a healthier, pinkish tint. And then the muscles in his face started twitching, ever so slightly at first then evolving into pain induced grimaces. His eyes fluttered open and closed a few times but there was no recognition in them until they jerked wide open. She watched him slowly orientate himself, a weak smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Then his eyes caught hers and he visibly relaxed.

"Hi," she greeted softly, trying to curb her elation and remind herself that he wasn't out of the woods yet.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. His throat was unbelievably dry and he was incredibly weak. And then he felt the pain, deep burning sensations in his left side and pounding in his head. He shifted his weight, trying to alleviate the intensity but the movement only made it worse. He looked down to see what the cause was. Before he saw the puckered wound he remembered the incident in the alley, the scuffle, the falling and even the sound of the knife. He returned his gaze to Tamlyn expectantly.

She shrugged her shoulders, knelt down over him and put her hand on his forehead. "I couldn't call for help so I had to put you back together myself." She brushed his hair back tenderly. "Humpty Dumpty."
He wanted to tell her that Humpty Dumpty couldn't be put back together again but didn't have the energy. He closed his eyes and started to drift.

"No, Sam," Tamlyn pleaded. "Not yet. You can't go to sleep yet." She checked the wound to see if it was okay and noticed that it had started bleeding again. Not like it had before but still a steady weep. "I need you to tell me what to do."

"Cornstarch," he managed to mumble and was quite proud of the accomplishment.

"Cornstarch?" Tamlyn repeated to herself. "What the hell am I supposed to do with cornstarch?" Her mind took off. Cornstarch...sauces...thickening... She had it. Rushing to the kitchen, she returned with the bright yellow box and began pouring the flour-like substance over the blood. Using her fingers, she made a paste which she packed against the opening. The bleeding stopped. "Okay, now what?" she asked while still beholding her wonderful achievement. When she got no answer, she looked at him. He was unconscious or asleep, she couldn't tell which.

She barely took her eyes off of him for five solid hours. She had no idea what she was watching for but as the hours passed, she became more convinced that if she did look away he would disappear, or worse yet, die. She logged every breath, every twitch until the room began swaying around her. Trusting maternal instincts that had never been tested, she snuggled as closely as she could without touching and slept.

Sam forced his eyelids open. The trouble had been worth the effort as he met Tamlyn's expressive face staring back at him from where she lay next to him on the floor.

"Morning," she greeted. "How're you feeling?"

He tried to assess the damage but couldn't come up with anything other than hurt. "Been better," he answered, surprised that he could speak. His throat was so dry. "Water?"

Tamlyn jumped to her feet. "I have something better." She left and returned with a huge glass of orange juice, a straw bobbing in the middle. "Can you sit up?"

He tried but the pain in his side increased a hundredfold. He settled back down. "Guess not."

"Let me help." She put her arm under his head and tilted it up far enough for his mouth to reach the straw. She watched him swallow twice then spit out the straw. "That's not enough, Sam. You have to drink lots of this stuff."

"Why?"

"Because it's good for you. Now don't argue." She nudged the glass closer. "Drink some more."

He took two more swallows then signaled that he was done. Tamlyn lowered his head. "I'm going to let you slide this time but later, you're going to drink a whole glass."

"Gatorade has electrolytes."

"Okay," she answered, giving him a perplexed look. "I'm guessing electrolytes are good. I'll get some. What else?"

Sam looked at her and saw the determination in her face. "This needs cleaning then dressing," he said, pointing to the wound. "What is all this stuff?"

"Cornstarch, don't you remember? You were bleeding and told me to use cornstarch."

"No." He closed his eyes. "I don't remember." His words started slurring. He was so weak which wasn't a surprise after he'd seen the large blood stain on the carpet under him. He'd apparently lost a lot of blood. But what about shock? Did he have to worry about shock? "What time?"

Tamlyn didn't know which time he wanted. The present or when she'd used the cornstarch. She opted for both. "Around eleven last night. It's now nine something in the morning."

"Good." If he hadn't gone into shock yet, he wasn't going to. He relaxed.

"Sam, don't drift away yet." Her words sounded like they were spoken from far away. "What else do I need to do for you?"

"Gauze, Neosporin, change dressing every four hours." He forced the words from his mouth in a monotone. "Take temp. every two. Not over one oh one. Watch incision for discoloration. Use ice to reduce swelling. Liquids, need lots and lots of liquids." He was floating again but was pulled back suddenly when he recalled the dangerous environment in which he had put her. His worst fears were coming to fruition. Those men had tried to kill him...

Lennie... They knew where he was and by now would know he wasn't dead, therefore, Tamlyn wasn't safe here anymore. He had to get her out of there, at all costs. "And a large ace bandage, Tamlyn. The biggest one you can get. Maybe get two. I don't know how bad this thing is."

"Okay. What else?"

"Pack...enough for a week." After that spurt of lucidity, concentration was getting hard. He want to just close his eyes and sleep but he forced himself to continue. "Cancel all plans and appointments."

"Okay." She turned to go, wanting to leave him so he could sleep. He was beginning to look waxen again.

"And Tamlyn, wake me when you get back. Make me drink." Using his last reserves of energy, he lifted his head and stared her straight in the eye. He knew how important the replacement of fluids was but he had to make her understand. Their lives depended upon it. He had to get back his strength and massive quantities of liquids were the only way. "Force it down if you have to, small amounts at a time. Use a turkey baster if necessary. Just get fluids down me." His head fell back when he was no longer able to hold it up.

Tamlyn watched the steady rise and fall of his chest for a moment, trying to determine whether his breathing was all right. She wished she knew what was normal and made a mental note to ask him later.

She returned within thirty minutes having dashed around Rexall's filling his shopping list at breakneck speed even after adding a few items of her own. He was sleeping. She hated the idea of waking him up but, because he'd been so adamant, she touched his cheek to rouse him. It felt warm, too warm. She took a new thermometer she had just bought out of the bag, cleaned it with the new bottle of alcohol, plopped it into his mouth and held it for three minutes. Ninety-nine point eight. He'd said not over one oh one. Did that mean stop the fever before it got there or leave it alone until it got there? Tamlyn didn't know which and grew angry at herself and at him for not making it clear. And why wasn't he waking up? She'd been able to take his temperature and he hadn't even stirred.

"Sam," she whispered. "Sam, you told me to wake you up. I've got your Gatorade here." She pushed his shoulder gently. "You didn't tell me which flavor you like so I bought lemonade." She pushed his shoulder a little more forcefully. "Don't do this, Sam. Wake up." She was close to panicking.

Sam reluctantly opened his eyes. "Lemonade's fine," he said, closing his eyes again. Damn, he hated this weakness. He heard the sound of liquid being poured then the feel of a plastic tube against his lips.

"Drink."

He took one draft. The liquid cooled and soothed his parched throat.

"It's one of those squeeze bottles you always see bicyclists with. I figured it would be easier than a turkey baster. And there's an air hole you can uncover for regular drinking. Take some more."

He took two more, opened his eyes then stopped.

She threw him an affected cross-eyed look. "I can be a tyrant if I have to be."

He smiled at her knowing that was a lie and swallowed two good mouthfuls.

"Better. I must have scared you, huh? Just a couple more then tell me what to do with your wound."

Even with the extra pain incurred during the cleansing and dressing, Sam had an easier time with the experience than Tamlyn did. First she had to remove the cornstarch which had become caked to the stitches as it had dried. Once the paste was gone she got her first good look at the sutures and how the skin had swelled up around them, putting so much pressure on them that they looked as though they may at burst any moment. Tamlyn was not normally squeamish, proved by her efficient dealing with the crisis the night before but the sight of the inflamed, angry wound now twelve hours later was enough to send her fleeing. It looked so ugly.

Sam watched her reaction and even through his lethargy, was amused. "That's normal, Tam. It's gonna look a whole lot worse before it starts looking better. Put an ice pack on it."

After the ice treatment, she completed the dressing. Smearing Neosporin on a large gauze pad, she placed it over the opening and used adhesive tape to keep it in place. Thankful that she didn't have to look at it anymore, she breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention to other matters. "Let's try to get you to the bed," she suggested.

"I'm fine here," Sam replied, knowing the feat was next to impossible. He could barely hold his head up and she was so small compared to him. There was no way they could get him to the bed. Besides, he needed to stockpile what little strength he had. He wanted to be out of there as soon as it got dark. He let his heavy eyelids drop then fell asleep while caught between two thoughts: Where could they find a safe haven and where was Al.

Al had popped in and out every few hours, relaying detailed descriptions of those vitals he could observe visually to the group of unseen doctors gathered in the Control Room. He grew more and more frustrated with each trip through the Imaging Chamber Door when, yet again, Sam would be sleeping. He desperately wanted to talk to the physicist, needing to appease his mind that the younger man was okay especially after the hub-bub the Project doctors were creating as they discussed the various complications and prognoses that could be incurred with such an injury. If only Sam would wake up and give a physician's status report then all the damned speculation could stop. But Sam slept on.

Taking an unsure step through the door at four in the afternoon and expecting to be disappointed again, Al was momentarily surprised and elated to see Sam not only awake but Tamlyn, with her arm under his shoulders, struggling to help him sit up. The Observer's jubilation was quickly dashed as he watched Sam's face twist in silent agony with each flex of muscle.

"Tell her to take it easy, Sam. She's moving you way too fast." Al cringed at the sight of his friend's face drained of all color.

"She can't help it," Sam snapped knowing what a difficult time she was having and if the momentum was broken she'd never get him into the sitting position.

"I'm hurting you," Tamlyn cried, faltering at the idea.

"Keep going," Sam demanded curtly through clenched teeth.

Once she had him sitting, she pulled the wing-back chair around so he could lean back against it then checked his wound. The gauze pad was soaked with blood. "How long is this going to go on?" she asked.

Sam looked down and made a quick diagnosis. Considering the damage that could have resulted from the knife's journey through his body, he had been very lucky. If entry had been horizontal instead of angling up under his ribs the four inch blade would have hit his spleen or kidney and he would have bled to death internally. "Awhile, but it's okay." He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Let's change it then bring over the ace bandages and we'll try to slow it down."

"How ya doing?" Al inquired turning away when Tamlyn reached to remove the pad.

"Weak but I'll live."

"Is Al here?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, but the chicken won't face me till you're finished."

"He can't stand the sight of blood," she stated. "I didn't know if I could until last night."

Sam examined her emergency repairs before she covered them with the clean gauze. The stitches were crude but adequate. He wondered whether he would have been as competent if he'd found her broken and bleeding.

"But," she continued, reliving the nightmare. "I didn't really have a choice."

"The same way we don't have a choice about leaving here. Have you packed?"

"Yes, while you were sleeping. Enough for a week just like you said."

"Where are you going?" Al asked.

"I don't know but we have to get out of L.A. for awhile. It's going to take me at least a week to recuperate enough to function, barring any complications."

"Complications?" both Al and Tamlyn quipped at the same time.

"This thing could get infected if it isn't already. I know I'm running a low grade which is perfectly normal for an injury like this but if the blade was dirty or if it snagged fibers from my shirt and they're still in there it could get a lot worse." He looked at both of their distraught faces. "These are just worst case scenarios. That doesn't mean it's going to happen."

"But it could." Al wanted confirmation.

"Yes, it could. That's why I'm telling you about it."

"What do I do if it does," Tamlyn inquired.

"Let's talk about this later." Sam, angry at himself for voicing his speculations out loud and upsetting both of them, tried to change the subject by pointing to the ace bandages and instructing, "Grab those and wrap them around my torso so I can move without bleeding to death."

By the time Tamlyn finished binding Sam up and loading most of their luggage in the car, it was dark. The most difficult job lay before them, moving Sam from his spot on the floor to the car parked at the bottom of the front steps. Although he was feeling better, having consumed almost a gallon of Gatorade in eight hours, he was still unbelievably weak and his joints were starting to ache from the fever which had risen to one hundred point three. There was no way he could walk that far and Tamlyn, with her small stature, was not going to be much help.

Al hit on a plan while walking around in circles and staring at his fingers as they rolled his cigar back and forth. He'd been pacing around the house mulling over the problem for ten minutes when he lifted his head in exasperation and his eyes landed on a roll top desk with an old fashion secretary chair, a chair on rollers. Granted, pushing the wheels across carpeting was not going to be easy but it sure beat the beans out of poor Tamlyn trying to drag him out the way she had dragged him in.

Tamlyn had Sam secured in the passenger seat within twenty minutes. The process had been harder than she had expected, especially the short trip from entry hall down the stairs to the car when the chair was unusable. He had almost fallen twice when he proved to be too heavy for her to support and his legs too weak to hold him. But she had managed, although, when she started to turn away to retrieve the flight bag she had left in her bedroom, she saw what the cost had been as he lay his head back against the headrest and squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

When Tamlyn entered her bedroom to search for where she had left the flight bag, her eyes fell to the huge, dark stain in the middle of the room. At the sight of it, reality gripped her heart and she became overwhelmed with emotion, her eyes filling with tears. It was all too clear. When it was safe enough to return to this house, Sam would not be returning with her. He will have leapt out and all she would have left of him was a spot on the carpet. The truth was almost too much to bear even though she'd been given a second chance. She knew letting go this time would hurt so much more.

Getting behind the steering wheel, Tamlyn tried to hide her distress. "Where to, boss?"

"North or east, I don't care. Just get us out of here."

As if by instinct, she headed north.

They made it no further than Castaic. Sam's constant yet subtle body shifts which Tamlyn knew were an indication of how uncomfortable he was in her small Honda Civic turned more desperate as they approached the Lake Hughes offramp of the I-5. He needed to lie down. Tamlyn wondered if forty-five minutes out of town was far enough to satisfy him.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she flicked on the turning indicator and started to get off the freeway. There was a small element of irritation in his tone.

"I'm getting some gas then I'm checking into a motel and forcing you into a bed where you should be." She watched his shoulders bunch, preparing for the counterattack. "No arguments," she quickly added when he opened his mouth.

Sam shut his mouth and sank back into the chair. Part of him was nervous about stopping so soon but most of him, especially the parts that screamed out in agony from being upright too long, were thankful that she had made the unwavering decision. With a little rest, hopefully by morning he'd be better able to travel.

He wasn't. During the night his fever jumped to one oh threepoint eight. Tamlyn, awakened by the extreme heat radiating from his body at two a.m., discovered that he was not only drenched in sweat but he was trembling in his sleep from chills.

After taking his temperature, she tried to wake him hoping to get some Tylenol down him but he couldn't be roused. She spent the rest of the night and the next day and a half frantically alternating between covering him with the blankets to stop the chills and bathing him down with wet towels to cool him off.

As the hours passed, she sent numerous words of thanks that he had thought to remove the ace bandages before he had laid down, allowing her better access to treat the wound. And, although she sympathized as she watched the deeply reddening skin become more inflamed and sensitive, when he unconsciously brushed off the umpteenth ice pack she tried to apply, those words of thanks turned into loud curses.

"Damn you, Beckett, leave the damn thing alone!" she screamed in frustration. She had been engaged in this battle for what felt like weeks on very little or no sleep at all. Exhausted to the point of collapse and unable to understand why he still appeared to be unconscious when his temperature had been hovering around ninety-nine for the past two hours, she thought she was hallucinating when she heard his voice.

"Okay."

Tamlyn's mouth dropped in amazement. Unable to believe her eyes, she watched his hands drop to his sides then his lucid gaze met hers, a warm smile spreading across his features.

"Hi," he greeted then struggled to sit up, waving her off when she started to help him. He winced at the effort but managed to pull himself up and leaned back against the headboard. Taking the ice pack from her hand, he gingerly applied it to the unbandaged wound after a quick glance. "I told you it would look worse before it got better."

She finally found her voice. "How are you feeling?"

"Wrung out but I must be better, I'm hungry."

Tamlyn breathed the biggest sigh of relief she had ever taken, gave him a quick peck on the forehead, a forehead that was cool and dry to her lips, and grabbed her purse. "I'll be right back with lunch."

The moment she was out the door Al popped into the room as though he had been lingering around just waiting for her to leave. "Worse case scenario, huh?" he said, giving Sam a condemning look.

Sam ran his hand through his hair then over his bristly cheeks. Judging by the length of the whiskers on his face, he'd been out for awhile. "How long?" he asked sheepishly.

"Almost two days. That poor little girl has been busting her ass over you for almost two days with hardly any sleep. Bathing you, covering you, cleaning that thing, fighting with you. I swear, she deserves a medal for services performed above and beyond the call of duty."

"She can get some rest now," Sam responded as he started getting out of bed. "I can take care of myself, now that the worst is over." His first step faltered but he caught himself and slowly walked to the bathroom.

"Are you sure you should be up?"

The time had come to get back on his feet and the only way to do that was to force himself even though it took almost all of his concentration to keep propelling one foot in front of the other without stumbling. "Who's the doctor here?"

"Gee, I forget." Al gazed up at the ceiling nonchalantly. "Could it be the nozzle who mentioned something about worse case scenarios?"

"I'm sorry, Al, but sometimes worse case scenarios do happen. Now, can you change the record?"

"I would if I knew which disk to play and how it was going to end." He watched Sam dig into the duffel bag and pull out the switchblade knife.

Sam gave the knife a curious look and mumbled under his breath, "What did she bring this for?" then he returned it and brought out his razor.

"You know those thugs are still after Lennie," Al mentioned offhandedly.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I wanted Tamlyn out of there." Sam stopped to stare at the unfamiliar face in the mirror then turned to address his friend. "Why can't the bad guys ever give up?"

"Because that'd put people like you out of a job."

"I wouldn't mind." He turned back to the mirror and started to shave.

Al watched in fascination as Sam deftly ran the razor over his face while looking at a reflection that wasn't his. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Shave a face that isn't yours in the mirror?"

"I don't know. Practice, I guess. I have no other choice, have I?"

"It must be real difficult when you're in a woman's aura."

"Naw, I just close my eyes. Otherwise, it's too distracting."

By the time Sam finished shaving all his energy had been spent. He'd really wanted a shower but felt too shaky to stand any longer, barely making it back to the bed before his legs crumpled beneath him.

Tamlyn entered the room at the same moment Sam practically fell onto the bed. "Sam!" Dropping the paper sack she had been grasping, she ran to his side, a horror stricken expression on her face.

He tried to stay her concerns by using his last reserves of strength to casually get up and walk to the small table on the other side of the room. "What's for lunch?"

"Good save," Al praised. "She'd be back to mothering faster than a sailor on shore leave."

Tamlyn followed Sam's progress then stared in Al's direction. "He's here, isn't he?"

"Yes." He threw the man in question an admonishing glance. "But, what about lunch? I don't really think I'm ready to bend over to retrieve whatever it is you brought."

"Jeez, the way she was looking at me, I could have sworn she could see me."

"Maybe she can, Al."

Tamlyn, who had gone to fetch the paper sack from the middle of the room, turned and started walking back toward Sam. "What can I do?"

Taking the sack from her and eagerly opening it up, Sam replied, "Al thinks you can see him." He pulled out a small, greasy, fast food hamburger and a tiny carton of milk. Not the best meal to break a two day fast with but as ravenous as he was, he didn't care. The food was gone in five bites. He washed the remains down with a health swig of milk which emptied the container then started rummaging through the bag looking for more, his movements almost in rhythm to the escalating growls emanating from his stomach. When he came up empty handed, he slumped back in the chair, disappointment showing in his entire demeanor.

Tamlyn had watched the entire process and began to laugh. "Just as I figured. As a doctor, if you'd watched someone who hadn't eaten in two days wolf that down the way you just did, you'd be the first one to lecture them about the ramifications of eating too fast. I sure hope that stays down."

"I was...am hungry."

"If you're okay in an hour, I'll get you some more."

"Ask her again if she saw me."

"Al wants to know if you just saw him."

Tamlyn pondered the question for a moment then took a seat on the chair opposite from Sam. She had a faraway look in her eyes when she spoke. "I wouldn't exactly call it seeing him." She gazed down at her hands and nervously picked at her fingernail. "I know when he's around and even when he's speaking to you but I can't really hear his words. It sounds like a distant voice mumbling unintelligible gobbly-gook in my head."

Sam cast an affectionate glance in his best friend's direction. "It doesn't sound like it's much different from what I hear," he ribbed lightheartedly. Once the words were out of his mouth, the realization hit him like an elixir that not only was he lucky to be alive but he was able to joke and tease with the people who had made that possible. He wondered how they had managed to find him but didn't ask. The sooner they moved on past the crisis the better they could cope with the problems that remained.

And huge problems remained. He walked back to the bed and laid down with his arms propped under his head. He didn't want to destroy the mood but knew the time for planning their next course of action had arrived. He was all too aware that he and Tamlyn couldn't keep running forever even though once this episode reached a conclusion he would leap out, leaving her behind and that fact burrowed into his heart. He loved her and there was nothing, including that final leap home, that he wanted more then to stay with her but her safety took precedence over his selfishness.

"Al, I need a complete run-down on Lennie's boss. Maybe Ziggy can find something the DEA missed."

"Who's Ziggy?" Tamlyn asked as she laid down and snuggled close, using his bare chest as an elbow rest.

"A computer." Sam wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. The feel of her against him spread warmth throughout. He didn't want to think about an existence without her. Not yet.

"What are you looking for?" Al inquired.

"Anything...everything, I don't know." He absently rubbed his hand up and down Tamlyn's back. "Maybe she can find a clue from something he does in the future. I do know I can't wait any longer for the DEA to get their act together. I tried, Al, but they've had four days and Lennie's still in danger. And the way I am right now, I'm a sitting duck. I'd like to at least be able to theorize where the next attack might come from and so far I know nothing about this guy. Are my 'friends' from the alley acting independently or are they taking orders directly from..."

"His name's Clyde Nash."

"Okay, get all you can on him and we'll work from there."

Tamlyn, who had been listening to the one sided conversation, nuzzled her nose against Sam's side then quickly pulled back. "You stink, Sam Beckett," she stated. "Why didn't you take a shower after you shaved?"

"That was my intention but I kind of ran out of steam." His attention never shifted from Al as the older man punched the handlink keys and the Imaging Chamber Door appeared.

"I'll get Ziggy on this right away, Sam," the Observer said. As he turned to leave, he gave Tamlyn the once over. "And, just in case you get carried away, might I remind you about your somewhat fragile condition?"

Sam grabbed the pillow under his head and threw it in Al's direction as he disappeared through the door.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing worth repeating."

"Well, what I said does. You need a shower." She got off the bed and held out her hand to him. "Come on, love. I'll help."

Sam looked up at her, a suggestive grin sweeping across his face. "Yeah, I remember how you helped last time."

"Be serious, doctor. How can you possibly be thinking about that in your condition?"

"Isn't that what most men think about?"

"You're not like most men, Sam, and you know it."

"I am when I think about you. Look." He nodded his head downward.

Tamlyn broke out in hysterics. "Okay, so maybe you are." She tried to control herself. "But you're gonna have to hold that thought for a couple of days 'cause I'm not about contribute to the ruination of my repair job on you. I don't think those stitches will hold up to any rigorous workouts."

"I suppose you're right," he conceded. He slowly stood up, covering the jolt of pain in his side with a heavy sigh of affected frustration. "I guess I'll have to settle for a shower." He looked at her like an eager puppy trying to earn praise. "And then, maybe afterward, I can have more to eat? I promise I won't throw up on you."

They stayed in the motel for two more days during which time Ziggy was unable discover anything about Clyde Nash since it turned out that that was not Lennie's boss' real name. The records under that appellation only went as far back as three years previously when the man had started up Aztec Imports. From the company's bank records, they were able to surmise that he originally came from the San Francisco Bay area since the majority of his business dealings were conducted with Northern California connections. But they had no clue as to his true identity.

After receiving the disappointing news, Sam breathed a mixed sigh of relief. His time limit with Tamlyn had been given a short extension. But, knowing that he was still suffering the aftereffects of the stabbing, he used the time wisely, doing nothing but work on regaining strength and stamina, while trying his best to forget about the danger that still loomed over them. He instituted an exercise program which he adhered to stringently, combining endurance with flexibility and would only stop when the pain in his side forced him.

Tamlyn had bought a book from the local supermarket and had every intention of reading it but her attention was constantly drawn to watching Sam work out. She was enthralled by the view of his muscles rippling beneath his sweat sheened skin and the intense concentration on his face as he went through routine after routine of Eastern-style exercises. She had to keep reminding herself that he was broken and couldn't play yet but, as the hours passed, the temptation became increasingly more and more difficult to resist. Even as a child, looking without being able to touch had never been a more arduous task. Late the second afternoon, she finally had to force herself to leave the room.

When she returned, she heard his rich, baritone voice blaring over the sound of rushing water. It was so hard to believe that a few short days before she had questioned whether he would live or die, let alone be capable of singing in the shower. And although, she so dearly wanted to join him, thinking that if he was fit for such a lofty performance, he might be fit for other things, she decided that she'd better wait until he let her know when he was physically ready. But damn, it was going to be a hard wait. She wanted him.

And he certainly didn't make it any easier when, a couple of minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom stark naked save the towel he was using to dry his hair and the back of his neck. He stopped mid-wipe and peeked out from under the towel. "You okay?"

Tamlyn knew she was standing there looking like a deer caught in the headlights, her mouth gaping and her eyes wide but she couldn't help herself. He was so gorgeous. She struggled to find her voice but only a squeaky "Um...yeah," came out.

He went back to drying off. "I was thinking. Maybe we should head out tonight, go to San Francisco and see what we can find out there."

"Okay." She tried to convince herself that not only was she acting foolish but that he wasn't the most perfect male she had ever seen. Focusing on his little imperfections, she knew that his legs were a little on the bow-legged side, he did have a slightly receding hairline, his nose was a tad too large for his face, his eyes were set in a bit too closely and too deeply and he did talk with a slight lisp. If taken individually each would detract from the total but, for some reason on him, they only enhanced his appeal.

He dropped his hands to his chest and started drying his torso, then carefully patted the spot around the incision. When he looked up he noticed her gawking again. "What's wrong, Tamlyn? "

She felt the heat rise to her face and was all to aware that she was blushing. And the fact that she never blushed, not even as a young and innocent school girl, made her more angry with herself. This was stupid. It wasn't as though she'd never seen him naked before. She took in a deep breath, at least the towel was now covering up the good spots. Damn these hormones, she thought to herself and fought to rein them in. "Nothing." She was proud at how calm her voice sounded. "I agree. Going to San Francisco's a good idea."

She went to the dresser drawers and began pulling their clothes out. Sam came up behind her, reached over her and took jeans, shirt, underwear and socks from the pile then moved back toward the bed. While she listened to him dress she searched for something to distract her mind. "How are you feeling?" she asked inanely.

"A little stiff, but bet..."

"Wrong choice of words, Sam," she mumbled to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing...you were saying?"

"Better."

Hearing him rifle through the duffel bag, she wondered what he was doing but kept her jittery hands busy by placing the folded clothes in the open suitcase on top of the dresser, trying her best not to drop them. She was so engrossed in putting up a false facade that she didn't hear him when he came up behind her again and gently touched her shoulder. The contact made her jump. Doing her best to restrain herself, she turned around to face him.

He was fully dressed, his expression serious. "Put this in your purse," he said as he placed his hand in hers and the switchblade knife changed possession.

The images started flowing immediately. The dark alley, the the owner's face twisting into a evil sneer of murderous delight, Sam falling, the blade plunging through flesh. The entire incident rolling in slow motion like a movie in her head. Tamlyn screamed, dropped the knife and crumpled to the floor, cowering in fear as the vision metamorphosed into a car being driven by a madman up I-5, erratically weaving in and out of traffic near the Roxford offramp. He was coming after them, knew exactly where they were.

She screamed again and fought against the strong arms that had wrapped around her, arms that were impeding her escape, preventing her from acting on her instinct to flee. She tried scratching and clawing her way free but they tightened around her, pinning her limbs to her sides.

And then his voice broke through her panic, a calming tone with soothing words. "It's okay, Tam...I've got you...I won't hurt you...I'm sorry...Shhh." The gentle stroking of her hair.

She molded herself to him and started to cry, her body racking with sobs from both relief and terror, relief that he was now all right, that the first vision was of the past and terror from second, a prophecy of impending danger. "We have to get out now!" she wailed. "Now! Sam! Now! They're coming."

Sam didn't pause to question what she meant. He knew. He helped her up, jammed the remaining clothes into the suitcase, grabbed the rest of their luggage and scooped up the knife from the floor on their way out. Within three minutes he had the poor Civic tached to the red, speeding up the Ridge Route incline in second gear while Tamlyn, in the passenger's seat, grappled with her premonitory fear.

He didn't let up until they reached Highway 166 where he left the main artery toward San Francisco, deciding that spotting a tail on a quiet, two lane road would be easier than on the busy interstate. Only then, after almost an hour of tense silence, did he speak.

"I didn't use my head, Tamlyn. I should have known what that knife would do." He started to reach out to her, to comfort her and let her know how sorry he was but couldn't educe what her reaction would be so he let his hand fall midway between them.

She picked it up, brought it to her lap and rubbed it between her palms. "Nothing happened the first time I touched it, when I...when I..." She couldn't finish the sentence. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed his hand to her face, desperate in her attempt to block the picture of him and the knife and the blood that was trying to coalesce in her brain.

When her tears reached the tip of his forefinger, he abruptly pulled off to the side of the road, unbuckled his safety belt and stretched over to enfolded her in his arms. This time she sought out the support he offered and cried silently against him, finding succor in his caresses until, after fifteen minutes, she was cried out.

Tamlyn broke their embrace and wiped her face nervously. "I didn't want to do that," she whispered chidingly. "I promised myself that, no matter what, I wasn't going to fall apart."

Sam took her hand and massaged her fingers. "You didn't fall apart. You probably saved us, or at least me, again."

She found solace in his words and loved him even more for them. Pushing her tailbone back against the seat, she released his hand and turned to look out the windshield. "Weren't we on our way to San Francisco?"

Sam took his cue, twisted the key in the ignition and got back on the road. "I believe we were.
Faced with the choice between speed and safety, he concluded that there was no way their pursuer could know they were on to him so he bisected the San Joaquin Valley using secondary roads, Highway 166 to 33 to 58 until they reached 101.

Since awakening from the fever, Sam's top priority, after rebuilding strength, had been food. He couldn't seem to go longer than a couple of hours without becoming so hungry that the pangs in his stomach made rational thinking impossible and he became obsessed about eating. He was way past that point when he pulled off at Paso Robles.

Tamlyn had been listening to his grumbling belly in silent amusement for over an hour and laughed outloud as they sat eating in a Denny's restaurant. She had been watching the estimable Dr. Samuel Beckett for five minutes while he behaved like a typical male, shoveling food down his gullet like he hadn't had a meal in days.

"You're going to choke if you don't slow down," she commented, taking a delicate bite from her patty melt.

"I'm so hungry," he replied between mouthfuls of baked potato.

"I couldn't tell."

He dropped his fork with an exasperated huff. "You're making fun of me."

"You haven't stopped eating for two days straight. If nothing else, your expanding stomach is going to break the stitches."

Sam looked down. "Which reminds me, have you any small scissors in that massive collection of girl things you just had to bring? I've noticed that those stitches you're so proud of are starting to rot."

Without saying a word, she responded to the slight jibe by leaving the table and returning a few minutes later with a small cuticle scissors and several band-aids. "Be sure to keep it covered," she instructed as she handed the items over to him.

"Yes, doctor."

"Now who's making fun of whom?"

"If you want, you can do this."

She gagged. "I don't think so. Putting them in was hard enough."

"Actually, taking them out is easier." He got up and started to go toward the restroom but turned back and looked at her with a gleam in his eye. "Just a couple of snips and..." He pantomimed the cutting action with his fingers.

"Okay, Sam, enough." He was not only acting more like a typical man, he was starting to get irritating. "Just go do it so we can get back on the road."

Al would be proud of him, Sam thought as he cut the rotten sutures and pulled out what few threads were left. His lessons had been well taught by a master. Just like Al had done to him over the years, the more he annoyed her the less time she would have to think about what was happening. And she couldn't have played into his hands more beautifully, getting more and more peeved at him with each comment and gesture he made. He even toyed with the idea of performing a series of belches as they headed north again but, chuckling to himself, couldn't bring himself to do it.

He found a different way to distract her when they stopped for the night in a small motel south of San Jose. Not quite physically fit for serious lovemaking, he brought her to a series of climaxes with his lips and tongue and fingers until she finally collapsed into a sated sleep before she could think about satisfying him. And, as he contemplated the erection he would most likely fall asleep with, he realized that that had been his intention.

What was not part of the plan was what he awoke to early the next morning, a weight on top of his thighs, a warm mouth suckling low on his belly and tender hands that tantalizingly stoked his hips. He felt like he was floating in one of her erotic dreams again. A deep gutteral moan rumbled through his chest.

She slithered up his body and put her mouth to his. "I love you, Sam. Did you know that?" She deepened the kiss, withdrew slightly and ran her tongue along his lower lip. "While I was lying here watching you sleep I was thinking, and I couldn't, for the life of me, recall whether I've told you that before." She cradled his head between her hands, pressed her cheek against his and whispered into his ear. "You are the most wonderful person I've ever known. You're kind." She kissed his eye. "You're considerate." His eyebrow. "Gentle." The bridge of his nose. "Passionate." His jaw. "And I know why you did what you did last night." His neck. "That, my dear, was the most selfless thing anyone has ever done for me." She shifted downward and began to string together small fluttering kisses across his chest. "And my only regret is there's no way you could ever know the depth of my feelings for you." Her mouth captured his nipple. "Words and actions don't even come close to describing them." She rose up to straddle him. "But they're all I have." She lowered herself over him. "You make me feel complete."

Sam closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation of being enveloped by her, body and soul. Then she started to move, arching her back, lifting her hips, riding him, clenching him, forcing him deeper, crying out in ecstasy, grinding him, squeezing him, coming again and again around him until his body uncontrollably surged upward and, amid screams from the devastating pain mixed with unfathomed pleasure, he erupted into a climax that seemed to keep building, wave after wave of spasms sucking him dry.

Before the series of convulsions racking his body had stopped, Tamlyn splintered into what she would have thought, if she could, an unachievable response, her body reaching out to his in a primeval chain reaction, tightening around him in an attempt to extract more. And, even when the sound of his hoarse, agonizing yell broke through her consciousness, she had no control and had to wait out the undulations before she had the power to dismount.

The moment she was able, she got off of him and tried to check his side, thinking the wound might have opened again but his hands which were clutching the area, prevented her getting a good view. Not knowing what else to do, she sat frozen on the bed next to him watching in horror and remorse as he writhed in what was obviously extreme pain, chastising herself for what she had done.

If only she'd thanked him for last night verbally but, she quickly realized, he had made the first mistake. Because of what he had done to her, she had awakened very aroused and, as she had laid there listening to his slow, regular breathing and feeling the warmth radiating from his body, she had thought she'd return the favor slowly and selflessly. She should have known that nothing about their relationship could be unhurried. Their hunger for each other always seemed to reach the combustible stage, perhaps because of their uncertainty about how much time they had left together.

She was suddenly pulled from her theorizing by something that sounded suspiciously like laughing. Bringing her attention back to him, she saw that he was still clutching his side but now he was trying to keep it from wiggling while he was gripped by the humor of some private joke. They exchanged looks and his laughter got louder.

"What?" she asked tersely and, when he didn't answer, she asked again. "What's so funny?"

"You," he finally got out.

"How am I so funny." She still didn't get the joke.

"I would have been okay if you hadn't started bumping me with your knee, you klutz."

"I didn't hit you with my knee," she replied defensively. "I was being very careful."

"At the beginning you were but toward the end...my goodness, woman, you certainly don't understand the concept of moderation, do you?"

"No, now wait one minute." She hopped off the bed and stood defiantly with her hands on her hips. "As I recall, you're the one who forgot about certain broken body parts to gratify other body parts that were, shall I say, feeling no pain."

Sam stifled more laughter at the sight of her. Tiny, little, delicate Tamlyn, standing there naked as a jaybird, trying to convey defiance. "I was only trying to end what you'd started," he stated matter-of-factly and was quite proud of himself that he hadn't given away his amusement.

Her expression softened at the memory. "And you certainly did that in a blaze of glory, didn't you?"

He reflected on the memory, too. "You helped."

She returned to the bed and put her arms around him. "Are you all right now?"

"I'm fine." He got up a little more slowly then he would have if his sore muscles hadn't had such a strenuous morning. He hadn't expected to test those exercises so soon that he had been so diligent about. But, he thought to himself, the pain had been worth the pleasure, and not only his. There was nothing he found more beautiful than her face when she was caught in the throes of passion. "But I'm starved."

Al showed up after breakfast when they were loading the car. He took one look at the Civic then gave Sam an infuriated look. "Aren't you going to dump it?" he asked curtly.

"Dump what?"

"The car, Sam, the car. Jeez, I would have thought you've been doing this long enough to know all the steps. Those nozzles obviously know what you're driving. You have to change cars." The news that morning from Ziggy had Al scared and the man with the photographic memory was acting like he didn't remember that those men had tried to kill him and that they were hot on his trail to try again. "And then, what exactly are you planning to do when you get to San Francisco?"

"I don't really have a plan," Sam confessed. "I just knew we had to get away from there and San Francisco seemed a step in the right direction."

"Well, don't you think it's about time you came up with one?" "What's he saying, Sam?"

"That we're not being very methodical about this. We have to ditch your car."

"I never, in a million years, thought I'd have to say this to you, Sam," Al continued. "But, you've got to stop thinking with your dick and start using that genius of a brain. I know you're having problems with this leap, that you don't want it to end, but you've got to remember that your lives are in danger." Al paced back and forth, extremely ill at ease with having to talk to his friend in such a manner since this discussion was usually carried the other way around, with Sam lecturing Al on the importance of keeping one's priorities straight. Growing more distressed as he saw the pain from the truth play across his friend's face, he broke eye contact and fixed his attention on his cigar. He knew the words had to be spoken, that Sam had lost his objectivity in this leap and needed to be steered back. There was no way to soften the blow. "Just plodding along, blundering through each crisis, one at a time isn't going to work and besides, that's not like you, Sam. You never sit back and allow things to happen to you. You always stay in control, even when things start going wrong. So, it's time to get back on track and figure out what you're going to do next or, according to Ziggy, you ain't gonna survive."

With the first words out of Al's mouth, Sam's temper flared but, as he considered them, he knew everything that had been said was true. He wasn't functioning normally and Tamlyn's presence was the cause. The longer he prolonged making crucial decisions the more time he would have with her. But, no matter how much he wanted to continue putting it off, the time had come where he had to face the fact that this leap would reach an inevitable conclusion with or without his help, the final results dependent upon which path he chose; active participation with better odds for a favorable ending after which he would leap out, or passive resistance that would not only end with his and Tamlyn's deaths but would sentence the real Lennie to an unknown fate. He was caught in the middle of a no-win situation. Either way he went he would lose Tamlyn.

"Okay," Sam said with resignation in his tone. He was backed up to a wall with no means of escape.

"I didn't want to have to say it." Al was not comfortable with his victory. "I'm sorry, Sam. I know how you feel about her and how she feels about you but, like last time, you have to realize that, no matter how much you want it, there is no way you can stay. And the longer you dawdle, the more the odds go up that you and Tamlyn die. It's up to seventy-three percent now.

"Okay, Al, you've made your point. What do you have for me?"

"First you have to get rid of the car then...I don't know. Maybe use that list Ziggy compiled for something."

Tamlyn watched Sam closely during the one-sided exchange and grew anxious with each bow of his head, quirk of his mouth and the defeated, guilty look that glazed over his eyes. She had no idea what Al was saying, his voice only a high pitched, faraway, buzzing in her ear, but by Sam's body language, she knew the information wasn't good. She so desperately wanted to be part of the discussion but knew that, no matter how much she wanted to be, she was not a part of this team. She was merely a temporary interloper in a relationship that spanned years.

Sam walked over to where Tamlyn was standing and, putting a hand to her waist, began directing her to the passenger seat while still conversing with the invisible hologram. "Okay, so Nash's arrest won't be the end of it...Yes, I know we have to worry about them but don't you think if we get Nash, they'll be easier to contend with?... I don't know, maybe check that list for a mortgage company. Nash may have a house tucked away somewhere..." He paused as though still listening then turned his attention to her. "Do you know where Angels Camp is?"

"Yes, it's in the Sierra Foothills about two hours east of here. The Gold Country, Mark Twain's Jumping Frogs of Calaveras County, but why are you asking about Angels Camp?"

"Clyde Nash has a vacation home there. Only the mortgage was financed under his real name, Victor Blaine, so the DEA hasn't found out about it yet."

"So call it in, Sam." Tamlyn felt a surge of gloom descend around her. They were getting close to the end and soon Sam would be leaving her.

He tried the DEA when they were at the car rental dealer at the San Francisco airport but the agent in charge was more interested in who was making the call then in the information Sam was trying to relay.

"Leonard Jacobs, huh. Don't you know there's a warrant out for your arrest? Where are you?"

Sam quickly hung up and turned to Tamlyn who was hovering at the phone booth opening. "We're going to have to go there ourselves," he said. "Maybe we can get help from the local authorities.

Tamlyn experienced both relief and dread as they got into the late model sedan and headed south then east to the San Mateo Bridge. Once again, their time together had been mercifully extended but what new perils awaited them?

No one was there when they arrived at the Nash/Blaine property in the early afternoon. Located in a sub-division of twenty acre parcels, the front gate was padlocked shut and the gravel driveway gave no clue as to the last time it had been traveled on.

Wanting to get a look at the house which could barely be seen through the brush between it and the dirt road, Sam left Tamlyn in the car and climbed through the barbed wire fence that surrounded the property. On closer inspection, the log cabin home appeared well maintained, the lawn mowed and the garden of spring flowers that were just beginning to bloom well tended. Someone had been there recently. Unfortunately, when he tried to check inside he couldn't find an uncovered window he could reach to see through so he headed back to the car.

Tamlyn was in an extreme state of agitation when he approached the vehicle. As he got closer, he saw her expression change from frightened to relieved then settle on enraged. "What took you so long?" she snapped.

"I was only gone a couple of minutes."

"Eight, you were gone eight minutes, Sam. I know because I timed it."

"Okay, so I was gone eight minutes. I'm back now and everything's okay, so relax, Tamlyn."

"You could have bled to death in eight minutes."

"Honey, I'm all right." The thought suddenly occurred to him that that had been the first time since the attack that he had left her other then the short trip to the bathroom the night before. Evidently, it was perfectly acceptable for her to leave him, which she seemed to do on a regular basis, but not for him to leave her. Well, she did have a point. The last time he'd gone out by himself had almost been the last time he'd done anything. "Okay, next time you come with me so you won't have to worry about what's happening." That seemed to appease her when he saw a small smile turn up the corners of her mouth.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"Drive up to town and warn the local law enforcement that one of their residents is wanted by the DEA." Sam checked the one lane road before he got into the car. "I wonder where Al is?"

To Tamlyn, Sam appeared quiet and withdrawn as he drove the car east on Highway 4 toward town. She kept sneaking little peeks at him, hoping he would open up and tell her what he was thinking but his eyes remained glued to the view out the windshield while the muscle in his jaw twitched nervously.

During one of those glances, she thought she noticed something strange floating outside the driver's side of the car. Then she felt a chill. At first, she thought the coldness came from the fifty-three degrees wind blowing in through Sam's open window but then she saw the shadowy outline of a peach colored fedora. Peach colored? "Sam...does Al wear flashy clothes?"

"Yes."

The one word response did not leave the subject open for further discussion but she wasn't deterred. "I think he's trying to get your attention. He's right outside your window." Because of Sam's sullen mood, she tried not to laugh at the sight of a man drifting alongside a car traveling at forty-five miles an hour on a windy road but it looked so funny.

Sam turned his head to see Al with a big grin on his face winking at Tamlyn. Before he lost control of the vehicle, he slowed down and pulled off at the first turn-out.

"She's great, you know," Al stated. "I knew she'd eventually see me."

Sam was livid. "You can't just pop in anytime you like, Al. One of these days you're going to get me killed."

"No, Sam, if you recall, when I pop in, I usually help to keep you from being killed which is why I'm here right now. I know you're headed to the Angels Police department but you can't go there. If you do, Lennie's body is found floating at the top of the Frogtown pond." He checked the handlink, a perplexed expression crossing his face. "Now, where do you suppose Frogtown is?"

"I don't know nor do I care where the hell Frogtown is, Al." Sam got out of the car, slammed the door shut in a rage, sent a furious look then started pacing up and down the length of the car. "I'm getting sick of this. If I can't go for help what am I supposed to do next? Do you want to tell me? Short of going out, finding this Nash/Blaine jerk and hauling him back to the DEA myself, I'm running out of options."

Al was taken aback by the sudden outburst "Chill out, Sam. Just lay low for awhile."

"I've been laying low, Al and you accused me of dragging my feet." He stopped, his shoulders dropped in defeat and his expression turned pleading. "Just tell me what to do, I'll do it and then we'll be done with this leap."

"Not so loud. She'll hear you."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "So she hears me. Big deal. She knows how this is going end the same way we do. I go out in a blaze of whatever to another place and time. I probably won't even remember this leap or her, and she's left here to pick up the pieces of her life." He had thrown his hands up in the air for punctuation. Letting them fall to his sides, he peered contemptuously at Al, daring the Observer to contradict him.

"What happened, Sam?" Al asked, watching the turmoil and indecision play across the younger man's face.

"I was only gone eight minutes and she started to freak. What's going to happen when I'm gone permanently?"

"Nothing," Al explained calmly.

"Nothing?" Sam was incensed. "What do you mean nothing?"

"She'll do just as you said and exactly what she did last time. She'll pick up the pieces and move on. She's an intelligent woman, Sam. She knows there's nothing she can do to change things. And my advice to you is to stop worrying about something you have no control over."

Tamlyn guessed that the more she was exposed to Al the more in tuned to him she became. Through the open window, she had not only heard but had understood most of what he'd said. Getting out of the car, she went up to Sam and wrapped an arm around his waist. "He's right, love. We've got to stop fretting over what's going to happen. Right now we're together and that's all that matters." She paused then a wide smile broke across her face. "Well, almost all that matters. There is still the problem of those assholes on our tail, isn't there?"

Sam tried to stay sullen and brooding but she did have an eloquent way of keeping the situation in perspective. He took a deep breath, gave Al an apologetic look and relaxed against the car. "Yeah, and it looks like we're going to have to deal with them on our own."

Al accepted the silent apology then addressed Tamlyn. "Don't worry, he's dealt with worse before."

What Sam didn't expect was to have to deal with them so soon. Thinking they had a cushion of safety because of the vehicle exchange in San Francisco, they were caught almost completely off guard when, the next morning at two twenty-three a.m., two men burst into their motel room at the Gold Country Inn.

Their only warning came an instant before when Tamlyn awoke screaming from a nightmare. Sam bolted up in bed and reached out for her when the door flew open and an eight inch hunting knife sliced through the air. It landed, blade first, in the exact spot where he had been sleeping. Jumping to the floor, Sam landed then froze. He was too late. One of the men had already grabbed Tamlyn, who was still caught in the throes of her nightmare, and was holding a similar knife to her throat.

"Get dressed," he snarled.

If they were the same men, and Sam couldn't tell, they hadn't bothered with the ski masks this time. The one threatening Tamlyn was a gruesome looking character, five-eleven or six feet, weighing close to three hundred. His snarl had revealed a mouth full of rotten teeth and his ruddy complexion was marred by deep pockmarks. The other, who had retrieved his weapon from the bed, was the one Sam calculated to be the bigger menace. Built along the same lean, athletic lines as Sam, he was easily six inches taller which meant he would have arm and leg span advantage in a confrontation. Sam knew he would have to catch him completely off guard and defeat him swiftly. The only plus on the physicist's side would be the element of surprise. No one would expect incursion from someone who looked as scrawny as Lennie Jacobs did. But, he would only have one chance so he had to plan judiciously.

Which is why he didn't react like Tamlyn expected when she secretly motioned that she was going to slam the heel of her foot down on her captor's toes. He bored his gaze into hers and issued a silent "no" to her while he slowly pulled on his jeans.

"Hey, Shel," Gruesome said. "Doncha wonder what a pretty, little thing like this is doing with a young, loser pup like him?" He waved the knife in Sam's direction then teased Tamlyn's bare breast with the tip.
Sam grabbed his lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard to keep from launching an attack right there and then.

Shel didn't take his eyes off of Sam and didn't answer. Gruesome seemed caught in his own little world as he inspected Tamlyn's naked body from his vantage point. "Maybe he's a good fuck. Or maybe she don't know what a good fuck is." He ran his tongue over his black teeth. "I'd sure like to show her."

"Quit drooling and get her dressed. We have to be back at the house in twenty minutes."

Sam went for his shirt which he had left on a chair in the opposite corner. Shel stepped in to block his way. "Forget the shirt, just put on some shoes."

"But it's cold outside." Sam tried to portray the young man whose aura surrounded him.

The knife was waved in his face. "Just the shoes, kid or you're going to wish they'd killed you in L.A."

They allowed Tamlyn to dress warmly then, after tying Sam's hands behind his back, directed the captives into a new Ford Explorer parked next to the sedan outside their room. Shel put Sam in the front passenger seat while Gruesome and Tamlyn sat in the back. They drove the seven plus miles back to the sub-division and the house in silence.

Sam and Tamlyn didn't have a chance to talk until they'd been unceremoniously locked in a bedroom and the sound of footstep faded in the background.

"Why wouldn't you let me nail him?" she asked as she untied his hands.

"Because it wasn't the right time," he replied rubbing the circulation back. "I'll let you know when it is."

"How?"

"You'll know when the time comes." He looked around the room. It was newly decorated with art deco furniture and wall treatments, very tastefully done and very expensive. He took the satin bedspread, draped it over his cold, naked shoulders and tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

"Why is it that men have to be so ambiguous? 'You'll know when the time comes,'" she mocked. "It sounds like something in a movie."

Sam was surprised that he could find any humor in the situation but he did. "Maybe we're ambiguous because we don't know what the hell we're doing." He went to her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She seemed so small and vulnerable all of a sudden as she looked up at him. "Did I tell you I love you today?"

"No. You were too busy pouting."

"Well, I do."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know but Al should be here soon. He'll be able to help."

"I hope we figure out something soon because I don't trust that gruesome fellow. He gives me the creeps."

"Me, too." Sam checked the windows. They were made of fixed tempered acrylic, unopenable and unbreakable. He wondered who would put those type of windows in a house located in the middle of nowhere but quickly answered his own question, only someone who had something to hide from the outside world.

He continued searching the room, looking for something he might use as a weapon. Opening drawers, scouring the closets, checking the attached bathroom, he found nothing that could be useful. He considered breaking the bathroom mirror and using a shard wrapped in a towel as a knife but worried that the sound of shattering glass would bring their captors running and he would lose that element of surprise that was his only hope. He sat down on the bed and watched Tamlyn go through the same inspection.
"Did I miss anything?"

Tamlyn opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by Al's sudden appearance through the Imaging Chamber Door.

"Another fine mess..." he said.

"It's about time you got here," Tamlyn scolded. "What took you so long?"

"You've been taking lessons from Sam, haven't you. I mean, you even have the tone of voice down."

"Al..."

"Okay, Sam, I'll go out and see what they're are doing like the good little hologram that I am." He was only gone a couple of seconds when he popped back in. "They're coming now. Three guys, a tall one, a big burly looking one and one dressed in a fancy Italian suit."

"That must be Blaine. We haven't met him yet."

The sound of a key in the lock reached their ears and then the door opened slowly. The three men entered the room. Gruesome took a stand in the doorway, Shel stopped a little further inside. Both of them held guns in their hands. The last man walked right up to Sam and gave him a fierce look.

"Oh, Lennie. If only you had let them take care of you in L.A. then I wouldn't have had to come back here to deal with you. I was all ready to get on the plane to Brazil but you, little asshole, fucked up my plans." He turned his attention to Tamlyn. Activating the charm, he addressed her directly. "And who is this lovely creature?" He brushed her cheek with the back of his right forefinger.

Sam bit down on his lip so hard that he drew blood.

"Take it easy, Sam," Al instructed. "If you get mad you won't be able to think straight and you need to keep your wits."

"Better watch out, Mr. Blaine, the kid's getting possessive." Gruesome's laugh was uglier than the rest of him.

"Isn't he a little young for you, dear?" Blaine asked.

Tamlyn jerked her head out of his reach and exchanged a beseeching look with Sam.

"He can't help you," Blaine told her. "In fact, his hero days have just about reached an end." He nodded his head toward the taller man. "Shel." He started to leave, paused then addressed Gruesome. "And when he's finished you two can only play with her for an hour then kill her and meet me at the airport in Columbia."

As he moved to leave the room, Shel took a step toward Sam but he never got a chance to take another one as Sam's right foot impacted with the side of his head and he went down, out cold. Sam next turned his attention to Gruesome who was reaching for Tamlyn with the gun cocked and ready.

"The gun, Sam, the gun," Al hollered.

Sam launched his entire body at the gun, knocking it out of Gruesome's grasp. It hit the carpet and went off but Sam couldn't stop to notice where the bullet had landed, he was already engaged in a desperate fight for his life. When he had landed shoulder first, on the floor, Gruesome had dropped on top of him and had wrapped strong, pudgy fingers around his neck and was trying to strangle him. He squirmed under the enormous weight, trying to buck the big body off but he couldn't get the traction necessary. His oxygen starved muscles were starting to lose strength when his left eardrum reverberated from a pain-ravaged shriek that came blasting out of Gruesome's rotten mouth and then the weight was miraculously gone. He scrambled to his feet, ready for the next onset but Gruesome was on the floor writhing in pain, his hands grasping his crotch.

Sam searched for Tamlyn to find her standing over the victim, the gun in her hand. She gave him an innocent look then casually shrugged her shoulders. "I kicked him in the balls, dear."

"What about Blaine?" He scanned the room preparing for the next attack but, other than the two prone bodies, they were alone. "Did he get away?"

"No, he and that bullet tried to occupy the same space at the same time and the bullet won. He's in the hallway and won't be going anywhere." She touched his sore neck tenderly. "You were right, love, I knew when it was the right time."

After the bodies were counted, there was one, and the arrests were made, there were two, the next several hours were spent in various interrogations with the Calaveras County Sheriff's Office, the Angels' Police Department and finally the Drug Enforcement Agency. With Clyde Nash/Victor Blaine's death, the warrant for Leonard Jacobs' arrest became a moot point. His testimony was no longer needed so he was free to go just as soon as all the paperwork was filled out.

Three plus hours later, at ten a.m., Sam and Tamlyn were finally allowed to return to their motel room. Desperate to rid themselves of the dirty feeling the events of the morning had left them with, they showered, dressed and then, at Sam's insistence, sat down to eat a large breakfast at the coffee shop next door.

They acted as though their lives were status quo, that the imminent disaster that was about to befall them did not exist and that they would be allowed to stay together.

When Al appeared, he watched them from a discreet distant. He wanted to say a final farewell to Tamlyn and to wish her well but couldn't bring himself to interrupt them in their secluded corner of the restaurant. With all that they had gone through, this time together belonged only to them so he quietly hit the handlink and vanished.

Sam felt her hand land on his thigh. At first, he thought she was using the move as an added gesture to her commentary about the demise of Gruesome but then she stopped talking and started rubbing.
"Tamlyn?"

"I'm horny, Sam. Let's go back to the room."

"You're always horny. Can I finish eating first?"

"No," she replied, moving her hand to the front of his jeans and making small circular motions against him.

"Tamlyn? What are you doing?"

"I want you and I want you now." She pressed a little harder and smiled when she felt the growing ridge.
"Right here?" Sam looked around the restaurant, mortified that someone might be watching them and see what she was doing to him.

"Yes." She squeezed him. "But I'm sure you won't oblige me so let's go back to the room."

She couldn't keep her hands off of him while he waited to pay their bill at the cash register . His attempt at dodging her groping drew more attention than if he chosen to ignore it, with several admonishing looks aimed in their direction from the other coffee shop patrons.

"That's disgusting," an older, matronly woman huffed to her ogling husband without taking her eyes off the odd, little two-step going on at the front of the restaurant. "Why, he's still a boy and look at her. Aren't there laws against that sort of thing?"

"If there aren't, there should be," her husband answered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Belle, you ready to go home yet?"

The instant the door to their room closed, Tamlyn had one hand down the inside of Sam's pants while the other grappled with the snap and zipper. "Hurry up, Sam. There might not be enough time."

It was the first time since the end of their ordeal that either one of them had mentioned the impending doom that would soon effect the rest of their lives.

Sam grabbed her frantic arms and held them still. "Slow down, Tam, slow down." He kept her in a gentle restraint until she finally gave up the struggle and stopped to look at him. His voice was calm and reassuring when he spoke. "If I haven't leaped yet, we have time."

She sagged against him and tried not to cry. "Make love to me, Sam," she implored. "I need to feel you inside."

They slowly undressed one another, the articles of clothing piling up around their feet until they were standing, face to face, visually feasting on the naked beauty of the other.

Sam moved first. He tilted her chin up and placed his lips on hers. Sipping from her mouth, he tasted the flavor of her and logged the memory of it in a place where he hoped it was safe. He then lowered her to the bed but, when he felt her tremble beneath him, he knew the response came from something other than anticipation.

"What's wrong?"

"I just flashed on the nightmare that woke me up this morning."

Sam smiled down at her. "I never did ask what that well-timed dream was about."

She reached up and ran her fingertips lightly over his lower lip. She had a soft, dreamy look in her eyes. "It was about the door bursting open, a knife flinging through the air and landing in your back."

He noticed that the spot where he had laid her down was right on top of the slit the blade had put in the mattress. "Well, no one can accuse you of not having a wide variety of different dreams," he said as he slid her to the other side of the king-size bed. "Lucky for me, huh?" He kissed her neck then ran his tongue over the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Yep, from that first erotic one, I've been reaping the benefits from your dreams for days." He placed his hand on her breast and started to knead it. This time her shudders were filled with expectation. "I wish..."

"Shhh," she whispered and directed his head down to her breast.

Reaching out, she took his erection in her hand and listened for that combination of sounds she loved so much, the expulsion of air that turned into a moan followed by a swallow. He didn't disappoint her. Then his breath wisped past her nipple, his mouth closed over it and he began to suckle her.

Feeling the pull in her womb, she ignored the pain in her heart that questioned how was she going to go on without him. She had this. At least she had stockpiled enough memories to prevail for a lifetime. And as he entered her, she heard him whisper the last words she would ever hear him say to her, although she didn't know it at the time

"I love you, Tamlyn. No matter what, remember that I love you."

Sam began to move inside her. He felt her hand come around to support and protect his left side but it wasn't necessary. The heartache that gripped his chest numbed any physical hurts. He wanted to stay. He wanted to remember.

He plunged deeper, wishing he could be swallowed up by her then withdrew, knowing he couldn't. God, Fate, Time or Whatever had given her to him only on loan. He had to let go. But he knew the moment he climaxed he would lose her, body and soul, physically and emotionally but the part that hurt most were the memories he might lose. If they were stolen from his mind, he would have nothing but a big, empty space in the place where she'd been.

Fighting for control, he tried to hold back, fiercely needing to feel her completion one last time. But when she started to cry out his name in rhythm with their bodies and her muscles constricted around him, that fine thread of self-restraint vanished and he burst inside her.

He collapsed on top of her and felt her brush his sweat drenched hair from his forehead. Neither one of them stirred for several seconds and Sam was content to remain engaged for as long as possible but then he felt, first one hand and then the other pushing against his shoulders, forcing him from her. Surprise on his face, he probed her eyes and opened his mouth to ask her why she was rejecting him when he felt the beginning tugs of the leap.

No, he thought, not yet. He studied her face, frantically trying to memorize everything that she was but then he gave up. What was the use if she was irretrievably wrenched from his mind. He closed his eyes in cataclysmic sorrow and leaped.