Gil squinted in the bright afternoon glare, wiped the sweat from his face with a red bandana and gazed around. He recognized the place. It was the base camp in the jungle of Ecuador where he'd stayed with Ted. Replacing his wide brimmed straw hat, he loosely tied the bandana around his neck then pulled his canteen out and took a swig of tepid water.

"This is beautiful!" Catherine exclaimed and he turned to find her standing beside him.

"Yes, it is." He agreed with a smile then reached for her hand. "I'm glad you came."

"We should explore some," She whispered still peering around wide eyed.

"Before the others get here." Gil finished her thought. He wanted very much to remain alone with her in this idyllic spot. Holding her hand, they wandered along the edge of the natural pool forming at the base of the small waterfall. Pure pleasure flushed through him as he scrambled up the rocky side of the waterfall behind her. She was beautiful, adventurous, and best of all, she chose to be with him. They paused to catch their breath, admiring the view for a moment, then tiptoed across a rickety bridge into the lush jungle on the other side. Catherine found some orchids to admire and Gil leaned toward her, his lips brushing hers; she giggled in response to the tickle of his beard……………

Gil felt the presence more than saw it. An arm encased in black swinging out of the darkness then pain in his right cheek. He staggered and yelled to Catherine. "Run!"

She was tugging on his arm, pulling him with her. They stumbled onto the rickety bridge. A figure dressed in black from head to toe was chasing them. Gil tripped and the bridge pitched and swung.

"Don't fall!" Catherine cried. Gil glanced down ­ little creatures, reeking malevolence, were leaping and snapping just below the bridge. The figure in black approached the bridge and Gil could see his own reflection in the wrap around tinted glasses it wore. A knife materialized and the figure began sawing at one of the ropes securing the bridge.

"Gil! Hurry!" Catherine called upon reaching the other side. Then, she was turning, heading back toward him. He struggled forward, trying to motion her back while clinging to the rope handrail. One of the ropes gave and the bridge yawed crazily, Catherine fell. Gil caught her upper arm in his left hand but they were hanging precariously from one fraying rope.

"Get off!" Catherine shouted as she furiously kicked. One of the little monsters from below had sunk its teeth into her hiking boot.

"Cath, stop squirming," Gil gasped as her frantic movements caused them to twist and his right hand, slick with sweat, began to slip……….

Gil woke with a start and a muffled yell, flailing at the air, then sat bolt upright. The book, he had been reading when he fell asleep, slid off his chest and thumped to the floor. He scrubbed a hand over his face to force the last vestiges of nightmare away. His shoulder and arm ached and his cheekbone throbbed in time with his pounding pulse. Dry swallowing a couple of pain pills, he settled against the pillows while his heart slowed and his breathing became normal.

Gil glanced around. This room, in Catherine's home, was a small one, just off the main living area. He remembered the history, as Catherine had told it to him. A young doctor had the place built and this had been his home office.

"It's perfect for a live-in Nanny!" She had enthused. A couple of expensive Nanny's came and went. Then, Catherine decided, perhaps, family was the best option after all and arrived at a suitable arrangement with her mother. Gil wasn't really certain how that came to be; it just was, like so much of Catherine's life.

But here he was, ensconced in the Nanny's old room……….or home office, now. A couple of file cabinets and a built-in desk from which a monitor stared blankly back at him. He sat on the full-sized bed, pushed into one corner. The sheets smelled of the lilac linen spray Catherine had spritzed on them while she apologized for not having fresh ones. He'd told her he didn't mind. After all, she wasn't expecting a guest.

A three-quarter bath shared plumbing with the laundry room; floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the outer wall. Well-worn Little Golden books ­ possibly from Catherine's childhood, Dr. Seuss, various textbooks and forensics journals, a set of Encyclopedia's and some of the latest thrillers, mysteries, romances and horror novels occupied the bookshelves. He had started reading a thriller ­ a super smart, super resourceful, super handsome, super strong man, rescuing (?) one smart, savvy, independent woman. The unlikely duo had to unravel a mystery that would save the world while desperately trying to deny the overwhelming attraction they felt for each other.

His thoughts returned to the dream. Why had it morphed from a happy setting into nightmare? Was the figure in black his subconscious recollection of his attacker? Gil suddenly realized he might be endangering Catherine's family by staying with them. After spending several minutes in uneasy worry, he crawled off the bed, located and checked his gun then ventured into the family room. Lily was soundly asleep on the sofa. He carefully checked each entrance, then crept from one window to another and peered out, searching for an unknown assailant.

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, he knew he had to check on Lindsey before he would be able to relax. Just looking up them brought on a wave of vertigo. Determination fixed on his features, he counted the steps then sat on the third, facing away from the stairway. He carefully eased his butt up, one step at a time while focusing on his feet and counted each one until he reached the top. The door to Lindsey's room was ajar and his heart clenched. He rapped softly on the doorframe then peeked in. Lindsey was sprawled across her bed in peaceful slumber. Quietly pulling her door shut, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He made a security tour of the upstairs and spent several minutes surveying the street and backyard from the upstairs windows before re-negotiating the stairs.

Creeping back into his room, he picked up the book from the floor. Catherine could easily fit into the role of the heroine but he couldn't quite picture himself as the hero. He found himself lulling off; remembering times of Catherine's tough, practical mindedness. Shooting Syd Google to save him, the times she'd followed him into the desert ­ toting a pack containing evidence gathering material, as well as bottles of water, snacks, and moleskin for blisters he hadn't noticed forming.

Rousing up, he realized he had answers to most of the questions he couldn't answer all those weeks ago when he sat for hours in his darkening townhouse and pondered his relationship with Sara. Boredom had certainly been a contributing factor. He had recognized that he no longer enjoyed his job long before, but it gave him a purpose so he kept at it. He'd coped with his growing dissatisfaction in the way he handled most personal problems ­ ignored it.

Even though he had spent most of his life purposefully distanced himself from people, he still needed a friend to share with and talk to. Catherine had filled that role for years. The cold, harsh words he'd blurted out were mostly spurred by concern for her safety. He expected her to know that, just like she knew so many things about him and it surprised him when she withdrew. He couldn't blame her for distancing herself from him but he couldn't seem to apologize either. The result had been a festering sore on his soul.

Sara had been a convenient but only partially satisfactory replacement. Now that he was willing to face himself fully, he knew it was because she would readily accept what little he would offer to her. There was no other way to put it; he had been an asshole where she was concerned. But in all honesty, he had thought she would quickly tire of him and move on.

An ember of hope was still glowing deep in the recesses where his heart resided. When he called, Catherine had come to him, not judgmentally, but as a long-time friend. Over the past few weeks, they had eased back into a familiar comfortable relationship. Once again, he felt a flush of pride warm him, she'd admitted to loving him ­ at least in her dreams. How could he make that reality?

He had never been comfortable dealing with human emotion, especially his own so he'd buried himself in science and work. It was not some grand Epiphany that he loved Catherine. In many respects he had always known ­ just refused to fully acknowledge it because that would have required action on his part. How many times had he allowed people to think there was more to their relationship? He recalled her words………..

"You know, if we had been married for years, I would expect to have this kind of argument with you!"

Now, he wondered; had she done the same thing?

Later, seeking to lighten the mood, he'd asked. "So, you've thought about that?"

"What?"

"Being married to me?"

"That was just a, ah," She'd paused.

"Freudian slip?" He'd mockingly supplied.

Might that be why she'd not formed a lasting relationship either? Did she enjoy the thought of them together as much as he did? Had he been a fool or was he reading too much into this and about to make one of himself? One thing was certain, Catherine was not foolish and he would have to approach this carefully. He glanced at the clock, four AM. Turning off the light, he lay back in the dark and thought very seriously about what he truly desired, what Catherine might want and how to turn it into a satisfactory relationship for them both.

TBC