Baptism, Blasphemy, Betrayal

A "Lawless" story

By LoreliLee

Rating: NC-17 -- This story contains consensual graphic sex between a man and a woman. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.

Disclaimer: The characters of John and Marla Lawless, Andy Deakin, Dave Bruford, Alan Snow, Paulie and Sonya Davidson and Willy Kaa belong to South Pacific pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement. The rest of the characters in this story are copyrighted by me.

Author's note: This story is a prequel to Lawless, the NZ Tele-film. It takes place before any of the events in the movie, after the events in another story of mine, Arbitrary Fate, and actually leads up to where the movie begins. So you don't need to have seen the movie to follow this story at all, but you might want to read Arbitrary Fate. <g>

New Zealand has a national police force, not a locally based one, so officers go where they are assigned, not necessarily staying where they live. It is incredibly complicated to become a police officer, and I have simplified the process somewhat in this story. In addition, to become a lawyer in New Zealand, one must not only get a four-year degree from University, but also take and pass an IPLS class. This class, (Institute of Professional Legal Studies) is a three-month full-time course held three times a year. Once the IPLS course is passed, one can enter the profession of law as a barrister and/or solicitor. After three years practical experience one can then set up one's own practice.

Because all police forces closely guard details of their training as well as their undercover operations, I had to "guess" at a great many facts. Any factual errors would be a result of my "guesses" and completely unintentional.

The packet of information was thick. The brochure was glossy, elegant, the photographs slick, and the words lofty. John Lawless stared at it with unseeing eyes.

He had thought it would be a simple matter, to get an application, fill it in and become a cop. No such luck. He sat almost disconsolately at his Mum's kitchen table going through all the requirements just to MAKE an application.

He put aside the list of physical requirements with a grateful sigh. At least there was no problem there. He knew he could meet or exceed even the highest of those. He was in great shape thanks to the boxing. The educational and skills requirements though . . . if he decided to go for it he had a lot to do.

"What's this, then?" his Mum asked as she came into the kitchen and gestured at the pile of papers.

John studied her. His Mum wore blue slacks and a white blouse. Though she rarely left the house these days, she always dressed as if she was about to. Her blond hair was pulled back and she had made her face up. Still, he thought she looked tired and depressed. In the weeks since all hell had broken loose, since his life had turned upside down and Mick had died, he had seen her turn inward. Despite her professed support of him, her willingness to help him deal with things as they came, she seemed more interested in dealing with her beer. Though he had been denying it for years, he finally admitted his Mum had a problem. She was getting increasingly lost in alcohol on a daily basis. He sighed and confessed, "I need something to do with myself. I'm thinking about becoming a policeman."

"A copper?" she echoed. She went to the refrigerator and opened it. She pulled out a bottle of beer and shut the door hard. "Why you want to do that?"

How could he explain? He felt he owed it to Mick, as if he needed to do it to make up for causing his death. In a way, it was penance for him. He had enjoyed helping the cops nail Clive Johns; it had felt good to right a wrong, as if fixing things was a form of absolution. Still he didn't think she would understand, never in a million years. "I'm thinking about it. But . . ." he let the words trail off. Every time he looked at the list of things he needed he felt a ball of anxiety twist in his gut. He knew that thanks to Mick's financial legacy he could afford to take the time to go back to school and get the certificates he'd need, but it still scared him. He was twenty-three years old, five years older than most first year pupils would be, and at least two years older than most police cadets were.

"Give us a look, eh?" she asked. She stuck out her hand

Wordlessly he handed her the packet of info. She took it, sat down at the table and scanned the documents. "Well, you're physically fit anyways, I'm sure," she commented. He nodded. She ran her eyes down the list of other requirements. "Don't look that difficult," she muttered. "You've got lots of this already or could fairly easily."

She had surprised him. He had expected a defeatist attitude. "You think so?" he asked.

She smiled and her face lit up for a moment. "John, you can do anything you set your mind to. Always could." She paused and then the light drained away. "Just because . . ." she let the rest of the sentence drift. Abruptly she got up from the table and dropped the packet. "I'm going to watch the box," and then she took her beer and left the room.

He shook his head. He got a pad of paper and began to make a list of all the things he needed to do.

The first month after Mick’s death was hard. John was grateful for his Nana. They'd always been close and now he needed her caring, loving demeanor more than ever because his Mum was little help.

It was his Nana who was there for him, encouraging him, loving him, holding him when he finally spilled out all the guilt he felt over Mick's death. She made him see that while he might hold himself responsible, no one else, not even Mick would have.

What she couldn't do for him, although she tried, was make him feel good about himself. He had invested so many years, so much of his ego in the boxing, losing that sense of someone it made him, left him with no self-esteem. She tried to get him to see that he was a good bloke, smart and capable, but he refused to accept it. He viewed himself as a failure and no amount of praise even from his beloved Nana seemed to change that view.

His Mum, although she didn't mean to, fed that cycle of self-loathing. She'd always claimed her life was full, and yet, now that he was home to see it, he could see that was a lie. She didn't do anything. He watched helplessly as she seemed to drown deeper in beer and despair. He didn't know how to help her, how to get her out of the black hole she lived in and it added to his feelings of worthlessness. He did what he could, continuing to pay the bills so she wouldn't have to worry and as their conversations became more difficult and uncomfortable he stayed out of her way.

During that time as he began to crystallize his plans, John went back to Mick's old station to talk to the Inspector he had met over the boxing debacle. The case itself was never going to come to trial. Clive Johns had cut a deal, pled guilty and while the story had hit the papers, it had rapidly faded. Seemingly, John's fifteen minutes of fame were over.

When John explained his plans to the Inspector, the man was helpful in a limited way. Though he was impressed with John's enthusiasm, he had concerns about John's educational qualifications. There was also the matter of his obvious anger and the way that John had "insisted" on helping them catch Clive Johns. A beat cop had to control his emotions at all times. Had to take orders, not give them. It was obvious John had strong opinions and a strong sense of right and wrong, but . . . what would happen if John were given an order that he didn't agree with? Still, the Inspector didn't discourage John; instead, he gave him some good advice, which John religiously followed.

John sold Mick's bungalow for a decent price and banked the proceeds. Between that and the ten thousand Mick had left him, he now had enough money to go back to school and still support his Mum. Luckily for him the car crash that had precipitated his learning about Clive's plans for him had involved only him and there was no police record, otherwise he would have been shit out of luck. A drunk driving conviction would have disqualified him, as would have losing his driver's license.

For the next twenty-one months, John buried himself in his quest. One thing he was good at, had always been good at was focusing. Once he made up his mind to do something, figured out the way to get there, he could go after it. Still, more often than not, as time went on, he would find himself doubting he would ever get where he wanted to go.

He'd applied to and to his surprise had been accepted at the University of Victoria in Wellington. He chose Criminology as his major and though it was a three-year degree, he tried to accelerate it as much as he could. He was two-thirds of the way to getting his BA.

Going back to school had been hard, especially being older and away from it for so long. He’d had to relearn study habits and it took some time to get into the swing of it. He continued to live with his Mum and commuted daily to class. It was an added stress but since he was trying to do three years in two and the money was finite, he stayed with her. More than once he'd come home to find her passed out on the couch a cigarette burning in the ashtray forgotten. No matter how many times he lectured her, she never did more than pay him lip service. He didn't know what would happen to her if he ever did leave home and he put off thinking about it because it made him feel disloyal and guilty.

John had always been a loner, first in secondary school and then when he'd boxed. While he had some drinking mates from the construction crew, between his dalliance with Claire and his focus on sport, he'd never made any real friends. Now, going back to school, he was again alone. Even when he'd go out to the pubs, he felt like he had nothing in common with the other blokes, once they had exhausted the subject of rugby. Their lives, as opposed to his, were absorbed in earning a living, feeding their families, or getting so pissed they could pretend for a moment they were happy. It was too much like being with his Mum.

In a sense, the University offered little difference. While the other pupils had a larger view of the world, they were still, in their own way, just as self-centered and self-absorbed as the blokes in the pubs. Most of the other pupils were younger than John and seemed to be in an emotional place that he couldn't begin to access. He wondered sometimes if he'd EVER been that young. There was a vast chasm between the eighteen-year-old first years fresh out of secondary school and him. Most of them knew nothing of life or death, of what the world was like. They still thought they were invulnerable and immortal. John unfortunately knew better.

John got a part-time job at the gym where he worked out, mostly to have something to do with himself. Although he enjoyed working out and weight training, it was just a time filler. His days had a sameness about them that wore on him. He'd get up in the morning, go to class, study, work out, go home, eat, then study some more. On the weekends, he'd weight train, study, see his Nana and then start the week over. It was a bland empty existence, but it was safe.

He met lots of girls at school, but that was the problem, they were just girls. Young and innocent, they were clearly attracted to his body, but couldn't even begin to grasp where his mind was at, or so he assumed. He was embarrassed by their attention. He developed a gentle way to let them down so as not to hurt their feelings. He suspected most of them thought he was gay and in the closet, but that was all right with him. Claire had left him bruised and battered emotionally. She'd taught him the power and danger of sex and he was determined never to go there again. He intended to be circumspect were sex was concerned, convinced that it had to have more meaning than just physical pleasure. No more would he behave like a randy teenager, sex would always have meaning or he would do without.

He knew his life lacked life so to speak, but he didn't know what to do about it. The other pupils that he met lacked the serious mien that was so much a part of his makeup. The blokes in the pubs were the same. So he soldiered on, a lone warrior in his cause, taking some solace in his grades but feeling no sense of accomplishment in what he was doing. He took no pride in himself, he felt as if he was a mass of self-doubt, his ego desperately in need of soul food.

Although John saw himself as a lone figure, anyone looking at him saw something else entirely. Due to his time with Claire, John had mastered the unconscious art of illusion. He moved through his world like a chameleon taking on the protective coloration of whomever he was with.

If the blokes in the pubs had been asked about him, they would have said, "John's a good bloke, know him well." They all thought of him as a good mate. At school, he was a mystery, but not an outcast. The girls saw him as an object of lust. The other blokes envied him for the looks he got. In class the professors saw him as smart and prepared. Though he remained aloof, the assumption was he had a life that simply didn't include them.

This skill of his, this tight rope act he unintentionally walked, would be useful to him later, when he began his career in law enforcement. He had accidentally and unconsciously mastered the art of blending in. It was not a skill he recognized or appreciated then, but it would save his life on more than one occasion in the future.

John lived this half-life thinking he belonged to no one and no where until March 1992. That was when, as so often is the case, everything happened at once. It was at this time that the police force began running print and television adverts looking for officers. They had reorganized the department and were expanding. There was a huge push on and John figured it gave him a better shot at getting in, especially with what he'd done to enhance his chances. He would be twenty-five come June and he was afraid his age would work against him. The other applicants, the ones who knew what they wanted to do with their lives would be younger, fresh out of secondary or tertiary schools and raring to go.

The other change was Marla. He'd met her in January of 1992 in Sociology class. He'd noticed her the first day. She’d walked into the lecture hall in a navy blue trouser suit looking confident. Right away, he could tell that despite her age, which he assumed was eighteen, she was different. She might be chronologically young, but she acted self-assured and more mature than the other first-year students did.

He'd watched her in class after that. She was always well dressed, always made up perfectly, her hair done just right. She was also smart, well prepared, and studious, her mien just as serious as his. Despite the formal, almost mannish clothes she wore, she was very feminine and her manner of speech very Upper Hutt. Still, notwithstanding the obvious differences between them he was attracted to her. He did nothing about it, lacking the confidence to approach her sure that she would find him vulgar and uninteresting. Then the professor had assigned the two of them to do a project together.

He'd been pleased and excited since at the very at least it would give him a chance to spend time with her. They'd worked well together, finding their skills meshing in a way neither had expected. After the project was finished, they continued to study together, the dovetailing of their majors, Criminology and Law a good fit.

As John got to know her, he discovered Marla was unlike any woman or girl he had ever known. She was true middle-class, quality all the way. He realized that what he thought he knew with Claire, in terms of class, was all an illusion. Claire was a wannabe; Marla was the real thing. John found Marla fascinating, frightening, and enticing and grew more attracted to her every day.

They usually met in the Law Library and while at first they had only talked of the project and class, now their conversations ranged to other topics between studying. There was little of a personal nature in those chats. Mostly they spoke of their worldview and how each in their own way was going to make the world a better place. Still, little bits and pieces of who they were slipped in occasionally. He knew she liked classical music, while he liked rock. That she loved the water and her family kept a sailboat. She knew that he'd never been sailing in his life, although some day he wanted to try.

She also knew, because he had told her, how much he wanted to become a policeman. How driven he was to achieve it. He knew though he might have started his quest to become a cop as a way to achieve absolution for Mick's death, he was now consumed with a holy fervor to do it. The more he learned, the more he thought about it, the more captivated he became with the cause.

Marla seemed to be consumed with the same kind of fire. She loved the concept of the Law, of right and wrong. She was determined to become a lawyer; she had big plans for her life. To top it off, he thought she was gorgeous with beautiful blue eyes, blond hair and a great figure.

John, despite his enormous attraction, still hadn't attempted to take things any farther than studying. The longer he knew Marla, the more sure he became that their differences were a major stumbling block. Still, he very much enjoyed her company and was happy to have whatever part of her she willingly shared. Just being with her, even if they only sat at a table in the library and read was pleasant enough. Looking up from his books or notes to find her beautiful eyes studying him, then seeing her smile with pleasure, was good enough. After all, what was he anyway? An ex-boxer from Lower Hutt with an unrealized dream. Maybe someday he might be good enough for her, but now . . . he would shake his head and sigh.

He'd taken a small risk when he had arranged tonight's study session. He'd asked her to meet him at a pub instead of the library and she had surprisingly agreed.

Still, thinking about Marla wasn't going to get this done, no matter how pleasant it might be. He sighed again and went over his checklist. Four sixth form certificates, no previous convictions, valid driver's license, swimming certificate, defensive driving certificate, first aid certificate, and typing certificate. The minimum requirements were now met, plus he'd gone ahead and taken the additional driving and swimming classes and gained advanced certificates in those. The only thing lacking was a University degree, but that wasn't a requirement, only a preference on the police force's part. He had made his initial interview appointment for that Friday.

The telephone rang interrupting John and his thoughts. It was his Nana. She asked him to come see her right away.

He drove over to her house, glad of an excuse to get out of his home and away from his Mum. Lately she'd taken to not only drinking more beer than usual but had added sarcasm and vulgarity to her routine. Although at the moment she was presently snoring on the couch in front of the telly, he knew sooner or later she would wake up and they would have an argument.

When he knocked on the door and his Nana answered it, he was shocked at the way she looked. Her skin was ashen and her expression worried. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She led him to the kitchen and gestured for him to sit. When he had done so, she handed him a letter. "Read it," she directed.

The letter was from a Dr. Farris. It stated, "We regret to inform you that your test came back positive. Please call our offices at your earliest convenience to discuss treatment options." John paused and looked up at her. "What's this mean, exactly?" he asked slowly.

"John, I have cancer," she confessed. "It means I'm going to die."

He felt the blood drain right out of his face. "No," he moaned. He paused and then insisted, "It says treatment options. It doesn't say you're going to die."

She sat down across from him and took his hand. "They have to say that. But I know. I KNOW."

He shook his head. "Nana, no. They've made great strides . . . it doesn't have to be . . ."

"John, I'm telling you this because I can't tell your Mum. Jennifer hasn't been herself, well not since Kenny died. Listen to me, once I'm gone, you have to stop this. Stop helping her. Do you know what an enabler is?"

He couldn't make himself focus on her words. She couldn't die. She was always there for him. He needed her. When anything bad happened in his life, she was his sanctuary not his Mum. What would he do without her?

"John, look at me."

He raised his eyes from the paper in his hand and studied her careworn face. "You don't look sick," he insisted.

"And I don't feel it. Not yet."

"Then how do you know?"

"It's my pancreas. It's untreatable. Now, do you know what an enabler is?"

He nodded. He'd learned about alcoholism in one of his classes. "Someone who enables, allows or helps an addict to continue their addiction. Not necessarily on purpose or even consciously."

"Yes. John, your mother is an alcoholic. She refuses to see it. Refuses to accept it. You have been enabling her for years. You need to stop, otherwise you'll never have a life of your own."

"I can't just abandon her," he mumbled. He knew his Nana was right, but . . .

"I know," she remarked quietly. "But as long as you stay there and take care of her, she'll never be forced to change."

"Nana, I can't! She's all . . ." he swallowed hard. "How long?"

"Six months, maybe a year. No way to know. I hope to see you in a policeman's uniform before I go."

"I made an appointment for the initial interview this week. Friday," he amplified.

"Good on you," she congratulated him. "I'm proud of you, John. So proud."

He tried to smile but he felt his heart breaking in half. The cuckoo clock struck the hour and he swiveled his head to check the time. Shit. He . . . his concern must have manifested itself on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I uh, I have a study session. I'm supposed to meet Marla at half past six."

"Marla, eh? You never mentioned her before. Who is she? Where'd ya meet her? When can I meet her?"

John felt his face flush. "It's not like that. She's a study partner." He rose from the table. "Are you going to tell Mum?"

She shook her head. "What would be the point? As much as I love her, as much as I know she loves me, given her situation, it'll probably just give her an excuse to drink more. I don't want to make it tougher on you. Think about what I said John. And bring your Marla to tea sometime soon, eh?"

He nodded. He rose from the table, kissed her on the cheek and then slowly walked to his car. He felt his entire body sag with the thought of losing her. He took several deep breaths and tried to get a grip on himself. It wouldn't do to be late, Marla was very prickly about things like that.

He drove slowly from Lower Hutt into Wellington. There was a nice pub near the Law School on Stout Street. He got there ten minutes early and was already on his second beer by the time Marla arrived.

Marla entered the pub slowly. She didn't like going to pubs alone, even when meeting someone, but since it was right by the school and John was never late, she agreed. She walked in the door and looked around with mild distaste. The music was very loud, very frat boy, much more John's taste than hers. Still, the pub was rather nice in a University sort of way with oak tables and booths and school flags and pennants on the walls. It was packed with pupils of all ages dressed in everything from jeans to suits depending on calling and class level. She herself wore a black trouser suit, a little dressier than the usual first year law student wore, but she was comfortable. Finally she noticed John sitting at the long bar. As she focused on him, she felt her heart give a little leap in her chest. She had never known anyone like him.

She had noticed John the first day of class. He was hard to miss. He was over six feet tall and gorgeous. He had dark hair, which unlike most of the other pupils he wore fairly short. It curled quite nicely on the ends. His face was handsome and strong with the most incredibly expressive brown eyes she'd ever seen. They were like a looking glass most times. They reflected everything. The only thing that kept his face from being too pretty was the goatee he wore around the most sensual mouth she'd ever seen.

He was always dressed neatly in clean jeans and a T-shirt. None of those ripped jeans or trendy clothes for him. He was always on time to class, always prepared when the instructor called on him, always paying attention with a serious thoughtful mien. She could tell he was older than the rest of them, but he was very quiet otherwise. He didn't seem to know anyone in the class and though he'd always nod or say gidday if one passed him on the campus, no one seem to know him or anything about him. She had wondered, before she got to know him, who he was. The mystery that surrounded him fascinated her.

When the professor had assigned the two of them to work together, she‘d been thrilled. At last, she might have an opportunity to find out what kind of person lived inside that body. At least two of her friends had begged her to find out if he was straight. As one of her more vulgar girlfriends put it, he had a body to good too waste as a gay man. After two months, she still didn't know the answer to that question.

She had no idea what his naked body would look like, but she had on occasion given in to her imagination and fantasized about it. Still, in clothes, he looked damn good. He was clearly fit and muscular. His arms were huge but not too huge and in his jeans, he had a nice tight looking behind. She wondered if he WAS gay. He hadn't made a pass at her, hadn't even seemed to find her attractive. He'd never once indicated that he thought of her as anything more than a study partner.

That was part of the attraction. All her life Marla had been the "pretty" one. Even as a child, her brain had been ignored for her looks. Everyone simply assumed that a female as feminine as she would be dumb or at the very least only interested in what her looks could get her. She knew she was more than that. Knew she had a good mind. Over time she developed a hard brittle exterior, hiding the hurt of being passed over when it came to achievements, fighting even harder to prove her worth.

Marla appeared to the world as confident and assured, as if she always knew best about everything. She developed a multitude of emotional defenses to protect herself from disappointment and harm. This made her seem older than her eighteen years, though inside she often felt like a complete fraud. She was like a hard candy on the outside, slick and smooth to the touch, unbreakable, but on the inside she had a soft chocolate center, creamy and sweet, just waiting to melt into the right man's arms. Her dichotomy of personality was well hidden. Most boys she met at school treated her as if she was pretty but dumb, never getting past her looks or her defenses. If they shared a class with her, they saw the "other" side, the strong smart protected female and it scared the hell out of them.

Marla knew her path was going to be difficult. Though her parents loved her, they didn't understand her. Her Mum was a housewife and housebound, and happy to live that way. She was a pretty, vivacious woman who used her considerable talents to wait on her husband and be a decoration. Her father was in business and did very well. They had given Marla a good life and she was grateful. Though they didn't understand why she wanted to be a solicitor, they were willing to support her financially as well as emotionally in her quest. She knew her Mum hoped she'd find a nice boy and settle down, but that had never been Marla's plan.

She had never intended to get involved with anyone while she was going through school. It would take four years to get her law degree, then the rigorous thirteen-week IPLS course after. Next would be an internship and then three years before she could set up her own practice. She knew that even if she DID find a bloke who could deal with her career plans, the difficulty of law school and the IPLS course would put a great strain on their relationship.

Still, John seemed different. He treated her with respect, like an equal, as if her mind was not only as good as his was, but maybe better. He never assumed that he knew more than she did, in fact, he often deferred to her opinion, which she found enchanting and intoxicating. He was quiet and serious, shy and obviously insecure and she found that mix of qualities charming. Although their backgrounds were completely dissimilar, they did have some major things in common. He was completely enamoured of the law in the same way she was; as a utopian ideal that could be made real. Her way to do this was to become a solicitor. His way was to become a police officer. She thought they made a good team.

She went to where John sat at the bar and when he didn't turn at her approach, she tapped him on the shoulder. He jerked his head around in surprise almost as if he'd forgotten why he was there. She could tell immediately something was wrong. His eyes were clouded and troubled. He looked lost and confused.

"Evening," he mumbled softly. "Want something to drink?" he asked with a forced smile.

She felt her heart almost stop beating as she studied him. She could see he was experiencing some kind of severe emotional pain and was valiantly trying to hide it. She sat down on the empty stool next to him and asked, "John, what's wrong?"

His eyes opened very wide and then his face crumpled. There was simply no other word for it. It was as if all the light drained away, as if all the good things he had ever felt vanished and all that was left was naked unadulterated pain. He shook his head and muttered, "Nothing."

"Don't lie to me," she insisted. "I know we don't know each other that well, but . . . I can see something has you upset. Maybe I can help." She laid a tentative hand on his arm.

He looked at her. Her blue eyes were wide with concern. Her mouth was partially pursed and she was biting her bottom lip. The touch of her fingers was warm.

"Talk to me," she prompted. "Tell me what's wrong."

As he stared at her, he couldn't understand her interest. She was so far out of his league. What could he possibly offer her? Finally, he decided to ask. "Why would you care?"

Her expression became one of complete surprise. Did he think . . . what DID he think of her? "Of course I care," she answered. "Why would you think a thing like that?"

He shrugged. "You don't really know me," he muttered in an undertone. "How can you possibly care?"

"And whose fault is that?" she asked in an almost teasing tone. "You're the one who always talks about school or the law. You've told me very little, it's true, but that doesn't mean I'm not interested. So talk to me now."

Again, he studied her face. She seemed completely sincere. Her eyes were focused intently on his. He realized with dismay that he had no one else to tell. There was no one in his life he was close to except his Mum and Nana. Marla's hand was still on his arm; he could feel her fingers so sure and strong lying against his skin. Her touch was comforting somehow. "I got some bad news," he began. He paused and had to swallow twice before he could continue. "My grandmother is sick. She has cancer."

"Oh, John," she murmured. Her eyes opened wide and then her mouth pursed again. "I'm so sorry. Are you? That is . . ."

"We're very close. There's just her, my Mum and me. Small family. Anyway, I just found out and . . ."

Abruptly she rose from the stool and took her hand off his arm. "Come on," she urged. "This place is too noisy. We need to go somewhere we can talk." He threw a few coins on the bar and rose. He followed her out of the pub. She paused for a moment once outside and then seemed to come to a decision. "My flat's just up the street. We'll go there."

His eyes widened but he continued to follow her suddenly too overwhelmed with emotion to think.

Marla's flat was a small one bedroom in student housing. It was clear she had filled it with touches from her home in Upper Hutt and it looked like an advert for one of those expensive flats. Still, John was grateful for the privacy, he felt as if he would fall apart any moment.

She got him settled on the sofa and bustled around the tiny kitchen making tea. He sat there staring at all her nice things and felt as if he'd stepped into the twilight zone. What was he doing here? What could she possibly see in him?

"Milk? Sugar?" she asked interrupting his thoughts.

He shook his head. "Plain is fine."

She brought two mugs over and handed him one. Then she joined him on the sofa and noted, "I put sugar in it anyway. They say it's good for shock."

He nodded and took a sip. Way too sweet. Still, she'd gone to all that trouble. He took another sip not knowing what to say.

"Tell me about her," Marla requested. "You said you were, ARE close to her."

"Nana is . . ." he began. He stopped, put the mug of tea down and asked, "Marla, why are you doing this?"

She looked at him blankly. "What do you mean? We're friends, aren't we? Isn't this what friends do? Help each other when there's a problem."

"Friends?" he echoed. He wasn't sure he knew what that meant. Had he ever really had any friends?

"John, is there some reason you feel uncomfortable? It's not because we're alone here, is it?" She began to blush furiously and then she added, "Honestly, I didn't assume. I mean, that is, if you're gay, I didn't invite you here to . . ." Her expression was completely chagrinned and embarrassed and John found himself beginning to smile despite his emotional turmoil.

"I'm not gay," he admitted. "And I didn't assume. I'm not uncomfortable being alone with you. I just thought, well, you're so . . . we're from different worlds. I figured you thought of me as a study partner and that's all."

Now her jaw dropped and her chagrin vanished although her face stayed flushed. "You thought . . . I told you, we're friends."

"Friends?" he echoed again, but this time his voice invested another meaning in the word. "Marla, I really like you," he declared softly. "I just thought, you know, what could you see in a bloke like me?"

In later years, Marla would realize that it was at this moment that she fell in love with him. His eyes were so earnest, his expression so sincere and bemused, his confusion so apparent she couldn't help but be completely captivated. "John, you're not like anyone else I've ever known. It's not just that you're a few years older. It's that you've always treated me as a person. You have ethics, standards, and a long-term goal for your life. You know who you are and what you want and you're working to achieve that. It makes you . . ." she let the words trail off sensing she was embarrassing him.

He shook his head. Was that how she saw him? He didn't see himself that way at all. Still, her words gave him a warm feeling. "I dunno about that," he mumbled. "Usually I feel like I'm just running in place."

"Well, you're not," she announced firmly.

The sound of her voice made his head spin. It reminded him of his Mum when he was little. He looked at her lovely face, her blue eyes so focused and intense, her mouth again pursed in thought and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He'd wanted to ever since he'd first seen her. Still, maybe this wasn't the best moment to attempt it. He looked at her and then tentatively reached out to shift a curl of her hair off her cheek, brushing his fingers lightly over her skin.

She sucked in her breath. Carefully she set her tea mug down and then met his eyes. She licked her lips her tongue came out and ran along first her top lip and then her bottom one.

"Marla?" he murmured her name as a question. He was afraid to move, afraid to take that first step, and yet he was desperately in need of physical comfort and warmth.

The need was naked in his eyes and it took her breath away. He was hurting and he didn't know how to deal with it. He seemed so alone; her heart turned over as she was overwhelmed by his emotions.

She reached out and brushed her fingers over his lips, the lightest of touches, a soft acquiescence. She watched as his lower lip began to tremble, then he gently took her hand in his. He studied her hand as if he had never seen one before and then he brought it to his lips. Slowly he began to kiss first one finger then another and then another.

His soft caress made her entire body tingle. The intense sensation was overwhelming and completely wonderful all at once. She was responding to him in a way she’d never anticipated. His touch, his need, ignited a powerful longing inside her that was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She closed her eyes, reveling in it.

Abruptly he stopped and released her hand. She opened her eyes to see his face again awash in confusion. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"This . . ." he gulped as if he couldn't breathe. He got up from the sofa and began to pace the room. "You've been kind to try to help, but I really should go."

She went to him. She touched his face gently and looked deeply into his eyes. "Talk to me," she urged. "Or if talking won't help, then kiss me."

His expression moved from confusion to surprise to pleasure to fear. "You don't know anything about me," he muttered uncomfortably. "I'm not who you think I am."

"John," she whispered as she put her arms around him, "for the moment, I know all I need to know."

He felt the warmth of her embrace, saw the genuine concern in her eyes, then he felt the heat of her soft body and he was lost. It had been so long since he'd felt anything real.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her, his body aroused his emotions in chaos. She nestled against him, her breath soft on his neck. Her hair smelled wonderful, like a combination of honey and flowers. It was soft and silky against his skin. She was like a wonderful amazing present, a rare gift that he was afraid to open. He knew he could physically please her, Claire had taught him all of that, but what about the emotional side of it? He knew with a certainty that with Marla, it couldn't just be about sex. She was so strong and confident, so sure of herself and he was lost in confusion. He knew he should leave, shouldn't get involved. His life was too much up in the air. Yet he clung to the warmth she offered and then the decision was taken out of his hands.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and kissed him. Her mouth moved to his, her lips brushed across his lips and it was an erotic explosion for them both.

Marla had never felt anything so soft and hard in her life. As she melted into his arms, she felt his body, so hard, so firm, his chest like a rock, his arms strong and muscular, but so gentle. His lips on her fingers had felt like feathers, now his lips on hers were like soft lush velvet. She let a little moan escape her and pressed against him.

John felt the touch of her lips, her body so close to his, the pressure of her breasts against his chest, her hands on his back and he was baptized in the comfort of her embrace.

He slid a hand up her back to her face, tilting it gently closer and rubbing his thumb along her jawline. Then he kissed her softly, lightly, applying a sweet but intense pressure to her lovely mouth. He pulled her tight against him with his other arm and continued to kiss her. He lost himself in the solace of a human touch.

She clung to him awash in erotic sensations, the way his lips felt on hers, the heat of his body, the need to comfort and be comforted. Their kiss lasted forever and no time at all, their bodies were aroused and excited, their hands gently explored.

John pulled back for a moment and studied her. Her eyes were glazed with wonder and passion. He touched her face then bent his head and sucked her lower lip. She moaned his name.

He held her tightly drowning in a sea of perceptions. He wanted to make love to her, wanted to lose himself in the warmth she offered, but he was still afraid.

Marla's whole body tingled with arousal and need. No other man had ever made her feel like this. She could feel how excited he was as well. It thrilled her that she had incited this response in him. His erection throbbed against her and her body throbbed to the same beat. She wanted to be with him, she realized, although she had no idea where this could lead. "John?"

"Marla?" they spoke in the same moment, which somehow broke the erotic spell. They both began to laugh and then John released her.

Self-consciously she backed away from him and went over to the sofa. He stood there for moment watching her as she sat down and then seemed to make a decision. He walked over to the sofa, sat down and asserted, "You need to know who I am."

"I know who you are," she demurred.

He shook his head. "No, you don't." So, he told her. He told her everything. How his dad had died when he was little and how he'd taken care of his Mum ever since. About Mick and the boxing. About his Nana and how her illness was going to change things. Finally, he told her about Claire, about how really, he had never had anything resembling a relationship in his life.

As John spoke, baring his soul to her, Marla felt her heart enfolding him. She heard all the things he said and a great many he didn't. She began to drown in his life, feeling his pain, his loss, his utter and complete aloneness, an aloneness he didn't even realize he felt. Her heart melted for him and all she wanted to do was make this man, for he WAS a man, not a boy, feel better. There was something about him that spoke to her, his need, so barren and naked touched the depth of her soul.

She reached out to him with her heart as well as her arms and gathered him in. She enveloped him with her emotions as he spoke, holding him as he shared the minutia of his life. He needed her and no one else in her life ever had. It was a heady feeling and she loved it.

They talked for hours. John, once he began, found he couldn't stop. Everything spilled out. All of the feelings he'd never even admitted to himself tumbled out of him in the comfort of her arms and the warmth of her acceptance. It was a revelation and a blessing and he was grateful for it. He felt as if his emotions so torturous and buried were now raw and on the surface. Still, she held him in her arms and he felt safe and comfortable there. Finally, he stopped talking and studied her.

Marla smiled at him, her heart overflowing with emotion. She guessed from the look on his face what his confession must have cost him and what a relief it must have been for him to make it. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for trusting me."

Her words astounded him. She had gotten right to the crux of it. He HAD taken a leap of faith in exposing his soul. "Marla, I . . ."

She touched his face lightly. "It's all right, John. If anything, I'm surer now than I was before. You really are someone special."

He gulped. He didn't know what to say that. "I should go."

"No," she insisted with a shake of her head. "You should stay."

"Stay?" he echoed.

She smiled. "Yes, what you've shared with me is far more intimate than making love could ever be. But I want . . ." she let the words trail off, embarrassed suddenly by her own need.

He understood though and was pleased beyond measure. He touched her face running his fingers over her cheeks then her lips. "Your turn," he murmured.

"My turn?" she repeated with surprise.

He shifted position, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. Now her back rested against his chest. He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her hair. He whispered, "I want to know all about you."

She rested against him feeling the heat of his body warm her soul. "Not much to tell," she demurred.

"I don't believe that," he refuted. "I want to know everything. It's a fair exchange."

She twisted around to face him. She looked into his beautiful brown eyes and murmured, "Another time." Then she kissed him again. This time the kiss quickly moved from gentle to passionate, then from passionate to ravenous. Their mouths were hungry, searching, demanding. The depth of feeling John had ignited in Marla, the emotional response she was having had ignited a firestorm of need in her. Marla found herself physically wanting John with an ache that was painful in its intensity.

Her hands explored his arms and the muscles in his chest. His fingers roamed her back, caressed her spine, and then moved back up to tangle in her hair. They kissed like randy teenagers, their mouths and tongues absorbing and dancing as their adult bodies ached with passion.

Finally he pulled back and moaned, "You are so beautiful," he confessed. "So damn beautiful."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she murmured.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you?" he panted.

She smiled. "Probably as much as I want you," she replied.

"Marla," he began. He took a deep breath and then continued, "I . . . " he stopped again and felt his face begin to flush. "There's no easy way to say this. I'm not prepared."

She gave a nervous little laugh and confirmed, "Me either. But it's nice to know you think about things like that."

"I should definitely go," he mumbled. "Before things get out of hand," he amplified as his embarrassment deepened.

She laughed. "John, you really are amazing. And probably right. Still . . ." she ran her fingers over his lips. "You could always go out and then come back."

His eyes widened. "Marla, that's a very attractive idea, I can tell you, but . . ."

She smiled. "You're a bit old-fashioned, aren't you?"

He thought about that, was he? He did seem to lump women into two categories, nice girls and easy ones. Marla was definitely a nice girl. "I guess I am," he admitted with chagrin. "Still, I really like you and . . ." he released her and got up from the sofa. Both of them noticed his jeans were stretched uncomfortably tight.

She ran her eyes over his body. The ache inside her was incredibly painful but it was obvious he was just as aroused as she was. And if he really was old-fashioned, . . . "You're sweet, John," she admitted. "That's sweet. I like you too," she added as she rose from the sofa.

She stood in front of him and looked into his eyes. Once again her soft chocolate center melted. She put her arms around his neck and whispered, "You really are special."

He smiled. His eyes crinkled, his dimples appeared and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. He pulled her close and held her. "When can I see you again?" he asked.

"Friday?"

"Friday?" he repeated. That was the day of his interview. "Perfect," he agreed. "We'll go out, eh? Have a good feed."

"Sounds lovely," she confirmed. "Seven?"

"I'll pick you up and everything," he mumbled. "Only Marla, I don't . . . it won't be fancy."

She laughed, her breath soft against his ear. "I do own a pair of jeans, I just don't wear them to class."

"Bewdy," he exclaimed. He kissed her forehead, then her eyelids, then her nose. Then he lightly grazed her lips and felt her arms tighten around him. Their bodies pressed together for a long moment and then John pulled away. He touched her face once more; his expression part wonder and part fear and then released her. "See you Friday night," he acknowledged as he reached for the door.

She let him out and when he was gone, she leaned back against the door with a sigh.

The next few days passed in a haze for John. He was busy preparing himself for the initial interview. Still, his mind often drifted to Marla. It had been a long time since he had something to look forward to. That Friday morning as he went in for his initial interview and initial testing he made himself focus on the task at hand. He qualified on the physical pretest and on the educational/skills requirements. He passed his initial interview despite his nervousness and was allowed to finally file the formal application to begin the selection process for the police force. He was advised that further testing would begin the following week.

When John went to pick up Marla for their date, he was nervous and excited. It occurred to him that he hadn't been on a date in years. He wasn't sure just how he was supposed to act. He knew his clothes weren't fancy. Still, he wore his best jeans and his nicest shirt, which was a long-sleeved red Henley. He had no idea where he was going to take her, but he had stopped at a chemist's and bought some condoms.

He knocked on her door at the stroke of seven. She pulled it open as if she had been waiting for him. She wore jeans, new creased expensive blue jeans and a blue silk blouse that matched her eyes. She carried a brown leather jacket over her arm. Her hair was waved and her face was as carefully made up as it always was. John wondered how she would look in the morning without all that gunk on her face. Still, she was a welcome sight. He smiled and complimented, "You look nice."

She smiled back and answered, "So do you." She hesitated a moment and then asked, "Would you like to come in?"

He shook his head. Just seeing her and remembering the intimacy of the other night had given him a hard-on. Best to eat first, then see if she still felt the same, before they were alone again.

She shrugged, put on her jacket and then suggested, "Let's go then, shall we?"

He nodded; suddenly worried about taking this well-dressed elegant girl anywhere he usually went. He just couldn't imagine Marla in any of the fish and chip shops or pubs he liked.

She surprised him by suggesting they go to a pizza place near the main library. He'd never been there though he'd walked by it. It was small and clean. She took his arm and asked him about his day.

He told her about the tests and interview and that he'd made the first cut. She was pleased for him. Delighted that he was on his way to achieving his dream. He found himself basking in her warmth, as if she was the sun and he was a plant needing only the gentle kiss of her bountiful rays to live.

After they ordered, they began to talk of other things. The conversation flowed like music, and despite his worries that things would be awkward, he was able to relax. Marla was vivacious, interesting and full of fun.

Marla set herself the task of making him feel at ease, guessing that he might feel emotionally naked after revealing himself to her. When John had stood at her door looking very uncertain and then refused to enter the flat she had been worried. Had her forwardness of the other night bothered him? Then she let her glance wander down below his belt and she'd understood.

She knew he didn't have any money and had racked her brains trying to figure out where they should go. Finally, she had remembered the place she ended up suggesting. She could see he was pleased, which pleased her. Time enough, later on, to change his eating habits.

She had already been completely charmed by John, now as she called on all the skills she had learned from her mother; she was pleased with his response. Quiet, taciturn John was chattering like a magpie, while she sat there and basked in his lovely deep voice and the beauty of his eyes.

At one point during the meal, he had mumbled something, she hadn't quite caught what he said, and she had leaned forward and asked him to repeat it. He had leaned forward and their noses had touched. They had both pulled back as if embarrassed and yet . . .

She'd smiled and he smiled back, that lovely full-out smile complete with dimples. She wanted to freeze frame that smile, kiss those dimples and caress those indentations forever.

After dinner, they took a long leisurely walk along the water, stopping now and again just to inhale the beauty of the night. Finally, he had walked her home and when she invited him in, he agreed.

Now they sat silently on her sofa, each minute that passed seemed to bring a new level of awkwardness between them. Finally, Marla, almost completely unnerved by the way things had changed, asked, "John? Is something wrong? Things were going so well," she prompted.

He stared at her. She was so beautiful and her eyes were gazing at him with such feeling. It terrified him. What had he done to engender that in her? He swallowed hard and reiterated, "You still haven't told me about yourself. Not really. I mean you know shitall about me, but . . ." he saw her wince at the vulgarism and added, "Sorry."

She shook her head. "I told you, not much to tell."

"I don't believe that. Come on, tell me about your rellies, about your childhood."

She shrugged. "Well, as you know, I grew up in Upper Hutt. Dad's in business, Mum stayed home. I went to school, decided I wanted to be a solicitor and here I am."

John rebuked her. "Hardly your life story. Tell me about your first boyfriend."

Marla laughed. "So that's the details you want?" She paused and suddenly a mischievous light danced in her blue eyes. "His name was Frank, he was very pretty and he broke my heart. Of course, I was only ten at the time and I recovered in about three days."

Now John laughed. He reached over and brushed a curl of hair off her face and then he stroked the soft skin of her cheek.

She smiled encouragingly and grasped his hand. She brought it to her lips and kissed his knuckles. She watched his eyes as she began to lick the little crook between his fingers and then she took a finger into her mouth and sucked it.

He groaned and pulled his hand away, then captured her face in both his large hands and began to kiss her.

His touch was gentle, his fingers lightly held her face captive, his mouth like the softest of touches, rubbed against hers, the pressure so light, so feathery, it was magical. She moaned and put her hands out, wanting to pull him close, wanting to feel his body next hers.

She found his chest and ran her fingers up and down the hardness of it. He was so muscled, so firm; she could only imagine what it would feel like to touch that flesh. Was he hairless or hairy? Would the hair, if there was any, be coarse or soft? Would he feel like a rock? Would his skin be soft the touch? Could anyone really be as warm as he seemed to be? She pulled her mouth free and moaned, now almost overcome with desire.

Suddenly, she put her arms around his neck and pulled his face back to hers, kissing him hard, her mouth partly open, her tongue lightly touching his lips.

He released her face and pulled her close, her body arched into him and her hands began to explore. He felt her hands on his waistband and then she was sliding them under his shirt. Her fingers were running up his chest, touching his muscles, his hair and his nipples. Her hands were everywhere at once turning him on with extraordinary power.

Their kiss deepened, their mouths were open, their tongues entwined and now his hands ran along the side of her body, lightly brushing her breasts. She moaned into his open mouth and then everything seemed to become urgent.

Her kiss, her hands, her body was now one urgent mass of writhing need. She wanted to feel his hands run over her naked skin, feel his mouth on her neck and breasts and feel him inside her. More than that, she wanted to see HIS body, to touch and caress all of him. She pulled back and whispered, "Please tell me you're prepared."

He laughed softly, his need for her just as urgent. "Yes," he whispered back.

She laughed and then helped him take off his shirt. Her eyes grew wide as she studied his chest and then she licked her lips and began to explore him again, this time with her mouth. She kissed along his neck, then his shoulders. Her mouth and tongue were like a thousand butterflies flitting hither and yon touching and tasting everything. Her fingers splayed over his waist, lightly caressing the side of his torso as her mouth moved down kissing his pecs and finally tonguing his nipples. He groaned and tried to shift to a more comfortable position. He was so hard he hurt.

She raised her head and looked at him. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open. His tongue was lying against his bottom lip. His breathing was ragged. His chest was magnificent, the hair coarse and soft all at the same time. She ran her fingers down the dark arrow of hair that disappeared into his jeans. She longed to see where that arrow pointed, but worried that he might think her a slut if she went further.

He opened his eyes and they were filled with longing. He whispered, "Your turn."

"My?" she murmured. He began to unbutton her blouse with sure experienced fingers. He helped her take it off leaving her silk bra on for the moment. He kissed along the soft skin of her neck, dipping down to her cleavage and was pleased when he saw her nipples were hard.

She moaned and pulled his head closer stroking his hair and murmuring his name. He ran his tongue and goatee up and down that hollow between her breasts as his hands reached behind her to unhook the undergarment. He got it undone and felt it come loose. He shifted his head and then helped her take it off. Then he bent again to kiss her neck, his hands now kneading her firm breasts, his thumb rubbing one of her nipples.

She moaned loudly and felt a wonderful wetness between her legs. She knew she had about soaked her panties through but she didn't care. His mouth on her was like nothing she had ever felt before. He was totally focused on arousing her and it was working. As he took a nipple into his hot mouth and tongued it she arched up and felt a mini orgasm course through her. He began to suckle, his mouth so warm, so hot, so incredibly erotic, and she lost herself in the moment. She stroked his hair and felt the world begin to shift. Now all that mattered was having this feeling, this man with her forever.

John could feel her arousal like a touch on his skin. She was moaning his name, her body was responsive and it aroused him even more. He switched to her other breast and as he did so he felt her hand move down his body. Now she caressed him, stroked his shaft through his jeans, her fingers were tentative almost hesitant as if she either wasn't sure what to do or didn't know it she should.

He groaned and released her breasts. She stopped stroking him and rose from the sofa. She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. They stood there looking at each other for a long moment and then suddenly she dropped to her knees. With fumbling fingers, she began to undo the buttons on his jeans. He stroked her hair as she unbuttoned him and then he helped her slide his jeans and briefs down.

Marla couldn't believe the size of him. When she'd felt him through the jeans she'd thought he was big, but . . . still he was so unbelievably beautiful, all of him. She grasped his shaft in her hand and began to lick it up and down. She wasn't very good at this, hadn't done it much, and as a rule didn't enjoy it. Still, with John, it was different. She had known from the expression on his face that he hadn't expected it and that he was very pleased that she wanted to do it.

Gingerly she took him in her mouth and began to slide up and down the length of him. Then she slid back and began to suck the very tip of his organ, licking a tiny drop of pre-come off the head. He moaned her name and ran his fingers through her hair. Then abruptly he pulled out of her mouth.

She looked up at him with astonishment. Had she done something wrong? She knew she wasn't good at it, but still . . . "John?" she put a thousand questions into the sound of his name.

He pulled her up from the floor and whispered, "Another time." He pulled her tight against him and kissed her neck, feeling her breasts rub against his chest. As he kissed her, his hands traveled to the waistband of her jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped them and slid her jeans and panties down. Then he dropped to his knees.

"What are you . . ." she started to ask. Then she knew. He had her legs spread apart and she felt his warm breath on her nether lips. He wrapped his strong arms around her thighs and then slipped his tongue inside her. No one had ever done this to her before, she'd had no idea, and she mumbled, "Oh my god," and came immediately.

He gripped her tightly to keep her from falling, her body was rocking and he knew he'd barely begun. He lapped at her juices delighting in the taste of her. Her hands gripped his head, her fingernails digging into his hair almost painfully. He darted his tongue in her warm cavity enchanted with the pleasure he was giving her and in her erotic moans. He stiffened his tongue and began moving it in and out. Her body continued to rock against his face, her pelvis thrusting against his mouth. He found her bud and licked it lightly. Now he ran his tongue across it, teasing it and then he took that hardened nub of flesh into his mouth and sucked it. She began to spasm wildly, her body jerking, her breath pants, and hot liquid splashed all over him.

"Oh god," she breathed. "John, please . . . I . . ."

He grinned with joy, rubbed his face on her thigh and then gripping her waist so she wouldn't fall he rose from his knees. He picked her up, laid her on the bed, and then got a condom from the pocket of his jeans. Quickly he sheathed himself and joined her. She reached for him as eager to feel him inside her, as he was to get there.

He entered her slowly, wanting to draw out the moment for both of them. He felt like he was sharing something momentous with Marla. Her words from earlier in the week kept running through his mind. When he'd told her all about himself he had indeed shared something more intimate than the simple act of sex. Now because of the emotional intimacy the sex was so much more so.

When she had surprised him by taking him into her mouth, her gesture was invested with far more than just the mere pleasure of the act. When he had gone down on her, his making her come like that had filled him with a different kind of joy. Now as his shaft moved deeply inside her, he felt a connection with her that transcended mere sex.

Marla moaned as he glided inside, she felt him move inch by inch into her warmth and it was as if he was filling her body in the same way he had started to fill her soul. It was wonderful in a way she hadn't expected. She put her arms around him, moved her legs between his and began to sigh with pleasure as he began to thrust.

She pulled him tighter against her wanting to feel his hard chest on her. She kissed his neck and pushed her pelvis against his, wanting to feel him go deeper still. She moaned his name like the endearment it had become.

He stroked her face as he thrust into her slowly. He glided in and out, the urgency lost in the need to be close. Soon he began to move faster as her body urged him on. She moved with him, matching him thrust for thrust, her body arching into his, her breasts rubbing against him.

He felt her body begin to spasm around him and with a groan he came, grinding into her, wishing he wasn't wearing a condom. After a few gulping breaths, he carefully withdrew and rolled off. Then he looked at her.

Marla lay there covered with a light sheen of sweat. Her face was flushed and filled with pleasure. Her eyes were wide open and slightly glazed. She smiled a sweet, happy, contented smile. "Oh, John," she murmured.

He grinned, touched her face lightly and then ran his hands up and down her lush body. "Be right back," he muttered. He went into the loo, removed the condom, wrapped it in paper and dropped it into the rubbish. He cleaned himself and then he returned to the bed, pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

Marla snuggled against him. The warmth of his arms was like a welcome circle of heat. She knew something amazing had happened between them and that it was going to change things. She knew that she wanted him and now she was determined to make things work. She would do whatever she had to in order to keep this man in her life.

As she relaxed in his embrace, John felt wonderful and terrified at the same time. She felt right in his arms as if she fit into the empty space that was there before. He didn't know where this could lead, but if she was willing to make that journey of discovery with him, then he was willing to make that journey too.

John now had a new kind of hope for the future. What he had, he realized, WAS a future. He was on track, at last, to get into the career he'd chosen, and he had someone in his life besides his Mum and Nana. He didn't examine his feelings for Marla, he only knew that when he was with her, he became more than what he was when he was alone. She made him feel good about himself, made him feel as if he was someone. Her opinion of him and her feelings for him instilled the beginnings of the self-esteem and self-confidence he so lacked.

If it weren't for his Nana's illness, he would have been blissfully happy. Her impending illness, death, although she didn't look or act ill, seemed to cast a pall over everything. The thought of losing her, of being without her love and affection terrified him.

Marla was like his savior. John blossomed in the warming rays of Marla's affection. He began to view himself the way she did. Their relationship became a relationship. His days no longer had a sameness about them. He looked forward to getting up in the morning, to going to school, to seeing her.

Now instead of spending every night alone, he looked forward to spending at least two nights in her arms. He relished those moments when Marla, her emotional defenses down, after they made love, would simply talk. He loved the sound of her voice; her accent was nothing like his, her diction crisp and clear. He found himself unconsciously aping her speech patterns when he was with her.

Once she felt comfortable with him, a process that seemed to take her longer than it had him, she told him about herself. He learned rather quickly that underneath Marla's tough exterior lurked a marshmallow. That she, like him, wore a mask for the rest of the world. He knew now that he had to be gentle with her. That as much as she might publicly exhibit complete self-assurance, she privately felt as much of a fraud as he did.

Despite their differences or possibly because of them they seemed to make a good pair. Marla insisted he buy a new suit for his first full week of police testing. She helped him pick it out and then encouraged him to put on a tie. He hated the entire outfit, but to please her he wore it. The morning he went in for the first of the tests, she'd met him for breakfast. She said he looked perfect, kissed him, and told him not to worry. He'd do fine. He went off to the testing site full of confidence. First up was a comprehensive personal evaluation. It wasn't another interview, but a standardized test given to all applicants to see if they were "suitable" for a police career. After the personal evaluation test, he had to sit for the pre-entry test. When he was finished, he felt as if he'd done well.

Next, he took the fitness test. That was a breeze; he got the highest scores possible. The week of testing continued, he took the two-hour police entrance test, which was a bit difficult but he had studied and thought he'd passed. Finally, he was given a psychological test. The following week he was advised he had passed everything so far and they would now run a background check on him. He wasn't concerned about that, he didn't believe there was anything there that would pose a problem. The worst trouble he'd ever been in was the boxing debacle and they already knew all about that.

In April of 1992, he was informed that he was still in the running and it was time for the Scope Programme. There were two stages to this with still no guarantee that he would get into the force. First, he had to do some pre-course reading and take a written test. Then he had to complete forty hours of unpaid work at his local police station. He handled the reading and test with ease. Then he did his forty hours at the local station. It was a revelation. He worked as civilian help, answering telephones, typing forms, and generally being the "office chick." Still, it gave him a unique insight into the way cops worked and how much a cop could achieve. The forty hours served to feed his fever not dampen it.

After he finished the Scope Programme, he had another interview. This was with a commissioned officer. His chances would rise and fall on the way he performed during this interview. It was supposed to last one hour but ended up lasting two. His conversation with the officer ranged all over the map. They discussed John's life, his goals, why he wanted to be a policeman. John was by now completely consumed with a religious fervor to join the police force. He was possessed and it showed impressing the officer. During the course of their discussion, the man did comment on John's home life and his boxing experience. He warned John that a temper, which his psychological tests indicated he had, would certainly hamper him. John listened calmly and told him that he understood. The officer warned him that should he be accepted, they would test his resolve constantly. When they were finished, despite the man's concerns, John thought that he had passed muster.

While John was waiting to find out if he had qualified for selection, his relationship with Marla continued to grow. She was supportive and affectionate, assuring him on a daily basis that he was sure to be chosen.

One Sunday, he took Marla to his Nana's for tea. The two women seemed to get on like a house afire and that pleased him. As he sat there watching the two of them talk about nothing he felt a warm glow surround him. Still, now he could see the beginnings of the illness already apparent in his Nana's face. That night, Marla held him and comforted him. He was grateful for her presence in his life.

The next hurdle as far as John was concerned was Marla meeting his Mum. He knew given the way the relationship was progressing that it was inevitable. Embarrassed to have Marla see the way they lived, he brought his Mum to her. The three of them met at one of the nicest restaurants in Wellington for tea. The meal was a disaster. His Mum took one look at the well-turned out, chic girl and became vulgar and sarcastic. She acted as if Marla's apparel, method of speech, and very personage was an insult. She was obviously determined not to like Marla and also to make Marla dislike her.

Marla, to John's everlasting gratitude, behaved graciously. She ignored the snide jibes, the swear words, even the outright slurs, his Mum threw at her. Instead, Marla behaved as if everything was fine and when the meal was done even thanked John's Mum for coming. John, who by this point would have gladly throttled his Mum, could have kissed Marla. He whispered that he would be over to see her as soon as he got his Mum home, and then he dragged his Mum to the car.

Once he was gone, Marla gratefully went back to her flat. Though she knew John came from the lower class, when he was with her, he didn't really exhibit any signs of it. His Nana behaved like a lady, but his Mum . . . she wasn't sure how she was going to deal with this.

John drove his Mum home in silence. He was furious with her and he was afraid, if he started to speak, he would explode. He stopped the car in front of the house and said, "Thanks," in a tone almost as sarcastic as hers had been.

She looked at him for a long moment and then finally remarked, "She's wrong for you. In the end, it will never work. You're too different."

"Like you know anything about it," he complained in an undertone. "You never even gave it a chance."

"John," she insisted softly, "she's Upper and you're Lower. That's all I need to know."

"Just go," he grumbled. "Go in the house and drink your beer. And try not to burn it down, eh?"

She sighed. She opened the car door and then turned back to him. "I love you," she confessed. "If this is what you want, I promise next time to behave."

"Next time?" he exploded. "I don't bloody well know if she'll even speak to me again. Why the bloody hell do you think I'd even give you a next time?"

She shrugged and got out of the car.

John watched her walk into the house and then he drove to Marla's. He knocked on her door nervously, afraid that she would be so furious, she would tell him to take a hike. Instead, she greeted him with a hug and a kiss. He was so grateful he didn't want to let go. "Marla, I'm so sorry. She . . . I dunno what got into her. She's a nice woman most times. I just . . ."

She pulled out of his arms and took his hand. She led him to the sofa and pushed him down on to it. She sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "John," she explained, "she's afraid of losing you. She saw me as a threat and she, well, she tried to make the threat go away."

"A threat?" he echoed. He thought about that as he stroked her cheek. "Why would she think that?"

"You really are an idiot about women, aren't you?" she asked rhetorically. She gave a nervous little laugh and snuggled closer. "She thinks we're serious because you took me to meet your grandmother and her. She thinks maybe you might move out, leave her and she doesn't want you to go."

Comprehension dawned and he felt his face flush. "Oh," he muttered. "Oh. Marla, I . . ."

"Idiot," she murmured affectionately. "I didn't say you were serious, I said she thinks you are, if you know what I mean."

Relief flooded his face. He didn't know if he was serious or not. He didn't have a clue how he felt. "Marla, do you think we should . . . that is . . ."

"No," she whispered into his neck. "Let's not talk about it. At least not until after you meet MY rellies." Then she laughed and kissed him.

In a way, it was a turning point in their relationship. Marla had now seen the worst thing in his life and she still hadn't abandoned him. If anything, it had helped them grow closer. The following Sunday, Marla took John to her home for tea.

Marla's parents were gracious and friendly. John had worn the suit Marla had helped him buy, knowing that a good impression was important. Both her parents were well spoken and polite, obviously impressed with him and what he accomplished so far, despite his own belief that he had accomplished nothing.

After tea, her father had asked him to take a walk in the garden. John dreaded the expected conversation, sure that he would be asked about his intentions. Instead, her father simply wanted to talk about boxing. He had actually seen John fight once and wanted to know why he'd quit. John explained as vaguely as he could about the irregularities and illegalities involved and left it at that. Her father seemed pleased by his forthrightness and that was the end of it. They went back in the house and not too long after the young couple took their leave.

When they were in John's car, Marla commented, "Well, that wasn't so awful, was it? Not as bad as a root canal, anyway."

"They're lovely people," he acknowledged. "I really like them."

Marla heaved a soft sigh of relief. "They liked you too. Mum asked if you'd like to go sailing next weekend."

"Sailing?" he repeated as he started the car.

"Yes, on our boat. It's lovely on the water, John."

He agreed. The following weekend and every weekend thereafter for a month, he and Marla would go out on the boat. After the first time, her parents didn't go with them and Marla taught him to sail. He enjoyed it very much, the water was relaxing, the world faraway, he could almost forget everything when they were out there.

Still, real life never quite left him. His Nana's illness, his Mum's alcoholism, his wait for the letter and school exams to sit. Marla was not only the brightest spot in his life; she was fast becoming the center of his universe. He found himself thinking about her constantly when they were apart, not just about her sexually, although there was that too, but the simple things. The sound of her voice when she said his name, how her hair sparkled in the sun, how her eyes matched the blue of the water. His Nana told him he was in love, but he refused to agree or acknowledge it. The very word, love, scared him. It reeked of commitment and he wasn't ready to commit himself. Not until he had some kind of assurances for his future.

Finally on 6 May he received a conditional acceptance letter that he had qualified for selection to the police force. He had to take another physical fitness test, which was a snap for him to pass and do one more interview. He passed and received his final acceptance decision. He had done it! Starting 18, May 1992 he would go to the Royal New Zealand Police College at Porirua for training. The training would consist of ten weeks at the college, three weeks field training in whatever station he would eventually call home, a week's leave, then eight more weeks at the college. Finally, he would be posted to his home station and then work out of it while he spent another forty weeks studying and training. Still, he was going to be a cop! Well, always providing he didn't crash and burn during Police College.

When he told his Mum, for a moment, her face had lit with pride and then she had shrugged. "I told you you could do it," she added almost needlessly. "Go tell your Nana."

He had left her, feeling more than a little sad that even this, his dream coming to life, hadn't made a dent in his Mum's self-absorption. His Nana was thrilled for him, her pride in his achievement immense.

He and Marla celebrated his acceptance with a bottle of champagne. Now that he'd done it, he was full of a holy fervor to succeed. Marla was pleased, but also a little concerned. For his first thirteen weeks he wouldn't have any leave, they would be separated for the first time in their relationship. She tried to hide her worry from him, but he now knew her well enough to read her body language.

John guessed that something was wrong and tried to reassure her. Unfortunately part of the problem was, he couldn't quite say the words he knew she wanted to hear. His last night before he left for Porirua, he spent with her. They made love and then in the morning, he left for the college. When he said goodbye, he felt as if there was a tiny wall between them, a wall he knew he put there. Still . . .

John arrived at the college at Porirua with one medium sized duffel bag. Though he tried to hide it, in fact, DID visibly hide it, John was nervous. He was used to being the most physically fit of everyone around him and here he was almost average. The other cadets were big, muscled, and strong, they were all like him. Well, almost all. There was one semi-scrawny guy with wild hair and even wilder blue eyes that seemed as visibly nervous as John felt inside. He appeared to recognize a kindred spirit in John and rushed over as soon as he could.

"I'm Andy," he introduced himself, "Andy Deakin. Who're you?"

"John Lawless," he answered. He stuck out his hand.

Andy looked at it for a moment, as if it was a foreign object, then pumped it heartily. "Pleased to meetcha. Where you from?"

"Lower Hutt," John replied. His eyes scanned the other cadets. They seemed to be watching the two of them with curiosity and to John's insecure eyes, pity. No way would he wash out! He was going to make it. "How about you?"

"Auckland," Andy answered. "I love dogs. I'm going for animal patrol. You know what you want?"

"Haven't really thought about it," John replied. "Getting here was tough enough."

"Had to work for it, eh?" Andy sighed. "I know how that is. Still, you look like you'll do okay. I'm a bit worried about the physical stuff. Not quite as buff as some of them," he added with a gesture toward the others.

John nodded absently. That was the least of his worries. The major concern of the people he'd interviewed with had been his ability to handle anger. He knew there would be constant razing about his temper. That they would always be after him, it was a test for his capabilities to see if he could handle it.

"I know you," another cadet observed as he joined them. He was also tall, as tall as John was, with very short black hair and green eyes. "You're a boxer."

"Used to be one," John admitted.

"You cost me a bundle," he complained. "I think it was your last fight. I bet against you. How the bloody hell did you win that one?"

John shrugged. If the bloke didn't know, he wasn't going to tell him. The story had been all over the news after Clive was arrested, still, it was rare that anyone remembered. "Lucky, I guess."

"You still put on the gloves?"

John shook his head. "Hung em up when I decided to try for this."

The guy nodded thoughtfully. "I'm Jordan Wimphrey."

"John Lawless."

"That's enough talking," a large broad shouldered man dressed in full uniform commanded. "Get in line, all of you."

Jordan moved away, though Andy stayed next to John as if the bigger man could shield him from harm.

"I'm your training instructor and for the next ten weeks, my word is law. Do you understand?"

The cadets all saluted and shouted, "Yes, sir!"

The man grinned. It was not a pleasant grin, but more like one of those death masks John had seen in a museum. "My name is Deth, although for some of you, it could be Death," he added, which made John think even more of those horrifying masks. "I will be your worst nightmare and your best friend, but if you make it, you'll thank me in the end."

John listened as Deth continued to instruct the cadets in the ways and means of the next ten weeks of their life. He thought it sounded awful and wonderful at the same time and he was determined to succeed. He could feel Andy at his side getting restless. Well, he'd help Andy if he could, but he wasn't going to blow his chances.

The first few weeks settled into an exhausting routine. Early rise, physical exercise, class, tests, more class and then early lights out. It was physically draining and mentally arduous and John reveled in it. His years of working out, of always being physically fit, gave him an edge on most of the other cadets when it came to endurance. Andy was a mess, barely managing to survive the grueling physical tasks. Still he gamely tried and John helped him as much as he could, spending some of their free time in weight and endurance training.

The classes were intense, but John had less difficulty with them than he had expected. He was surprised to find that much of what he was now scheduled to learn he'd already covered in his University classes. A cop, he learned to his great surprise, needed to know nearly as much of the law as a lawyer. He was again grateful for Marla. He had helped her study for her first year exams, and had already managed through osmosis to acquire much of the information he needed. He was doing exceedingly well in all his endeavors and he began to feel more secure everyday.

After the first three weeks were finished several cadets "washed-out," including Jordan Wimphrey, but those that were left were a tight little group. John was also finally allowed to ring Marla. Their telephone conversation was stilted and awkward. It didn't help that there was a queue behind him waiting their turn to use the telephone to ring their own loved ones. Still, it was good to hear her voice and he found he missed her. Even if there hadn't been a queue of blokes behind him though, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to say what she wanted to hear.

He and Andy formed a bond based on their mutual belief that they were misfits. Andy, wildly emotional about animals, was in constant motion. John thought it was a trip watching him sit in class or for an exam. Andy's eyes would dart nervously and his fingers were always tapping with a pen or pencil. The only time he seemed calm and at ease was during week five when they got to work a bit with the dogs. Andy really shone then; his skills with animals were awesome.

Andy was John's first real friend. John got on all right with the other blokes, but with Andy, he felt comfortable and relaxed, completely able to be himself. He realized that a synchronicity of life view was a large part of making friends and before now he'd never really known anyone who was like he was. Andy might have been frenetic, but he had a heart as big as the ocean and a sort of touching need to be liked. John related.

Week five also brought Dave Bruford into John's life. Dave arrived to teach, of all things, a self-defense class. John took one look at him, a large beefy dark haired bloke with puppy dog eyes and wondered how anyone could have stuck Dave with that job. John learned to his chagrin that you didn't have to be big to defend yourself. His boxing skills were useless against someone trained in martial arts, because they simply deflected his blows and used his size against him.

Their friendship was born the first time Dave threw him. That night, Dave, Andy and John went to the on-campus pub for a beer. The three of them drank and swapped life stories. John's boxing past seemed to fascinate the other two men and he found himself talking more than usual. They stayed out late, drinking beer, shooting pool and bonding. Before Dave left at the end of the week, he invited them to his wedding. The date happily enough coincided with Andy and John's week of leave.

In week eight, the first sets of grades were posted. To John's surprise, but no one else's, he was at the head of the class. He took a lot of guff from the other cadets, but he was secretly pleased. Now he was surer than ever that he had finally found his calling in life.

In week nine, John was surprised by a request for his presence at a meeting with the Master of Assignments, Sergeant Stewart. By now, most of the other cadets had already been told where they would go, where their home station would be. On the first day of college, when John had filled out what seemed to be a thousand forms, he had said he had no preference. Now he was glad. The truth was living away from home, from his Mum, even with forty other men, was a revelation. Although he didn't necessarily want to leave the Wellington area or Marla, he did want a career in law enforcement and he knew due to the national nature of the force, it could mean moving. Still, he was nervous as he went to the meeting, sure that somehow, despite how well he was doing, he'd been found out.

He was needlessly concerned. The Master invited him in and after John was seated, Stewart said, "Cadet Lawless, you have an outstanding record so far. One of the best in fact, top of your class at the moment."

John nodded and kept his mouth shut. So far so good. "You're from Lower Hutt?" John nodded. "You also," the Sergeant consulted some papers, "used to be somewhat famous, didn't you?"

John shrugged. "Two years ago was the last time I got in a ring. Doubt if anyone remembers."

"Still," Stewart continued, "that could work against you." He studied John thoughtfully. "I imagine in the pubs there are still those who want to fight you."

Again, John shrugged. It was true of course. Especially right after he'd stopped boxing, when he'd still been a bit famous, and unable to control his temper. Now . . . "I don't do it, though," John explained as the silence lengthened.

"I'm sure not," Stewart confirmed. "All the same, being a cop is tough enough without having to worry that some hoon is going to come after you because you used to be a boxer. You never fought outside of North Island, did you?"

John shook his head. "Never went down to South Island at all. In fact," John mused, "I've never actually been off North Island."

The man nodded. "Yes, I thought that was the case. Would there be any impediment to your being homed in Christchurch?"

'Christchurch?' John thought. That was a coveted posting. A major city after Auckland and Wellington. Several other cadets, those in the lower class ranks, were already grumbling about being posted to small towns. "Impediment?" he repeated.

"Yes, such as a parent or family member that needs care?"

"Well," John answered slowly, "I'm not married. My grandmother is ill, but . . ." He took a deep breath, "As I'm sure you know, my Mum is an alcoholic. But . . . I would have no problem going to Christchurch," he said finally. "No problem at all."

"That's good, then," Stewart commented. "Because we want to post you there. You're going to make a fine addition to the Force, John. Wish I had a hundred more like you."

"Thank you," he said softly. The interview was over and he appeared to have a very bright future ahead of him. Now, how the hell was he going to tell Marla?

He put off telling her that night when he rang her, sure that it would be easier in person. He was going to see her that next weekend as he was allowed a half-day on Sunday to go home and see his family before he flew off to South Island and his soon-to-be home station.

He saw his Mum first and when he told her, she had shrugged as if she had expected it and wished him luck. It was a completely unsatisfying conversation and as usual, he felt obscurely guilty for trying to live his own life. If he were completely honest with himself, he knew that one of the reasons he wanted to go to Christchurch was to get away from his Mum.

John loved his Mum, but it was nearly impossible to derive any positives from their relationship. He knew from his studies that he WAS an enabler, that unless or until his Mum decided to do something herself, nothing would change. He couldn't help her and he had finally admitted that he resented the toll her disease took on him. He was tired of her behavior and tired of the way she made him feel.

One of the many pluses in his first ten weeks at the college had been his weekly psych evaluation. This was an unexpected part of his training, but exceedingly welcome. The doctor who worked with all the cadets had a background similar to John's and the two had found common ground very quickly. It had taken Dr. Thompson all of five minutes to find the root of John's anger and explain it to him. The moment the doctor had said, "It's because of your father's death," John had felt a light bulb go on. Suddenly so many things that had previously made no sense did.

Unfortunately, knowing the root of his problem and solving it were two very different things. Still, now that he knew its source, John was able to bury the rage and keep it under control. He knew he would probably always have a problem with it, but if he was careful, it didn't have to control him.

His Mum was part of this too. Dr. Thompson explained co-dependency and John knew that was a feature of their relationship as well. Going to Christchurch was the coward's way of dealing with his Mum's problem, but it was a step forward for him all the same.

After he left his Mum, he went to see his Nana. Ten weeks had made a huge difference. She did not look well. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor and she had lost weight. Her eyes were glazed as if she was on drugs. He tried to hide his shock at her appearance, but she cottoned to it immediately.

She made him tea and asked about the training. He gave her the quick rundown and then asked about her treatments. She laughed him off, the only treatments she took were drugs for the pain because that was all there was. She mentioned that Marla had come to visit her a few times and she quite liked her. Then asked if he had been to talk to her yet.

He shook his head and noted that he still had that to do. She told him to go. He was loath to leave her. She insisted that he go, that she was doing fine and didn't need him hovering about. Besides, she added with a laugh, who was she to stand in the path of true love?

He looked aghast at that remark, but she'd laughed again and said she'd meant the police and not Marla, although . . .

He hugged her tight, feeling how brittle her body had become, and told her he loved her. She hugged him back, again insisted he go, and recommended he really should consider marrying the girl.

At the moment, he was more worried about what the girl would say when she discovered that he was moving to South Island.

When he arrived at her flat, the first thing she did was hug him. Then she said, "Let me look at you!" He had forgotten that his hair had been cut regulation short and his goatee was gone. "You look so young," she marveled as she traced the curves of his face.

He laughed uncomfortably. He knew he looked not only young, but pretty too. His features were far too feminine without the facial hair. Still, regulations were regulations. "You look amazing," he mumbled. She was dressed up although they weren't supposed to go out. She wore a mid-length black skirt and a beautiful mauve silk blouse. Her hair was curled and her face was perfectly made up. He actually preferred the slightly messy way she looked in the morning, but . . . He pulled her close and held her tight wishing he could put off the moment of reckoning forever.

She guessed almost immediately. She pulled away and mused, "You've been assigned somewhere far, haven't you?"

His eyes widened and he nodded slowly. He released her, sure that an argument and then a rejection would follow.

Instead, she took his hand and led him to the sofa. "Tell me," she requested.

"Christchurch," he clarified softly. "It's a major coup, Marla. Other than Auckland or here. I mean, it's . . ."

"Christchurch?" she echoed thoughtfully. She knew there was a Law school there, the University of Canterbury. Just in case, she had looked into all the potential options. She wasn't going to give him up without a fight.

"I know it's far," he mumbled. "But . . . I didn't ask for it. They offered. They're afraid if I stay here, because of my past; it might make it tougher. Anyways . . . it doesn't have to mean . . ."

She studied his eyes. She loved him, knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, had realized how much he meant to her, while he was gone. Still, he wasn't ready to hear it. Wasn't ready to go there yet. All the same, . . . "John," she whispered. "We'll manage, somehow. That is, if you want to."

He let out a sigh of relief. "I do want to," he confirmed. "I don't want to lose you."

She let out the breath she was holding. "All right, then." She paused, licked her lips and asked "How long before you have to leave?"

He glanced at his watch. "Four hours."

"Almost long enough to say goodbye," she murmured, climbing into his lap, putting her arms around him and kissing him.

He returned her kiss gratefully. Whatever response he had expected it wasn't this. The kiss deepened and he felt her body melting into his with that familiar arousing sensation. Her touch set him on fire and now that she was on the pill and they both had been tested, there was no need for condoms.

He could feel her firm butt pressing on his burgeoning erection and knew she could feel it too. He kissed her harder, the words he couldn't say, wasn't even sure he felt, implicit perhaps in his touch.

He ran his hands up and down her back and then slipped her blouse out of her waistband. He slid his hands underneath the silk and popped the snaps on her bra.

She moaned into his mouth. "I've missed you so," she whispered. His touch enflamed her, igniting a desire that delighted her but was also a little frightening.

He pulled back to study her eyes. They were so focused on him, so . . . he was, as always, astonished by the emotion he seemed to evoke in her.

He touched her face with amazement and then began to make love to her. Even if he couldn't say the words, he could show her how much he cared.

He slid his hands over her body and unbuttoned her blouse. He kissed each inch of her neck, then moved down to kiss her cleavage. Gently he removed her blouse and bra and caressed her breasts lightly. She was moaning and shifting in his lap, her groin pressing against his.

He kneaded her firm mounds tenderly his fingers pressing and molding them, then he thumbed first one nipple than the other. Finally as she continued to squirm in his lap, with a wordless plea for more, he began to kiss them. He licked each little pink nub into hardness and then sucked gently teasing her with the promise of more.

She moaned and shifted her legs then slid them around him. She could feel how hard he was, knew how wet she already was and knew too, that John would take his time. She didn't know if it was his age or his feelings for her, but he seemed intent on arousing her to an incredibly high level. Seemed to enjoy that almost as much as he enjoyed the actual act of sex. It was almost as if for him he needed to please her before he could take his own pleasure. Being with John was like everything she had always imagined sex could be but never had been before. It was erotic and loving, physical and mental, everything wonderful in the world.

John knew part of what he liked about Marla was the way she responded to him. The physical side of their relationship was a wonder to him, still in some ways, a journey of discovery. With Claire the sex had been sex, hot, rough, wild and unrestrained. There were no walls and no boundaries. They had done everything it was possible for a man and a woman to do. With Marla, he still reined in some of the passion he had inside him in. He was careful to be gentle and tender, never in a rush, never rough with her. He did get off on making her come and kept waiting to see if somehow he could ignite an overt fire in her. While she was occasionally a bit aggressive, so far she hadn't seemed able or willing to exhibit any wildness. Still, they had only been together for five months. It wasn't that long.

He continued to suckle at her breasts, his suction increasing slightly, as he ran his hands over her stocking-clad legs. She moaned again.

He released her breasts and began to kiss along the softness of her belly. Her skin was so fair, even when they went on the boat she wore shorts, a shirt, and the highest possible sunblock, as if she couldn't bear for her skin to darken. He fumbled for the fastening on her skirt, found it and then eased the garment up over her head.

She helped him wondering what he was about to do and hoping it was what she wanted. She loved his mouth on her. She couldn't tell him, embarrassed not only by the desire but by the pleasure it gave her.

He gave a little gasp when he saw what he unveiled. "What's this, then?" he asked with surprise.

She blushed a becoming shade of pink. "It's new. A garter belt. Do you like it?"

His eyes lit up with desire. He nodded and then moaned his voice husky with passion. "Yeah. Definitely."

Marla's face lit with pleasure, as John began to run his hands and fingers over the top of her thighs. Her legs opened wider and she could feel her juices wetting the silk panties she wore.

His fingers traced her mound through the silk rubbing her. She moaned as she felt him slide a finger under the silk to touch her sex. She whispered his name an almost anguished plea for more.

Suddenly he slipped his finger out and lifted her off his lap. He lay her gently down on the sofa and began again to suckle at her breasts.

She moaned and arched up. Her entire body ached for release. Then his hands were on her thighs unclasping the stockings rolling them down as his mouth caressed her. Next, he slid her damp panties off. Now he released her nipple and began to kiss his way down her body. She stroked his hair as he continued his perusal of her. Her body was on fire. Her skin alive, her every nerve ending aroused.

John glanced up briefly and saw that lovely familiar expression of bliss on her face. Marla appeared lost in pleasure and it gratified him to see it. He bent his head and began to kiss her nether lips. Her sex opened, offering itself to him as a gift. There was something so intimate about this act, in a way, far more intimate than the actual act of penetration. It wasn't only that he suspected she got far more pleasure this way, but it was an act of trust that defied explanation.

The intimacy of the act, the beauty and faith it entailed, had never really been brought home to him until now. For a man to willingly explore the very depth of a woman, it showed he had no fear of the sights, smells or tastes. For a woman to allow it, to let herself be that completely vulnerable, implied she trusted a man completely.

With Claire, he had done it because she liked it and he got off on the power of making her come. With Marla, he felt it was the ultimate act of giving. It was his way of saying I care for you. You can trust me. I won't hurt you. I like everything about you; there is no part of you that you can't share with me. I accept all of you. He wondered if she felt the same or if she felt that way on the rare occasions when she returned the favor.

Marla wasn't thinking. She was feeling. His breath was warm against her curls, his mouth, lips and tongue the most incredibly intense thing she had ever felt. Whenever he did this, it was like an out of body experience. She would lose all sense of herself, of him; everything would boil down to his tongue and his mouth and the pleasure it brought her. She would drown in the feel of his tongue darting inside her. Submerge herself in the sensation of his lips kissing her sex. As he delved into her warmth and her wetness, she became lost in the exquisite pleasure of his touch, the way it made her body feel. When he sucked her bud into his mouth and her body began to spasm from the joy she would moan his name and feel the warmth and release overwhelm her like a tidal wave. It was one of the few times in her life she ever felt free.

She came all over his face, her body moving erratically her pelvis humping. For a moment, he wanted to drown in her juices, be covered in them so completely that he became a part of her. He bent his head to do it again, wanting to watch the joy on her face forever.

She arched into his face, as she felt him dive in again. His tongue was like a miniature shovel, dancing inside her, scooping her clean. She moaned and pushed up. Finally, after he made her come again she whispered, "John?"

He raised his head from her mound and looked at her. Her face was covered with sweat, her makeup had run, her chest was heaving, her eyes were glazed and he thought she had never looked so beautiful. He smiled.

She panted. "Please? I want . . ."

"Had enough, then?" he teased.

She shook her head. "It's not . . . I can't . . . I want," she still had a hard, if not impossible time, articulating things like this. It went against her upbringing. She was glad he was experienced because she never would have been able to ask.

He heard what she didn't say. Quickly he shucked his shirt and jeans. As he moved to hover over her, he felt her hands reaching for him. She stroked him gently and then guided him inside her.

He propped himself above her and pushed in deeply. She groaned and shifted her legs so that he could go even deeper. She slid her arms around his back to pull him down against her.

He tried to kiss her but she pulled her mouth away. He'd noticed this before and usually he let it go but this time, he didn't want to. "Why do you do that?" he asked.

She shook her head wordlessly her eyes suddenly filled with shame.

He touched her face and insisted, "You taste wonderful, babe."

She grimaced at his words.

"Marla," he insisted, "don't be afraid. Don't be embarrassed. Let me kiss you."

Her eyes got wide and she looked for a moment as if she would cry. He touched her face gently, then began to kiss her forehead, her eyes, her nose and her cheeks. He felt her body tense around him, and knew, even if he didn't understand it, she was terrified. He kept murmuring words of reassurance between soft butterfly like kisses over her face. It had suddenly become of paramount importance to him that they get past this.

One hand moved from her face to caress her breasts. He found a nipple and rubbed it. He could feel her begin to untense, feel her juicing up around his shaft. Still, he didn't thrust, wanting more than anything to break down this wall.

"John," she whispered. "I can't . . ." there was a world of fear and hopelessness in that phrase.

"You can," he murmured. He touched her lips, traced them over and over until they opened for him. Her groin pressed to his and her hands were almost clawing at his back.

He bent his head and kissed the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes and he could see her face tense and feel her body tense again. Still, he wasn't ready to give up. He brushed her lips lightly with his own.

Her eyes popped open. His mouth now hovered again above hers. He touched her face, tracing her cheekbones lightly.

She didn't want to disappoint him. She didn't know why this was so important to him but she knew somehow that it was. She knew if she didn't do this, the tiny wall that had sprouted before he'd left for Porirua would grow bigger. She reached up touched his face and then pulled his mouth to hers.

As Marla kissed him, he began to thrust, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Soon their bodies were slick with sweat, their moans the sweetest music, their joining nearly complete. With a groan, John ground one last time deeply inside her and came.

As he lay shuddering on her, his body trembling with spent passion; he whispered her name like a prayer.

John almost missed his flight. Still, the taste of Marla on his lips carried him through his flight and into his new environment with confidence. That Monday morning he went to Christchurch headquarters to begin his career.

He fell in love with Christchurch. It was different from Wellington; for one thing, it was flat. It also looked different. John knew it was the most English city outside of England, in the sense of architecture and feel. There were parks and gardens everywhere and people tended to walk or cycle through the city. It was close to the water as well and it had two Universities, Canterbury being the one with a Law school. He didn't have much time to explore during his "try-out" with his potential home station, but he saw enough to know he'd enjoy living there. He thought Marla would as well.

He seemed to get along great with the other blokes in the station. He especially liked Inspector Gateway his soon-to-be boss. Everything seemed to be working out better than he had even dreamed. All too soon his three weeks were done. The blokes in the station threw him a small going away party.

He flew home happier than he had ever been in his life. His first stop was not his Mum or Nana, but Marla. John was full of excitement when he arrived. He was thrilled with his official posting and wanted to share the joy he had in his future with her. Marla, who had spent the three weeks worrying, greeted him nervously.

John took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. He wanted more than anything to make love to her. He felt as if for the first time he had something to offer her that was concrete and forward-looking.

Marla mistook his need for physical expression of his emotion as only lust. She was hesitant to match him in a passionate exploration. For the first time in their relationship, she actually wanted to talk.

John seemed to sense this and immediately released her. He went to the sofa, sat and asked, "What's wrong?"

Marla scrutinized him. She had never seen him like this. John was confident and assured. He looked as if he could take on the world and succeed. She was shocked by the change in him and apprehensive as to what it could mean to her. What if he didn't need her anymore? She was suddenly afraid to tell this man, whom she now barely recognized, the truth.

John studied her. Marla looked frightened. He'd never seen her look unsure, though he knew she often felt that way. Her eyes were wide and concerned. He touched her face lightly, caressing her soft skin, rubbing the back of his hand over her cheek. "What is it?" he asked with concern. "Talk to me!"

"John, you look . . . you seem . . ." she paused and took a deep breath. "How was Christchurch?"

"Christchurch was choice," he explained. "It went great. But, babe, what is it? You're not acting like yourself at all."

"Do you think you'll be happy there?" she asked softly.

"Happy there?" he repeated. What was she trying to ask? He hated this guessing game he sometimes had to play with her. Why couldn't she just spit it out? He sighed. "I guess. It's a lovely city. Have you ever been?"

She shook her head and felt, to her great embarrassment, tears begin to well in her eyes. "Never."

"I think you'll love it," he mumbled. Should he ask her? He had intended to, maybe, was this what she wanted to know? Was this what had her upset? That he wouldn't want her to come along?

"You think I'll . . . love it?" she echoed in surprise. "John, did you . . . are you . . . what are you saying?"

He smiled, his eyes crinkled, the dimples came out and his eyes were bright with joy. "I want you to come with me. You can transfer to the University of Canterbury. I looked into it for you. Luckily you're still first year, otherwise you might lose too much cause Victoria and Canterbury do the later years different. Still, you should be able to transfer fairly easily. If you want to that is . . ."

"Want to? John, are you ask me to mar . . ." as soon as the first syllable exited her mouth she knew she had misunderstood. The light went right out of his eyes. She stopped immediately. "What are you asking?"

"Marla, I . . . I'm not ready for that." His face began to flush and he swore. "Look, babe, I don't want to hurt you, but I honestly don't know what I feel, except I know I want you in my life. I NEED you in my life. I've missed you every day I was gone, thought about you every night. Your face floats in and out of my mind constantly. I don't know if that's love, but I know that's what I feel."

His honesty took her breath away. He was so scrupulous about his emotions, like a merchant, always taking them out and placing them on display for her to examine. He was unsparing of himself or her, when it came to reality. She wasn't sure she liked it much. Sometimes it was better not to know. Still, he had said it was possible he did love her. That was something.

"So I would go as what?" she asked. "Your girlfriend? Would we live together or separately? How would that reflect on your career and for that matter mine? I don't mean to be difficult about this, John. I'm just trying to figure out the best course for us."

As John had learned, Marla was fond of plans. She had a need to know what was going to happen next. She didn't like surprises or spontaneity. She preferred to be in control of everything, perhaps because as he had also learned, she felt as if she usually wasn't in control at all. He sighed and admitted, "I hadn't gotten that far in my thoughts. I just wanted to come back and see you. To see if you wanted to go with me."

She smiled sadly and remarked, "I do want to, but . . . well . . . it's a huge step for me . . . for us. And we need to make sure we know what we're doing. It wouldn't do to go off half-cocked. Too many things could go wrong."

"Go wrong?" he repeated. "Like what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, really. Like you, I haven't given it much thought, but I do know that a policeman as well as a lawyer needs to be somewhat circumspect in their private lives. Granted this is not the fifties where 'living without benefit of clergy' was a cause for ruination. But still . . . have you been to see your grandmother yet?" she then asked changing the subject.

He shook his head.

"I think you should go see her. I was over there yesterday. She doesn't look well. I'm afraid . . ."

"You're afraid what?"

Marla rose from the couch. "I think you need to see your family. And I need to . . . think."

Disappointed that this much longed for reunion hadn't gone the way he wanted, John still did what she requested. He rose from the sofa and went to her. He pulled her into his arms, hugged her briefly and then released her. "I do care about you," he whispered helplessly.

She touched his face lightly. "I know, John. I know. And I care about you too. This is just too big a step to take without thinking it through properly. Too many variables. What if it didn't work? I'd be in Christchurch with no family or friends. In order to come back to Victoria, I might even lose a year. There's a lot to think about. Go see your family and we can talk again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Dave's wedding, you know. You're still going with me, eh?"

She nodded. "Of course I am." Then seeing his eyes start to turn sad, she added, "John, this isn't the end of things. Just a new sort of beginning."

He nodded, unconvinced that he hadn't somehow lost her. He left her flat with his emotions in turmoil. He stopped at home to see him Mum and drop his duffel. She wasn't there, which surprised him. He looked round the house but didn't find any sign of her or any sign of a note. He shrugged. In her usual alcoholic haze, perhaps she'd simply forgotten that he was due home that day.

He left HER a note and drove over to his Nana's. His Mum's car was parked out front. He wondered if she had been sober enough to drive it or had taken a chance on getting a ticket. That would be ALL he'd need, his Mum with a drunk driving conviction. He knocked on the front door. His Mum answered it. She looked . . . sober. She gestured for him to come in. "Try and be quiet. She's finally resting."

"Finally resting?" he asked with trepidation. She didn't mean . . . it wasn't possible. Nana would never die without him there.

"Yes, she's in a great deal of pain and the medication really doesn't help any more. She finally fell asleep about five minutes ago. We weren't sure what time you were arriving, or whether you'd even actually come see us," she added dryly. "Marla kick you out?" she asked sarcastically.

He ignored her jibe. "How bad is it? And when did you find out?"

"Well not from you, that's for bloody sure," she hissed. "I can't believe either of you didn't tell me. Don't I have a right to know my Mum is ill?" she demanded indignantly. She lowered her voice and then commented, "Guess I can't blame you, either of you. I haven't really been here for a very long time, have I?"

John studied her. She looked different than she had when he had left three weeks before. She not only looked sober; she looked as if she had a purpose. "When did you find out?" he asked again.

"Two days after you left. Her doctor called me because she'd missed an appointment. Anyways, I came over and found her passed out on the floor. She'd over medicated herself accidentally. After that, well, I just moved in and took over." At his look of astonishment, she added. "Surprised her too."

John didn't know what to say, so he simply enveloped her in a hug. She gave a soft oh of surprise when she felt him embrace her and then pulled away almost immediately. "You're a bit big to be doing that," she teased softly. But he could tell she was pleased. "How long do you have before you have to go?" she asked.

"I have seven day's leave," he answered.

She laughed. "I mean before you have to go to Marla's."

He shook his head. "I'm not seeing Marla tonight."

She looked shocked. "I see," she muttered thoughtfully. She paused and then asked, "You must be hungry. Want something to eat?"

Again, he was surprised. His Mum gave a soft laugh and led him to the kitchen. They ate sandwiches and talked in hushed voices. John found himself telling her about Christchurch, talking with her as he had when he was young. It was a truly special moment. For the first time in a long time, he felt connected to her in a positive way. She had a lot of questions, but seemed pleased for him.

His Nana finally woke and wandered into the kitchen. John was shocked by the change in her. She looked even worse than when he had left three weeks before. Her skin was paper-thin and pale, her face like a death mask. She'd lost even more weight. Her frame was now skeletal and gaunt. She looked brittle and broken. Still, when she saw him, her eyes lit with pleasure.

John spent the night and most of the next day with his Mum and Nana. He would never have left, but he had to go to Dave's wedding. He went back to his Mum's house, put on his suit and went to pick up Marla.

Marla was ready when he arrived. She was stunning in a blue silk dress that matched her eyes. "You're going to make the bride look dowdy," he whispered when he saw her.

She was pleased by the look in his eyes. "Should I change?" she teased.

He shook his head. "No. All the other blokes will be jealous," he murmured.

She preened at the compliment. "We should go then, don't want to be late."

He nodded. He expected things to be strained in the car on the drive to church, but Marla asked about his grandmother. Explaining the situation took almost the whole ride.

She held his hand as they entered the church and all through the ceremony. She could feel him tense during the ritual, as if the mere thought of ANYONE getting married was too frightening to be contemplated. She found the ceremony beautiful and moving, her middle-class upbringing written all over her face.

After the service, they went to a restaurant for the reception. It was a large party, and John introduced Marla to Andy and Dave. Dave's new brother-in-law came on to her and he put a stop to that. He was surprised to find that he was jealous of seeing any other man look at Marla. They had a good time, but the experience was overshadowed by John's worry about his Nana and his concern over what would happen with Marla. He didn't want to lose her. He wound up drinking too much and Marla took his keys and drove them to her flat.

She insisted he come in for coffee. He agreed, knowing that he was too drunk to drive. As he watched Marla bustle around in her kitchen, he sneaked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing against her.

She leaned back against him. "What is it, John?" she asked.

"I want to make love to you," he whispered against her ear. "I missed you."

She could feel his body was aroused, knew that he wanted her. "Make love to me," she echoed thoughtfully.

"Yes," he whispered. He began nuzzling her ear. "You were the prettiest woman at the wedding. I'm lucky to have you. I want to show you."

She sighed. He could call it making love, but couldn't say he loved her? She knew that men didn't put quite the same emphasis on words that women did. Still, for a man as careful as John was with his words, it was a step forward. She stroked his forearms, feeling the thick hair, soft like velvet.

He took her touch as acquiescence. He slid his hands up and began to caress her breasts through the silk of her dress. She moaned and pushed back against him.

His touch never failed to arouse her. It was like there were two Marlas, the strong one who knew what she wanted and was determined to get it and the weak Marla, who melted every time this man touched her. Even just the slightest brush of his hand against her skin and she was lost. It wasn't just lust, although she knew that was part of it. John woke something in her with his touch. His rampant sexuality, that total maleness, woke a sexual part of her that terrified her. It made her want to let go, lose control, get wild and she couldn't let that happen. Making love with John was a dance on the thin edge of a very sharp razor, and it was always a battle for her not to let it get away from her. As much as she craved his touch, as much as she loved making love with him, there was a part of her that always held back. A part of her that was afraid to trust him or anyone else, a part of her that was afraid to trust herself.

John began to kiss the soft skin at the nape of her neck, his lips rubbing against her pulse. He heard her soft breathing, felt her nipples begin to harden under his fingers. Her fingers continued to stroke his arms. Her touch was like the lightest tickle of fingertip to skin, airy and silken. No matter how many times he made love to her, he always felt as if part of her was untouchable. Some of it was the way she looked, most times like a cool ice princess with her blond hair and blue eyes. It made him want her all the more, made him want to break through that reserve, make her moan and scream. He wanted to possess her and he knew somehow that he never would. It was like her unwillingness to taste herself on his lips. There was a part of Marla he wondered if he could ever reach.

He pulled her tightly against him, pressing his erection to the small of her back. She moaned his name and gripped his arms. Then she wiggled and turned so that she faced him. She touched his face and then drew it down to kiss him. Her lips were satiny smooth against his.

He groaned with desire, ran his arms over her back, down to her ass, and rubbed it. She moaned and pressed against him. He pulled her to the bedroom knowing that she would never be willing to make love in the kitchen, although he would have just as soon taken her there. He stood and kissed her for a long moment and then watched as she quickly undressed, pausing long enough to hang up her dress. He shook his head at her prissiness, but then quickly stripped himself, letting his clothes drop to the floor.

He joined her on the bed and studied her naked body. He ran his hands up and down her curves as she closed her eyes and shivered. He bent his head and suckled at her breasts for a moment. Then suddenly, he was in a hurry. He slicked a hand down to play with her curls. They were damp. Gently he touched the lips of her sex and they parted for him. He slipped two fingers inside to test her arousal. She was wet. He slipped his fingers out and rolled on to his back. Then he reached for her to pull her on top of him.

She rolled and lay for a moment on him. Her hair had begun to come loose from the chignon in which she wore it to the wedding. He pulled the rest of the pins out, wanting to feel that silken thickness in his fingers. She lifted her head and stared at him. Then she bent her head. Her tongue traced his Adam's apple, and then he felt her fingers tangling in the hair on his chest.

She traced his pecs with her tongue, then began to suckle at his nipples as he had hers. She heard him moan and then she reached down to caress his shaft with her fingers. She felt him grow even harder in her hand. Then she felt his hands on her hips, trying to shift her, so he could enter her.

She rose and felt the tip of his organ at her opening. She grasped his shaft again and then with his help, slid him inside. He filled her so completely. She held him in her warmth for a moment and then she began to move, gliding up and then down in a slow rhythmic motion.

His hands moved to her breasts, rolling them on her chest and then tweaking the nipples. She moaned and began to move faster. His hands left her breasts and moved to her hips, trying to hold her steady. Then he shifted up, driving his shaft so deeply inside her she thought she would split in half. She groaned as he pulled her tightly against him. He held her trapped, his organ buried so deeply inside her, it almost hurt, then he thrust up even harder, and she felt her body spasm around him from the pressure.

Now he lifted her up slightly and began to twist his pelvis up, thrusting into her hard, his eyes wide open and staring into hers. The friction and pressure was immense. She put her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life. She moaned his name as he thrust into her again and again, going deeper and deeper until she no longer knew where she began and he left off. His hard organ pounded into her for what seemed forever, as if he was trying to break down all her walls, trying to move into her body, trying to make her his. It was wonderful and frightening and she loved and hated it all at the same time. Finally, he grunted and thrust one last time, she felt his seed fill her and the power of her own orgasm shook her. She collapsed against his chest, his shaft still throbbing inside her.

John held Marla tightly as their bodies shook with spasms. Suddenly she rolled off and away from him and he wondered if he'd gone too far. He'd already learned that she had definite ideas about making love as opposed to sex. He suspected that wouldn't qualify as making love. Still, the act of penetration was as much about possession, as much about desire as it was about love, wasn't it? He waited for her to say something, anything, to let him know that it was okay. Instead, she got up from the bed, went into the loo and when she came back, she had a nightgown on. She lay back down, put her head on his chest and said, "Night, John."

He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted from the strain and passed out. The next morning when John left, he felt confused and concerned. They hadn't settled anything; instead, they had slept then she had sent him off to his grandmother's either unwilling or unable to discuss anything with him. He went to his Nana's house and arrived the same time as the ambulance. They took her to hospital. He called Marla and she joined him there. It took two days for his Nana to die. Marla stayed with him, she was loving and supportive, holding his hand and even being nice to his Mum. His Mum allowed it, though it was clear her opinion of Marla and his relationship with her hadn't changed.

After his Nana was gone, Marla brought John back to her flat. He was miserable and she did what she could to comfort him. As Marla made him eat, cuddled him, tried to talk to him, his Nana's last words kept ringing in his ears. "John, she's a good woman. Marry her."

"I don't know if I love her," he'd explained.

"You do," his Nana insisted. "But it doesn't matter, because SHE loves you. And she'll take good care of you. Don't go through the rest of your life alone. Marry her and take her to Christchurch."

"We're so different, she and I," he demurred. "How can you be sure it will work?"

"There's no guarantees in life, John. Your Mum loved your Dad more than life itself. Their time together was too short. But no matter how badly she feels about his loss, I know she's glad she had what she did. Don't throw your own chance at happiness away just because you're afraid. Marry her, she won't accept anything less."

Now in his grief stricken haze, he stared at Marla. Her eyes were full of love and concern. He could see that she had cared about his grandmother. That his pain was her pain as well. He pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment, drowning in the warmth of her embrace, seeking comfort in her arms. "Marla," he whispered. "I want you to come to Christchurch with me. I know you think I don't . . . I mean . . . shit . . . will you marry me?"

It was not the proposal of her dreams, but it was a proposal. "John, do you mean it?" He nodded. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"I can't go on without you. I'd be lost," he mumbled. "Say yes."

"I love you," she whispered.

He knew that. But he still wasn't sure of himself. "Marla, please say yes," he asked again rather desperately.

He wasn't going to say it. Still, his eyes said a million things. She saw need, desire, fear and wanting. She saw pain and loneliness and her heart exploded. "Yes," she whispered. "I'll marry you."

His relief was evident as soon as Marla accepted. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say those three little words, I love you. To his surprise and gratitude, his Mum handled the funeral arrangements, leaving John to grieve in Marla's arms. The day he buried his beloved grandmother, his Mum told him two things. "She loved you best in this life and she wanted you to have this." She handed him his Nana's engagement ring and wedding band. He gave the engagement ring to Marla, sure that the symbolism of the gesture wasn't lost on either of the women in his life. Two days after that he drove back to Porirua. He had eight more weeks to go.

The college offered him some extra leave, but he refused. He insisted he could handle things, though he did accept the offer of a weekend's leave. He didn't want to put his career at risk; it and Marla were all he had left. John was numb most of the time, feeling the loss of his anchor more deeply than he thought possible. He went through the motions at college, continuing to score excellent grades. Dr. Thompson in his weekly evaluation noticed the change, but thought John was coping all right.

When John went home that weekend to see his Mum, he was devastated by her return to form. Now that Nana was gone, so were the changes. It was as if with her Mum gone, his Mum had no purpose. She was no longer sober, no longer interested. She had gone back to her half-life of beer and despair.

If it hadn't been for Marla, John would have lost it. Once again, she acted as his savior. She saw his grief and pain over his grandmother and mother and did everything she could to help him. She tried to get him to focus on their wedding, to help her pick a wedding date, and when he shrugged with disinterest, she picked one for them. She told him they would be married at the end of October, a few weeks after his graduation from the Police Academy.

He had agreed, but didn't understand the rush. She explained patiently and lovingly that it wouldn't do for a second year law student at Canterbury University to be living in sin. Further, she had assumed it would be easier on him in terms of his career if he were also married.

John went along with it as he did most things during that time. He didn't have the energy to argue and he didn't know what else to do. He still had doubts, but he didn't think he could live without her. If this was what it took to make her happy, to keep her at his side, then so be it. In October of 1992, John graduated from the Royal New Zealand Police College at the top of his class.

Two weeks later Marla married John and they moved to Christchurch.

They settled into life in Christchurch. Marla registered at the University of Canterbury, her credits had mostly transferred and she hadn't lost too much time. He was posted to the main headquarters. The first six months were amazing. John learned so much on a daily basis and at night he went home to a loving wife. Though he'd been worried when they first married that it wouldn't work, things were good. They would have dinner, share their days, and then go to bed. The sex continued to be outstanding, although he still had to hold back a bit. Marla seemed to have a paralyzing fear of his losing control, she loved him, he knew, loved making love with him, but if he got too rough, she pulled away. So he always kept a little part of him in. It was the first crack in their relationship though neither of them recognized it at the time.

Marla loved the Canterbury campus and she loved Christchurch. It was an elegant city, in some ways more refined than Wellington and she felt at home there. Life with John had it's challenges, even in the beginning, but she loved him and she thought they could make a go of it, make it work.

He began as a "beat" cop, just like Mick. He saw everything, sudden death, suicide, gangs, drugs, rape, and domestics. Domestic cases were almost more dangerous than anything else was. Spouses would call in anger, in fear and when you arrived, they'd reverse their stance, putting you in the middle. Then the shit would really hit the fan.

One day he answered a domestic call and was sickened by what he saw. The small house was a mess. The wife was beaten, bloody, her clothes torn. The husband stood over her with a baseball bat. Two little boys wearing rags cowered in a corner. His partner, Colter, handled the husband; John attempted to get the kids out. The wife didn't want to go. He didn't understand it. If the man was beating on her, John didn't know why she wouldn't go. "He doesn't mean to," the woman said. "It's my fault."

John could only shake his head. How could anyone believe that? Still, it wasn't as bad as the case of child abuse he saw two days later. He had gone to a house and found two little girls tied up in a closet. They had been sexually abused and left for dead. These cases saddened and sickened him and he couldn't wait until he could begin to move up the ranks and work with something nice and clean, like murder.

During the next four years of their marriage, things for John and Marla were mostly good. Despite their different backgrounds and upbringings, they managed to work out compromises. John was never the kind of bloke to mind housework and he respected that Marla's schooling was as much work as his job was. They shared the chores equally. Her parents continued to pay her tuition, for which he was grateful, as it allowed him to support them both on what he made. Marla didn't tell him that her parents also still gave her an allowance, which allowed for some little luxuries that she always claimed were just good shopping on her part. She thought of it as a little white lie, not dangerous at all.

They made friends in Christchurch, Marla at school and John within the force. When John first made Detective Constable, they celebrated and that night, wildly drunk on champagne, the only alcohol he could never seem to handle, he had finally said I love you. The next week they made a down payment on a house. The week after that John found a boat badly in need of refurbishing and bought it for a song so they could sail again.

Their life together was not without it problems. Marla could never get used to the rough and tumble behavior of the other cops and their wives. She found their language vulgar and their pleasures common. She preferred restaurants to barbecues and wine to beer but for John's sake, she tried.

John loved the familiar casual ways of his fellow officers. He enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere of picnics, nights in the pubs, intra-department athletic events. He wasn't overly fond of the rather formal almost businesslike way Marla's friends behaved. He preferred jeans to suits and hated her friend's wine and cheese circuit, which he privately called, only to himself "whine and sheeze." Still, for her sake, he would dress up and go along, trying to please her, as he knew she was trying to please him.

Once he finished refurbishing the boat, they began to spend their free time on the water. It was usually just the two of them out on the blue blue sea. Real life would drop away, the cares and woes of his job and her school would vanish in the warmth of the sun, the gentle sway of boat on water, and they would suddenly be young and in love. They would stay out as late as possible letting the world vanish and then hurry home and make love. Those were the best times of all.

A marriage has a life, a rhythm, and a heartbeat all its own. It becomes a living-breathing organism, not just as the sum of the individuals, but as a third partner. It takes on the flavor of the partners, reflects back to them their good and bad sides, and mirrors the path their life takes. Some marriages are good, some are bad, and some take the path of least resistance.

On the surface, John and Marla had a good marriage. People who saw them together envied them. They were physically attractive, successful after a fashion. In fact, they seemed a perfect couple in love and happy. Their friends, it's true, saw them together as a couple less and less, but between John's job and Marla's schooling, it was difficult to make their schedules mesh. If the two of them chose to spend their free time alone together, who could blame them?

John and Marla floated like a sailboat through their life together. John had nothing to compare their relationship to; he'd never seen close up what a marriage could or should be. With no frame of reference, he accepted things as they came. Still, as John became increasingly enmeshed in the force, following the ebb and flow of his daily contact with violence and secrecy, lies and despair, his part in the marriage changed. He was still a willing partner, but more and more often, he found excuses within his job not to accede to Marla's requests. Rather than be honest with her, he simply blamed his unavailability to perform certain tasks on the job. He no longer was as unsparing with his emotions either. He began to keep his concerns to himself; afraid she would be hurt.

Marla's part in this dance was far more complicated. She had started their marriage with a series of little white lies, first her need to be married, though in truth it would have made no difference to the force or the University, then the secret of her parent's allowance. She constantly hid her feelings from him, first about sex, then about his job and now about his friends. She loved him just as passionately as ever, but the walls between them kept growing, each year another layer of bricks seemed to separate them.

Still, their marriage survived, though perhaps it didn't thrive. John and Marla skimmed the surface of their emotions, buoyed by an active sex life; still drifting gently on the love they shared. If they each felt the ripples of discontent, they got used to the extra rocking. They were only ripples after all, merely tiny whitecaps on the surface, not big enough to capsize the boat. Both were sure that all marriages hit rough spots. You rode them out as you would a squall and then ended up on calm seas.

In late 1996, Marla graduated from Canterbury with her law degree. Her next step was to take the IPLS course. Thirteen weeks of hell it was called, by any whom had passed it and to be a lawyer you HAD to pass it. She felt relieved and scared. This was a huge undertaking and she wanted John by her side. She also, now that she had free time, had to acknowledge that things were less than perfect. She suggested they needed to spend some quality time together and John agreed.

They made plans to spend John's accumulated month's leave, before Marla started her IPLS course, sailing. Then John was asked to go to Wellington on a special assignment. Without discussing it with her, he accepted it. He told her he didn't have a choice. She hid her disappointment and pretended to understand.

He knew she was pissed, but he felt like he had to do it. Over the course of his career to date he was doing well, but not moving fast enough for his taste. He felt bogged down in his daily job, frustrated with the restraints his position forced on him. Often times he felt like he was drifting. He loved his work, believed in what he was doing, but sometimes he wondered why. He had lost much of his religious fervor for the task in his day to day nitty gritty of paperwork. He loved being on the street, working a case, be it burglary or murder, but the politics and hypocrisy of the brass sometimes got to him. He knew he was getting a bit of a reputation of being not quite insubordinate, but maybe a little too quick to make his own decisions without consulting superiors. Taking Wellington seemed a way for him to prove he was still a team player. The assignment would also allow him to work with Andy and it was interesting. Not undercover exactly, but working to bust a dog fighting ring.

Marla was more upset about John's failure to discuss the job with her than about his actually going to Wellington than she ever let on. She felt that for him to have made such a major decision without her input was yet another sign of him excluding her from his life. She also worried that he cared so little about their marriage that he put his job first. She had been hoping their month on the water would let them talk, really talk, something they hadn't been able to do in months. She too had made a decision without his input.

She was loath to tell him that she had changed her mind about what kind of law she wanted to practice. Years of listening to him talk about what he saw on the streets, the kind of people he had to associate with had changed her opinion of what she wanted to do. She no longer had any interest in working for the downtrodden and criminal. It was too . . . messy. She was going to go into civil and corporate law. Somehow, she didn't think he'd be pleased.

When John came back from Wellington, he was much quieter than when he had left for the assignment. He'd only been gone four weeks, but those four weeks had been life changing. He'd started out working with Andy, but then Andy had had his breakdown. It had not been pleasant. When he returned Marla was immersed in preparation for her course. The next three months were spent with him working and her studying and they couldn't seem to find much time to spend together. When they were together, things were different. They were both quiet and afraid to talk about what was on their minds. It was as if each knew the other was hiding something, but neither wanted to know what it was.

After Marla passed her IPLS, she brightened considerably. Her whole attitude seemed to change and John found that again, their marriage seemed to be back on track. That was, until she told him who she was going to do her internship with. He was aghast when he found out what kind of law she wanted to go into. But she told him that one member of the family working with criminals was enough.

Now the tiny ripples of discontent became larger, they were waves with high whitecaps. The horizon began to darken. John was unhappy with his job, but he wasn't sure why or what else he could do. The marriage seemed to be going through a rough patch again and he didn't know how to fix that either.

Marla knew there was a problem, but like John, she was loath to discuss it. She wasn't brought up to quit and she still loved him. As things emotionally tensed between them, their feelings straining like sails against the wind, they could both feel the storm coming on. Then everything changed.

John had been called in on his day off, much to Marla's chagrin. Still, his boss said it was important and John always did what he was told. Well, mostly as he was told.

John examined the Senior Sergeant with interest. Alan Snow was short and thin with a face like a ferret. He was dressed in a sharply pressed suit, each inch of him screamed prissy. John wondered how a man who put so much stock in his appearance had ever made Senior Sergeant. He didn't look like the type who would get down and dirty on the streets.

Alan Snow studied the tall Detective Constable who lounged nonchalantly in the chair. He had an excellent record on the force, making his cases, some truly brilliant work even. He had the right look too, a former boxer; he was big, tough, and muscular. If he grew his hair and a beard he'd look totally different and fit the part. He had a reputation as a bit of a maverick, but that was okay. It meant he should be able to handle himself on the streets. He could definitely be used. Snow cleared his throat and asked, "How would you feel about coming to Auckland and working undercover?"

John heard the words, the challenge in them, and grinned. "Auckland, eh? Undercover?" he repeated.

Snow remarked, "I've got an opening and I need someone very special to fill it."

"I'm married," John admitted. "What about that?"

"You tell me," Snow challenged. "What about it?"

"Well, I take it, I can't bring her?" Snow nodded agreement. "Truth is, she probably wouldn't want to move anyway. She's just finished law school and her IPLS class. She's doing her internship now."

"She'll be very busy," Snow suggested. "And you'll be able to see her, often."

"Is that right?" John muttered. "So you want me to go undercover?"

Snow nodded. He tapped a thick file. "No one in Auckland knows you, at least not as a cop. You grow out the hair and add a beard and your whole look would change. You could be a real asset, John. And do some good. Drugs are getting worse and worse. We need to stop them."

John nodded. He knew that already. For a moment, the holy fervor of the cop filled him again. "When would you want me?"

"How long to grow out your hair?"

John laughed. Marla would hate it, but he'd like it better. "A month, maybe two, depends on how long you want it."

Snow smiled, at least his mouth did, but the smile, as John would later learn, never quite reached his eyes. "That's fine. It will give us some time to work out a cover story, plan out the operation."

"How long will this job last?"

"Hard to say," Snow replied nonchalantly. "It will depend somewhat on you. How quickly you can make contact, how deep you can get. Four or five months, maybe a bit longer."

John nodded. That wouldn't be too bad. Marla shouldn't mind it so much.

John studied himself in the mirror. His hair now fell just past his ears. Damp from his shower it curled wildly around his head. He'd had his left ear pierced and he wore a gold hoop in it. He'd grown a fuzzy mustache and a small triangular goatee. Snow had been right. It changed the way he looked so completely he wasn't sure even his Mum would recognize him. As he stood there naked, he felt arms slip around his waist and soft breasts press to his back.

"Whatcha think?" he asked.

Marla pressed against John's naked body. She never got tired of looking at him. Or of making love with him. Well, at least, unlike several of her friends, sex was never their problem. She ran her hands up his chest; it felt odd for him to be hairless. Still, she knew that like the long hair and the facial hair, it was part of his new assignment. He'd been told he couldn't wear a wire without yanking off his chest hair. Instead of answering him, she continued to caress his chest, loving the rock hard feel of his body.

John felt the heat of her against him. Her breasts pressed enticingly against his back muscles, her naked body was still a huge turn on. He felt the warm heat of her mound press against him.

He turned in her arms and touched her face. He surprised an expression of worry in her eyes. He touched her face lightly and asked, "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and kissed him instead of answering. She couldn't tell him how scared she was. Not just about the possible dangers he would face, but about what the forced separation could do to their relationship. "I love you," she whispered.

Even after all this time, he still had trouble getting out the words. "Babe," he whispered softly. "I . . ."

She touched his lips, seeing his emotions in his eyes. She brushed a lock of his hair off his face and kissed his nose.

He grinned at her, swept her up in his arms and took her to bed. John lay her down gently. He studied her naked body almost as if he'd never seen it before. Sometimes it was like that, especially now. As their years together grew, their personalities seemed to shimmer and shift.

Marla's body was still compact and lush, as contradictory as she was. Her breasts still firm, her curves still the same as when they first met. Yet, sometimes he didn't know who she was.

He ran his hands up and down her curves his touch light yet knowing. He had given up finally on ever completely possessing her. He knew now that there WAS a part of her he could never reach. No one could. Marla would always hold a part of herself back, away and hidden. There was no way he or any other man could reach that part of her. He'd never spoken of it for there was now a part of him that was unreachable too. Still, when they made love, they were almost together.

He began to knead the mounds of her breasts, the flesh as enticing as ever. Her nipples hardened and he bent his head to suckle at those lovely pink nubs, still as ripe as fresh fruit.

She moaned from his attentions and stroked his head, her fingers tangling in the thickness of his longer hair.

He sucked harder and ran a hand down to tease her opening. His fingers played with the lips of her sex, tracing them until they opened for him. She moaned his name and ran her fingers over his arms.

He raised his head and looked at her for a moment. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was partly open. Her face was relaxed and yet there was something about the way she lay there, not docile, not submissive, and not even urgent anymore, just . . . there. He wondered suddenly, if maybe this wasn't what she wanted. Yet, when he touched her sex, he could feel that she was aroused.

Sometimes she was a complete mystery to him, even after five plus years together. She was a mass of contradictions, warm and loving, hard and brittle, even to him. He knew she hid her feelings from him, but he didn't know what to do about it. As he continued to tease her opening with gentle fingers, her eyes popped open and she smiled. The smile was anticipatory and pleading and it reminded him of long ago. Now he knew what she wanted.

He released her nipple and began to kiss his way over the softness of her belly to the juncture between her legs. His fingers left her sex to be replaced by his mouth. Her moans grew louder as he began to explore that warm cavity with his tongue. Soon he could feel her body arching toward orgasm and he took her hardened bud into his mouth and sucked it. She came with a groan of his name. He pulled back and rubbed his face on her thigh and then slid up the bed and positioned himself to enter her.

He hovered there for a long moment, just watching her face, trying to find the woman he loved. She met his gaze for a time, her eyes full of emotion, full of things she couldn't bring herself to say, and then she reached for him. She guided him inside her warmth.

He glided in and stayed there, then bent his head to suckle at her breasts again. For a moment, he lost himself in the feel of her flesh, so warm and hot around him, and then he began to thrust.

She looked down at his dark head, resting softly against her chest as she felt him slide slowly in and out. She stroked his hair feeling an overwhelming love wash over her. She whispered his name liked a prayer in church. With a humbled reverence, she said it over and over again.

The urgency began to overwhelm him; he released her nipple to breathe. He thrust faster, harder, deeper, her body was now in tune with his, their eyes locked and he stroked her face in a matching rhythm to his strokes inside her.

They rode that crest together, peaking as one and it felt right. "I love you," he groaned as he came hard inside her. Then he collapsed against her chest, his head cradled between her breasts, her fingers tangled in his hair.

They lay there physically sated. Though neither would say so, they had both felt the desperation in their lovemaking. The sense of urgency to find each other and find a sense of completion that seemed inaccessible except during sex. They clung to each other trying to find answers to questions neither of them were brave enough to ask.

In the two months since John had agreed to go undercover, Marla had begun her internship. Her attitudes had changed in ways that were much more overt. She'd always been middle-class, but she'd never seemed to exhibit her middle-class values so much as she did now. She appeared suddenly to want all the things that a successful corporate lawyer could buy. Money had never been that important to John, but now it seemed to take on a new significance to her. Instead of viewing the law the way that he still did as a vehicle to make things right or effect change, she now seemed to view it as if it was an ATM machine. He had to admit, even if only to himself, it bothered him.

The past five years had not been the religious experience that John had hoped for. The hypocrisy, the inconsistencies, the unfairness of the law and law enforcement notwithstanding, he still believed what he was doing was right. That what he was about to do was right. Yet, . . . he had days where he felt sad and disillusioned. He had started out wanting to change the world. To fix injustice and to right wrongs but most of the time he was lucky if he managed to get his paperwork done.

He could sense that though Marla used to believe in the righteousness of his cause, she no longer did. They were losing the synchronicity that had originally bound them together. They were drifting, not apart exactly, but still away from each other. Their marriage was straining at the bonds and neither of them seemed poised to tighten the ropes, perhaps because neither of them knew how.

Marla stroked the soft skin on John's belly; his body without hair was even more beautiful. "John," she stated nervously, "you're going to be alone in Auckland."

"Dave will be there. He and Jo and the kids. And Andy."

"Andy," she harrumphed.

He laughed. "He's okay now. Long as he takes his little white pills."

"Hmm," she mumbled as she continued to trace the hard muscles in his abdomen. God, what if he found someone else? She had only been worried about his going undercover. What if he met another woman?

He seemed to sense her concern. "Marla," he whispered. "Don't worry 'bout that, eh?"

She touched his face. "Reading my mind?"

He smiled and pulled her tighter. "It's natural to be concerned, I guess," he mumbled. "But I'm not that kind of bloke. I'll wear my ring and tell 'em I'm married, eh?"

"John, I . . ." she shook her head. "You're a good man, I know."

"I'm lucky to have you. Always have been," he muttered. "Still can't imagine what you ever saw in me back then. I was such a mess."

"No, you weren't," she refuted. "Just unsure and confused. But I fixed that, didn't I?"

"That you did," he agreed. "That you did." He began to kiss her again trying to relive the past and the simpler easier times they once shared.

Detective Constable John Lawless got on the plane for Auckland but Johnny Wilson, cabby and minor dealer got off. Dressed in snug jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair curly and wild, his Ray-bans in place, Johnny swaggered off the plane duffel bag in hand. His first stop was Snow's house. From now on Snow would be his only link to the official police. Snow would be his operator and his lifeline. For however long it took him to do this job he would never go to the station, at least not voluntarily, only if he was busted.

John met Snow's wife, Aileen. She was dressed very formally in tan slacks and matching blouse. She had dark hair and a warm smile. She seemed to be a nice enough woman even if a bit diffident and cowed. Snow, even at home, was dressed in a crisp white shirt and pressed slacks. He even had a tie on. He never seemed to lose the prissiness John had noticed at their first encounter.

Snow took John into his study, outlined the operation and gave him his brief. The long-term goal was to find the source of the homebake, homemade amphetamines that were being supplied to the gangs and stop it. Along the way, he would bust whomever else, dealers or otherwise he found worthy of the trouble. The resources of the force were at his disposal. They would give him whatever he needed to make it happen. The proliferation of drugs, harder drugs than marijuana, was a source of deep concern. Snow warned John it could take time. John had a good cover, but he had to make people trust him and that might not be easy.

John knew that. He'd taken the undercover class at Porirua years ago. While he hadn't worked undercover like this before he knew the drill. He was to take his time, blend in, not push and make contacts. Eventually he would have enough contacts and he could work his way into the organization. Then when he got as high as he safely could, he would set up the bust.

Snow told John he would expect to see him every two weeks and now it was up to him to move things along. John left Snow's house full of enthusiasm. He was sure he could do the job and wrap things up fast. He was wrong.

It took John six months to make enough headway to start setting up small busts. Just before his arrival, there had been a string of arrests and everyone was nervous. His cover as a cab driver got him out on the streets, however his fake history as a minor drug dealer from Wellington cut little ice on the Auckland waterfront.

He moved very slowly and carefully, not wanting to risk his cover. He drove his cab and put the word out that he had drugs for sale. The people around him started out suspicious but John had a natural talent learned by accident years before. His skill in blending in, his chameleon-like talent for taking on coloration was near perfect. He had started years before with Claire, then as he went to University, and finally in his role as Marla's husband. He had mastered the art of acting as if he was whatever the person around him wanted him to be. Though she had never intended it, Marla by making friends with people he didn't like or respect, had given him the key to the art of illusion.

It also helped that John's basic nature was taciturn. The less he said the more people thought he knew. It was a very effective tool. Still, those first six months were full of narrow escapes. John was nervous at first and each day was a new chance to be caught out. He began to feel like a high-wire artist on a tight rope and then, suddenly, he relaxed. As soon as he did, he had no trouble falling into the "life" or getting on with the other crims. At times, he was maybe too good at it.

After a year, he was no closer to the source of the homebake than when he had started. The longer he stayed under, the longer his hair grew, the more he relaxed into the role. He had no trouble with the blokes in the pubs; he played pool, talked rugby, and drank with them. Eventually he met some small time dealers and carefully began to set them up. Along the way, as part of the cover, he had to do some drugs. He knew this was part of the game. In the past, undercover cops had been forbidden to use drugs. Needless to say, no one ever trusted them. Despite the fact that drugs were illegal, it was now an unwritten and unspoken rule that undercover narks did what they had to do to get the job done. He could usually manage to fake the cocaine use, but there was no way to avoid smoking weed. Still, he wasn't a kid, wasn't fifteen anymore, and he could handle it.

Every two weeks he'd go to Snow's house for a feed and debrief. John would express concern and frustration over how slowly it was going. Snow always understood. In some ways, the relationship between him and Snow was like that of parent and child. John, who missed having a father, found himself letting Snow fill that role. Snow seemed to accept it gladly. He was avuncular and full of good advice and encouragement. On occasion, he even called John "son." Sometimes the relationship seemed more like priest and penitent, yet John could never bring himself to confess everything to Snow.

As John got deeper into the "life," the length of the job seemed to expand exponentially. Snow never commented. Though originally he had told John that it might last only four or five months, as long as John was bringing in results Snow seemed happy to keep John in place. Snow was more interested in results, than in any difficulties John might be having. John ignored that crack in Snow's fatherly armor, because he needed Snow. Snow was his lifeline. He wrote off the seemingly lack of personal interest because he knew Snow was intensely focused on stopping the flow of drugs.

Still, even if he hadn't told Snow, John WAS having difficulties. Things with Marla were becoming complicated. When he'd first gone under they'd let him go home every three weeks and things had seemed fine. Then it became every four weeks and now he was lucky if it was every six weeks. The deeper he went the less Snow wanted to risk that John might blow his cover.

When he did go home, it was only for two or three days. It usually took him and Marla twenty-four hours to figure out how to act around each other. By the time they got into a rhythm of being together, it was time for him to leave. They didn't fight, they didn't really talk, mostly they made love. The sex had suddenly become even more outstanding than ever before. It was as if their bodies knew something they didn't. He missed her, but sometimes he was grateful he didn't go home more often. He guessed the length of time the job was taking was making her unhappy, but she never came right out and said so. It was beginning to get to him too. It still didn't show any sign of finishing and until he accomplished what he set out to do, he didn't want to come out.

At the thirteen-month mark, all the lines started to blur. He was living in a small flat on the waterfront, a far cry from the lovely suburban home he shared with Marla. Yet, it was his. He'd never lived alone before. There was a freedom in it that he liked. He could relax, blast rock music, and do whatever he wanted. In his identity as Johnny Wilson, he lived in blue jeans, T-shirts, and cowboy boots. He didn't have to wear suits. He didn't have to watch his language, didn't have to worry about staying out late, and didn't have to worry if he came home stinking of beer. He found himself slipping back into a sort of place that in way felt more natural than the last six years of his life had. Oftentimes he felt more comfortable in his role as Johnny Wilson then he ever did in his real identity as Detective Constable John Lawless or Marla's husband.

He worked out on a daily basis at a nearby gym. He met some blokes who were dealing steroids. He arranged to have them busted. Even after the bust he continued to workout at the gym, it provided some much-needed physical relief from stress. Still, despite the blurring lines, the undercover life suited him. He liked the freedom, the danger, and the adrenaline rush he got from the game.

Because it was a game. Despite the seriousness of what he was doing, of the daily dangers he faced, there was a bit of the cat and mouse to it. The crims all knew that the cops wanted them and the cops knew that the crims knew. So John was constantly tested especially as he got deeper into the game. But he was good at it and so far, no one had caught him out.

He was so good at it that there were times when he could only tell who he was supposed to be by what he wore. It got so when it was time for him to go to Christchurch he would put on running shoes, khakis and something other than a T-shirt, just to remind himself who he was. The footwear seemed to be the key. Those brown cowboy boots of Johnny Wilson's along with a big silver belt buckle the keynote to HIS personality.

Other lines began to blur as well. He'd started the job with some basic assumptions. The same assumptions most cops had. Drugs were bad. People who did them were stupid. People who sold them were evil. The years on the job in Christchurch had never given him reason to change his mind. The longer he stayed under the more he realized all of that was a gross simplification.

Yes, drugs were bad; they were insidious and invasive, like those vines, clematis vines that grew everywhere. They needed little light or water to take root, to sprout, yet once they had sprouted; they took over the garden sucking the life out of everything in the vicinity. Drugs were like that, a life killing force, sucking the vitality and soul out of every human they touched, but . . .

The people who did them weren't always stupid. Sometimes they were sad and lonely; usually they had nothing else to do with their lives. Most times, it was a case of form over function, people with formless lives, functionless lives to which the structure of doing drugs gave them a purpose. Those were the users John felt sorry for, the ones to whom drugs served as the only escape from an empty life.

There were others of course, the professional users, those who saw drugs as an excuse to rob, kill, and maim. Those he busted happily, but the deeper he got, the more he saw that "there but for the grace of . . . go I."

Blokes like he had been, with no direction, no guidance, drifting into drugs or dealing because it was the easy way to make a buck. Blokes like the ones he grew up with who took a wrong turn because they didn't have a hand to stay them. He found it all too easy to sympathize with their fall from grace and he began to hate himself for busting them.

He'd find himself, of an evening, drifting to Dave's house to see real-life. He loved watching Dave, Jo and the kids. He could see that Dave and Jo had a marriage that was very different from his own. They teased each other, argued with each other and loved each other. It saddened him some. He started to drink too much when he was alone. When that didn't help, he'd smoke some weed. He knew he shouldn't but he was lonely and it seemed to help. Despite the number of nights he spent in pubs, despite the number of "friends" he had made, he was always playing a role. With Dave and Andy, he could be himself, but as he got deeper into the life, the risk became greater every time he saw them.

He carefully hid his drug use from everyone, especially Snow, knowing Snow would pull the plug if he found out. He knew drugs were a sort of occupational hazard for undercover cops, but he felt that as long as he took care, he was handling it. It was only pot, after all. His hid his other concerns from Snow as well, acting as if everything was fine when he went for his debriefs. They had lengthened the time between meetings so as not to risk his cover.

Snow seemed pleased with John's progress, especially when John reported that he finally had a lead on where the homebake was coming from. A lad named Terry Bowers apparently had a tinnie house and was supplying the gangs in the area. John didn't know the ways and the wherefores yet, but he'd met Bowers and was working on it. Snow got very excited and encouraged John to do whatever he had to do to get next to Bowers and bring him down.

Bowers was something of an enigma. Most of the of the dealers John had met and/or busted, if they weren't poor lost souls, were "professionals." They had a very businesslike attitude about drugs and dealing, almost like bankers and such. Bowers was different; he was wild and volatile, as if he was addicted to his own product. He was young and out of control with a violent temper and unpredictable mood swings. John thought him more dangerous than he looked and knew he had to be careful how he went about setting him up. Bowers was much more likely to kill him than to come quietly.

Between the loneliness and what he was now coming to see as a constant stream of betrayals of people who didn't deserve it, John was increasingly disillusioned. One night, he and Dave got drunk and Dave made a joke about quitting the force and going private. At the time, under the influence, it seemed like a silly fantasy. Kind of like winning the pools or hitting a jackpot at Sky Casino. Still, as time went on the idea stuck in John's mind. He was walking such a thin line and it seemed to get thinner every day. Having an option, such as going private, on the horizon, gave him something to focus on, a landmass to reach when the sea was finally crossed.

He'd been scheduled to take three days and go see Marla, when Bowers had appeared at his door. Bowers had a little job he wanted some help with that night. It was too good an opportunity to miss so John agreed. Bowers told John he'd pick him up in three hours and then split. John rang Marla at work in Christchurch and told her he couldn't come home. She chucked a fit. She called him a bloody idiot, which was as close to swearing as she ever got and then hung up on him. When he tried to call her back, the receptionist refused to put through his call. He slammed down the phone and kicked a chair across the room in frustration. Wood splintered everywhere. He knew she had a right to be pissed, it was hardly the first time he'd canceled, but still . . .

That night he and Bowers delivered some homebake. They used John's cab to make the drop. Now he had proof that it WAS Bowers, but he still didn't know where the drugs were being made. Bowers had brought the homebake with him. John knew better than to push, so he asked no questions. Instead, he and Bowers went drinking. They ended up in a pub John had never been to before. He and Bowers shot some pool and then Bowers split.

The pub was loud and noisy, full of working stiffs, not druggies. John wondered why Bowers had wanted to come there. It was not the kind of place John would have picked for Bowers or for himself to drink of an evening.

John was downing the last of his beer when a dickhead bumped into him. Normally that wouldn't have set his temper off, but between his frustration with the job, his non-argument with Marla, and his generally lousy mood, it pushed him right to the edge. The coup de grace was the dickhead recognized him. Not as a cop, but as a boxer, which meant he knew John's real name.

The prick was obnoxious. He not only banged into John's back, but also blamed John for the accident. He was drunk and as his voice began to rise, John was left with no choice. He rose from his stool, rounded on the dickhead, and swung two very hard punches. The first got the bloke in his midsection and as he doubled over from the pain, the second punch went to his jaw knocking him down and out. John hoped that would be the end of it, but unfortunately, the bloke was not alone.

As John stood there looking at his handiwork, his temper barely sated from the ease of the fight, two big beefy blokes came toward him. They looked like dockworkers. One wore a white T-shirt and the other a blue one. They were moving toward him with a definite purpose and they had drunken anger on their faces.

Clearly, they were mates of the dickhead he'd just decked. He figured that despite their size and anger, he could take them anyway and he was now spoiling for a fight. At least he was until he saw the knife in the white T-shirt's hand. "Don't want no trouble," John mumbled as he tried to deflect the fight.

"Too late for that, you arsehole," the white tee said. He was clearly spoiling for a fight too.

John studied him. The bloke held his knife the right way, in his right hand, by the hilt, with it pointed down. So he knew how to use it, knew how to fight with it. That was bad news for John. Still, John had his rage, no longer buried and he decided to go for the knife.

The bloke for all his size and bulk was fast and experienced. He saw John coming and moved out of the way. Then he lunged for John. John twisted hoping the knife would miss him. It didn't. He heard the swooshing sound of metal slicing fabric on his left side and felt the knife sear flesh. It flitted down his side like the softest of kisses, light and sharp and he knew he was in trouble. It hurt like hell. His adrenaline rush kept him on his feet.

He went into a protective crouch trying to ignore the pain. He figured the bloke would come at him again to finish the job. He hoped he could face the guy down before he fell down, when out of nowhere a dark-skinned whirling blur of black came at the bloke from the right and kneed him in the nuts. Then John's savior rounded on the blue tee and asked, "Want some of this?" The man in black brandished his own knife. It was much larger than white tee's with a wicked looking serrated edge.

The blue tee shook his head and ran off leaving his two mates on the floor of the pub.

John sank to his knees on the floor. Now that the fight was over so was the adrenaline rush. All that was left was a searing pain in his side and fear at how bad the cut was. He tried to get a look at it but it was in awkward place. He could feel the blood oozing out, see it congealing on his T-shirt. He raised his head to study the stranger who had just saved his life.

The man was sheathing his knife in his boot. He was big and beefy. He had a shaven head on top of which he wore a pair of sunglasses although it was night. He was of Maori descent with dark skin and eyes, a thick mustache and an inch of stubble on his face and chin. He wore an earring and was dressed in a black tee, black vest, black jeans and black boots. He had tattoos on both upper arms and wore a thin bracelet on his right wrist. John had seen him around once or twice. Didn't know his name though. "Thanks, man," John mumbled gratefully.

The Maori laughed. "No worries. Those dickheads are pricks anyway. Wasn't fair, two against one. I saw what happened at the bar. That prick deserved a good decking."

"Still," John insisted through clenched teeth, "no call for you to jump in. Thanks. Johnny," he added. He was about to test his legs when he felt the Maori's strong arms around his waist.

"Willy," he said as he helped John to his feet. "Seen you around some." He paused, his eyes studied the wound and he added, "Better get you to a doctor. Looks nasty."

John could feel his head start to spin from the combination of blood loss and alcohol. He nodded slowly. "Happen to know one that'd stitch me without reporting it?"

Willy grinned and nodded. "Indeed I do." He kept an arm around John's waist and helped him out of the pub. "Got a car?" Willy asked.

John pointed to the cab he drove as part of his cover. Willy laughed and shook his head as if he found that funny. John went toward the driver's side and then felt a burst of dizziness overcome him. He asked, "Can you drive?" Willy nodded. "I think you'd better. I'm about to pass out."

Willy smiled and his whole face changed. Gone was the menace, the hard ass look John had seen in the bar. In place was someone he could maybe trust. He didn't really have a choice. John tossed him the keys and managed to get in and belted before he passed out.

When he woke up, he was in a darkened room. His shirt was gone and he was lying on a table in what looked to be a makeshift surgery. There was a white bandage on his chest over the knife cut. He'd guessed they'd given him a shot for the pain, he couldn't feel anything except lightheaded. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust and then he noticed Willy sitting in a corner thumbing through a magazine.

"Back among the living, eh?" Willy remarked.

John nodded slowly. He ran his fingers through his hair pushing it off his face. "How long?"

"Three hours," Willy answered with a grin.

"You stayed here?" John echoed with surprise.

"Someone had to take care of ya," Willy retorted. "Besides that heap of junk you drive ain't worth stealing."

John laughed and then grimaced. He was going to be sore for a while. "You're okay, mate," John commented.

Willy shrugged as if this was all in a day's work for him. "Let me get the doctor and then we can get out of here."

John nodded. Although it took him a long time to admit it, a friendship had just been born.

After Willy brought him home, John slept for twenty-four hours, then made an unscheduled trip to Snow's. Snow got the police surgeon to look at John's injury. Apparently, Willy's doctor was just as good as a legitimate one. No infection and it was stitched okay. John was grateful. Snow wanted to know if John felt he could continue undercover and John insisted that he could. He was close now and he wanted to finish what he had started. So he went back into the "life."

Willy proved be a blessing in more ways than one. He was a small time dealer and also into robbery. He sold pot, which he got from his "cousins" up North. Willy seemed to know everyone and was trusted implicitly. His taking John "under his wing" made for a lot more opportunities.

John and Willy did some deals and John continued to gather information about Bowers. Bowers was smarter about his business than John had given him credit for. He knew the cops were looking for the tinnie house, so he moved it weekly. Every time John thought he might have a lead to the location, Willy would inform him it moved. John had to be careful because Bowers didn't trust him yet. Still, the "work" he was doing with Willy seemed to make Bowers feel more comfortable. John had very conflicted feelings about Willy. He knew he should bust him, but he didn't do it because he felt like he owed Willy something for saving his life.

Willy seemed to be a staunch and loyal friend. John spent a lot of time with him and found himself, almost against his will, growing fond of him. As he watched Willy interact with the people in the neighborhood, he saw, even more clearly, that nothing was ever as it seemed. He met some friends of Willy's; a mixed-up kid named Paulie and his sister, Sonya. He could tell Sonya was interested in him, but he had lots of practice deflecting women and he managed never to be alone with her. He knew it intrigued Willy, but John kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to tell them he was married and if he were honest, he would have to admit that he was attracted to Sonya.

At the sixteen-month mark, Bowers vanished and John was allowed to go home for a few days. Since it was unscheduled, he didn't bother to ring Marla; he hopped a plane and arrived at the house. He wasn't sure why he didn't warn her, what he thought he might find; he just wanted, suddenly, to be home.

When he arrived the house was empty. He walked through the well-appointed rooms. The lounge, Marla's study, the kitchen and the bedroom. Everything was neat and clean, everything in its place. He saw that she had bought some more "things" for the lounge. Marla had beautifully and tastefully decorated the house, but it had a funny feel to it, as if no one lived there. He went back to the bedroom and removed his clothes dropping them on the floor so she would know he was there. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water got hot and stayed that way, a luxury he didn't have in his Auckland flat.

He stayed under the water for a long time, letting the hot streams cascade over him like a spring rain. Hoping the water could wash away the Judas stink he felt was oozing from every pore of his skin.

Marla arrived home, saw the clothes and heard the shower. She was surprised. She wandered into the bathroom and the sight that greeted her took her breath away.

John had his back to her. His tall body was under the shower, streams of water cascaded down his golden skin, over his broad muscled shoulders, along the arch of his spine, over his firm buttocks. He had a beautiful back, strong and firm, like all of him. His hair was so long now, too long for her taste, but it curled softly, like a little boys into damp ringlets along the base of his neck. She felt a wave of pure lust wash over her. Quickly she stripped, for once dropping her clothes where she stood.

He was still turned away so she knocked on the shower door to get his attention. He turned quickly, a look of concern on his face. He saw it was her and the concern eased. He grinned.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked as she slid the glass door open and stepped in.

He grinned even harder and reached for her. He pulled her body to his.

She felt the water hit her skin and his arms pull her close. She shut her eyes and reveled in the twin sensations.

John held her tight, cherishing the feel of her, the warmth of her body and the affection, which despite everything, they still felt. Sex had become the only thing between them that still worked. It had an honesty about it that neither of them was verbally able to express anymore. Only their bodies seemed able to communicate, a wordless, passionate dance that seemed to keep them from losing all touch with the other. He bent his head and kissed her, relishing the taste of her soft lips. They kissed for a long time under the rushing streams of water and then John whispered, "Here?"

Marla shook her head. Though her body ached for him, she was uncomfortable making love anywhere but their bed. They got out of the shower, acting as romantic and randy as teenagers.

That was until Marla got a good look at him. Her eyes were drawn to the large red and raw looking scar on his left side and she went pale. The blood drained out of her face, her eyes went wide and she had to hang on to the towel bar to keep from falling.

John, who had hoped she wouldn't notice, a forlorn hope he knew, grabbed her. "Marla?"

"What happened?" she breathed. "When?"

"Marla, I'm fine. No damage done."

"No damage?" she echoed with disbelief. "That looks . . . what happened?"

"Just a fight," he muttered uncomfortably. "Honest, it's no big deal."

His complete disregard for the seriousness of the injury, for his physical safety, made her angry. The anger gave her strength. She pulled away. "No big deal?" she repeated. "What HAPPENED?"

He shrugged. "Dickhead in a bar. Didn't even have anything to do with the job."

"Oh great," she complained angrily. "Nothing to do with the job? So now you get into fights everywhere?"

He tried to hold her, but she twisted away. "It's not like that. Come on . . ." he didn't finish. She'd grabbed her clothes and stalked out of the bathroom in a huff.

He finished drying himself and followed. She was in the bedroom putting on a pair of slacks and a blouse. "I suppose I'll have to cancel my plans," she accused him coldly. "How long have you got?"

"Three days."

She nodded and left him in the bedroom. Everything about her body movements told him she was furious. He shrugged and got dressed, putting on a pair of khakis and a Henley.

He found her in the kitchen; she was making a salad. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her. She was chopping tomatoes, carrots and celery, seemingly unaware of his presence. He studied her. From the back, he could tell she was still angry and taking it out on the vegetables. Her muscles were rigid and stiff. He admired her body because she was still in great shape. Her butt was firm and round and her legs muscled. Even her arms now seemed to have nicely defined muscles. "Have you been working out?" he asked curiously.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and cut her finger. "Damn," she muttered. She dropped the knife and turned on the cold tap.

He went to her. He gently took her hand and examined the cut. It wasn't deep, just a tiny tear in the skin. He kissed it tenderly. "Marla," he whispered his voice full of emotion, "I'm sorry."

"You should have told me," she insisted.

Did she mean about his coming home or about the knife wound? He tried to read her eyes, but they were full of anger. "I don't want to fight," he mumbled.

She studied him. She saw him so rarely now and half the time she didn't recognize him. He was a stranger in her husband's body. The body was nearly as familiar as her own, but his eyes had changed. They were no longer a looking glass to his emotions. No longer the reflection of his soul they used to be. His job had changed that for his life now depended on his ability to lie. John had secrets, he kept things from her, not just unimportant things, but important things, like his injury. Still, she didn't want to fight either. Buried under the hair and the secrets was still the man she loved. It seemed like the only time she could find him though was when they made love. "Me either," she whispered.

He opened his arms and hugged her. He held her tightly, trying to find the girl he had fallen in love with and in some small measure the man who he was. It seemed like wherever he was these days; he was playing a role. As Johnny Wilson, as John Lawless, even as Marla's husband. It was so hard for him to find himself anymore, which one of him was real? He always expected Marla to know, but maybe it was expecting to much. There were too many walls between them. Living a lie had changed him. It had changed her too.

They stood together for a long time, holding each other tight, trying to find a way to go forward, and trying to get back what they were both afraid they had lost. Finally, he said, "Guess we need to talk, eh?"

She raised her head from his chest. She touched his face lightly and murmured, "Maybe later," then she kissed him. She was afraid to talk. The scar said he was in danger, that he could be killed without a moment's warning. Without her even knowing about it. She had always worried about that aspect of his job. As a beat cop he'd been at risk every day, but he'd never had a problem. When he'd gone into plainclothes, he'd usually never gone to crime scenes until after the violence was over and she felt he was safe. She knew undercover was more dangerous, but she willed herself not to think about it. Though he never knew, each time he'd come to visit, that first night, she'd wait until he'd fallen asleep and then she'd give his body a good look, making sure there weren't any new scars. Making sure he hadn't been hurt. So far, he'd always come home fine. Until now. Now she was being forced to confront her biggest fear and she hated it.

She knew it was part of being a cop's wife, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She worried about all the changes she'd seen in him. Not only was he secretive, but he'd adapted to his undercover role a little too well for her liking. She suspected that he liked living alone, liked the long hair, liked not having to live by their mutually agreed upon rules. She had noticed that occasionally his language slipped, it was rougher than it used to be, less polished. His behavior too. He drank more than he used to. It scared her. She felt like she was losing him mentally and now she was being forced to worry about losing him physically.

She kissed him harder then, seized with a sudden desire to prove how much she loved him, to give him a reason to keep himself safe. She reached for the waistband of his slacks. She quickly unzipped him and tugged the slacks and his briefs down, then dropped to her knees.

John was surprised and pleased. Marla never liked to have sex anywhere but in the bedroom so for her to do this, here and now, was an amazing gift. He closed his eyes and leaned against the basin.

She'd gotten better at this over the years and while she never developed a true joy in the act, she'd come to enjoy the pleasure she gave him. Now she wanted to use this as a way to remind him he had someone to come home to. She couldn't say the words, but maybe she could show him.

His organ was in that in-between stage, not hard, but not soft and she stroked him for a moment before she used her mouth. He moaned her name and hardened in her hands. At least, no matter what else happened between them, she still had the power to do this to him.

She licked his shaft up and down and then began to tease the head with her tongue. He groaned and ran his fingers through her hair. She licked a tiny drop of pre-come off the tip as he grew even harder from her caress. Then she began to take him into her mouth slowly, inch by inch, until she held him as deeply as she could. She sucked him then began to glide back and forth, her teeth lightly grazing the surface of his shaft as her mouth moved.

He groaned her name and took her face into his hands to hold it. He opened his eyes to look at her. It was a rush to see the cool ice princess, his wife, on her knees in front of him. Her eyes were open and focused on what she was doing. She looked up at him, as if she could feel his eyes on her and then slid back so that only the head was in her mouth. She stared up at him and sucked hard.

He groaned and pushed forward. She released the suction and opened her mouth wider. Then she gripped his thighs as he began to thrust into her mouth.

She moved with him, taking him deeper, teasing him with her tongue, occasionally sucking lightly. He began to move faster and he felt one of her hands move to his balls, kneading them gently. He thrust once more, she sucked hard and he groaned and came in her mouth. She continued to suck him, as if she wanted to drain him completely, as if she could find the essence of him in his come. When she seemed to have sucked him dry, she released him.

He pulled her to her feet and stared at her. She was looking at him with an almost quizzical expression on her face. He bent his head and kissed her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth, tasting himself there. Then he pulled back, pulled her tightly against him and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you."

They spent the bulk of his three days making love. In between, he worked on the boat. He hadn't had it out on the water for over a year and it was drying out. He sanded and painted, but it was going to need a lot more work to get it back in the water. Marla would sit and watch him as he worked, supplying him with beer and the occasional smile, but saying nothing. They both avoided the conversation they knew they should have. Both of them were afraid. Once that door was open, where would it close?

About an hour before he had to leave, he found Marla in her study. She was sitting at her desk, papers all around her and several law books open. He watched her for a moment, she was intently focused on her work, her pen tapped the table gently and she looked contented. He said, "Came to say goodbye."

She looked up and asked softly, "When will this be over John?"

He shrugged. "Soon, I think. I'm close now. I found the supplier, just need to find the factory and we're away. Then I'm finished."

She nodded. "When it's finished . . ."

"I'm thinking of leaving the force," he admitted. "I've been talking with Dave about going private."

"Private?" she echoed. Another decision he was making without her input. Another life choice that didn't include her. She sighed and asked, "Any money in that?"

Her question surprised him. It was cold and lifeless as if she didn't care. "I dunno. Probably. I'll check into it."

"In your spare time?" she asked ironically.

He felt his temper flare at her tone of voice, but reined it in. He didn't want to leave on a bad note. Overall, except for the sort of fight about his new scar, he thought things had gone well. "I'll look into it," he repeated softly. "Marla, I've got to go."

"I know." She rose from the desk, went to him and put her arms around him. She leaned her head against his chest and whispered, "I'll be glad when this is over. When you can come home for good. I miss you."

"Babe," he muttered. He ran his fingers through her hair. "I've got to leave. Can't miss my plane."

She stepped back and looked at him. He was in Johnny Wilson garb right down to the cowboy boots and big silver belt buckle. She hated that getup. It was so . . . "Come back soon, John. Come home to me."

He pulled her into his arms and pressed his face to her hair. Then he kissed the top of her head and released her. "I love you, Marla," he insisted. "I really do."

She nodded. "I know. I love you too." But she wondered if either of them knew what that really meant anymore.

Johnny Wilson went back to Auckland. It took six more weeks before he got where he wanted to go. Six more weeks undercover, inching closer to Bowers, the danger growing each day as he tried to get the volatile dealer to trust him. Tried to get Bowers to believe that Johnny Wilson really was the "Pizza Delivery Man," that he could get Bowers ANYTHING he might need.

Six more weeks of drinking, smoking and spending time with Willy, Paulie and Sonya. Getting far closer to Willy than he should have, becoming fonder of the "other side" than was healthy.

Six more weeks of conversations with Dave about going private. Going over details about potential clients, equipment, office space, dreaming of the possibilities.

Six more weeks and then John Lawless was on a plane to Christchurch, this time with good news. Well, good news for Marla. Bowers had asked him to supply one of the main ingredients for the homebake and he was due to deliver it in two days time. This was it, his big bust and the end of the undercover. Bowers was off to Oz for something, but would be back in a few days, allowing John this needed respite before the end. When he did go back to Auckland after his visit to Christchurch, it would be to make the bust, finish his undercover and file the proper paperwork.

He had finally done it, he told her. He was full of nervous energy and excitement when he arrived. He was barely able to stay still, the adrenaline rush like a fever on his skin. Underneath it was an unacknowledged sense of sadness, an unspoken and unshared fear that he was going to be leaving a part of himself behind. He tried not to think about his life in Auckland or the life he would return to in Christchurch with Marla. Instead, he clung to his plans for the future. He told Marla as much as he could and added that once it was over, he WAS quitting. He and Dave were going to start their own private agency.

She wanted to believe him, because he seemed to believe it. Wanted to believe the lies he didn't even realize he was telling her, because he didn't realize they WERE lies. She didn't ask him where this pie-in-the-sky agency would be as Dave lived in Auckland and SHE lived in Christchurch. Didn't ask him how he would cope with moving back into their house, their life, a life he hadn't been in for almost two years. Didn't ask him how he was going to cope without the danger and adrenaline rush that was as much a part of his life now as she wasn't. She loved him and she tried not to show how worried she was about him and their future.

The morning he was due to go back to Auckland for the bust, he showered and then began to dress. He thought, for a moment, as he stood in their bedroom, how different it was from his life in Auckland. Their bedroom was big and airy, filled with luxurious things. Sometimes he felt stifled by the house. Marla had filled it with lovely elegant objects. It was beautiful, but it felt more like her house, her life than his. Sometimes he felt like just breathing would cause the whole thing to come tumbling down. He never felt a sense of comfort or ease in the house, never felt as if he could relax there. He'd never even realized he'd felt that way until now. He was momentarily nostalgic for the "life" he was about to leave behind. As he looked in the elegant bureau for a T-shirt, he longed for his messy shelf in the Auckland flat.

He didn't see any T-shirts, just drawer after drawer of more formal clothes. Crisp white shirts that required ties, button down vests that required dress slacks, expensive sweaters. All apropos of "dining" with solicitors and barristers, corporate clients, bank presidents and such. No casual and informal lifestyle here. Not like Auckland where Willy'd give him such shit if he ever showed up in a tie. He realized with a start, he was going to miss Willy. He knew he shouldn't care, but the thing of it was, Willy was as much of a mate as Dave or Andy. Of course, if or when Willy found out John was a nark, Willy would probably flay him alive. Still he'd managed to keep Willy out of it so far. If Willy happened to be anywhere near the tinnie house, he'd get rid of him. He owed him that much.

He sighed. Even so, he'd still be glad when this was finally over. He was tired of living a lie. Tired of this job of betraying everyone around him, especially when some of them didn't deserve it. He'd be glad to come home. He really would. His life with Marla was a good one. So it wasn't perfect, but then, what was?

He gave up searching for something that wasn't there when he heard Marla ask, "Where exactly in the contract . . ."

The end of this story

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