"Here dog," Vicki set the food dish on the floor and watched as the collie left off guarding the stranger to eat.

The man was still unconscious though it had been a good two hours since she had dragged him in out of the rain. The storm had worsened while she was still pulling him along, inch by inch through the mud, hoping she wasn't making his injuries more severe in the process.

He was quiet now, no longer mumbling, and clean as he lay between blankets on the floor in front of the fire. She didn't have the strength to lift him into the bed, and anyway it was warmer where he was now.

The light from the flames played over his features, sharpening the classically handsome face into planes and angles. She checked the bandage over the cut on his forehead and was relieved it had stopped bleeding. It seemed to be the worst of his injuries -- there were bruises enough and old scars, but no apparent broken bones. Mentally cursing the lack of phone and a road that disappeared for days when it rained, she settled into the only good easy chair and kept vigil over the man.

The first sense to return was hearing. He came awake slowly as if crawling out of a deep hole and almost subconsciously identified the sounds. Fire -- contained and to one side. And on his other side the steady pant of a dog. He became aware of warmth and the comforting roughness of blankets against his bare skin. And pain. Pain in his head mostly, though everywhere else ached. He reached to explore the source of the pain and immediately a gentle but firm hand held him back.

"It's all right," a woman said. "You've a cut, but it's bandaged."

He blinked and focussed with difficulty. She was young, mid-twenties, pretty with dark hair and eyes, and she was smiling. He relaxed and shifted under the blankets.

"Do you hurt anywhere else?" she was asking, "It was the only place I could find but I wasn't sure

He moved slowly, checking out his body's function, "It hurts all over," he said finally, "but not that much."

"I'm not surprised. You must have had an awful fall. You're covered in bruises."

"Fall?"

"Well ... I just assumed you'd had a tumble. Are you comfortable?"

"Where am I?"

"Glenmarra Cottage on top of the hill," she answered promptly.

The name meant nothing to him.

"Stewart Hill," she added, but he shrugged then winced. Vicki frowned. "You might have a concussion. I'm sorry, with all this rain there's no road to get you to a doctor. Are you hungry?"

"Yes -- thank you."

"By the way, my name's Vicki. Vicki Minor."

He opened his mouth then abruptly closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't ... I can't ..." His blue eyes opened wide and he stared at her, "I don't remember my name!"

"What?!"

"I can't remember my name!" He concentrated as much as the pain would allow, "My name, my ... everything's just GONE!"

Surprise gave way to concern as the man's face whitened and Vicki put a hand on his shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "Calm down. It must be that temporary amnesia stuff people get when they get bangs on the head. I'm sure it'll come back."

He ignored her, lost in the effort of trying to force his mind to work. But the more he tried the more it seemed to slip further away, until what had been on the edge of his tongue was now, he feared, too far away to ever come back. He was frightened, lost, and angry -- and his head ached. He lifted his hand to his temple and felt the woman's -- Vicki's -- fingers curl around his, a warm touch of solace.

"It'll come back," she repeated and her voice soothed. "Don't try so hard."

"Christ," he whispered and held her hand like a lifeline.

Outside the storm blew higher, and far below men searched for the man who had forgotten they were there, that they were planning to kill him, and that his partner was dead.

Vicki took the half-eaten plate of food away. "Is that all you want?"

He was still curled in front of the fire and from somewhere he managed a smile, "Yeh, thanks."

She took the plate into the tiny kitchen then stood in the doorway and watched, unnoticed, as he stared bleakly into the flames. The blankets were wrapped around his waist and as he absently stretched she could see the muscles in his back and arms ripple.

Whoever he was, he was in superb physical condition. Vicki bit her lip and remembered the thorough bath she had given him earlier while he was still unconscious. Even bruised and scarred he had a beautiful body, without an ounce of spare flesh anywhere. The fine covering of hair on his arms and legs was dark, like the short, rather tousled hair on his head. His chest and back were almost hairless and a dark shadow of beard proved him to be clean shaven usually.

As she watched, the collie, known only as Dog, snuggled against the man and after a moment's hesitation he began to stroke the animal's long fur.

Not used to dogs, then, she thought, but not afraid of them either. Or would he not remember being afraid? Why hadn't she paid more attention in her university psychology classes? Surely someone had said something about amnesia.

The man lay back against the pillows, letting Dog rest alongside him. He seemed tired and Vicki wondered if she should let him sleep. His pupils had seemed the same size earlier and his speech was clear. He moved easily, despite what she knew must be a collection of aches. Maybe sleep was his body's way of recouping. She watched as his eyes slowly closed and his breathing grew regular. Shakespeare had said something about sleep knitting the ravelled something or other ... She shrugged and undressed in the firelight, then pulled a quilt over the sofa to wrap up in. The couch opened into a bed but she never bothered and had long since gotten used to the lumps in the cushions. She turned on her side and watched the stranger sleep, his face smoothed into childlike innocence in the half light. Maybe he would remember who he was in the morning. She closed her eyes and let the waves of exhaustion sweep over her. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

---

He was in a pub. A nice pub with smiling faces and good strong beer. He could taste the tang of it as he swallowed, feel the warm glow in his belly. Beside him someone laughed and he knew the voice. It was warmer than the drink, more comforting than all the other smiling faces put together.

In his dream he didn't need to turn around. In his dream he knew who it was.

---

Pale dawn light filtered through the rain-streaked window and caught the back of the man who slept on his stomach. He stirred, then groaned as strained muscles made themselves known. Beside him the dog lifted its head and nuzzled his face in greeting. He sat up with difficulty and looked around.

The night before he had been in no shape to notice his surroundings. This morning wasn't much better but finding a bathroom was becoming of major importance.

The cottage was small, only one fair-sized room with a kitchen taking up part of that space. A chair, desk, and sofa were the only furniture. He struggled to his feet and kept the blanket wrapped to ward off the early chill. The fire had long since died and there was no more wood to build it up again.

On the sofa the girl, Vicki, stirred but didn't waken. He wondered what she was doing up here all alone then found the answer behind the only door that didn't lead outside.

The bathroom was larger than usual, the taps fitted with filters, and built-in shelves held a variety of chemicals and pans. She was a photographer.

He returned to find the dog snuffling at the outside door and let it out with a sympathetic smile. Aching muscles aside he felt better and his stomach was demanding nourishment. He glanced at the girl, then left her alone. No reason to wake her up, he knew how to cook. The problem was, where had he learned?

Over crisply frying bacon he puzzled about his memory loss and came to two conclusions. The first, he was English. Beyond his accent he just felt sure about that. And second, he had not fallen. He might not remember where his body had collected its injuries, but it wasn't in a fall.

Movement on the sofa brought his eyes around to a sleepily blinking Vicki. "Good morning."

She swung her legs over the edge, barely keeping the quilt in place. "You look better. How do you feel?"

"Honestly? Terrible, but hungry," he indicated the bacon. "I made enough for two."

"Aren't you cold?"

He glanced down and rewrapped the blanket more securely. "No. I don't suppose my clothes are wearable?"

"Not really, but there's some things ..." She got up and went to a chest in the corner. "I rent this place from a guy and he's not far off your size. Here's jeans and a shirt."

She laid the clothes to one side and disappeared into the bathroom, her quilt trailing majestically behind her. When she emerged ten minutes later looking freshly scrubbed, and dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, he was sitting in the chair glaring balefully at Dog.

"Don't you feed this thing?"

"Always. Continually. Why?"

"He just nicked my bread!"

Dog looked sublimely innocent and pleaded for more.

"No way," Vicki hauled him off and picked up the second plate. "This looks good. Maybe you're a chef at the Hilton."

"Somehow I doubt it."

"No memories then?"

He shook his head. "Look, I was so woozy last night ... where'd I come from anyway? What'd you know?"

"Dog here found you on the other side of the clearing," she waved her hand. "You were out before I got to you -- but you were mumbling about a Billy and questions. Sorry that's all I know."

"No ID?"

"Not a thing. I was thinking though. We get a lot of climbers ... your party's bound to be looking for you, don't you think? I don't have a radio, but I could walk ..."

"NO!" He stood up and she noticed he was dressed as the blanket fell back. The shirt was open -- she suspected it wouldn't button over the man's muscular chest, and the blue jeans hugged his hips in form-fitting snugness. He swayed just a little when he stood and smiled ruefully, "I think maybe I'm not QUITE fit yet."

"Of course you're not fit." Vicki finished her breakfast in a rapid gulp. "For heaven's sake lie down before you fall down and break something vital."

About to protest he suddenly lurched again and she was at his side and hauling him to the sofa.

"Do as you're told," she ordered and he reluctantly obeyed.

"Bossy little thing, aren't you?"

"You bet. Here, get your feet up and LIE BACK. Now see, that's better, isn't it?"

He relaxed, forced to admit she was right. "But don't you go off looking for help."

"Why not? You'll be okay, I wouldn't be gone more than a few hours."

"Vicki," he grasped her hand when she would have moved away and made room for her to sit beside him. "Settle down and listen for a minute."

"Now who's being bossy?"

"Me. And I'm serious." He waited until she was still, then continued. "We don't know what happened for sure, do we? Except ... I'm POSITIVE I didn't fall. You don't get scrapes like these on your knuckles from a fall. I was in some kind of fight, don't you see?"

Vicki was startled, "But then I should go right away ... get help ..."

"No!" He sighed. "We don't know if I'm the good guys or the bad guys."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course ..."

"We don't KNOW. Not for sure. I could be an escaped convict, a murderer, ANYTHING."

She stared at him, caught in the misery of his blue eyes, and thought about it, then slowly shook her head. "No. I don't believe you're any of those things."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess I just can't believe a murderer would fix me breakfast." His eyes crinkled nicely when he laughed, she decided, and noted how pale he was. "You're not one of the bad guys," she said and became aware that his grip on her hand had turned into a gentle caress. "But you do need a name. What name do you like?"

"Ray," he said promptly, then paused. "No, not Ray ... I don't care, anything."

It was so obvious that the name 'Ray' struck some deep chord that she left it and offered, "How about ... I know! I just finished a novel and the hero was named Sean. That's what I'll call you."

"That's a bloody dumb name."

"It's a perfectly good name and he was a GREAT hero. Very sexy."

He leaned back, "Oh yeah? And what'd this Sean feller do for his keep?"

"Well ..."

"Come on ..."

"He was a pirate. But he was a GOOD pirate!"

"Oh Christ!" He began to laugh again. "Oh all right. Don't look like that, I'll be your Sean. What the hell, it's as good a name as any. However, I draw the line at yelling 'yo ho ho and a bottle of rum'!"

"It's a deal." Vicki wondered if he realized how devastating his smile could be and pulled her hand away before he could detect her rapidly increasing pulse. "You rest, I've got work to do."

"Ummm," he was already half asleep as she moved away. Dog sidled up to lie beside the sofa, guarding the man -- Sean -- again as he slept.

---

George Cowley, head of the (in)famous CI5, glared at his men. Hastily assembled, they were nonetheless alert or he'd know the reason why.

"... and that's all we know," he wrapped up his lecture. "I lost two men last night, one's dead and the other missing. The gang has scattered, but we'll get them." His glare pinned each agent singly. "We WILL get them. Get out there and find them. Find them ALL. Well, what are you waiting for?"

He sat in tightly controlled anger as they filed out. When he was alone he opened the file in front of him. There were reports, pictures, a biography detailed to the last degree -- and more pictures, taken when the mutilated body had been found. "You were a good man," he told the last photo and closed the file. He lifted the rubber stamp on his desk and pressed it firmly against the front of the file. It read simply: DECEASED.

---

Vicki hung the last of the prints to dry and wiped her hands inelegantly on the seat of her jeans. Drawn by the thwacking sounds outside she went to the window and looked into the yard. Sean stood, his legs on either side of the stump for balance, and steadily swung, splintering one piece of wood after another. Beside him was a growing pile, neatly stacked, and his bare back shone with sweat under the late afternoon sun.

He shouldn't be out there, she thought, shouldn't even be up at all, but he had insisted -- and sensing that inactivity was making him more tense than ever she had let him take the double-bladed axe from her and had retreated to finish her own work.

Despite his injuries he moved with a stolid grace, an innate pride in doing a job well apparent in everything he did. His large hands grasped the axe handle with strength and the blade swung and struck accurately, over and over in an almost mesmerizing rhythm. Vicki watched, and once again felt the rising heat in her body that centred between her legs. She pursed her lips and moved away to start fixing dinner. But she found herself drawn back to the window to look at him again and again as he worked.

Eventually dusk brought an end to his efforts and he appeared in the doorway, a bundle of wood in his arms, Dog at his heels.

Vicki stirred the thick beef stew and didn't turn. He went back outside and returned with a second batch.

"Looks like another storm," he commented and she agreed. "We get a lot of them this time of year.

"Mind if I clean up before we eat?"

She did look up then, "Sean, you don't have to ask permission."

"It's your house," he pointed out and disappeared into the bathroom.

Vicki sighed. He kept her at a distance, sometimes almost eerily aloof, and she didn't always know the right words to say. He seemed resigned to having lost his memory. Two days had passed since he had arrived and he had made no further comments on his amnesic status. She was afraid to push it, partially because she didn't know if it would harm him, and partially, she admitted with some reluctance, because she had discovered she liked having him around. Return of memory would mean Sean would leave and she wanted him here. Wanted him, period.

He emerged from the bathroom as she was dishing up the stew, a towel draped round his neck, his one pair of jeans fitting tightly over his hips.

"Perfect timing," she told him. They went to eat sitting on the sofa.

Sean swallowed a mouthful of stew, "This is good."

"Filling anyway."

He grinned at her, "Don't underestimate your cooking. It's almost as good as your photos."

Pleased, she felt a quick blush rise. "Thank you."

He watched her cheeks but didn't comment. They finished the meal in silence and Sean built a fire while she washed and stacked the dishes. With the fire going well he sat back on his blankets and stared into the flames, absently stretching to relieve the aching tension in his upper torso.

Vicki frowned at his discomfort, "Are you okay?"

"Just finding muscles I didn't know I had," he rubbed at his shoulder and winced.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you cut that wood." She heard the wind rising outside and went to sit beside him on the blanket. "Bad is it?"

"I'll live."

She moved behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. He tensed, but when he would have pulled away she tightened her grip then began to massage the corded muscles. "Tell you what ... you lie down and I'll give you a backrub."

"That's okay, there's no need."

"Oh shut up for once and do as you're told. Relax. I'm supposed to be good at this." She pushed gently and he reluctantly moved, stretching his full length against the blankets on his stomach, his arms folded under his head.

"Hang on -- I'd better get some lotion and do this right."

As she rose jagged lightning filled the room with sudden brightness and almost immediately the lights flickered and went out.

"Damn electricity," she said, returning to kneel over him. "We always lose the lights first thing."

Heavy thunder drowned out any reply he might have made. His face was turned away from her as he watched the fire, the white bandage showing vividly in the flickering light.

Vicki warmed a squirt of lotion between her hands then firmly plied her fingers into his shoulders. He was tense, the tendons taut under smooth skin. She worked harder, sliding her fingers into the muscled ridges of his arms, pressing and stroking the warm skin until he began to relax.

She went back to his shoulders and this time she felt a sigh of surrender and the easing of tightened muscles under her fingers.

He was broad, too broad to work at evenly from this position. She hesitated, then sat up and moved to straddle his hips. She settled and met his quizzical eyes. He didn't speak and when she went back to working the lotion across his shoulders in a better pattern he relaxed again.

His skin was warm, sensuously smooth and soft under her hands and she began to delight in the feel. A long deep scar was outlined across one shoulder blade and she wished she could ask him about it. But that memory was lost with all the others, so she ignored it and began rubbing down his spine.

The massage was working. He was relaxed, his eyes closed, and a small smile lingered on his face. Lightning and thunder mixed outside and rain began to hit the window pane, an occasional drop finding its way down the chimney to sizzle in the fire.

A sense of isolation grew in her as she stroked and kneaded down his back, as if they were the only two people in a world that extended forever. Time seemed to slow, marked only by the rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Her strokes changed to caresses and before she was aware she was acting she leaned forward and kissed his neck.

Sean drew a sharp breath and lifted his head. "Vicki ... don't."

"Why not?" She kissed him again and felt the tiny hairs at the base of his neck rise against her lips.

He rolled suddenly, throwing her to one side, catching her before she fell. They lay facing each other, lit only by the fire and Sean said softly, "Because we don't know who I am. I could be married or ..."

"No." She ran a hand down his flank to rest on his hip. "You don't wear a ring and there's no mark on your finger where one has been."

"Maybe I don't like rings. Vicki please ..." This as she slid her fingers inside his jeans and across his belly.

"Sean," she ordered huskily, "touch me."

Almost reluctantly he reached to feel her neck and his fingers curved, his thumb making tiny circles behind her ear.

The snap and zip of his jeans gave and she moved her hand to release his half-hardened length. He arched instinctively and groaned. "Vicki, I don't think..."

"Shhh," she whispered and leaned forward to kiss him. She teased at his lips, nibbling at the line, sucking the lower one between her teeth. Her hand slid around under the denim and she pressed against his bottom, forcing him forward.

His hand tightened in her hair and his mouth opened, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She took her time, letting their tongues entwine, tasting him.

She pushed at his jeans and he lifted, then he was nude against her, his hands under her teeshirt, seeking her firm breasts. He pulled the shirt off and gasped when she rubbed her bare chest against his, letting him feel what his touch did to her.

He rolled to his back and she followed, not giving him time to think as her mouth followed her hands across his hard nipples, down his ribcage and over his belly. He braced his feet and lifted as her touch went lower, to his fully engorged length.

There was a feel of softness and hardness in one and fingers tangling in her hair and she took him into her mouth. He twisted, his aches forgotten as desire coursed through him, and coherent thought tunnelled to the feel of her around him.

When she moved away he groaned and tried to pull her back but she knelt above him and guided his hands to her jeans. He was shaking as he worked the button and zipper, his fingers sliding around her under the denim to pull them off. She wriggled and suddenly they were pressed together, nothing between them but a raging desire to be closer still. His hands explored her as hers did him, learning the intimate places, each feeling the reactions of the other until they fused together. His length slid inside her passion-wet channel and she lifted until she was filled completely.

He whispered something against her hair then they were thrusting together and apart, their need rising quickly to an almost violent mutual climax that left them clinging to each other, hot waves of fluid spread between them.

Sanity returned slowly and sounds came back -- the rain, the fire, their heavy breathing. His warm length slipped from her and he reached to pull the extra blanket over their cooling bodies. Vicki tasted the sweat salt at the still rapidly beating pulse at his throat and felt his shiver of response. It was good, she had known it would be, and she relaxed in his arms, feeling their legs entwine naturally. She was still trembling in reaction and he lightly kissed her closed eyes, tickling the lashes.

"Mmmm," she smiled and blinked. He was outlined in the firelight as he leaned over her, the flames catching the sweat sheen of his skin, turning his face into dark shadows.

"Sean?"

"Yeh," he settled down and tucked her more comfortably against him. "Oh yeh."

Satisfied, she relaxed and fell asleep, lulled by the gentle stroke of his hands on her body.

As always she went straight from sleeping to wide awake. She was warm, from the blankets and the smoldering fire, but mostly due to the man lying next to her. He was still asleep, flat on his stomach, one long arm tucked securely around her waist.

Vicki smiled and snuggled closer. "Sean?"

He didn't stir. She kissed his shoulder and his arm tightened, pulling her half under him. He turned his face into her neck and mumbled something.

"Hummm?"

"Where we goin' now, Sunshine?" he repeated, then sighed and relaxed back into the heavy sleep. Vicki wondered where he was in his dreams. Who was 'Sunshine' and why did the entire innocuous phrase sound like a familiar, oft-repeated line?

He was in a building. It was a rather dilapidated structure with old furniture and closed, unmarked doors. It was peopled with vague figures, men and woman who called to him -- and the person with him.

He was running up stairs, hearing the echoing steps of someone behind him. They were heading toward a specific room and they were laughing. He felt good, like he belonged there -- like he was home. They reached the door and he knocked before throwing it open.

He walked into the room only to have the entire scene change. Now there was a graveyard and he was jogging through grey mist. The trails between the marble headstones were wet and somehow he knew it was early morning. Again footsteps followed his, always at his back, as if it were the natural order of things.

He continued to run and gradually a sense of terrible dread began to overtake him. The footsteps behind him faltered and faded, and suddenly the names on the headstones all read the same. He didn't want to look, to read the name, didn't want to know who lay in the cold earth. He only wanted to leave the cemetery.

But the paths were wet and his feet became mired in the mud. There was no way out, nowhere to go except in circles. He would have to read the name.

He was shaking, there was pain in his head and worse pain in his heart as he turned to look. The mist swirled and one of the headstones grew until it loomed over him. The earth began to tumble and he was falling -- helpless -- in a black void.

"Sean! Sean, for God's sake wake up!"

His eyes flew open and slowly focussed on the girl, reality returning as the nightmare faded. Sean slumped against her, drawing strength from the safety of her arms. Vicki stroked his back and waited until his tremors had gone before speaking. "All right now?"

He nodded against her neck then took a deep stabilizing breath. "What time is it?"

"Early morning. Sean, did you remember anything?"

He was silent and so still she thought he had gone back to sleep. When he finally spoke his voice was bleak, "Somebody died."

"What?"

"Someone is dead," he repeated and lifted to stare down at her. "Someone I know, knew, who was very close to me. When I dream I know who it is -- was. But when I wake up --"

She pulled him back and he came willingly, eager to lose himself in the warm sanctuary of her body, to let the reassurance of her caring pull him out of the black world of the past into bright desire.

He took her almost violently, thrusting deep inside her, over and over until her warmth flooded around him and set off his own climax. This time when the world stopped spinning he was at peace, the nightmare forgotten, the woman in his arms the only reality he wanted.

---

They were two of Cowley's men. Hardened tough agents who were well trained and experienced, and they were looking for one of their number.

Murphy came out of the farmhouse and shook his head. "We've been over and over it, mate. Where else could he go?"

The other man looked around and shrugged.

Murphy sighed, "Look, we've caught the whole mob except Billy and they all tell the same story -- he was beaten and escaped, hurt, but not dead. He probably made it to the road and cadged a lift. Let's go see if the Cow's heard anything."

But the other man wasn't listening. He had walked to the centre of the yard and now was searching the landscape, thinking. The moor stretched in front of him, bleak and treeless. No cover there. But to his side was Stewart Hill, more of a mountain than a hill, it rose abruptly out of the ground and was covered with strange-shaped boulders and stunted, scrubby trees. He turned back to Murphy, "He didn't go to the road. He went up."

"Are you crazy? In his condition it'd be suicide! Besides there's nothing up there but trees."

"Cover," the man said succinctly. "He'd go for cover. There's a lot of places he could hide up there -- Billy too for that matter. You go check in with the Cow. I'm going up."

Murphy watched and shook his head. He feared, they all feared as time had passed from hours to days, that the man they sought was dead. But no one, especially not the agent climbing the hill, would give up the search until the body was found. Murphy shrugged and went to the car to radio in to the boss. By the time he began the climb a few minutes later his mate had vanished amidst the trees.

---

Vicki put the kettle on to boil for coffee and felt two arms slide around her waist.

"Good morning." Sean kissed her neck and lingered over the pulse in her throat. "What's for breakfast?"

"I don't know who's got the biggest appetite -- you or Dog."

"Me," he said promptly. "I'm insatiable."

She turned and fit easily against him. "You don't have to sound so smug about it."

His smile was quick and lingered in his eyes. "It's the inspiration," he told her and kissed her nose. "Breakfast woman. I'm a growing boy and I need my protein."

She watched him grab up his clothes and go into the bathroom. He was better this morning, no longer grey-complexioned and swaying when he moved suddenly. If only he hadn't had that awful nightmare.

Dog, snuggled into the deserted blankets in front of the stoked up fire, suddenly lifted his head and growled low in his throat.

Vicki glanced at the animal then followed his steady gaze to the front door. "What is it, Dog?"

The collie sat up, sniffed and growled again. Vicki tucked her quilt sarong style around her and went to the door, calling Dog to heel. She wasn't surprised when a rapid knock sounded on the panel.

The man was a stranger, medium height with wild curly brown hair and jade green eyes. He catalogued her in a sweeping glance and smiled, "Sorry, I know it's early but ..."

"VICKI! Where'd you put the ..." Sean called from the bathroom doorway and she half turned to answer him.

The stranger peered past her, then suddenly she was set aside and he was in the room, his face lit with relief, his voice almost cracking, "Bodie! Where've you been? Why didn't you call? Are you all right?"

He strode forward eagerly then paused when Sean backed away. "Bodie?"

Dog left Vicki's side and slid round the stranger to stand on guard by Sean. The collie growled a warning and the man stopped and turned hurt, puzzled eyes to the girl. "What's wrong? Why doesn't he know me?" He looked back at Sean. "Bodie, it's ME, DOYLE. What the hell's the matter with you?"

But Sean just looked at him, blank-faced, unmoving. Vicki cleared her throat. "Please, Mr. ... Doyle? He doesn't know you."

"Of COURSE he knows me. Bodie, mate, what kind of game is this? Cowley's going spare ...

Sean moved then, his head cocked to one side as he studied Doyle. "Who am I?" he asked in a low, strained voice. "What have I done?"

The man Doyle took a sharp breath. "Amnesia? Christ Bodie ... look ... come and sit down and call that dog off -- I'm not going to hurt you ... either of you."

He pulled a card case out of his jeans and showed it to Vicki. "My name is Ray Doyle, CI5. and this is my partner, William Bodie, but no one ever calls him anything but Bodie."

Vicki looked at the ID then at the patent honesty in Doyle's face. "I call him Sean," she said. "Sean," she reached for her lover's hand and squeezed the cold fingers. "I think your past just caught up with us."

Sean stayed silent, but sat on the sofa's edge, his eyes never leaving Doyle. Vicki sat beside him, still holding his hand and Dog curled up at their feet.

There was a long silence as if no one knew what to say, then Doyle sank heavily into the chair. "How long have you been here, Bodie?"

Sean glanced at Vicki, then away. "Three days. You said you've been looking ..."

"Cowley's got practically the whole squad out. George Cowley is our boss. Bodie, we've worked together for four years now ..." Doyle's face was tortured and Sean's sheet white as he tried desperately to remember something ... anything.

From across the room the kettle sang out and everyone jumped. It broke the tension. Vicki rose only to have Sean catch her arm.

"You get dressed, love, I'll make the coffee."

She looked from one man to the other and knew they wanted to be alone. "Sure..."

When she had shut the bathroom door Sean went into the kitchen and began the ritual of coffee fixing. "Tell me what happened."

Doyle watched him work and went to lean against the wall by the window. "That night? We were on a case. A big one. We'd been on it for weeks and you were inside."

"Inside?"

"The Fenton-Simon mob. A terrorist off-shoot group from the Baader-Meinhof lot. Anyway, you got in with them and we pretty much had 'em dead to rights ... recordings, papers, the lot. I had called Cowley and he came up to be in on the kill." Doyle closed his eyes and his voice went lower. "I was outside the farmhouse -- it's in the valley at the bottom of the mountain -- just keeping an eye out. Cowley sent Johnny Hartley out to get me. You know the Cow, wants everything first hand."

Sean glanced at him and didn't answer.

"I guess you wouldn't know, would you? Well, Johnny gave me the car and took over the watch. It was getting cold, there was a storm brewing, so I gave him my jacket and went off to meet Cowley in town." He turned to stare unseeingly out the window. "I couldn't have been gone more than a couple of hours. When I got back the place was deserted, Johnny was ... dead, and you were nowhere to be found."

"Here." Sean tapped Doyle's shoulder and handed him the steaming cup.

"Thanks," he took a sip. "Yck! You always put too much sugar in. We rounded up the mob -- all except Billy Simon -- and they told us what happened. Seems Billy found Johnny and got it out of him that you were undercover before Johnny died. He told the others and you were beaten. But before they could really hurt you, you broke loose and got lost in the storm. That's all we know."

"So it wasn't me ..." Sean took a healthy swig of the scalding coffee and grimaced.

"Wasn't you, what?"

"I knew somebody died, but I thought ... was afraid I'd been the killer."

"You've killed, Bodie, but not that night and certainly not Johnny. You only kill if you have to ..." Doyle trailed off and from the sofa Dog growled.

Sean might not remember being Bodie, but something in the demeanor of the other man told him all was not well. "What is it?"

Doyle moved to the side of the window and pulled his Walther from his shoulder holster. "There's someone out there."

"Probably looking for you." Sean was eyeing the gun. Something stirred in his mind and retreated.

"The only other CI5 man out here is Murphy and he doesn't have black hair." Doyle looked back at his partner. "Billy Simon has black hair."

Dog had come to Bodie's side and much to Doyle's astonishment the collie quieted and sat at his partner's quiet command. Bodie never got on well with dogs. Never until now.

"Well?" Bodie asked, "what are you going to do?"

"WE," Doyle's voice grated. "You may not remember, but if that's Billy Simon out there, then it's going to have to be WE or none of us'll get out of here alive. Damn. He went round back and hasn't come back yet ... is there another way in and out?"

"Only the bathroom window."

Doyle started for the bathroom door only to have it swing open in his face. Vicki stood, half dressed, her tee shirt in her hand and Billy Simon's arm around her throat. The business end of a .44 magnum was held steadily against her temple.

"I'm sorry Sean," she croaked. "I opened the window and turned my back ..."

"Shut up, bitch." The terrorist tightened his grip and motioned with the gun. "Back off, both of you. And you, Sunshine, put that shooter down and kick it over here."

Doyle backed towards his partner then slowly crouched to set the gun on the floor.

No one remembered Dog. The collie had been silent, obedient to Sean's command. But his eyes were on his mistress and when Billy Simon stepped into the room and Vicki groaned in pain from the arm at her throat, Dog barked sharply and launched himself at the terrorist.

Doyle had already sent his gun across the floor and it crossed directly in front of Sean's feet. He never stopped to think, but reached for the weapon, and in one smooth move brought it up, aimed, and fired.

Billy had been distracted by Dog, had even expected to feel the sinking of teeth into his leg. The fire-thud of the bullet into his shoulder spun him around and, suddenly released, Vicki catapulted forward into Doyle's waiting arms.

After the sudden noise the silence was deafening. The smell of cordite was heavy in the air and Bodie ignored the painfully writhing Billy Simon to stare at the gun in his hand.

Doyle steadied the girl then helped her into her tee shirt and pushed her towards the chair. She made it just as her knees gave out entirely.

"Call your dog off before he tears this bastard apart," Ray ordered and Vicki managed to find her voice.

"Dog! Here! Heel."

It only took Doyle a few seconds to snatch up Billy's .44 and check the wound. "You'll live, I'm sorry to say," he told the man and handcuffed him to the arm of the bathroom shelf. "Don't go away, I'm not finished with you yet."

At long last he turned to his partner and hesitated before saying softly, "Bodie?"

The man looked up, his blue eyes bright with remembrance and pain, "I thought you were dead. Billy brought in your jacket ... I thought it was you ..."

"No." Doyle took a step forward. "Do you remember? Do you remember EVERYTHING?"

"Yeh." Bodie handed his partner the Walther and smiled. "I think this is yours, mate."

Momentarily forgotten, Vicki watched the scene from her chair. Sean was gone -- and Bodie had taken his place. She remembered his reaction to the name 'Ray' and understood now the subconscious pain in his voice.

Ray had taken the gun and stood still, just grinning foolishly, his relief an almost separate presence in the room. Bodie turned to Vicki, "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "You remember."

His face gentled and he went to kneel by the chair, to look her straight in the eye. "Yeh. I remember. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten anything either."

She eyed him, remembering how easily the gun had fit into his hand. "I'm not sure I'm going to like Bodie."

He kissed her. "Then for you I'll be Sean, and shut up Doyle."

---

It was later. From somewhere a delectable creature named Murphy had appeared to haul Billy away -- but not before giving Vicki a thoroughly interested look. "Cowley's waiting," was about all he said when caught up to date, but Vicki hadn't missed the look on Sean -- Bodie's face.

"Bloody Cowley," he said, but the tone belied the words.

They had tried to talk her into coming back with them but she was firmly of the opinion that if this mythical omniscient Cowley wanted to meet her it would be on HER territory.

Bodie disappeared briefly into the bathroom and Doyle smiled at Vicki. "Thank you," he said, suddenly serious.

"What for?"

He shrugged, almost embarrassed. "For being there when he needed you."

"I don't plan to let him go, you know."

"Good." Doyle hugged her. "Tell him I'm outside."

---

Bodie came out of the bathroom and Vicki repeated the message then added, "He's not bad, your partner."

Bodie grinned. "I taught him everything he knows."

"There you go, getting smug again."

"You're sure you won't come back with us?"

"My place is here."

"I'll be back."

"I know." She held her arms out and he hugged her fiercely.

"Keep a light in the window." He kissed her once, hard, then ordered Dog to 'stay' and went out, not looking back.

She went to the window and watched them saunter away, across the clearing and heard Bodie's voice, warm and teasing as he turned to his partner. "Where we goin' now, Sunshine?"

And she smiled.

-- THE END --