The Enemy Within

Thorn noticed that her blue eyes, once warm and maybe even inviting, were a little colder now. Clearly, this was dangerous ground. Screw it. He opted for honesty. “Not really, Miss Gray.” He looked her up and down. “It’s just that I’m having a lot of trouble visualising you in a black ski mask and body armor.”

He held his breath, waiting for either a verbal explosion or a glassful of Chardonnay in the face.

Instead, she laughed delightedly. “That’s not exactly a politically correct thing to say, Colonel.”

Thorn smiled broadly. “I’m not exactly a politically correct kind of guy.”

Louisa Farrell patted his upper arm. “I can certainly vouch for that, my dear.” She inclined her head toward Helen and loudly whispered. “But Peter’s not all that bad not for a Neanderthal door-kicker, that is.”

Helen laughed again. “I believe it.”

Somebody turned up the volume on the jukebox and put on one of the older, slower tunes a fifties classic. Louisa took that as a clue to slip away. “If you’ll both excuse me, I do believe I’ll try to find my husband and force him to dance with me.” A few other couples were already out on the floor, swaying in time with the beat.

Thorn studied them for a few seconds, working up his nerve. Then he turned to Helen. “Much as I hate to spoil my knuckle-dragging image, I have to admit that looks like fun.” He hesitated, suddenly surprised to discover how afraid he was that she’d refuse. “Would you care to dance, Miss Gray?”

“I’d love to, Colonel.”

Thorn led her out onto the floor, still perplexed by his earlier hesitation. Up to now, he’d never let any woman, or anything else for that matter, throw him off his stride like this. So what was so different about this one woman?

He forgot to worry about it as she slid into his arms.

Thorn moved in time with the music and with Helen for several minutes, content at first in the comfortable feeling of her body pressed lightly against his. He was conscious, though, of a growing desire to learn more about her. When the song ended and someone else put on a louder, faster tune from the seventies, he seized his opportunity. “Mind if we sit this one out, Miss Gray?”

“Only if you stop calling me Miss Gray,” she replied. “Deal?”

Thorn grinned. “All right… Helen.” Her first name seemed to flow very easily over his lips. He followed her off the floor, again admiring her beauty and grace.

They found a table far enough away from the jukebox so they could hear each other speak. He smiled across at her. “I hope your shoes are still intact. I’m afraid that dancing isn’t my strong suit. I took some classes at West Point, but not much stayed with me.”

Helen laughed. “Lucky you! My father was so afraid that I was becoming too much of a tomboy that he made me take cotillion with my sisters for three years!” Cotillion. That explained some of her grace. Thorn flagged down a waiter and secured two fresh glasses of white wine. “Sisters? I guess the Gray family’s a pretty big clan, then?”

She shrugged. “Not that big. I have two sisters, one older and one younger, and one older brother.”

Thorn smiled crookedly. “As an only child, that sounds like a pretty big family to me.” He took a drink, remembering the long evenings and quiet holidays. “I used to wonder what it would be like to have brothers and sisters. But I guess I wouldn’t trade my relationship with my dad for anything. It seems like he and I did everything together when I was growing up. Hiking… kayaking… skiing… riding, you name it.”

Helen shook her head. “Your dad sounds like quite a guy.” She hesitated. “What about your mom?”

Thorn felt his jaw tighten. “I don’t have a mother. Haven’t had one since I was a kid.”

“Oh, I’m sorry… Did she die?”

He paused, undecided about how much to tell her. They were treading in very private waters. On the other hand, he felt intuitively that he could trust this woman. “No, actually my mother left us when I was eleven after my dad came home from Nam. She said she needed more ‘space,’ that she had ‘grown up’ while he was overseas. I’m not sure either my dad or I ever really understood what she meant by that. We pretty much lost contact with her and learned to manage on our own.”

Thorn stopped almost abruptly, somewhat embarrassed at having revealed so much. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound bitter. It may have been a blessing in disguise. I probably got away with taking all sorts of crazy risks with just my dad looking after me. After she left, my dad wangled a transfer to Fort Carson, Colorado, for a couple of years.”

He pushed the conversation and his memories on to more pleasant ground. “That wasn’t a bad place to grow up, really. I rode horses all year round and skied in the winter. Heck, I even cross-country-skied to school. It was great. And then when I was thirteen we moved to Tehran so my dad could help train the Iranian Army…”