Chapter 1

Kit turned the van up the drive to the Mansion. Terry took her crossed booted feet down from the dashboard. The bottles in the back jangled over the gravel drive.

"It's amazing they don't break with all the potholes in the road," mused Terry. "Sure you don't want help unloading?"

"No," replied the red-head. "Shiv knows I hate doing the pickup. He can darn well unload them himself."

Terry grinned. Her ex-boyfriend had really gotten a handful when he became involved with her best friend. It had amazed her that the two had hit it off. It also amazed her that the pairing of the two didn't bother her in the least.

As Kit pulled the van up in front of the house, they both noted the presence of the Packard. "Guess they finally made it back," remarked the red-head.

"They're only two days late," said Terry. "Didn't hear anything from G-2, so I guess everything's okay."

"Hope you left food out," laughed Kit.

"I didn't," replied Terry.

"That's okay. This way they won't take you for granted."

Terry climbed out of the vehicle. "Thanks for a nice boring trip."

"Oh, anytime. I just love sitting there counting boxes of liquor, don't you?"

"Just as long as I don't have to load and unload," Terry replied with a grin.

She walked around the front of the van and waved as Kit backed up and turned back down the driveway. Terry bounced up the steps and into the house. . The stony silence that greeted her drew her up short. She looked at the unhappy faces of Casino, Chief and Goniff at the game table and the bottle of whiskey being passed around. A chill went through her.

"Craig or Actor?" she asked.

"Actor," said Casino.

Terry bounded up the stairs and strode through the open door to the Italian's bedroom. Craig was sitting on the edge of the bed next to the unconscious form of his second in command. Terry approached and sat on the opposite side, taking in the pale, unresponsive face and the white bandage around Actor's head.

"Bullet bounced off his skull," said Craig dully.

Terry laid the backs of her fingers against the man's cheek. It was cool and clammy. She rounded on her brother. "Why isn't he in a hospital?"

"He's been in two already," said Craig. "One in Germany, and one here. The one here said it's a concussion and there isn't anything more they can do. It's going to take time."

"You had him in a hospital in Germany?" asked Terry in amazement.

"I had to do something," said Craig. "He wasn't waking up."

"How bad a concussion?" asked Terry.

Craig finally looked at his sister. "He's unconscious most of the time. When he is awake, he doesn't know who he is, who we are, where we are. And he doesn't speak English."

"Oh that's just wonderful," said Terry. "Anything else?"

Craig nodded. "Every time we try to sit him up, he throws up."

"Great. Just great."

Craig threw a startled look at his sister. For a moment she almost sounded like Casino. Terry wasn't paying attention to him. She touched the dark hair that still had dried blood in it. The least somebody could have done was clean him up. There was old dried blood in Actor's ear and in a crackled line down his neck. She shook her head.

"What did they do for the wound?" she asked.

"Not much," replied Craig. "Just some sulfa and a dressing."

"They didn't stitch it?" asked Terry in outrage.

Craig shook his head. "Folkestone said it's been too many days now." He watched his sister frown as she studied the con man's face. "What do you want to do?"

"I guess take a look at the wound and get him cleaned up a little more before he comes to again," she said. "He ought to have a walloping good headache."

Craig started the water running in the sink in the bathroom and got a basin while the water heated up. Terry went to get an aid kit. Garrison supported Actor's head while Terry unwound the roller gauze and removed the bloody dressing underneath. There was a slightly jagged half inch wide furrow going from the corner of the man's left eyebrow back into his hair.

"Oh, that's not going to make him happy," remarked Terry, "as vain as he is."

"Well, he depends on his looks for a lot of what he does," Craig rationalized. "Can you fix it?"

"I think I can make it a little less noticeable when it heals."

Garrison watched as his sister began to clean the skin around the wound. Even though the Italian was unconscious, she still strove to be gentle. She continued to clean his ear and down his neck. Craig took his first real close look at the wound. It wasn't too awfully deep, the edges were clean and bed looked pink and healthy. Left unattended, it would still leave a fairly nasty scar. Craig held Actor's head turned to the right as Terry tried to clean the dried blood from his hair. It wasn't coming out well.

"Peroxide?" suggested Garrison.

Terry looked at her brother with raised eyebrows. "If I leave peroxide on there long enough for it to loosen that, you're going to have to explain to him why he has a blond spot in all that dark hair."

"I'll pass," said Craig.

Terry gave up on the hair for now and went to fashioning butterfly strips. She rinsed her hands with alcohol and gently worked the edges of the wound. Satisfied, she started taping the edges together but not too tightly. It would leave a smaller scar, but let any infection that might develop get out. More sulfa powder followed and a gauze dressing was placed over it. She wrapped his head again with roller gauze and taped it. Craig let Actor's head down carefully onto the pillow. Even with the pain and movement, the man still did not awaken.

Terry looked at her brother's worn and haggard face. She squeezed his arm sympathetically. "Why don't you go get some sleep?" she suggested. "You look exhausted."

Craig looked at the Italian in indecision.

"Hey," said Terry softly, "I'll take good care of him."

"I know," said Craig. "Thanks, Sis."

Garrison went out and silently closed the door behind him.

Terry cleaned up after herself and then returned to sit beside the Italian. She contemplated him for a bit. Most of the time he looked older than his thirty-nine years. Asleep or unconscious, he appeared younger. As she watched, his eyebrows furrowed and he began muttering. It wasn't English or Italian. Maybe Greek. Whatever it was she didn't understand a word of it.

"Actor," she said quietly. "Are you with me?"

The dark eyes opened and tried to focus on her. There was no recognition. Terry was taken aback by the apprehension she saw on his face. She had never seen Actor out of control of his emotions other than hot anger when pushed too far. His eyes darted around the room, always returning to her face. His eyelids blinked hard.

"Do you know where you are?" asked Terry using a soothing voice.

He did not answer. The eyes narrowed and he watched her with distrust. Terry tried a different tack and switched to strictly Italian.

"Actor," she said soothingly. "It's okay. You are safe. No one is going to hurt you. You are in England. At the house we all live in. I am Teresa. You know me. We are friends."

Actor's eyes squeezed shut and he looked at her again in frustration. She touched his head. "Easy. Don't try to force it. You have a concussion. It will get better."

He continued to try to focus on her face, expression wary. Terry wished he would say something so she knew what language to speak in. She asked him in English if he understood. No answer. She tried Italian and French. Still no answer. Hesitating a moment, she tried German. He did not answer that either. Well, that was the extent of the languages they spoke in common. Slowly his eyelids sagged and he passed out again.

A couple hours later, he awakened again. He continued to try to focus on her face.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked in Italian.

"Si."

That was a start. Terry supported his head and held the water glass she had fetched earlier to his lips for him to take a couple swallows. He lay back down.

"Grazie"

She nodded. Suddenly his eyes widened and he gagged. She helped him quickly to his side and held the wastebasket while he vomited, moaning at the sharp pains that stabbed his skull. When he was done, she helped him to lay flat.

"Guess we won't do that again," she said wryly in English.

He looked at her warily.

She switched back to Italian. "No more. Just rest."

Terry took a wet cloth and wiped his face. He blinked a couple times, trying to stay alert, but passed out again.

It was late afternoon when Garrison entered the room. He was dressed in his uniform pants and shirt again. Worriedly, he walked up to look down on Actor's face. "Did he wake up at all?"

"A couple times," replied Terry. "I got two words in Italian out of him. He still doesn't know me or where we are from the looks of it. I tried to give him water, but it didn't stay down."

Craig looked at her sympathetically. "I have to go see Schaeffer," he said apologetically.

"Tell the little twit to go . . ."

"Terry…" Garrison cut her off with an amused warning.

She grinned at him. Her expression changed to a frown. "I don't know what to do about dinner," she said. "I don't want to leave him alone for that long while I make it."

Craig shook his head. "Goniff said he would make dinner tonight."

Terry gave her brother a look conveying how she felt about Goniff's interpretation of cooking. Craig laughed, feeling the same way.

"Hurry back," teased Terry.

"I doubt it," replied her brother. "Oh, don't wait dinner for me."

"Think you're going to get out of it?" laughed Terry. "We'll be sure to save you a plate."

A couple hours after Garrison had left, Chief silently entered the room carrying a plate of some unidentifiable substance that smelled better than it looked. The Indian handed the plate to Terry.
"What is it?" she asked.

"Beats me," Chief drawled. "I ain't about to try it and find out."

"Some warrior you are," said Terry cautiously poking at the conglomeration with a fork. She popped a tiny bite in her mouth and rolled it around on her tongue. "Not bad. I still don't know what it is." She set it aside.

Chief walked closer to the bed and looked down at Actor. "How's he doin'?"

Terry shook her head. "Comes awake for a few seconds. Goes out again. He still doesn't seem to know me, or where we are, or English for that matter."

"He gonna be all right?" The younger man seemed genuinely concerned.

"I hope so," replied Terry. "Head injuries are funny things."

"Anything I can do?" offered Chief.

"Yeah," Terry replied. She handed the plate of food back to him. "Dump that in the toilet and tell Goniff I said it was good."

Chief grinned, "You want me to lie for you?"

"You want me to make us sandwiches at midnight?"

Chief disappeared into the bathroom.

Garrison didn't return until almost eleven that night. It had been a long debrief session with Maj. Schaeffer and Col. Hammond. Craig was hungry and tired. The common room was empty when he came in. He hung his uniform jacket up in his office and headed for the kitchen. His head was in the refrigerator when Chief came up silently next to him. Craig congratulated himself on not jumping when he noticed the Indian.

Pulling a bowl of brown something out, Garrison held it up to him. "What is it?" he asked hesitantly.

"Don't know, Warden," replied Chief. "I didn't eat it and I flushed Terry's for her."

Craig grinned and shoved it back on the shelf. He started pulling out fixings for sandwiches. "Want a couple?" he asked his scout.

"Sure."

Craig set about making sandwiches for the three of them. Chief straddled a chair and rested his chin on folded arms atop the back, watching the procedure.

"How's Actor?" Garrison asked.

Chief shrugged. "I don't see much change in him. Been leavin' him and Terry alone." He paused. "You think he'll be okay?"

"I hope so," replied Garrison. "Head injuries are kind of tricky."

"That's what Terry said."

Craig piled sandwiches on a plate, threw on some pickles and handed a gallon jug of milk to Chief. The younger man got three glasses and filled them with milk before returning the jug to the refrigerator. They took the food and went upstairs into Actor's room.

Terry looked up and grinned widely at the plate of sandwiches. She plucked one off the top when Craig held the plate out to her. Chief handed her a glass of milk before sitting on the chair at Actor's desk. Craig sat down on the other side of the bed, beside the unconscious man.

"Well?" asked Garrison.

"He goes in and out," said Terry between bites. "We've graduated to a couple words in Italian. I guess it's an improvement." She gave a half smile at her patient, part affection and part worry. She looked at her brother. "How'd the debrief go?"

Craig shook his head. "More like an interrogation without the torture. I had to explain why I had Actor in a Kraut hospital."

"How did you do that?" asked his sister.

"Easy. He was out. We were in SS uniform. Our car was fired upon by partisans. The Colonel was hit in the head. We sped away and stopped at the first town with a hospital."

Terry stared at him. "And if he had woken up speaking Italian, then what?"

"I'd've winged it. He didn't, so it didn't become an issue. Got him looked after and requested he be transferred to Berlin. Got an ambulance with two very quiet drivers and got out of there."

"Getting pretty good at this aren't you?" asked Terry.

"Good teacher," replied Craig, taking another sandwich.

"Which one?" asked Terry snidely.

"Him," Garrison nodded toward the man on the bed. "He's better than Zia and my other teacher had a – uh – different curriculum."

Terry almost choked on her sandwich. Garrison grinned and Chief looked between the two trying to comprehend what that meant.

"Actor could probably give you pointers on that subject too," Terry shot back at her brother.

Craig grinned at his sister, reverting back to their old bantering. "I don't need any pointers."

"How would you know?" asked the girl. "I don't see you out there practicing."

"Terry, shut up," Garrison was suddenly just a little bit embarrassed where this conversation had turned in front of two of his men, even if one was unconscious.

Terry turned to the Indian. "Chief, don't ask him. Or at least not within my hearing. Some things I don't want to know about."

"I ain't askin' nuthin'," said the younger man. He figured he knew what they were talking about now and it amused him because the four cons had been wondering about Garrison's apparent lack of recreation. Granted the man never really had to time to enjoy any recreation.

"Go to bed," said Terry with affection. "Both of you."

"You going to stay up all night with him?" asked Craig returning to seriousness.

"Of course," replied his sister. "I didn't just come back from a mission. All I did was spend all day watching booze getting loaded into the van." She smiled at her brother. "Besides, your Italian is atrocious. I don't know why you didn't keep it up."

"Because the Point was pushing French and German."

Both men got up and headed for the door. Craig turned back and Chief paused with him.

"If you need help," said Garrison, "come get me."

"You can get me too," added Chief. "I don't mind helpin' with Actor."

"Thanks, Guys," smiled Terry.

She watched the door after they left. It made her happy to see Chief opening up a bit. She knew Actor was helping him with his reading and language on the sly.

The rest of the night was a repeat of earlier. Several times, the man moved in and out of consciousness. Actor's fear and distrust were still evident. She tried to sooth him in Italian when he grew apprehensive and supported him when he retched. Terry was terribly worried, but knew there was nothing more that she could do except to be there with him.

The man rose slowly through the aching pressure in his head to awareness. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The room was dimly lit, so the light did not assault his eyes as badly as it could have. Not moving, he swiveled his gaze to take in his surroundings. The recent past was a jumble of flashes. There were two sterile hospital wards, one with German doctors and one with British. Now this. He was in a bedroom. It seemed familiar, but he just could not recognize anything. His perusal brought his focus to the young woman sitting on the bed beside him. Her head was down, chin on her chest, asleep. Wavy auburn hair was pinned back from her face to fall on her shoulders. Though she wore no makeup, she was pretty. Not beautiful, but most certainly nice to look at. He remembered her. She had been with him the other times he had awakened here. She had smiled at him and been gentle and caring. What was her name? He knew it. She had told him. The man racked his fuzzy brain. Teresa! At least he remembered something. If he could just remember who he was and where he was . . . His mouth was so dry. He really wanted something to drink. Should he wake her? She had to be uncomfortable like that.

"Scusi . . . signorina?" he spoke tentatively.

The auburn head flew up and green eyes looked at his. A warm smile came to her face. It made him somehow feel safe.

"How do you feel?" she asked in Italian.

"Thirsty," he replied. "May I have some water, please?"

"Naturalmente."

He tried to sit up, but the movement caused dizziness, and he barely got his head off the pillow. The young woman moved to his side and helped him rise up enough to take a sip from the water glass she held to his lips. He took another sip and turned his face into her. It was an effort to stay upright even this tiny bit. A faint whiff of lavender and vanilla crossed his nostrils as she leaned over him to ease him back on the pillow. It was a most pleasant scent and it tried to trigger something in his mind. That something would not come. He grimaced in frustration as she moved back to her previous seat. His left temple throbbed. He reached a hand up to rub it. His hand was caught between both of hers and held, the hands lightly rubbing his.

"Don't touch it," she said softly. "You'll start it bleeding again."

They watched each other. There seemed to be affection in her expression. She obviously knew him. He wished he could remember her better. Merde, he wished he could remember him! The frustration must have shown on his face, because her smile widened and she squeezed his hand.

"It's okay, Actor," she said to him. "Just go back to sleep, Caro. It will get better."

Actor? Why did she call him that? Was he a performer? Why did she not call him by a name? Did he not have one? Caro? The effort to think this through was draining. He closed his eyes and drifted back into a pain-free cocoon.