Thunderstorms – Continued

Chapter 17: Monday, August 18, 1913

Having been dropped by their three children like hot potatoes at the mere mention of taking the puppy out of his crate for a quick walk, Julia slid closer to her husband and, with the fire re-kindled in her eyes, said, "Perhaps we have time after all?" Not giving him a chance to reply, she slid her leg over him, to sit atop of him as if she were riding an equine.

Briefly, his eyes darted to the still-open bedroom door and he entertained the concern that one of the children might come traipsing back in while they were in the middle of making love. However, his hands rushed to gather up the bottom of Julia's nightgown, and then quickly guide it over her head. "It will have to be very quick, like a sudden burst of rain – like a microburst," he added.

"Mm," she agreed. Knowing there would be no time to remove his pajama top, her fingers tugged at the string of his pajama bottoms, while his hands slid up over her newly-naked belly and rib cage to join his eyes in devouring her breasts. She lifted up onto her knees to enable the lowering of his bottoms, feeling her womb surge with lust as she felt the pajamas catch on his arousal. Air blasted out of her nostrils with the thought – he was ready. Her eyes dropped to see the sight of him. "You are beautiful, William," she declared with a husky whisper. She felt his hands slide down her sides and take a firm hold of her hips.

"Have a seat," he suggested.

"Such a gentleman, offering a lady a seat," she replied slyly.

When she tilted forward, using her hand to line up his entry, her breasts jiggled enticingly above him. Seeing them bouncing and jumbling about, feeling her fingers tightly wrap around him, he nearly came undone. Losing control, his hips thrust up towards her and his throat released a quiet moan.

"William!" she exclaimed, "After I just called you a gentleman." Unable to laugh at her own joke, for the look on his face caught her breath – stunned her; his expression was so serious, so intense, so focused – with his jaw locked and his eyes imposing, she felt her insides melt and swirl. "Oh my God," she thought as her brain seemed to spiral away. She weakened, as his hands roughly gripped her hips and he urgently pulled her down over him - hard, then around him, as she felt the excruciating pleasure of his penetration. "Oh, William," she cried, "Oh my God, William." She moaned with his first thrust, "You feel so good."

As he powered up into her, deeper and deeper, Julia leaned forward and joined his rhythm. Already, William sensed the closeness of what he wanted, the dizziness of the demand driving him wild with the need to get further inside of her. She was just out of reach. Passionately, he sat up to take her into his arms. Having seized her, he flipped them over, his weight now pinning her to the mattress. Her breath was stolen with a gasp, and he pounded into her with all of his might.

"William. Oh my God William, please…" the words swam around and around in the chasm of her head.

"Just a little more," he thought. "There! Right there!" the awareness drove him forward. With everything he had he ploughed fiercely into her. Her tearful voice surged into his ear, "William! Oh please, William," luring him over the threshold into ecstasy. A, deep, grumbling moan flooded out of him as every cell in his body was enveloped in heavenly, warm bliss. He pumped, long and deep, milking every drop out of the delicious feeling, only to be lusciously drained of every ounce of strength as Julia tilted her head back while her whole body snaked in waves beneath him and he heard her lustful epiphany, "Mmm," and it seared into his brain, as she rippled and clamped around him, sucking him in to her core.

Almost immediately, he felt her body begin to shake with sobs. She held on to him tightly, as if she would never ever let him go, as her breaths strained for air in between her sobs against his cheek. "Stay with me William," she begged into his ear.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered back to her tenderly. "You are the love of my life, Julia," he softly added, before he nudged his fingers into her curls to hold her head as he kissed away some tears.

Still crying and out of breath, she joked, "So, you call that a microburst, William … much more like a MACROburst, I'd say."

"Mm," she heard his lovely voice rumble over her ear, the sound seeping down into her, warming her heart, before he nipped and sucked on her neck.

"My God I love you," she added.

"And I you," he replied.

Her tears now subsided, Julia pushed against William's shoulder and he rolled over onto his back, bringing her along for the ride. She rested her head on his chest, basking in the joy of hearing his pounding heart recover its slower beat. His fingers caressed her hair, liberating her face of the locks, both of them enjoying the sensations as the tips of his fingers slid across her ear. Julia noted, "Perhaps having a dog will end up giving us more time for our amorous antics, hmm?"

"Mm, a pleasant surprise," he answered, as he brought his lips down to kiss her forehead.

The downstairs front door closed with a bang and the children's excited voices filled the air. Within seconds, the thunderous footsteps rapped on the staircase. With William's pajama bottoms already pulled back up, and knowing Julia was looking for her nightgown, William quickly exited the bed and lifted her nightgown off of the floor. For the briefest moment, he teased her, pulling it away from her reach as the beating of the children's footsteps grew louder. She sat back on her heels on the mattress and gave him a stern look, winning her prize, prompting him to hand over her gown. She had just pulled it down over her bare body when the first child, William Jr. rushed in.

"Dad," he reported excitedly, "Moose urinated and defecated – and we put the feces in the garbage pail. And Dad, he fetched a stick!" Julia reflected on the way their son spoke of such biological processes - "He is definitely the offspring of a doctor," she thought proudly.

"William Jr.!" Katie's voice hollered, "Come see. Moose is climbing up the stairs. He's so cute!"

Both Williams rushed to see; Julia jumped out of bed and hurried behind them. The gangly puppy would gingerly place one of his gigantic paws up on a step, and hold it there, trying to build-up his nerve to push forward and climb. He would then bobble up a few steps, legs splaying this way and that, before he would pause again and go through the process once more. Each attempt rendered more steps in each bound. Soon he had made it to the top and he proudly trotted right past everyone directly into the parents' bedroom and picked up one of William's shoes.

"Oh no you don't!" the Alpha male of the family declared. Giggles exploded throughout the room as the puppy trotted into a corner and plopped down happily to focus on chewing his treasure. Regaining his composure, William walked over to the little dog. He explained that what Moose was doing was completely normal behavior for a young pup, and yes, it was also really cute and funny, but, if they wanted a well-trained dog, it would need to be dealt with properly. "William Jr.," he commanded, "Hurry and get me one of Moose's toys."

William took a deep breath, working to center himself and remain calm. He felt his blood surge, however, as he noticed that the damage done to his shoe was already quite significant. He squatted down in front of the dog and addressed him by name, using a firm, comfortable, confident tone. Moose had stopped chewing on the shoe, and was looking at William as William spoke to him. Julia imagined that she could see the wheels in the puppy's head turning. Hearing William Jr. running up the stairs with the toy, William reached down and reclaimed the shoe. As soon as he did so, the puppy's eyes followed the shoe as he pulled it away. William called his name, demanding the puppy's attention, which he immediately received. He praised the dog, for giving him, rather than the shoe, his attention. Holding his hand out to receive the toy from William Jr., William quickly gave the puppy his toy as he explained that the dog will learn to play with HIS toys if we consistently replace the "wrong" toys with the right ones. William then rubbed and played with the young dog for a few moments before he stood up and frowned, as he observed his dilapidated shoe, eliciting abundant laughter.

He looked at Julia, who tried to curb her chuckles, and said, "Patience … remember?"

"Mm," he replied.

Claire-Marie arrived and happily accepted the puppy as one of her new charges, much to William and Julia's relief. As they sat at the table eating breakfast, William further educated the family in dog-training. "Do not – I mean it, Do not, feed Moose while you are sitting at the table. He will always eat after us. He needs to know his place," he taught. Moose repeatedly placed his paws on one person or another to get closer to the delicious smelling food. Each person had learned to calmly reach down and push the dog's front feet back down on the floor. They did a good job of ignoring him, and soon Moose went and lay down, accepting his fate.

Eloise called Chelsea over to her at the stove. Julia's mother's-ear listened in as Eloise nonchalantly asked Chelsea, "Darling, would you like some bacon with your eggs this morning?" The older woman's instincts were quite good, Julia thought. If she had asked this publicly, Chelsea would have been more inclined to say no in order to save face, to appear to be sticking to her principles, but, as it turned out, Chelsea had gotten over her reaction to seeing the deer being butchered. She told Eloise yes, she did want some bacon. Now Julia just hoped nobody teased Chelsea about her dietary reversal. Fortunately, accept for William, it seemed no one else even noticed.

"How is Berry Bear's arm?" Julia asked her youngest daughter.

Chelsea's legs kicked away, dangling off the chair as she answered, biting off a piece of bacon, "Good."

Katie asked if their Mommy thought his sling could come off now, and she offered to help her younger sister with the task, after her mother replied yes.

William cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention and said, "I am calling the contractor today. Hopefully he can start right away on building the fence for Moose's pen, and making the door in the laundry room so we can let him in and out. Should we order the lumber for the tree-house too?" The question incited cheers from the children. Julia made them promise that they would not try to carry Moose up into the tree, hopefully avoiding at least one possible tree-house disaster – she held her tongue, but she was worried for the children's safety.

As she and William headed for the door to go off to work, he on his bicycle while she would take a cab, he wrapped an arm around her and said, "Julia, having a tree-house to play in is like a dream come true for them, hmm? They will be alright…" He stopped her and queried her with his eyes. His higher comfort with risk-taking, particularly when it involved their children, was an issue they had struggled with as a couple since the day William Jr. was born. William was worried that the tree-house might become a problem between them.

Julia slid her arms up around his neck and replied, "I'm working on containing my fears about it. I agree that we should build it for them William. Actually, I think the tree-house is an absolutely wonderful idea, and I think our children have the very best Daddy in the whole wide world," she added, taking him in a kiss.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting them, causing them to break-off the kiss.

"Inspector," Julia called out as she opened the door. Seeing Inspector Brackenreid standing at the door reminded them that he and Margaret had moved in.

"I thought we might share a cab," he said, leaning over to see behind her as the children and, what was that – a puppy? – crowded up in the background.

William prompted his children to say good morning, which they did excitedly. "Where is Mrs. Brackenweed?" Chelsea asked, missing her.

The Inspector leaned down to better address the child and said, "She is using that amazing invention of your father's – the dishwashing cupboard I believe it is called, to clean up our apartment."

"Has she had a chance to use the laundry cupboard yet?" Julia asked. "She will love it!" she added. (Julia subconsciously placed her hand over her bag where she had stuffed the ripped-up blue dress and an old soft corset she intended to use to spice the dress up even more. She smiled to herself remembering when William had said, in response to her informing him she had washed the garments together, "It was the dress that caused the pajamas").

The Inspector stood back up and answered, "Not yet, but she has asked me to ask you, Murdoch, if you would make us these machines for our own house?"

"Glad to Inspector," William replied, pride swelling in his chest. "Now, we have to get going or we'll be late," William announced as he squatted down to give his children a hug good-bye. He instructed Claire-Marie to call him if she had any questions or problems with Moose and they headed off.

Once the door closed behind them, the two men couldn't help but shift gears mentally, thinking about the case. Julia was greatly interested too, as the Inspector answered William's question about the left-over weapons in Brogan's factory and the boat from Russia. He told them that when the constables had gotten there, the place was already cleaned out. He had notified the Navy, but had received no word of them capturing the Russian boat. It seemed they had gotten away.

They separated and William rode his bike to work, while the Inspector and Julia shared a cab. The Inspector seemed to be in a remarkably good mood. Julia even noticed he was humming. "You seem quite happy today, Inspector," she noted.

"That I am," he cheerily replied. "Margaret and I are very happy in the home you have been so generous with doctor," he explained. "It feels like we're on our honeymoon again," he thought, but kept to himself. He did, however, take the opportunity to thank Julia for sharing her home with them. He also confided in her his utter happiness at seeing how wonderfully she and his detective's life together had turned out. He acknowledged the great deal of struggle he knew she and Murdoch had been through, and seemed to agree with her that it all seemed worth it in the end. He reminded her that it was he who had walked her down the aisle, and it was him who had stopped them from running off before taking their vows. His authentic care for her, and for William, touched her.

Having arrived at work before William, Julia headed over to the morgue. She hoped being a little early this morning would allow time for her to at least start her alterations on the "spicy" dress. She had every intention of wearing it tonight. Having to flick the light switch on after she opened the door, she knew she had arrived before Miss James.

The Inspector was greeted at the door by Mr. Meyers, some of his newfound bliss dropping to the wayside with the sight of the man. Unavoidably, his eyes rolled up to the heavens as he tried to deal with the stress he believed had only just begun for the day. "Mr. Meyers … You're here early," he greeted.

"Yes Inspector," he replied, then taking a puff on his cigar. "I expected you to be with Murdoch. I heard you and your wife were to be guests at his house until your house is finished," he inquired.

Brackenreid frowned, not wanting to share personal information with the spy, and frustrated that the man consistently seemed to know things that he felt were really none of the man's business in the first place. He turned to walk to his office and answered, "Murdoch will be along shortly."

"Hmm," Meyers said, following along, "The man does like to ride his bike," irritating the Inspector even a bit more with his intrusive reasoning. It took all of Thomas Brackenreid's self-control not to go directly for a glass of scotch. Meyers wanted to know what the Inspector knew about the removal of the remaining weapons from Brogan's factory. Both men wanted to wait for Murdoch to arrive before they each divulged more to the other, thus they engaged in small talk which was mostly centered on the detective and his family.

When Murdoch arrived, George caught him before he went into the Inspector's office. "Sir, I believe I may have found something important. After we discovered that the weapons had been removed from Brogan's factory this weekend, and knowing Brogan had been killed, by your father I hear, sir, saving your life…" he paused, giving William a chance to nod. George continued, "Well sir, I wondered who might have been around to deal with the Russians – Mrs. McKinnon was recaptured and is currently incarcerated in the Kingston Penitentiary, and Brogan was dead. Even Mrs. Webster was incarcerated…"

"Good question George!" the detective declared, "So who was left to make the deal? You know, Harry said that Countess Fausta purchased his pigeon courier business – and she seemed to be working under someone else, a man. Do you think it might be the man who came with Brogan, but then escaped from our lake-house?"

"Possibly sir," George responded. He had more to say, but the detective kept his own thoughts flowing.

"Harry was sure he shot the man, and the other man had been pretty severely wounded… The one Brogan treated as his right-hand man … he called him by name … Sean! That was it! Brogan called him Sean," he remembered out loud.

George leaned back his face covered in a cat-ate-the-canary look. "Now that's very interesting. Very interesting indeed," George said as he lifted up the records of people coming into Canada from Ireland. These same records had been combed over earlier in the investigation as the constables had worked to try to identify Brogan, using only his first name – Connor, and that fact that he had an Irish accent, before Clegg had told them Connor's full name. "Once we knew Brogan's name, we didn't bother with these records anymore, but look here …" George said as he pointed at a name in the record book.

Murdoch leaned over and read aloud, "C. Brogan … Yes that was likely him George. So what?"

Sliding his finger down to rest under the name below C. Brogan's, George said, "Well, I think you might find the next name alphabetically listed, and signed under his, to be very interesting, sir."

Murdoch read the name and popped his head up to excitedly declare, "S. Brogan … Sean Brogan. They were probably brothers who came together from Ireland!"

"Exactly what I was thinking. And the fact that you heard Connor Brogan call his next in command "Sean" all but seals it!" George watched as the detective's mind raced; he knew the look by now.

Both men's eyes jolted to the Inspector's office as the Inspector opened the door and impatiently bellowed, "Murdoch! What are we waiting for?!"

The detective moved towards the office, saying to George as he did so, "George, take a look in the records of visitors to the women prisoners in the Don Jail … from when Dr. Ogden was there and before that too. I have a … "hunch" as you call it."

Over in the morgue, Julia had gone directly to the operating theatre and began her "operation" on the dress. She cut away much of the soft corset, hoping that the amount she kept of the garment would still work to enhance her cleavage. She sewed it into the dress. Then she ripped off the top four buttons and cut a ragged edge along the one side of the button holes, planning to reveal some of the cleavage she had just worked so hard to amplify. Before she had a chance to work on the length of the dress, Miss James opened the door, and Julia quickly packed the dress and tools into her bag. She gathered up the scraps and threw them out as she greeted Miss James.

A few minutes later, when Julia went to her desk, she discovered a stack of odds and ends that had been left there for her. There was a film – she thought it looked like the one detective Gulliver had procured of Gillies speaking to William when he had been caught in the trap and she was about to be hung. Under that, there was a file folder full of photographs – they were of herself and William, from the night she had returned after being abducted and trapped in the trunk, and then being arrested for having had an abortion, only to have to lie to be freed, and then having that horrible fight with William. But these photos were after that, later that night, when she had brought the sandwiches and worn William's favorite dress. They seemed to have been taken from outside of William's office, when the two of them had stood at the blackboard, and they drew the parallel lines together, and kissed. A creepy feeling, much like when she had found the photo of herself and William kissing, from when she had gone searching for Gillies, turned in her gut. And yet, unexpectedly, just as had happened then, she was still so enticed by the photos. She and William both looked so beautiful, so in love. Looking at them, she also felt such a strong warmth and love in her heart.

Then her eyes dropped down to the book that had been at the bottom of the pile. She lifted it into the air and read the name aloud, "Gulliver's Travels." Her mind twitched and jerked as it sprang in multiple directions; "The new detective's name is Gulliver," and, "Finding this book here, on this desk – it seems so familiar, like a memory," and, "Who could have taken these photos? Who was in the stationhouse that night?" but the clincher was, "Gulliver wanted to show me the film Gillies had made and showed to William while he was caught in the trap…It's Gulliver! - Why would he leave these things!?" Her head was spinning and there was an incessant buzzing in her ears. She recognized it as fear, and she worked to calm herself down. Yes, Gulliver had behaved inappropriately at first, but she had come to like the man. It seemed that William had too. "Was this some weird kind of obsessive love-gift?" she wondered. Somewhat stunned, she dropped down into her chair.

The Inspector informed Meyers that Brogan's warehouse had been completely cleared out – but, not surprisingly, Meyers already knew that. Murdoch explained that his father, Harry, had been approached by one of the women prisoners who had gotten away during Cecily McKinnon's attempted escape, and had purchased his pigeon courier business. She was Russian, and seemed to be working for a man … Murdoch suspected he might be Connor Brogan's brother, Sean Brogan. They had spoken, being overheard by Harry, of loading up a boat early Sunday morning.

Meyers laughed and put out his cigar, not seeming to notice the detective and the Inspector sharing a look of annoyance. "Nope Murdoch. I don't think you've got it right this time… The Russians didn't end up with the weapons – the Americans did."

"What?!" the Inspector demanded. "Clegg…You think Clegg did this?!" he questioned.

"I'm afraid so," Meyers replied calmly, and then nauseatingly lit up another cigar.

Murdoch insisted, "Alan Clegg is in the hospital with something like fourteen broken bones. He could barely tell us his own name, let alone organize the clandestine loading and hauling out of a shipload of illegal weapons."

"Wrong again, detective," Meyers gloated, "Clegg was in the hospital…" Both Detective Murdoch and Inspector Brackenreid stared at Meyers dumbfoundedly. He continued, "It seems that Mr. Clegg, along with his lovely spy, Miss Jane Wolfe, were checked out of the hospital by another American on Sunday afternoon, obviously a new player in the American spy game. They are long gone, I'm afraid."

Murdoch was suspicious. He argued, "Just because they left the hospital around the right time, doesn't mean they stole the weapons."

Meyers stuck his cigar in his mouth to free both of his hands and then reached into his vest pocket. He pulled out a ladies hat pin … the hat pin with the entangled naked lovers – Jane's hat pin that she had left in the hospital bathroom, the one that had been a gift from Clegg.

"Where did you find that?" the Inspector asked.

"On the dock at Brogan's factory. Clegg was there, probably Jane and whoever this American man was as well," Meyers said.

Murdoch wrinkled up his face, it did seem the evidence pointed to the Americans more so than the Russians. "Sir," he asked looking at the Inspector, "I don't suppose the Navy would have stopped and searched any American boats then?"

The Inspector shook his head, "No… We told them to look for Russian vessels."

Murdoch sighed, trying to control his disappointment. "Well then, if Countess Fausta and the man she worked for left for Russia Sunday morning, as my father overheard them planning, but didn't take the time to load up all those weapons, they would have been able to sail out significantly earlier than when we had notified the Navy," he reasoned, "And then the Americans could have sailed out with the weapons any time after we had notified the Navy – right under our noses." Murdoch thought to himself, "And the man with Fausta was probably not Sean Brogan then – because it turns out that there was no connection between Fausta and the illegal weapons."

Inspector Brackenreid wondered out loud, "Do you think Brogan was working with the Americans all along … And Sean Brogan was therefore working for them too?" Meyers said he doubted that Clegg could have faked his passionate concern over the loss of Jane, who it turned out had been taken at the hands of Connor Brogan, implying Clegg would have had to have known that it was Connor Brogan who had taken her if the two men were working together. Murdoch and the Inspector agreed.

Still sitting at her desk in the morgue, and just as Julia noticed a note sticking out of the "Gulliver's Travels" book, the phone rang. Half expecting it to be Detective Gulliver, she picked it up. It was her parole officer.

Inspector Brackenreid disappointingly said, "Well, I guess I had best call the Chief Inspector, and probably the Navy officials as well," and he picked up the receiver. That was the moment that Julia impatiently knocked on the Inspector's door. Meyers looked to the Inspector who was listening to the other end of his phone but still nodded, and then he let her in.

"Thank you," she acknowledged and then hurried over to William. She whispered to him, "I have to talk to you," and pulled him down to sit with her on the couch. It was obvious that Meyers was listening, and she decided to continue anyway. "My parole officer called. He saw the newspaper articles, about the thwarted escape and the balloon and everything. He said I broke the rules of my parole by leaving Toronto's city limits – and that there would be serious consequences ..."

William considered saying, "I told you so," but thought better of it.

She recognized his thought as it crossed his mind. "Don't gloat William," she warned, and then continued, "At first, I thought, "No more lake-house," but it's much worse than that William. He said they might put me back in jail for violating parole." William's head spun … It seemed she was fated to end up in jail…

Meyers' voice pulled him out of his panic, "Oh for Christmas sake, give me the parole officer's number," he demanded.

Julia jumped up hopefully. She pulled a piece of paper with the parole officer's name and number on it out of her purse and handed it to Meyers. "Oh Terrence, do you think you could help – again?"

Meyers put on his hat and tipped it to her and headed out to the bullpen to make the call, unable to use the phone in the Inspector's office as he was still talking with the Chief Inspector.

Julia returned to the couch and looked at William. He was upset – jaw locked and fists clenched. "Unbelievable," she thought before she gave him a look. "What?" she asked snidely in a whisper.

He lowered his chin and looked up at her somewhat reproachfully and said, also in a whisper, "You know what."

Julia huffed, displaying her exasperation with this issue. She sat next to him and quietly lectured, "William, you are just going to have to get used to it. Terrence and I are friends, and I am going to keep calling him Terrence."

Surprised at how much her statement made his blood boil, William felt his jaw clench even tighter.

Julia added, "And besides William, it is ridiculous for you to be jealous of him."

Being belittled was certainly not going to help, anger pumped through him in a rush. Whispering with a yelling tone, hands sharply striking at the air, he said, "Ridiculous! Ridiculous! Julia, the man has as much as admitted that he is in love with you!"

Air blasted out of her nostrils, and she felt her anger dissipate a bit with it, leaving room for compassion to bubble up and replace it in her awareness. She could see he was hurting, and she could feel how much she loved him. After a deep breath, she replied, her voice softer, "Listen to what you just said William, "He is in love with me."… He has also as much as admitted that he has had to accept his fate… That he will never have me because he knows that I am in love with you."

Somehow knowing the words should have reassured him, he was still not able to let go of the jealousy and the worry. He retorted, "Julia, I accepted my fate too – once you had married Darcy, and yet, you showed up in that beautiful red dress on New Year's Eve…"

Julia leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She gave him a firm stare – her mind was working on how to say this, how to finally put this matter to rest, and to hit the nail in the coffin – and hit it hard. She knew she would have to use the truth. "William," she started, leaning forward, increasing their intimacy, "I showed up in that red dress not because I just flipped my love from one man to another. It was always our fate to be together…" She took a deep breath, feeling the power of the bond between them, his eyes locked to hers. He was listening. He knew she was right. Then she acknowledged, "I came to you that night, not because I accepted my fate, but because Darcy had accepted his. He knew I would always, only, love you, not him, William. It hurt him terribly, and all of his pain is…was, my fault. But as far as jealousy, and accepting fate goes, you certainly should not be jealous, you have all of my love, and you will always have it."

He wanted to smile and feel the happiness that was inherent in what she was saying, but he felt so scolded that he couldn't quite pull it off. He was stuck between his joy and his shame.

Julia saw his struggle and rescued him, "Husband, will you at least admit that you were being ridiculous in being jealous?" she said while wrapping her arm in his and giving him a squeeze. He smiled and nodded. "Good," she said, trying to sound as much like him when he said it as possible. Her imitation got a chuckle from him.

He leaned closer to her and said, "Yes, it is." Wanting to kiss, they each resisted the urge, Julia primping her dress, and William checking his pocket watch.

As they waited, they noticed that the Inspector was now talking with a Navy official.

Soon after, Terrence Meyers returned and proudly informed them that Julia's parole violation problem was taken care of. Julia could go to the lake-house, or anywhere else she wanted. Both Murdoch's thanked him.

Julia reached over and took William's hand for a moment, prompting him to puff his chest out a bit. Keeping her giggle to herself she thought, "Men!"

Inspector Brackenreid hung up the phone and all eyes turned to look at him. He filled them in, "The Navy was able to trace records of ship logs. A boat did leave for Russia – it left port at about one o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday. There were two ships logged as heading for the USA. One left early Sunday morning. The other one – likely the one with Clegg and his crew, left port at ten PM Sunday evening."

His words caused both Murdoch and Meyers to grimace with pain. Meyers spoke before he puffed again on his cigar, "Darn! We could have had them."

Julia asked, "So Countess Fausta was not involved with the illegal weapons – she was not associated with Brogan? … Did she escape to Russia on the boat? And then it was Clegg and the Americans – they took Brogan's stash?"

Realizing that she had not been with them for their earlier discussion, they explained to her that they had strong evidence that Mr. Clegg and Jane Wolfe…

Surprising herself, Julia felt a tug of her least favorite emotion in the world – jealousy, at the mention of Jane Wolfe's name. Her mind played her imaginary version of William having an erotic dream with Jane, the very sexy Jane she had first seen in the photograph Mr. Clegg produced, rather than the battered woman they had found tied up to a dog house. It hurt when she wondered if he had needed to wash his pajamas after that dream – as he had had to do after his dream of her in the "spicy" blue dress. Her guilt chided her hypocrisy, "Now who is being ridiculous," she thought. Her thoughts had taken her attention, and she missed whatever was said next. She tried to cover, replying, now that everyone was staring at her, waiting for her response, "Oh, I see why you were so frustrated. Do you think we should notify the Prime Minister?"

William's mind replayed his thrill, just a few days ago, at finally being able to remember the man's name after having been whacked on the head. Julia had cared for him so much and in so many ways that day. He became conscious of it for a moment – their profound love for each other, before his attention shifted back to the conversation.

Meyers explained that he would be the one to undertake that unpleasant job; the Prime Minister was not going to be happy.

Then William remembered that Julia didn't know that Connor Brogan had a brother. He asked her if she remembered Brogan calling one of the men with him at the lake-house "Sean?" She did. He informed her that that man was Connor Brogan's brother – that they had come over from Ireland on the same boat a few years ago.

"William?" Julia asked, looking about the room at the other men as well, with her concern, "Does that mean that this Sean Brogan is still out there and may want to harm us – or Harry?! I mean your father killed his brother?!"

"Perhaps," William answered, wrinkling his face with an apologetic and doubting look. It was exhausting to consider the notion that they may still not be out of the woods yet.

The Inspector added, "We'll be looking for him. He may have been dealing with the Americans," he proposed.

"Possibly, but we doubt it," William responded.

"But wasn't Alan Clegg in the hospital?" Julia asked.

The three men looked at each other, puzzled by her question, for they had already told her about Clegg and Jane being checked out of the hospital by an American man; Meyers explained it again.

"Oh yes," she feigned remembering, "This was some of the evidence you spoke of earlier."

As William and Julia left the Inspector's office, George stopped the detective. He had the results of his search of the Don Jail visitor's logs. "I suspect that your "hunch" was correct sir," he hinted as he pointed at a name in the log. Back when they were first looking over these visitor names, all they had was that the man's first name was "Connor," and they were stuck because the guards at the prison allowed visitors to sign in with only a fist initial, and farther, the guards had not recorded which prisoner each person had visited. Now the Constabulary knew that they would have been visiting Cecily McKinnon, as she was running the illegal weapons business – and they knew the men's first names. Murdoch slapped the desk in the excitement of the discovery – both a "C. Brogan" and an "S. Brogan" had visited a woman in prison multiple times! The detective declared, "Cecily McKinnon is likely their sister! She's Irish. It would explain their motivation to go through with the attempted escape even after the damage we had done to Brogan's business, and his men… George, Get me McKinnon's file please."

An uneasy feeling swept through Julia's stomach, causing nausea and dizziness. Once they were in his office, Julia nearly whispered, "William, not only did your father kill Sean's brother, and you one of his men, but you and I may have put his sister back in jail after he had tried to free her. There is reason for him to hold a grudge… Do you think we are still in danger?" He saw panic seize her and she added, "The children?!"

"Julia," he said, his voice calm and confident, "He had a chance to avenge his brother when we were at the lake-house, but he chose to run. Harry thought he even shot him. Sean didn't seem to be insane, as I believe Connor likely was." William took a hold of his wife's shoulders and looked her sincerely in the eye and said, "This is not good news, but I don't think it is worthy of panic either."

"And what of Cecily McKinnon William? Does she seem the type to be obsessed with harming us in revenge? She went after the Inspector after all those years," Julia pushed.

William sighed. He had less faith in McKinnon's innocuousness. His eyes left Julia's wide, beautiful, blue ones to fall on the file George carried in his hand as he entered his office. The constable handed him the file and he opened it, quickly finding confirmation of his theory. "Mrs. McKinnon's full name is Cecily Brogan McKinnon," he said, softly closing the file. William strongly blew out some air through pursed lips in an effort to lower the tension he felt. "The Kingston Penitentiary is a much more secure and well-run prison. She will not be very likely to be able to regain the influence she had before. I'll talk with the Inspector and we can alert the Warden there. They will keep a strict eye on her, and her visitor's, and her correspondences. If Sean tries to contact her, he risks being caught," he reassured.

His reasoning seemed sound, and Julia felt a modicum of relief. She worked to quell her fear, "Yes," she answered him, "That makes sense." She gave her husband her best possible smile under the circumstances.

"I'll go speak with the Inspector," he said, guiding her to the door. He stopped at the threshold, wanting to kiss her, wanting to send her off feeling safe. From his desk, George noticed the tender gesture, as the detective slid his fingers into his wife's hair and softly held her head, then leaned close to her and whispered something in her ear. What he could not hear was William reminding Julia that they could handle what would come, reminding her of what they had come to know since back when James Gillies had tormented and threatened them; that together they were stronger than anyone. She headed back to the morgue as William knocked on the Inspector's door.

The news that the Brogan brothers were siblings of Cecily McKinnon's did not surprise either the Inspector or Mr. Meyers; in many ways it helped all the pieces fit together better. The Inspector got on the phone to the Warden at the Kingston Penitentiary – It would be essential to keep a watchful eye over Mrs. McKinnon.

Hearing the stationhouse door close behind her, with her mind rushing forward to her work in the morgue, Julia was reminded of the pile of strange items – likely from Detective Gulliver, back on her desk. She turned back.

Seeing William's black hair on the back of his head from his position sitting on the Inspector's couch, Julia determined that he was involved in conversation once again with Meyers and the Inspector. She decided to ask George first. "Constable," she said, drawing his attention, "Have you seen Detective Gulliver?"

Looking perplexed, he replied, "Come to think of it doctor, it is odd that he is not here yet." He looked to the three men in the Inspector's office through the windows. "Do you think I should tell them?" he asked her.

"You know George," she replied, "I think there is a bit more to it than that."

Before the doctor and Constable Crabtree knocked on his door, the Inspector informed Murdoch that the Chief Inspector – as well as the Prime Minister, Meyers had added, wanted to know if he thought he could remember any of the weapons plans he had seen. He added that his superiors were quite aware of his uncanny brain, and of his impeccable memory. They were hoping that Canada could benefit from having access to such plans.

Standing from the couch, the detective said, "You will be glad to hear that I can do even better than that. I have the plans," he declared. Just as he turned to leave and rush over to the back room in his office to get the hidden weapons plans, Julia and George knocked on the Inspector's door. William opened it and paused to hear what they had to say.

"Sirs," George started, "It seems that Detective Gulliver did not come to work today."

Julia looked at her husband, "Actually, there's more William," she said.

That was enough, however, for Murdoch's mind to bolt to the connection. "Oh no!" he said as he ran towards his office. Everyone followed and watched as the detective flung back the curtain to his back room and rummaged through one of the drawers in the cabinet. Looking defeated, Detective Murdoch lifted his head out of the drawer, "They're gone," he said. "It had to be Gulliver… He used the room to develop some pictures – finger prints and suspects and such. He was the only one who could have known they were here," he figured aloud to the group.

Julia's mind was racing. She couldn't decide whether to say something now about the things Gulliver had left for her, or wait until she had William alone later.

Meyers interjected, "Detective Gulliver … Of course – an American spy. Why didn't I see it? He was working for Clegg all along!"

Frustrated and betrayed, William gave the cabinet a punch. The action was out of character and took everyone aback, save Julia, who wasn't surprised, knowing that William had come to trust the young American. William's reaction swayed her decision, however, and she decided to tell him the rest when they were alone.

George piped in, "Oh that's awful. I had come to quite like the man."

"As had I," the detective added.

"Well me'old mucker," the Inspector said, "I guess we'll be relying on your keen memory after all."

"Yes sir," Murdoch replied sounding disappointed, "I'll get right to work on drawing up what I can remember of the plans... George, have a constable take a photograph of Gulliver over to York Hospital to confirm that he was the American who checked out Mr. Clegg and Miss. Wolfe." George hesitated, resulting in Murdoch developing an air of impatience, "What is it George?" he said, his frustration palpable.

"Well sir, I'm not sure we have a photograph of Detective Gulliver," George pointed out.

Vexed, Murdoch responded, "Of course not… That in and of itself makes it even more likely that he was a spy… Well, we can use a sketch then. Have one made up please."

"Right away sir," George answered.

Everyone else left the detective's office but Julia, who stayed back. "I'm sorry William," she tried to comfort him. "I had become fond of him as well," she explained.

He wrinkled up his face, admitting his hurt. He took a seat at his desk and rolled out some blank plan paper in front of him, deciding to handle his emotions by focusing on work. He would try to recreate the plans. Julia sighed and leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. She would wait a little longer to tell him the rest about Detective Gulliver. She didn't want to add to his burden right now.

Back in the morgue, Julia hurried to her desk. She had forgotten about seeing the note sticking out of the "Gulliver's Travels" book! Sitting in front of the book, she marveled at life's ironies. There were so many connections she could think of between this book and their lives. Gulliver was a ship surgeon – a doctor like herself. And, she remembered that it was this book William had read to their children while she and Terrence Meyers sailed, disguised as a married couple, to Russia to garner some critical information from an imprisoned woman who was really a Canadian spy. She marveled to herself as she was reminded that it was this very situation that first gave rise to William's jealousy of Meyers. Even the story the book told itself had an element of personal relevance, as before each of the four adventures Gulliver goes on in the book, there is always a storm – and the best description of her life with William was that it was filled with moments of wild storms and adventures in between moments of bliss – with the worst series of storms being the ones they had just been through. But there was something more – she just couldn't quite put her finger on it. Again she thought that it felt like a memory.

"When have I seen this book – on my desk like this?" she asked herself. Like waves that ebb and flow, she felt her memory approach, only to slide away as she tried to grab ahold of it. Releasing a sigh, she pressed on, figuring that it would come to her at some point after she stopped trying so hard. She pulled the envelope out of the book. It was addressed only to "Julia." She did not recognize the handwriting, but thought it likely they could match it to Gulliver's later. "What are the odds that the man would have the same name as the protagonist in this famous book?" she asked herself. "If he is a spy… maybe he would have given himself a made-up name, he could have chosen to be called Gulliver," her thoughts continued. Her fingers ripped at the seal and she slid the letter out of the envelope. It read:

Dearest Julia,

Know that you made a difference in a young boy's life, with your open and loving heart – by giving me your trust when no one else in the world had ever done so before. It is because of you that I became trustworthy. And also know, that now, you have made a difference in this same boy's life as a man. For now I have seen that it is that same beautiful heart of yours that has been blessed by the strength, and the power, and the warmth, of your love with your husband, with your soul-mate. You have shown me that such an amazing love is possible. I had never before thought so. And, although I doubt that I, myself, will ever find such a love, knowing it is possible has opened my heart as well. I will be watching for the one who is meant for me. I have hope. You showed me as a boy that I could be trusted, and now as a man, you have shown me that I could come to trust another. Perhaps I will not have to go through my life alone, as I had always assumed I would. I wanted to say, "Thank you."

Dory

She remembered now. Any sense of fear she had felt was gone, to be replaced by a sense of hope and awe. This man, known most recently to her as Detective Dorian Gulliver, was the young street boy from nearly two decades ago – the one who had killed another street boy – yes, he was the one who had murdered young "Pip." He had shown an interest in her book, the one that she had borrowed from the library – Gulliver's Travels. And she had given it to him to read, hoping to encourage his mind. William had warned her at the time that such a disreputable boy would steal it, but he had not done so. The boy had brought it back – he had left it on her desk. Now she remembered.

"These spies are such an odd lot," she thought, "All in all, they seem to be the least trustworthy people in the world – and yet they work solely for their loyalty to their country. Gulliver … Dory … did seem to turn out to be a good person in the end – but one who would put the needs of his country – now the USA, ahead of all others, even those needs he had for himself." Julia sighed, suffering with the contradictions she felt. He had betrayed William, and Canada, and still she believed he had made something good out of his life.

Julia imagined for a moment telling William about who Detective Gulliver really was. "That old case with Dory and Pip, it had involved robberies, and a woman –Miss Moffat," she remembered, "And it had turned out to be a very poignant case for William, in that it had signified something important for him about class. He had remembered me as saying about Pip, as I reported his postmortem, "The clothes don't match the boy." William had become intensely conscious of our class differences from that comment, as I had noticed a wealthy boy's clothes on a poor boy. He figured it was further proof that it was our class differences that had rendered my finding Darcy to be a better husband than he could be for me… On some level, I think William saw Dory as what he could have been if it hadn't been for the Jesuit Priests and a little luck. Come to think of it, I wager William would have made a pretty good spy – except for his empathic nature," she thought with a smile.

Her thoughts drifted to Countess Fausta. Like William and young Dory, she had held a similar suspicion about herself in relation to this woman rebel and radical who William had told her was really named Sally Smoot. Julia believed that if she had not been of privilege, she would probably have been like Sally Smoot – fighting in the trenches to help women. Awareness of a feeling of relief dawned on her as she realized that she had felt terribly guilty when she had come to believe she may have been the one who let the "the Countess" go free in the woods after the balloon crash, only for the woman to betray Canada and make illegal weapons deals with Russia. Thank goodness Fausta was innocent of such transgressions.

The morgue door slammed as Miss James returned from her lunch, pulling Julia out of her reflections. She informed Julia that the bodies of Connor Brogan and the other man, the one William had killed with the stone, had arrived while she was over at the stationhouse. Julia would need to call another coroner to deal with them, as she was much too involved in their deaths. The unknown man needed to be identified – however cause of death seemed quite obvious in both cases as those responsible for their deaths had admitted to them and there were multiple eye-witnesses. She only hoped there wouldn't be any further problems for William or his father, as the authorities from the county in which the men had died had already determined the actions of both William and Harry Murdoch to have been in self-defense. She made the call to the other coroner and then decided to go back over to the stationhouse to see how William was doing at remembering the weapons plans. "Perhaps he is hungry?" she thought.

Carrying the small box containing Detective Gulliver's – Dory's – items, Julia crossed the bullpen, only to hesitate in front of George's desk. Her husband had closed the door (a sign that he did not want to be disturbed) and was curled over one plan or another on his desk, his intense focus and concentration both obvious and impressive. He really was an amazing man; she had every confidence he would be able to recreate the plans.

With her presence, George's attention had also been drawn to the detective. "If there is anybody who could redraw those weapons plans from memory, doctor, it is your husband," he said.

Holding her eyes to the striking sight of William working, she replied, "Yes, yes. I believe you are probably right about that George. I was going to ask him about lunch…" She turned to look at the constable and thought out loud, "If I don't force him, he will go all day without eating, I'm sure," she explained. George nodded in agreement. Julia took a deep breath, she had made a decision. "George, I'm going to go get us some lunch. I'd love to treat you as well. Would you like a sandwich?" she asked. After taking his order, she left the box with Dory's things on his desk and went to buy the three of them lunch.

She returned and gave George his lunch. He informed her that the nurses and doctors confirmed that it was Detective Gulliver who had taken Mr. Clegg and Miss Wolfe out of York Hospital. They shared their disappointment in being betrayed and tricked by the man that they each had come to like. Julia took a deep breath and decided to take a chance at stirring the hornet's nest of her very-focused husband's office. She stacked their lunches on top of the box, and then struggled to knock on William's door. William looked up, and to her delight – and also her relief, he broke into a gorgeous smile. George jumped up to get the door for her.

"Thank you George," she said as she carried her load over to the worktable. Hearing the door close behind her, she unpacked and asked William, "How is it going with remembering and drawing up the plans?" She allowed herself the pleasure of soaking in the sight of him as she lifted her eyes to meet his, seeing him so excited, stirring inside of her both pride and lust, as he elaborated on what he had accomplished and what he still needed to do.

"I have done two of them," he started. "I'm almost finished with this one," he continued, looking down at the plans currently on his desk. "It is very interesting … it is a method for sterilizing water. Come see," he invited.

She went around to stand next to him as he explained how the ultraviolet light kills the bacteria and other organisms, but does not harm the water for human consumption. "Fascinating!" she declared. They both so enjoyed sharing science and discoveries with each other. It was one of the ways that their relationship thrived and stood-out as being so special, destined. William's eyes dropped down to the part of the plans he had been working on. He wanted to finish. She placed a hand on his shoulder and heard him respond to her touch by taking a deep breath. She stepped behind his chair and began to massage his shoulders, as expected, the muscles were quite tight.

"You are so lovely to me Julia," he said. Quietly for a few moments, he let her care for him. When her hands had tired, she suggested that they eat.

Accepting the fact that he would be able to finish later, he stood, and they headed to the worktable to eat, each sitting on a stool. Predictably, William's mind was still on his work. "I'm not sure we need the plans for the bomb that explodes when the button has been set and is then allowed to lift…we still have an actual bomb, the one that was sent in a package to the stationhouse for the Inspector…

Julia's mind replayed the image of William and Detective Gulliver staying behind, to disarm the package, after everyone else had been evacuated. The memory evoking a pang of fear in her.

William continued his itinerary, "And I don't see much point in making the plans for the anti-torpedo mechanism – the one that actually started this whole case, because Edgar Flate died testing it. It was clearly a bad design, but maybe somebody would be able to alter it…" Taking a bite of his sandwich, he turned to her and wrinkled his face into his, "I'm not quite sure," expression. She nodded and suggested he save it for last. Mentally, he ran through his thoughts and, brightened up, saying, "There is still one I need to make – for a bouncing mine..."

Julia found herself filled with love for this man, "This man who gets so excited about such things," she thought.

He explained, "I figure it is what Brogan used from the dirigible to blow up the Inspector's house … and to destroy the road in front of McKinnon's prison convoy the night they were being transported to Kingston." He took a sip of tea and went on, "And of course, your weapon of choice – the hand grenade." He smiled at her, remembering seeing her bravely hiding in Brogan's factory, signaling to him to ask how to use the grenade. She saved his life twice that day, he thought... Pulling his mind back to his list, he said, "I made the one for arming the dirigible with self-firing guns…"

Julia asked why that was necessary – "We still have the two racks of guns used in Isabel Webster's booby trap the she left in her attempt to kill the two of us, don't we?"

Pausing for a moment to swallow more of his lunch, William explained, "Yes, but there were some significant differences in the design, and significant points about installing them on the dirigible – like where to put them and how to allow the pilot to fire them... Oh, and I made the one that explained the battlefield light." He gave her a warm and proud look when he added, "There was some heroine or another who used the only two lights that we had to apprehend a deadly escaped prisoner, so we no longer had any samples." He followed his appreciation of her with a slight bow.

Stepping off of her stool, the magnetism between them increasing exponentially with her approach, she asked, "A heroine you say?"

Her closeness had momentarily dazed him, thus his mouth had frozen mid-bite. The difference in their heights, as he sat while she stood, lined her cleavage up with his eyes, and she noticed as she looked down at his eyes, that they were quite involved with studying her bosom. Her womb twitched as she imagined him touching her, putting his mouth on her. As she lifted her hands up to play with his tie, her upper arms pinched her breasts together and she heard him, ever so slightly, gasp. A familiar delicious feeling of dizziness began to spin in her head.

He pulled himself back, "We're in my office," he thought, and he began to chew once more and then swallow his food. When she began to speak, having regained some modicum of self-control, he lifted his eyes, finding hers, only to be drawn into their captivating blue depths.

"Was this heroine an expert balloonist by any chance? Lighting up the nighttime sky with her luminesence?" Julia asked, greatly enjoying the power she felt over him as he struggled to keep his hands to himself. Her fingers left his tie, gliding across his shirt, spreading out to explore the bulge of his pectoral muscles as they tucked under his vest. She would stop herself there, although it was she who now fought her urges, wanting so very much to seek-out his nipples and drive him completely over the edge of his tolerance.

"She's too close," he thought. William swallowed again as he prepared to speak, hoping to minimize the dryness in his throat that would betray his degree of desperation. "You're not eating your lunch, Julia," he said. His efforts at masking his state had failed, warming her heart beyond measure.

William's head nearly danced away into a swirling abyss as she stepped in even closer and whispered, somewhere above his ear, "I found something else to wet my appetite, husband."

He cleared his throat and replied, "The blinds are open, people will see - George is right at his desk."

"William," her voice commanded, "George has seen plenty – he has seen me wrapped in merely a sheet and red bow…" She stepped back ever so slightly and added, "Come to think of it, he has even seen me without the sheet or the bow, she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

William's thoughts and emotions battled inside of him – his own memories of seeing Julia naked for the first time, at the nudist camp, stealing his mind's eye, stirring an insatiable lust in him, seemed to only intensify his embarrassment, and then to bring about a rise in him for he felt a good dose of pride too, at knowing that George and the Inspector had seen her that same way, that they would know how truly devastatingly gorgeous she really is underneath her clothes, and they would know what a truly lucky man he was.

Julia stayed put and enjoyed watching the show, almost as if she could see what was happening inside of him. He was drawn back into the moment when she gave in to the urge to giggle.

"William! What is going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" she teased, for she already knew, and by the way he looked at her and blushed, he knew that she knew as well. "My God I love you William Murdoch… I truly do," she said and then took mercy on him and stepped back to sit on her stool once more.

Relief set in quickly, and the room seemed to slow. He took a deep breath. He worked to remember what they had been talking about. "Oh yes," he thought, "the re-making of the weapons plans." He felt it bubbling up in his gut – regret, maybe even guilt. "You know," he said, changing the subject, "None of this would have happened if I didn't hide the plans in the first place – if I didn't keep them from Meyers." Their eyes met and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth, letting her know he was sorry for it. Shame swept in and he had to look away. He said, "I feel like such a fool. How could I not see that Gulliver was an American spy?"

Julia ducked down in her seat, trying to get low enough to catch his line of sight now that he had dropped his chin. "William," her voice reassured, "Perhaps I need to remind you that everyone has both good and bad in them… everyone – you included, and Gulliver too." She decided it was time to tell him about Dory. "Remember the old case we worked on, back when I was still married to Darcy, involving two young street boys, and one of them got killed by the other – one was Pip…"

He lifted his head and turned to look at her. William's eyes grew big with discovery. He had figured out who Gulliver was with just that. He finished her thought, "And the other was Dory … Dorian Gulliver! Wasn't the book you lent him "Gulliver's Travels?"

Julia nodded. She had to remind herself what a good memory he had. "William, you are so quick!" she declared.

William jumped up and started for the door saying excitedly, "We will have his fingerprints! Dorian Calvert I believe was his name. We can compare them to those we took from Detective Gulliver."

Julia reached out and took his elbow, stopping him. "We don't need to confirm it William. I am certain that Detective Gulliver and young Dory are one in the same," she explained. Her eyes moved to the box on the other side of the worktable; his followed. He returned to his seat. His curiosity was piqued. He looked back at her. She had his attention. However, when Julia stood on the rungs of her stool, and leaned across the table to reach for the package, his body twitched with desire at the sight as she lay out before him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the change in him. She slowed her progress in retrieving the box, pausing to extend his pleasure. Her womb flipped over, the lovely lustful feelings being stirred once again. A smile grew on her face as she saw, again in her periphery, that he had leaned over to get a better view of her derriere as it dangled enticingly while she bent over the edge of the table.

In his mind's eye, William could see her, delectably naked, tucked under him, pressed down into their bathroom countertop, as he surged deeply into her with everything he had. So quickly his brain began to spiral and float with agonizing want. Then he flashed to remembering her aggressively pushing him back into the wall, and he heard her voice in his head insisting, "I absolutely love it when we make love like that."

Still bent over the edge of the table, delighted with her ability to tease him mercilessly, Julia said seductively, "William, I believe you need to exercise some of that phenomenal self-control you are so famous for."

Prompting him to remember how difficult it had been to pull back from nearly making love to her this morning when the children knocked at their door … and then the memory of the scrumptious microburst of lovemaking they had shared afterwards replayed in his brain, enveloping him a warm splash of pleasure as he re-lived the sensation of sliding inside of her as she "took a seat" on him, around him.

Julia lifted the box off of the table and brought it closer to them. Suspecting he was having a fantasy, she coyly asked him what he was thinking.

He cleared his throat, verifying her suspicions, and said, his voice huskier than normal, "Have a seat doctor," with his chocolate brown eyes twinkling as he said it, capturing her momentarily in his spell.

Sensing the tide had turned and that he now had bewitched her, she dropped her chin to look away, to slow the whirlpool of desire she was feeling. Quickly recovered, coquettishly she gave him a smile and replied, "Gladly detective," and ever so slowly, ever so provocatively, she lowered her buttocks down to the stool, enjoying watching him watch, knowing she was driving him wild with her flirtations.

Back in the Murdoch home, Eloise had finished cleaning the couple's bedroom and was gathering up the suits and dresses that needed to be sent out to be dry-cleaned. Fortunately, she made it a habit to check the pockets for items before she packed up the garments. Today she found two! In the detective's pants pocket of one of his suits she found a pocketknife. It was quite beautiful, although she thought it a bit feminine for her employer, with its opulent pearl handle. She placed it on his night-table, confident that he would find it later, and that once the door to their bedroom was closed, the children would not enter, and therefore they would be safe from any danger it posed.

She found herself terribly intrigued by the other item she had found, this one in a pocket of her mistress' dress. Remembering the beautiful flowers, arranged like a rainbow, that were currently displayed downstairs on the dining room table, she figured that this was the love-note that had likely accompanied the flowers. Written in the detective's hand and addressed to his wife, the envelope was unsealed. She could hardly remember a time in her life that she struggled so hard with her conscience not to snoop. At one point, she had even slid the note out of the envelope, only to regain control, and tuck it back in again before she had given in to the urge to read it. Deciding she had better hurry and do the right thing before she weakened once more, Eloise rushed over to the doctor's night-table and placed the tantalizing note there for her. She made sure to pull the door shut and then quickly carried the clothes downstairs, hoping she could forget about the detective's love-note.

Whenever William and Julia found themselves so enamored with each other that they rode the romantic waves of temptation right to the precipice before they pulled back, as they had been doing in his office over lunch, it was surprising that they ever finished a conversation that they had started. And yet, Julia knew there was almost as much thrill to be had by sharing with William what Dory had left for her as there was to be had by playing at seducing him. Before he took his last bite of lunch, and then would be driven to get back to his work, she opened the box she had placed before them.

On the top of the pile, there was the film. She knew her notions were right, about it being the film James Gilles had made, when she observed William's reaction to it. Clearly he would have stolen it back and hidden it away if he could have, and yet, the man's natural curiosity tugged at him. She could practically hear him thinking, "Why would Gulliver, or Dory for that matter, possibly want to give that film to Julia?" She sighed, figuring she was at a disadvantage for never having seen the film, but she reminded herself that it would make much more sense to him after he read the note Gulliver had written her. From what Gulliver had said about overhearing William's interrogation of Isabel Webster, the film likely provided strong proof of William's love and devotion to her.

She placed her hand over his, drawing his eyes from the film and taking them with hers. "Gulliver had found that in the evidence from the case against me – well, more accurately, he must have gone looking for it…" she started to explain.

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, making his puzzlement evident and asked, "Why?"

Knowing she wanted to have this part of the conversation, about this intriguing film, some other time, she said, "It will make more sense after you have read the note. It was in this book…" Julia pulled the book out of the box and handed it to William. She added, "Of course, you had already figured this part out."

With his eyes fixed on the book, William said, "It must have been very important to him – your lending him the book, to remember it all these years, and then to take the name Gulliver," he finished, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

"Yes. Yes, I think it did," she replied. She reached over and slid the note out of the book. "Read it William," she said.

As William read the words, thoughts and images flashed through his mind, and yet in the end he mostly just felt stunned. "Such a little action, a simple gesture that Julia had taken so long ago had had such a profound and lasting effect on this boy," he thought. A boy that William had come to believe was likely born bad. Of course, he had always left room in his judgement for the possibility that a hard life could have caused the disturbing ease with which Dory had murdered Pip. He had felt conflicted about it back then. He still felt conflicted about it now. There was no one in the world that could better help him figure this all out than Julia. She is so amazingly wise," he thought. He started down the path of trying to understand; he turned to her for help, "But Julia, I don't think he ended up being very trustworthy. Do you?" he asked.

"Well, I guess that depends on how you are related to him…" she said, noticing William's beautiful eyelashes as he blinked. He seemed to be hanging on her every word. "He clearly put his country – now the USA, above anything else. I guess as much as any spy could be trusted, he could be trusted," she continued thinking out loud.

William nodded, considering the only spies he really knew, Meyers and Clegg, and how little he trusted either of them. Of course, his feeling s about Meyers had been complicated by the spy's mission with Julia a few years ago, and the impending jealousy he had come to feel about the relationship that had developed between them as a result, but still, he had to admit, he had grown somewhat fond of the man. But he would not go so far as to say he trusted him. He definitely did not.

Julia added, "And if you consider that Dory became a spy, then I think he was more trustworthy to you than was necessary given the general situation. I mean, you were just a detective he was pretending to learn from… And in the end, I had the feeling that he honestly had come to respect you – and to care for you William," she concluded.

Her husband frowned, "As did I," he agreed. William's eyes fell back down to the note. When he lifted his chin back up to join his eyes to hers, there was a brightness, almost a hope that she saw there. The sparkle in his eye dissipated as his mouth wrinkled and he expressed his confusion, "And what do you make of the rest … He seemed quite taken with … us."

A smile grew on her face, "Yes, yes he was," she agreed. Thoughts flicked through her mind like a swarm of fireflies; finally she grabbed a hold of one of them and said, "I think he had spent most of his life thinking he loved me … It would explain his aggressive and seductive behavior when he first arrived, but then I think he saw how truly strong our love for each other was. Remember, William, he was around while we coped with so much – and we relied so heavily on each other through some enormous trials and tribulations, all under his observant eyes. If you think about it, he was around us when we worked together through our struggles much more so than anybody else was this past two weeks." She paused for a moment and then said, "You know, I think there are only a few people in the world who really see how special our love for each other is – and most of them have known us for a long time … and have seen us go through so much – like my marrying Darcy, and then being framed for his murder, and all the drama with James Gillies … And even Eva Pearce … And the capture of myself and the children by Leslie Garland, who set up that awful dilemma for you, forcing you to choose between saving me or our children. I still thank our lucky stars for Eva Moon … Now Constance Gardiner – she is a real heroine. But Gulliver, he saw what we have in only a week or two – but he saw it. I think it floored him … In a way, I think it seduced him and inspired him. He wanted to be like us … I think."

Their eyes danced together, staying connected while each took a deep breath and centered. Julia remembered the photographs. Reaching for the folder in the box she said, "William, I don't think he went out of his way to find the weapons plans you had hidden…" She handed him the folder and continued, "I think he snooped around, probably just out of habit, and came upon them when he developed these." She watched William's eyes as he caught sight of the photographs of the two of them, himself and her, talking so intimately, of them standing together as each one drew a line on the chalkboard that moved solely to stay parallel to the line of the other – while they kissed. She looked for signs that William felt intruded upon – as she had felt when first laying eyes on the photographs, before reading Gulliver's note. She wondered if he would react as she did, similarly to when first seeing the photos Leslie Garland had taken of them when trying to scare them into believing James Gillies was still a threat – She looked for his aversion. Gratefully, she didn't see it. Although there was a measure of confusion, what she mainly saw was that William, too, could see in these photographs the timeless and profound connection between himself and her. Gulliver had captured it. It was apparent. She saw William recognize the photographs as evidence of the magic of their love. She knew that he knew that the man who took these photos had seen it too.

"I don't know what to say," William finally uttered.

She leaned over from her stool and reached to place her fingers under his chin and draw his eyes to hers. She slid her thumb over his lips, tracing them tenderly. A warm smile graced her face before he leaned over to get closer to her and then she whispered, "Neither do I."

The Inspector hesitated outside the detective's door. "My God, it looks like they are going to kiss again," he thought. His mind flashed to making love this morning with Margaret, and a smile grew on his face. He sighed. He would have to interrupt them. It was the Prime Minister who was on his way here after all.

Their lips touched so lightly, moved across those of the other so deliberately and so slowly – relaxed, not holding their breath – like they had all of the time in the world. Each reveled in the feel and the smell and the taste and the sound of the other. Heads swam and twirled and floated and dropped. This was true love…

And yet, there were the inevitable interruptions, in this case a knock at the door. Neither was willing to flinch, to jerk away from the other. William moaned, complaining through the ending of the kiss. Once it was broken off, however, he remembered that they were in his place of work, and embarrassment set in. It was the Inspector, rather than George at the door, thus intensifying the surge of his blush. The Inspector opened the door and leaned in. "Sorry me old' mucker," he said, "But, the Prime Minister is on his way. I thought you might want to get as much of those plans done as possible," he explained.

William stepped off of his stool and gave a nod. "Yes. Thank you sir. I have gotten quite a lot done… I'm almost finished with the one on my desk, and I have already completed two others. I will try to finish the last one, for the bouncing mine before he gets here … I think it would be very beneficial," he elaborated.

Julia stood and quickly tucked the items back in the box and then cleaned up their lunch. "I'll head back to the morgue then, detective," she said. "Inspector," she acknowledged as she left.

Seeing the food reminded Thomas that Margaret had called … She hadn't called him in the middle of the day like that for no good reason for years. She was making his favorite – pot roast for dinner. A cocky smile slid onto his face as he thought he would stop and buy her flowers; he was quite sure she would … appreciate them. He almost missed the chance to respond to Julia's good-bye, hurrying to reply, "Doctor."

Alone with Murdoch, the Inspector stood up tall and proclaimed, "It seems the Prime Minister is pleased that we were able to salvage some of the clandestine information held by the Americans in this case…Thanks to your remarkable memory – and the fact that you had found the plans in the first place." The Inspector made a clicking sound with his tongue, adding to the snap and glee of his statement – further suggesting that they had pulled something off, which, of course they had, for Canada may have had even more information if William had given the plans to Meyer's in the first place. The Inspector continued on to make a point that William had not really considered, saying, "And Prime Minister Borden is quite excited about Canada's capture of the large boat and the dirigible, out on Lake Ontario as per your suggestion detective. I do believe in his eyes you are a hero again, and the Constabulary, particularly as represented by Stationhouse #4, has once again saved the day."

"Very good sir," Detective Murdoch responded. This was all good news, but he wanted to finish the plans. "Please close the door when you go. Would you sir?" he added as politely as possible, hoping his superior would get the point.

Inspector Brackenreid's eyes grew large, "Of course – Time is of the essence," he said and then quickly left, closing the door behind him.

Later that night, after the children had been tucked into bed, William took Moose for a walk and then went down into his workroom in the basement to lift some weights. Julia enjoyed a glass of wine and read in the parlor for a while. She decided to head upstairs, thinking she might turn in early. As soon as she entered the bedroom she spotted both items Eloise had placed on the night-tables, bringing a smile to her face. She was excited about the love-note from William, remembering she had put it in her pocket and had not ever gotten around to reading it. Making herself wait, she went, instead, over to pick up the pocketknife, admiring the fluttering of opulent colors, flashes of green and pink, on the handle as she flipped the knife from side to side, letting it catch the light. She knew William had bought this for her – to replace his previous gift, which had been left dulled by her efforts to free herself from the trunk. With more distance between herself and the traumatic event, she became poignantly aware of the significance and danger in the situation. She could have died, alone… Perhaps never to be found. Maybe William was like Prince Charming after all, having given his Cinderella the very tool she needed to survive – to save herself. "I wonder if I could have gotten out of the trunk without the knife?" she thought.

Then she heard it in her head, clearly a memory, but so fresh it almost seemed to be right there, William's voice, from nearly twenty years ago. He had stayed with her after Orville had tried to kill her, and she had stabbed and killed her assailant. William had spent the night on her couch. When she had awoken, having had a terrible nightmare, he had wrapped his nearly naked body in a sheet and rushed to her side. The sight of him dressed so… Julia now raising an eyebrow at her own thoughts as she recognized that much of William's enticing physique, with one of his shoulders and half of his muscular chest, had been exposed … however, the sight of him dressed so had prompted her to laugh and call him her, "Greek God."

He was truly beautiful, but what had really touched her that night was how he had cared for her, respected her, and empowered her. At one point she had dreamt that Orville was stalking her, each of them on opposite sides of the cabinet in the morgue, and she DID NOT FIND THE SCISSORS! She had no weapon. Her screams at the realization had pulled her out of the frightening dream. Terrorized, she had asked William, as she recognized how close to dying she had really come, "What if I had not left the scissors out, William?" Filled with certainty, he had taken her face in his hands, holding her eyes firmly to his gorgeous big brown ones, he had said, "You are very smart, determined, and strong Julia. You would not have given up; you would have thought of something. Perhaps you would have poured a chemical in his eyes, or turned out the lights, benefitting from your familiarity with the morgue. I know you would have found a way to survive." With his words, with his faith in her, he had galvanized and emboldened her self-confidence. It had served her well throughout the years.

Then she read the love-poem. It touched her deeply, and inspired her to go downstairs and find William and then love him with all of her might. Over on her vanity was her bag. Opening it, she took out the spicy, tattered blue dress. She replaced the blunted pocketknife with the new one. Then she directed her attention to the dress. Not having yet finished her alterations, she took out a pair of scissors and finished the job.

She removed all of her clothes and then slid her bare body into the skimpy dress. After tilting forward to let gravity help her breasts fill the low-cut front, she stood up and looked at her image in the mirror. Oh, it was magnificent – wild and sexy. The ripped away buttons in the front revealed exquisite cleavage, and, "Oh my," the jagged, dangerously short skirt sprang outward from the arch in her back, allowing the hem to hang ever so enticingly over the edge of her buttocks, the blue ragged fabric floating barely an inch or two above the highest part of the back of her thigh. "Oh, William is in so much trouble," she thought.

Stopping off in the dining room to take a red rose from the rainbow bouquet – it had to be a red one according to William's poem –she was pleased to note that they still looked fresh – opened wide and delightfully supple, at their ultimate prime.

As her bare feet stepped on the stairs to the basement, a memory flashed through her mind, giving rise to smile and an extra jolt to her womb. Almost a decade ago, she had hidden away in the secret passageway in the same room she was headed for now, waiting to surprise William. "Was it his birthday?" she strained to remember. He had read to her from his journal about a dream he had had in which she treated him roughly, during an interrogation … "Oh yes, about the nature of his relationship with Mrs. Jones," she thought. At the time, their house was still under construction; they were living in the hotel, but she had dressed in quite a sexy red outfit, with a bowler hat, and hidden, lying in wait, in the partially constructed home, listening for the sound of his footsteps on these very stairs. Oh, and the lovemaking had been very intense; she remembered she had almost pushed him a little too far – she had restrained him in his desk chair and very much had her way with him. "Hmm," she thought.

Down at the bottom of the stairs, she looked across the children's playroom to see that William's workroom door was open, the light from his more private room spilling out through the vast space of the large, slightly toy-cluttered, room. Expecting him to be working out, she was surprised to find that he was seated at his desk, his attention honed in on some paper he was intensely writing on – "Perhaps he's finishing up one last set of weapons plans," she thought. It occurred to her that she might startle him; he clearly didn't know she was there. His desk was in the same place it had been all those years ago, back in the corner opposite the door she was now standing in, hence she believed that if she moved, he would catch sight of her. Of course, back then the desk had had a red bow on it – appearing to be his intended gift, only for her to surprise him, wearing her revealing outfit and parading before him making known her true plans. "But how to best drive him wild with desire now?" she pondered, as she watched, enjoying the sight of him cerebrally working, his bare chest and muscular arms cooling in the air after his work out. She remembered laying out over his worktable in his office earlier in the day, to reach for the box. "Perhaps his worktable here would invoke a similar response from him," she considered.

Julia's best effort at calling his name coyly, "William?" drew a minimal amount of her husband's attention. "Well, at least I didn't startle him," she thought.

Frustratingly, he kept his eyes down on his paper, and even more irritatingly, his pencil persisted in moving as he continued making his computations when he replied, "Mm."

Julia ducked her chin down and glared up through her eyelashes at him to no avail. She sighed and decided it might be to her advantage that he had not yet seen her – he would be more disarmed. She started her strut towards him, pausing to place the red rose at the far edge of his worktable, noticing that the workspace was completely clear of anything else. She could tell he saw her approaching out of the periphery of his sight. She halted opposite from him on the other side of his desk. "You seemed to be taking so long for your workout…" she said, making every effort to keep the smile from growing on her face.

His eyes still down, but at least the pencil had hesitated, he replied, "Yes. I wanted to jot down what I remembered of the grenades."

"Oh," she responded, and then bent forward over his desk top, feeling the sensation of the weight of her breasts being cupped and confined within the revealing dress resulting in their bulging upwards to fill up the empty space above their containment. She praised herself for thinking to sew the soft corset into the garment. A quick memory flashed through her mind, of a dream William had described to her from before they had started courting. In his dream they were at a crime scene and he had been distracted by the view of her breasts as she leaned over a body. He had apologized upon seeing that she had caught him looking down her dress, but then, dream-Julia had taken him into a back room and had her way with him – much as she intended to do right now. Holding her position, with a hand on either side of his "work," her breathy voice said, "I figured, detective, that, if you had been working out for such a long time, you would be rock hard by now. I came to see if my hypothesis was right."

Finally, he lifted his chin, likely starting out with the intention to meet her eyes, but having his eyes hijacked by her bosom, irresistibly packaged and evocatively exhibited before him. Oh my, how well Julia's plan worked. He truly was in trouble. His breath caught, his heart skipped, his mind spun into mush and his groin ignited. Being a bright man, somewhere in his swirling awareness, the detective had quickly determined what he was in for, but he was unprepared, and thus he was struggling to pull back from her lustful charms. Feeling choked, he cleared his dry throat. All of his efforts seemed to be failing, the speed of the fall hypnotizing him with its terrifying pleasure. His first attempt to speak faltered, the sounds more like squeaks and grunts than words. After swallowing, he tried again, "I see your dress survived the laundry cupboard quite well, doctor," he managed to get out, his voice growing huskier with each word. He was gaining control, and yet, his eyes were still stuck.

"Some of the buttons seem to have been lost," she said as she rose to stand, enjoying the magnetic pull she had on him, noticing his eyes rise and maintain their alignment with her breasts as she did so. She reached up with her fingers and pinched at the empty buttonholes, intentionally letting the ends of her fingers slip across the marshmallowy flesh to disappear in the depths of her cleavage. Dangling, unruly curls framed her face as she tilted her head, luring him with her bare neck, her most vulnerable aspect. Julia walked around to his side of the desk. Her womb twisting excrutiatingly tightly, for his eyes were now exploring the boundary between the tattered hem of her dress and her thighs. "Do you like it detective?" she asked, stopping within reach.

He would not respond right away. Rotating in his chair, only able to hear his own words in his head, "All that she has on is the dress. She is right there, completely unguarded, available, helpless." He called upon all of his strength to gain the upper hand. "Young lady, I believe you should be arrested for indecent exposure. Are you wearing any undergarments under that dress?" he interrogated, his eyes still entranced by the triangle made by her thighs and the blue hem.

"Why detective," she teased, adding to his fire by wiggling her hips, "If I answer that I might incriminate myself."

William stood, becoming more imposing. He stepped close to her, and for both of them, the room began to spin. The air suddenly smelled of ozone – a lightning strike was imminent. As his hands gripped her waist firmly and he pulled her close, her gasp surged out into the room, and he tilted his head and found her ear. He said, "I have a hypothesis of my own to test then, and I have ways of making you talk. When I am through, you will give me what I want."

The tide had turned and now it was Julia who teetered on the edge of self-control. The smell of him dug deep down into her, searching for her soul. It took everything she had to keep the chant inside her head, not to let her cries slide out of her throat "William…Oh please William. Don't … Please don't …"

But he did, he took her in a demanding, hearty kiss. And his hands, they ventured around to the arch in her back, and then moved down. She felt it, the air blasting out of his nostrils as he became dangerously aroused by the feel of riding over the curves of her, and the tips of his fingers reached the fabric at the bottom of her dress as it danced and fluttered barely a finger's width from her skin. Her knees weakened and having to choose to fall or hold on, she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. The lifting of her arms had raised the hem of her dress. The detective was only millimeters away from confirmation of his theory. He broke off the kiss and said, "Shall I examine the evidence?"

Oh, how close she was to abandoning all hope, but the words swam forward and slipped out of her mouth, delaying his certain discovery, "Do you have a warrant, detective?" she asked.

His voice grumbly with desire he answered, "I didn't think I'd need one," and then flung her back out into the cyclone as his lips, his tongue, his teeth, took her neck. He felt it; she dropped, nearly floored by her want for him.

Only a half an inch lower, but now she felt his need for her, pressing hard against her tender mound. Breath cascaded out of her. She weakened, releasing a deep moan. She fought against the force that had gripped her, the struggle bringing tears to her eyes. "Don't you dare," she thought, unsure if her mind wanted to threaten him or herself – it was too soon. Their tortuous love required being pushing beyond their limits. It came out as a raspy whisper, when she set the rules; he would need a warrant, "Oh, but you do William. You really, really do," she declared.

With that, he pulled back, giving control over to her. She stepped out of his arms, and he became mesmerized by the sight of her, her bosom heaving, desperately out of breath, so flush, so creamy pink. She was absolutely beautiful. She reached up to place her hands against her now ruffled hair and said, "My hair must look a mess." Their eyes met, and like magnets when aligned, the force surged, pulling the one to the other. They both leaned back against the pull, the centripetal force becoming magnified as they did so. Julia stepped back another step, temporarily dampening the power, and continued the game. "There is another piece of evidence you might want to consider, detective. There was a poem … and there is a rose." Her eyes moved to the rose on the distant edge of the worktable, prompting his eyes to follow. "Shall I get it for you?" she asked.

His head spun as he pictured it – her walking away from him. Her perfect bottom, wiggling and sucking him in as she walked, and the blue dress brushing ever so closely to what he so wanted to touch, to taste, to rupture. He watched as she turned and stirred the waves in the air between them, stealing his breath and pulling the rug out from under him in her wake. He placed a hand down on the desk to steady himself. Standing at the table, she arched her back and bent forward to lie over the table, reaching all of the way across it to touch the rose. As she did so he saw it – the proof of her vulnerability, her defenselessness, for the blue fabric rode up, uncovering the lowest edge of her round, creamy buttocks.

"Freeze!" he ordered. "You are under arrest. Don't move. I have my proof," he added. William hurried to stand behind her.

"What is it detective?" Julia coyly asked. He lifted the bottom of the dress up and nearly lost his mind at the sight of her. He wanted to be inside of her… deep, deep inside of her – now. Unable to resist the temptation, he put his hands on her, starting at the outer edges of her hips and gliding down over the supple cheeks to dip along the curves and slide down the backs of her thighs. Betraying his excitement, a moan escaped as he exhaled some of his exhilaration, instantly causing Julia's body to react and surge into an arch. His manly, rough, hands then reversed and traveled upwards along her thighs. He felt his knees buckle as his hands rose up over the bulging round flesh, while his thumbs dipped into her crevice, glancing along her wiry hair and the warm, pink, wet folds in between the two plump orbs.

A thunderous desperate moan gushed out of Julia.

"Shh," he said as he undid his pants and let them drop down to the floor. "There will be no resisting arrest, young lady," he warned. "Slow down William," his own voice coached inside of his head. Forcing himself to find restraint, William knelt down behind her as he whispered, "I believe this matter warrants further investigation," He leaned in closer to her and a moan escaped his throat as he breathed in the luscious, forbidden smell of her. His hands gripped her hips and he buried his face inside of her humid, musky scent.

Julia grabbed the edge of the worktable as her womb twisted in agony, for his tongue lapped and sucked and destroyed her. She could withstand it no more. "Please William … Oh my God William," she cried out. Pulling away, and then giving in to his urge to bite her, he took a resolute hold of her round, pliable cheek with his teeth and the he softly twisted her flesh back and forth. She moaned loud and strong. He would take her now. William stood.

Anguishing with need, she provoked him, sounding out of breath and raspy, "Detective, you have a reputation for completing thorough and in depth investigations... I'm a little disappointed."

"Disappointed?! Disappointed!? Now we can't have that," he gave, lining himself up with her, driven wildly forward as his skin breached her wet perfection. He bent over her as he pushed in, squeezing into her tight, warm, delicious fruit. Julia gripped the table with all her might to cope with his invasion and her helpless capture as his hands slid under her to take her breasts, which bulged out of her skimpy dress, molding the squashy, malleable flesh, and then continuing on under her chest to reach up and grab hold of her shoulders. His biceps bulged against her ribs as he pinned her down aggressively into the table while his hot breath rattled over her ear.

The shear animalistic power of him rendered her utterly defenseless. She gasped, feeling him pull back. Anticipation tortured her. Then it came, his monstrous first thrust, timed with his pull against her shoulders, surging him deeply into her. And then again, and then again. "Oh my God, he feels so good!" she thought. "Deeper William," she begged.

"Oh I'll give you deeper," he thought. His mind couldn't swirl faster. William pumped into her with all he could. He had to surge further. He had to get deeper into this delicious, delicious woman. "Oh yes," the words in his head urged him on. His breath caught as he felt it begin, the flood of ecstasy was only moments away.

William's moan wrecked her completely. Tears filled her eyes and she paused, feeling the world grow silent and tilt as the feather of a wind blew her over the edge. From her center it burst outward, hot and ecstatic to roar through every inch of her.

"Mmm," her voice melted into his ear. The delectable feeling lasted so long and William reached for more, moan after moan, delighting in finding what he stretched for. He felt her twitch under him once … and then twice more, before they both lie still and weak, bent over the table, while the whirlpool around them slowed.

Love expanded and burned in his heart; he loved this woman so. Still inside of her, he smothered her in kisses, tasting her tears. "I love you Julia. I love you so much," he said, only to kiss her some more. She wanted to be in his arms, for him to comfort her and hold her as she cried on his shoulder. She moved out from under him and they stood together, Julia wrapped in William's arms with him rocking her ever so tenderly while she cried and they recovered. After a time he told her, his voice low and intimate in her ear, "That was magnificent … You are magnificent …" then he added with an embarrassed chuckle, "That dress is magnificent." He felt the smile grow on her face against his neck right before she joined him with a giggle. He couldn't believe his heart could swell anymore, and yet, it did. Quiet settled in again before a playful smile took his face and he asked, "Doctor, do you think it is safe to seduce a man my age with such a dress? My heart raced so."

"Perhaps it is worth the risk?" she teased. Then she added, "But, as a doctor, I would recommend keeping up with the cycling," giggling some more as she squeezed him tight.

Later, as they slept, Julia stirred, reacting to her bad dream.

Watching from her tree, she witnessed the showdown at the lake-house replay, William flinging his stone and Connor Brogan firing his rifle. William was shot – his lifeless body tumbling down through the branches, with the cracking twigs and splashing leaves the only sounds she could hear in the dulled silence. Just before he hit the ground, thunderous lightning struck, the deafening blast, the intense flash, blowing her backwards out of her tree. The next thing she knew, she was standing on the ground. In the distance, she saw a pier. She knew to run to it. As she got closer, she saw their three children near the end. They were sobbing. "Daddy tried to save Berry Bear," Katie cried as she saw her mother running to them. She pointed over the side of the pier. Down below, floating on the water, was William's homburg, the two bullet holes rendering it less buoyant; she watched as it sank. Frantically she scanned the water for him. Pleading of her children, she screamed, "Where did he go into the water?" William Jr. answered, "Right where his hat was …" She flung off her shoes (the same ones she was wearing when she had been abducted), one of them falling over the side, and she prepared to dive in… William Jr. continued, "But Mom, it was yesterday." ! ): ): ): Her world crumbled, gravity collapsed her, and she fell to her knees, trying with all her might to suck in some air from the vacuum that was left without him. Unable to sob without air to breathe, she felt the pull – the pull to the water below. "Don't leave us Mommy!" Katie begged. Tears filled her eyes. Her children ran into her arms. Oh, how that first breath hurt – and behind it was the moan, the bellow of pain as she started to sob. Holding her children tight, she looked down to the water below, watching as her shoe bobbed on the waves once or twice before it dropped out of sight to go join his hat in the abyss.

She heard her own stressful breathing – it awakened her. With her next, deeper, breath she felt the ache of the memory of the dream. Relief flowed through her when she realized William slept right next to her. She would go downstairs; have a whiskey.

Downstairs, remaining in the dark, for it fit her mood, she checked on Moose. The puppy slept peacefully. She poured the drink and sat at the dining-room table. Grateful for the warm flow she felt as the whiskey slid down her throat and over her heart, she noticed that it was very dark. It seemed a storm was brewing, the gusty wind randomly battering the glass doors to the patio. Taking a deep breath, she noticed the pleasant scent of the roses. "All the colors," she thought, and she smiled with the memory of her husband turning her around to see the rainbow, the rainbow that he had said reminded him somehow of their love. She remembered reaching across the worktable for the red one, amazed at her body's reaction as she felt her womb tighten, accompanied by that lovely floaty feeling she gets in her head when they are close, and soaring in their love.

"He used blue salvias for the blue," she thought. Then, as clear as day, she remembered standing with him in his office, the first time she'd lost him, when he was courting Mrs. Jones, nearly two decades ago. She had said it aloud, the meaning of the flower, "I think of you." William had thought she was saying it about him. She knew, now, that the look he gave her was hope, but at the time she had read it as concern – concern that she was not yet over him. So many miscommunications, so much struggle, some of it avoidable if they could only learn to move out of their heads. Reflecting on the words, "I think of you," she realized that not a day had gone by that she did not think of William since the day she had met him. It was truly powerful, their love.

The purple roses took center stage in her mind. In William's poem, they connected to the strength of her courage, the strength of her love for him, and the miracle of the force of their love. Her mind's eye saw the sight of William, down in water, floating face down, and the feeling of the gravity shift as she stepped up on the railing and dove over the side of the pier. So many times she has almost lost him…

"It was a single yellow rose," she remembered, a single yellow rose he had left with the note. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only a few years. He had been abducted, taken to a far-off desert isle to be Eva Pearce's lover. He was missing for over a month. If not for the children, she was certain she would not have survived the pain of having lost him. Julia sighed remembering the dramatic scenes – first, of her falling completely apart when she learned that Eloise had washed William's pajamas, and she would no longer have them to surround her and comfort her with her sweet memories stimulated by his scent, and then later, of their heart-wrenching fight as William struggled against his inability to accept her distancing from him after his return. Pushed to explain, she had told him she regretted letting herself fall so in love with him, for now she knew she could not survive the loss of him. She told him about the agony she had felt when his pajamas had been washed, and she lost what seemed like her only way to still be with him. Frustration had driven him to yell at her as he ripped off his pajamas and threw them at her. She was surprised of the intensity of the ache she still felt with the memory, the agonizing feeling causing her mind to slip back to the dream she had just had.

Trying to move past the pain, she stood and found a yellow rose in the bouquet. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and yet the flower had lost much of its allure without the luminous yellow glow. "I was, 'seeing only the impermanence of the rose,' he had written," she reminded herself of the time, of the note, he had written, the note that had drawn her out of her trance – freed her of her dysfunctional coping, seeing only his impending death, while blocking out the astounding beauty of his being alive and passionately in love with her.

Julia walked to the glass doors and, holding the yellow rose, looked out on their patio. In her mind's eye she re-played the memory of when they made love there just a couple of nights ago. Far off, there was a rumble of thunder … She had not seen the flash of light. She sensed it, the charge in the air. She would go wake him – they would make love.

He had been behind her for a few moments, enjoying the perspective, the distance, feeling his love for her blossom, his desire for her build, and the tension between them amplify as he resisted that awesome pull to her.

This time the distant light flickered, stimulating their eyes … They each waited, holding their breath so as not to miss it, for the thunder that would come. It was louder; the storm was coming closer. Perhaps she saw his reflection, even in this darkness, in the glass, or maybe he took a deep breath before he spoke, but somehow, she felt him there.

"It seems we will have to ride out another storm together," his voice suggested from behind her.

She dropped her chin, her head had already started to spin, her womb warmed, and she listened, overjoyed for he was coming closer. Soon, she would hear his breath, feel his touch, breath in his scent … soon.

He came to stand next to her, sharing her view. Having noticed the glass of whiskey, he asked, "Bad dream?"

Julia took a deep breath and replied, "I was struggling with your impermanence again."

A mischievous grin curved on his lips and he said jokingly, as he started to unbutton his pajama top, "So you will be needing these then … I've only been wearing them for a short time, so they may not quite have the scent you need to … um, mourn me."

She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder with the rose. The warmth of his laugh soared her spirit, and then he took her in his arms and planted a kiss on her lips. Oh, he tasted so good, and she so loved the feeling of his breath sliding over her face, and oh, how her insides twisted and flamed with desire for him. She broke off the kiss and told him that she had finally read his love-poem, about the rainbow and their love.

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"Yes, it was truly lovely, William," she answered, getting a little stuck in his eyes as the far-off lightning quivered the room. "The yellow one," she said, looking down at the rose in her hand, "was about one losing hope and the other restoring it, hmm? The color we used for our wedding too... Do you think it is the strongest aspect of our love – giving each other hope?"

William answered, "No, I think each aspect is equally strong," but then he found her ear and whispered, "Although the red one seems to be particularly strong right now, with you looking so beautiful every time that lightning shimmers." She slid her arms around his neck and said, "Actually William, I believe I do want those pajamas…" And she kissed his neck and then nibbled his earlobe. So very close to his ear she said, "But not because I want the pajamas. No, no, it is the man inside of them that I want." Their kiss was deep, strong and wild.

They made love on the dining room table – the same one on which William Jr. had been born eight years ago. William's amazing self-control, his abilities to make observations and use them to see what is happening, predict what could happen, and, not just knowing Julia as well as he did, but also knowing the physical world as well, he timed it all perfectly, so that just as the lightning flash shared its space with the thunder, he and his wife fell over the edge of elation together. Then, as William and Julia lie together, their hearts and breathing slowing, gradually returning to normal, the storm moved on, the flashes dimming, the thunder muffling, the rain calming off into a drizzle. Julia asked, softly into the dark night, "William, where were we in your dream, when we made love while I had on the spicy, tattered dress?"

William reluctantly decided it was safe to tell her. After all, they would never be able to actually make love in the coatroom at the Club as they had had their membership revoked, and they were not sufficiently familiar with any other location to ever easily find themselves alone in their coatroom. He pushed himself to be brave and replied, "Um, we were in the coatroom – at the Club."

William's pupils grew large with worry as he watched a devilish grin sprout on his wife's face. "Oh William!" she declared, "That's wonderful… I forgot to tell you. Mr. Chamberlin called. The Club Committee decided to reinstate our membership – free of charge for the rest of the year. It seems they were impressed with all the newspaper stories of our heroic efforts in re-capturing so many dangerous prisoners. " She gave him a big, excited squeeze and whispered, completely aware of the uneasiness it would evoke in him, "That is surely a dream we will have to make come true."

William swallowed and made an effort to accept his fate. "What had she called it so many years ago, as she flung arrows across a field and suggested they reside together unwed? – reveling in the outrageousness?!" he thought. Surely this woman would be the death of him, but there was one thing for sure, he would die a happy man.

William's love-poem had been left unguarded, open for all the world – well at least Eloise, to see. It rested, temptingly available, on Julia's nightstand. Later that afternoon Eloise did not resist the temptation to read it. She walked away with a smile. I hope you will too:

Sometimes, when the density of our lives thickens with the stresses of the world around us and building pressures coming from both below and above, we can see it as it bends through the prism of our coping – the various aspects of our love.

Like the parallel colors of a rainbow curved from the Sun's rays only visible in the clearing of a storm's wind and its clouds and its rain, we know that this love shared between us must coexist with life's suffering – we must love in the presence of pain.

Merely a mystery of perception, for it is always there – our love, like the Sun's light, but only when moved through a prism, does each distinct aspect, each unique color, become crystal clear, and ignite. Stretched to their limits, the pieces divide and our love's components are seen, our love's soul lucidly appears, no longer hidden, but now, out in plain sight:

The power of violet, and in order to save me – you find your courage, you dive off a pier;

The loyalty of blue, and I break the rules – your freedom from incarceration I commandeer;

The growth of green, we turn to our family – trust another saving our children we hold so dear;

The sunniness of yellow, we build-up our hope – when one of us is down the other will cheer;

The aspiration of orange, we think of solutions – jointly willing destiny's path to veer;

The passion of red, its heat, its need, pulls us – you and I, romantically near.

Without thunderstorms there can be no rainbow. So let's stop and smell the roses, my love, and indulge in the chocolates too. We've weathered the storms and the mayhem, and all it really cost us was a beloved hat – and Cinderella's shoe.