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By Root 478 0

sadness as he watched the modern skyscrapers flash by the darkened window. Sadness for himself and for Ann. The young divorcee barely concealed her affection for Paul, and when they worked alone together he felt dangerously close. There was something there, an intoxicating, seductive pull to which it would have been easy to succumb. But to what end? He was married, with two young children, and he wasn't going to leave them. True, he didn't love making love to his wife any more. Sometimes, he hated to admit to himself, he'd just as soon skip it altogether. She wasn't the adoring, attentive, energetic Sharon Kent he had married. She was a mommy. She was a cable TV personality who had a life apart from the family and co-workers he knew only from Christmas parties. And she was older and more tired and not as hungry for him as she'd been.

While you, at least in your heart, he thought, are still El Cid with his lance unsplintered and his stallion full of gallop.

Of course, that was in his heart. He had to admit that in the flesh he wasn't the knight he'd once been either-- except in Ann's eyes. Which was why he found himself getting drawn into them now and then.

Still, he and Sharon had built memories together, and a different kind of love than they'd once had. The thought of going home to his family after creating a pocket relationship at the office would have made him feel-- well, he knew exactly how he'd feel. He'd thought about it enough on those long drives home from Andrews after long nights of reviewing press releases with Ann. He'd have felt like a goddamn earthworm, low and hiding from the light and wriggling through the dirt for what he needed to survive.

And even if he could've handled the guilt of it all, a relationship like that wouldn't be fair to Ann. She was a good woman with the heart of an angel. To lead her on, to give her hope where there was none, to become intimately involved with the lives of her and her son would have been wrong.

None of which stops you from wanting her, does it? Hood asked himself. Maybe that was why he and Sharon both worked so hard. They were replacing the passion they'd once had with something they could still do enthusiastically, something. that was fresh and different every day they did it.

But Lord God Hood thought sadly, what I wouldn't give for a night of what was.

The Alster-Hof Hotel was situated between the city's two spectacular lakes, though Hood, Stoll, and Herbert barely had time to check in and wash up before heading back downstairs. Herbert glanced out the windows while Stoll did a quick electronic sweep to make sure the room hadn't been bugged.

"We've got a pretty nice view, huh?" Herbert said as they rode the elevator down. He was absently twirling an eighteen-inch-long section of broom handle he kept under the wheelchair's left armrest for protection. He also kept a two-inch Urban Skinner knife tucked under the right armrest. "Those lakes remind me of the Chesapeake, with all the boats."

"They're the Binnenalster and Aussenalster," a young German porter said helpfully. "The Inner Alster and Outer Alster."

"Makes sense," Herbert admitted. He replaced his stick in the hooks under the armrest. "Though I probably would have called them the Big Alster and Little Alster. The big lake's what-- about ten times larger than the other?"

"Three hundred and ninety-five acres as compared with forty-five," the youth replied.

"I was in the ballpark," Herbert said as the elevator reached the lobby. "I still think my names are better. You can always tell big from little. But you may get 'em mixed up if you don't know which end of the city's in and which end's out."

"Perhaps you should place a note in the suggestion box," the porter said, pointing. "It's right over there, beside the letter box."

Herbert looked at him. So did Hood, who couldn't tell whether the kid was being facetious or helpful. Germans weren't known for their sense of humor, though he'd heard that the new generation was learning a lot about sarcasm from American movies and TV.

"Maybe I'll do that," Herbert