There were forty six cracks in the concrete. Leaning against the wall, Jane decided she’d miscounted and began again. The pain in her hand was manageable but the stony silence from her side was beginning to grow wearying. If only just.

“You might as well stop pouting.” Her voice was light as she spoke. “Your chivalry while very touching Jack is bloody well misplaced and you know it.”

He said nothing, continuing with what passed for first aid in their little suite, but she was not done. Ignoring the pain, she turned her hand and grasped his tightly.

“Do you think I spent fourteen months in North Korea getting spa treatments?” She looked amused.

“Your bravado is misplaced.” Jack said finally, pulling his hand free and turning hers over once more. “You’re taking enough risks in this, Jane; you don’t need to sacrifice your life and your career in the process.”

“Oh come now, Jack,” she laughed just a little, “what else would I sacrifice? I’m afraid my very stylish clothing’s somewhat ruined and I doubt our host would be much interested in a small flat in London. Besides, this is for Sydney.” She smiled, a wisp of envy slipping into her expression. “Treasonous of me as it is, I consider it just as worthy sacrifice my life and my career for family as I do for queen and country...Even if it isn’t my family.”

Jane leaned her head back against the concrete and tried not to flinch as Jack’s probing fingers touched her skin. “As you said, what’s a little treason among friends?” She let her head roll to one side, meeting his gaze with just a hint of mirth. “And contrary to what our host thinks, the accommodations are positively palatial.” Her expression hardened. “I’ve spent my life doing two things. Protecting my country and helping my friends. This situation encapsulates both.”

He finished binding her hand and turned to sit beside her. “I suppose I’ll owe you one after this.”

“Jack, darling,” she drawled, “you could never hope to repay all the favors I’ve done for you all these years. Unless,” she snuck a sly smirk at him, “we could work out a payment plan. I’ve a right lovely little one in mind.”

He chuckled faintly. So faint she could barely hear it. “I’d call you incorrigible, but it’s hardly anything new for you.”

“Hardly,” Jane echoed with a faint chuckle of her own. “As for you,” she smiled and continued her count, “well, I can say you do know how to show a lady a grand time. Next time, though, I think I’ll settle for a rousing game of baccarat in Monte Carlo. My treat, of course, with what your precious CIA pays, we’d never get past the front door.” She closed her eyes briefly to draw in a breath before complaining, “I bloody hate torture.”

Jack was silent as he slipped an arm around her. Jane moved closer and revised her count. Forty-seven cracks.

Finis

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