"Honey, what's wrong?  This is the second time tonight you've gotten up and the second night in a row that you've had trouble sleeping.  This isn't like you.  You can sleep standing up in a moving line and still keep up.  What's bothering you?"

He turned and wrapped his strong arms carefully around her, not wanting to squeeze too hard and hurt her. He bent his head and buried his face in her soft, sweet-smelling hair.  Her mother had helped her take a shower and wash her hair this afternoon.  It was the first shower she had had since...  He involuntarily shuddered.  The nightmare vision of her being shot flashed through his memory.  His first impulse was to crush her tightly against him, to protect her now as he could not do then, but he held back, not wanting to cause her any more pain. 

As if she could read his thoughts, Corrie put her hands on his chest, his strong, muscular chest that she adored, and said, "If you don't stop torturing yourself soon, I will do it for you!  What do I have to do to you to get it through that thick head of yours that none of what happened is your fault?  You don't even know for sure that you were the target!"

He mumbled a reply into her hair that she could not understand. 

At that moment, her father, still in his skivvies, came out of the guest bedroom.  Seeing the two standing by the balcony door, he asked, "Is everything all right?  Mother heard something and wanted me to check on you."

Smiling at her father, and the fact that Mom got him to get up and check on something she had heard, Corrie said, "I'm okay.  Tall, dark, and handsome here is having a bad night.  Would you please explain to him, one more time, in small words that he can get through his thick skull, that no one holds him responsible for injuries sustained by yours truly.  As one man to another, maybe he will listen to you since he doesn't believe a word I say and insists on wearing sack cloth and ashes in atonement."

Walking over to his only daughter and the man she had given her heart to, the older man shook his head and replied, "I'm not sure that's possible, sweetheart.  Us guys are funny devils.  We pretend we're tough and we can eat nails and take anything thrown at us, but the truth is, when it comes to our womenfolk, we are gutless.  I understand how he feels and there's not much I can say to convince him otherwise.  Only you have the power to help him through this period of guilt and self-doubt, by loving him, and reassuring him, and then you can kick his butt.  Goodnight, children.  Please don't stay up too late or Mother will have me come out here again and send you both to bed.  Love you!" and with that, he returned to the guestroom and his sleep.

After throwing a kiss to her father's retreating back, she returned to the silent man still holding her and said, "Okay, you know I love you, I've told you enough times.  And I've been reassuring you since I woke up in the hospital that it wasn't your fault.  I guess now it's time for me to start kicking your butt.  Turn around!" she ended, laughing. 

He laughed with her, and kissed her gently.  Looking into her dark blue eyes, he said, with all honesty, "I'd give a million dollars, cash, just to see you try!"

Flashing her most wicked smile, Corrie poked him in the chest and said, "So would I!  You know damn well that I can't even pee without hurting, let alone raise my foot high enough to kick you in the ass!  Now, come back to bed and don't argue.  I'm getting cold!"

Following her dutifully back into the bedroom, he helped her carefully into bed and covered her up.  Going around to his side, he climbed gently under the covers so as not to jostle her and the stitches that still pinched so badly.  Ever so tenderly, he took her in his arms and held her close to him, warming her cold feet, and feeling the soft touch of her hand on his chest.   Dear God, how he loved her!  He truly did not know what he would have done if she had been taken from him.

After some time had passed, Corrie murmured into his chest, "You have to promise me something."

"Umm?" he replied.

"Should we find out that you were the actual target of the shooter, you have to promise me something," she repeated and waited for an answer.

He stroked her head with his hand and said, "If it's in my power, you know I would give you anything, willingly."

"I want you to promise me that if and when we find out who this SOB is, that I will be included on the team sent to bring him in.  Is it a promise?"

He closed his eyes for a moment before answering and said, "Yes, all right.  You will be included on the team.  But know this, if I get to him first, I'm not saving any pieces for you," he finished with a growl.  "He'll be all mine!"

Nodding in agreement, Corrie cuddled closer.  They remained that way in silence until she heard his breathing settle into its normal sleep pattern. Then she moved over in bed to a more comfortable position and gently patted the irritating stitches to ease their aching.  She placed her hand gently on his arm as she settled in to sleep.  Murmuring into her pillow, she told him, "Yes, but if I get there first..."

It took the combined manpower of nearly a dozen global agencies four months to identify the attempted assassin at the American Consulate in Paris.  The chief reason for this delay being each country involved was convinced their diplomat had been the intended victim.  Finally, they could no longer doubt or find fault with the evidence that a disgruntled former Company employee had been identified as the shooter, and that his target had indeed been Control. 

A very elite CIA team was formed to capture the suspect.  This elite team was headed by Control, himself, at his insistence.  The rest of the team included Corrie, as she had been promised, Corrie's brother Matthew, also a CIA agent, Robert McCall and Mickey Kostmayer, who were both fellow agents and friends of Control and Corrie, and Control's brother, Paul.  Paul Blaisdell was a mysterious figure just like the brother he so very much resembled.  No mention was made, to any member of the team, as to his affiliation with, or connection to, the Company, what rank or title he held, or where he was from even.  Control had once mentioned to Corrie that he had a brother, but other than that, she was as surprised as the rest by the close, almost identical, family resemblance.  With her mind occupied with the details of the mission briefing, she made a mental note to find out more about the mysterious Blaisdell brothers. 

The take down and capture of the suspect went in a textbook, rather boring, fashion.  They were deployed to assigned cover positions, Mickey and Paul won the coin toss to enter through the back as McCall and Matthew entered through the front.  They literally caught the man napping.  Neither Corrie nor Control managed to reach him first, though.  That privilege fell to Paul and Robert McCall.  John Phillip Dewey did not put up a struggle.  He glared with intense hatred at Control as he was put in the car for the return trip to Paris headquarters, but said nothing.   

Sitting in an interrogation room surrounded by the six members of the pickup team, John Dewey would not deny his attempt on Control's life, nor did he offer an explanation for his actions.  After several long, frustrating hours of getting nowhere, the aggravated interrogators huddled in the back of the room.   After a few, short words explaining what she had in mind, the masculine members of the group adjourned to the corridor, leaving Corrie alone in the room.  Corrie took six pieces of paper from a notepad on the table and wrote each of the team member names on one piece of paper.  She then folded the pieces of paper in exactly the same manner and lined them up in front of the silent captive. 

Giving him her most charming smile, Corrie sat down beside Mr. Dewey to explain what was going on.  Each one of her companions, not to mention herself, were quite angry and upset by the attempt on Control's life and his accidental shooting of her, she informed him.  They all wanted a piece of him, she added, and didn't care which piece they got.   She explained that the gentlemen had been conducting themselves under an oath of good behavior in front of their peers, but the time had run out.   To be totally fair, it had been agreed that the six of them would take turns being in the room alone with Mr. Dewey to explain, in their own unique ways, just how upset each one was by Mr. Dewey's bad behavior.  And, being good sports, it had been decided that he, himself, would get the privilege of choosing in what order they got to spend this quality time with him.  All he had to do was pick one piece of paper at a time, like picking names from a hat. 

For the first time since his capture, John Phillip Dewey was uneasy.  Prodded along by Corrie, he reluctantly picked the first scrap of paper.  The name on the slip was Corrie's.

Waiting in the corridor as they had been told, Control and his brother appeared to be the only ones concerned by the fact that Corrie had been left alone in the room with the attempted killer.  Even Corrie's brother did not seem to think there was any cause to worry.

Ten minutes later, the door to the interrogation room opened and Corrie summoned them back into the room.  John Phillip Dewey was sitting in the same position as when they had left, however, the look on his face had changed.  Without preamble, he stated that he had tried to kill Control because Control had ruined his career with the Company.  Control had made the decision to scratch him from a mission several years ago.  Control had felt that Dewey did not have the qualifications needed for that job and had assigned someone else to the team.  Because of that decision, Dewey felt he had been passed over for other missions and that there was a black mark on his record, somehow, as a result.  He resented Control deeply for this. 

After making his formal statement, Dewey was led away to await trial.  The six members of the mission team were debriefed individually and then they adjourned to a nearby restaurant for dinner and a few drinks.  Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Control asked Corrie straight out what had happened in the interrogation room for Dewey to change his mind about confessing so quickly. 

Corrie looked innocently around the table and shrugged.  "I'm not sure.  I was just sitting there and telling him a little bit about you guys and he suddenly decided to confess," she answered modestly.

Matthew, Robert and Mickey all smiled knowing smiles.  Feeling left out of the loop, Control and Paul demanded that they be let in on the secret. 

Corrie smiled tenderly into Control's eyes and shrugged.

Matthew and Mickey each cleared their throats and looked innocent.

Turning to Robert McCall, Control pointed at him and said, "Well, old son, that leaves just you.  We've been around the block enough times together for you to be honest with me and tell me what is going on.  What happened in that room to make him confess?  What do you know that I don't?"

Sighing, Robert looked at Corrie and took a stiff drink before answering.  "Control, old friend, I truly dislike being the one to have to tell you, but you have been blinded by your love for this woman.   Those of us who have shared the experience of working in the field with her, know her to be, well, she can be, at times, not a very nice person."

Looking from McCall to Corrie, Control was taken aback.  "What the blazes are you talking about, man?" he shouted.

At this point, Matthew spoke up.  "Sir, let me try to explain.  You have to remember that Corrie grew up with seven of us brothers.  She had to develop a killer's instinct to survive, yet remain the sweet little girl that mom and dad thought she was.  Physically, she could not take all of us on, not even one at a time.  She did learn, however, that it is easier, more effective, and definitely more enjoyable to mess with a person's mind rather than threaten their physical well being.  She developed the ability to look someone straight in the face, and lie through her teeth and scare the pants off of them.  When she speaks in that soft, gentle little voice of hers, she could make you believe every sick, terrifying word she would say.  She obviously convinced him that she was the nicest one amongst the bunch of us and that confessing to her would be the least painful way of going.  She might have told him that I would go in there and rip out his liver and eat it, or that you and Paul, over there, might just play cat's cradle with his guts.  Robert can be very intimidating with his accent and cold manner.   And everyone knows Mickey's reputation around the Company.   To be totally honest with you, sir, she can be evil.  She's a twisted little thing when she sets her mind to it."

Taking a hold of Corrie's hand, Control looked down into the eyes of the woman he loved.  "What is he saying?  Is this true?" he asked.

Corrie sipped her drink and placed the glass delicately on the table.  Batting her eyelashes a few times, she turned to her lover and replied in a quiet, soft voice, "Of course not, darling.  My brother, Matthew, is a pathological liar who eats babies for breakfast. That is why he is not married now, nor ever will be. Mother is quite beside herself about it and doesn't quite know what to do.  And Robert, well, you know the British.  No central heating and all that tea drinking does tend to give them delusions of empire.  He obviously feels that since I don't wear hats like his good queen, there is something wrong with me, or that I am a deviant.   And then there's Mickey.  Well, what can I say about Mickey that you don't already know yourself.  His father is the devil and his mother the queen of darkness.  You believe me, don't you darling?"