Day Of Confession

'Would that be something he would like?'

'Byron, I… don't know…'

'Harry, I love you and I know you're pained, but this is going to have to be your call.'

Harry had agreed and thanked him and then gone out. Walking, thinking, troubled, even embarrassed. Byron Willis was the closest friend he had, yet Harry had never once spoken to him of his family in more than a passing way. All Byron knew was that Harry and Da

The fact was, Harry never talked about the details of his family at all. Not to Byron, not to his roommates in college, not to women, not to anyone. No one knew about the tragic death of their sister, Madeline. Or that their father had been killed in a shipyard accident barely a year later. Or that their mother, lost and confused, had remarried in less than ten months, moving them all into a dark Victorian house with a widowed frozen-food salesman who had five other children, who was never home, and whose only reason to marry had been to get a housekeeper and baby-sitter. Or that later, as a young teenager, Da

Or, that both brothers had made a pact to get out of there as soon as they were able, to make the long grimness of those years a thing of their past, to leave and never come back – and promised to help each other do it. And, how, by different routes, both had done so.

With that in mind, how in hell could Harry take Byron Willis's suggestion and bury Da

Half an hour later Harry was back at the Hassler, hot and sweaty from his walk, stopping at the concierge desk to get his room key, and still with no solution. All he wanted was to go up, get into bed, and drop into a total escape of deep, mindless sleep.

'A woman is here to see you, Mr Addison.'

Woman? The only people Harry knew in Rome were police. 'Are you sure?'

The concierge smiled. 'Yes, sir. Very attractive, in a green evening dress. She's waiting in the garden bar.'

'Thank you.' Harry walked off. Someone in the office must have had an actress client visiting Rome and told her to look Harry up, maybe to help take his mind off things. It was the last thing he wanted at the end of a day like this. He didn't care who she was or what she looked like.

She was sitting alone at the bar when he came in. For a moment the long auburn hair and emerald green evening dress threw him off. But he knew the face, he'd seen her a hundred times on television, wearing her trademark baseball cap and L. L. Bean-type field jacket, reporting under artillery fire from Bosnia, the aftermath of a terrorist bomb blast in Paris, refugee camps in Africa. She was no actress. She was Adria

Under almost any other circumstance Harry would have gone out of his way to meet her. She was Harry's age or a little older, bold, adventuresome, and, as the concierge said, very attractive. But Adria

He was almost to the lobby when she caught up with him.

'Harry Addison?'

He stopped and turned. 'Yes…'

'I'm Adria

'I know…'

She smiled. 'You don't want to talk to me…'

'That's right.'

She smiled again. The dress looked too formal for her. 'I'd had di

'Ms Hall, I'm sorry, but I really don't want to talk to the media.'

'You don't trust us?' This time she smiled with her eyes. It was a kind of natural twinkle that teased.

'I just don't want to talk… If you don't mind, it's late.'

Harry started to turn, but she took his arm.

'What would make you trust me – at least more than you do now?' She was standing close, breathing easily. 'If I told you I knew about your brother? That the police picked you up at the airport? That today you met with Jacov Farel…?'

Harry stared at her.

'You don't have to gape. It's my business to know what's going on… But I haven't said anything to anyone but you, and I won't until an official okay is given.'

'But you want to see what I'm about anyway.'

'Maybe

Harry hesitated, then smiled. 'Thanks – but as I said, it's late…'

'What if I told you I found you very attractive and that was the real reason I waited for you to come back?'

Harry tried not to grin. This was the kind of thing he was used to at home. A direct and very confident sexual come-on that could be done by either male or female – and taken by the other party either in fun or seriously, depending on one's mood. Essentially it was a playful crumb tossed out to see what, if anything, would happen next.

'On the one hand I'd say it was flattering. On the other I'd say it was a particularly underhanded and politically incorrect approach to pursuing a story.' Harry put the ball back in her court and held his ground.

'You would?'

'Yes, I would.'

An elderly threesome came out of the bar and stopped beside them to talk. Adria

'Let me see if I can give you a slightly different approach, Mr Harry Addison… There are times when I just like to fuck strangers.' She never took her eyes from him when she said it.

Her apartment was small and neat and sensual. It was one of those things, sex that comes right up from nowhere. Heat that just happens. Somebody strikes a match, and the whole place goes up.

Harry made it clear from the begi

They'd taken a cab, then walked a half block, talking about America. Mostly politics and sports – Adria

There was a click as she closed the door. Then she turned and came to him in the darkness. Mouth open, kissing him roughly, her tongue exploring his. The back of his hands so gently and expertly ru