A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

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Two hours after he left the mountain house, Harry pulled the car off onto the shoulder of a deserted stretch of highway and reached for the thermos on the seat beside him. His throat and eyes hurt from the tears he adamantly refused to shed, and his mind was dazed from his futile effort to block out the painful memory of Zayn's parting words:

"You don't love me, Harry. You're naive and inexperienced, and you don't know the difference between good sex and real love. Now be a good boy, go home where you belong, and forget about me. That's exactly what I want you to do."

His hand shook with misery as he poured coffee into the top of the thermos. How pointlessly cruel of Zayn to ridicule him that way, particularly when he knew Harry had to face the police and the press as soon as he got back. Why couldn't Zayn have either ignored his words or lied and said he loved him, too, just so he'd have something to cling to during the ordeal ahead. It would have been so much easier for Harry to face that if he'd only said he loved Harry.

"You don't love me, Harry... Now be a good boy, go home where you belong, and forget about me..."

Harry tried to swallow the coffee, but it stuck in his constricted throat as another painful realization hit him, leaving him more desolate and bewildered than before:

Despite his having mocked Harry's feelings, Zayn had to have known damned well he really did love him. In fact, he was so sure of it, that he'd assumed he could treat Harry that way, and he'd still go home and not betray him to the authorities. Harry knew he was right, too. As hurt as Harry was by his callousness, he could never attempt to strike back at Zayn. He loved Zayn too much to want to hurt him, and his belief in his innocence and his desire to protect him were, strangely enough, every bit as strong now as they'd been yesterday.

A pickup truck shot by him, spewing slush against the side of the car, and he remembered Zayn's warning to get as far away as possible without attracting notice. Wearily, he sat up and put the car into gear, looking over his shoulder to make certain it was safe to pull out, but he set the Blazer's cruise control at sixty-five miles an hour. Because he'd told Harry not to speed. And because getting stopped for a speeding violation fell under the category of "attracting attention."

* * *

Harry made it to the Colorado-Oklahoma border in much less time than it had taken him to drive the same distance in blizzard conditions. Following Zayn's instructions, he pulled over at the first rest stop on the Oklahoma side and made his phone call.

His father answered on the first ring. "Dad," he said, "it's Harry, I'm free. I'm on my way home."

"Thank God!" he exploded. "Oh, thank God!"

In all these years, he'd never known his father to sound so upset, and he felt sick with remorse for what he'd put him through. Before either of them could speak again, however, an unfamiliar voice broke in, "This is Agent Ingram of the FBI, Mr. Mathison, where are you?"

"I'm in Oklahoma at a rest stop. I'm free. He—left me in the car, with the keys, blindfolded. But he's gone. I'm sure he's gone. I don't know where."

"Listen carefully," the voice said. "Get back into your car and lock the doors and leave there at once. Do not stay in the vicinity where you last saw him. Drive to the nearest populated area and call us back from there. We'll notify the local authorities and they'll come to you. Now get out of there, Mr. Mathison!"

"I want to come home!" Harry warned with genuine desperation. "I want to see my family. I don't want to stay in Oklahoma and wait. I can't! I just wanted someone to know I'm on my way." He hung up the phone and headed for his car, and he did not call from the next populated area at all.