Those eyes did him in. Jared tugged gently on her hand, leading them forward. He had laced their fingers together somewhere during the trip from the Raskat's Bar to the motel, the warmth comforting them both in the rain. She had slender, delicate fingers. Her hand fit so well in his palm that he was afraid he'd crush her. He didn't want to hurt her tonight. He wanted everything to go just right.

Normally he didn't worry about things like that when meeting a nice young girl at a bar. He hardly ever did one-night stands, but those few times he did, he was fairly sure of his capabilities, of himself. He was rarely as self-conscious -- and desperate -- as he now was.

Please don't change your mind, please don't change your mind. . .

Her name was Carly, and she had the softest, curliest blonde hair Jared had ever seen. It was short like Marilyn Monroe's 'do, and was plastered to her face because of the rain. One wet lock adamantly curled under her cheekbone, and before he could help himself he reached over to brush it aside.

Their eyes locked, and Jared found he could not breathe. She looked so tender, so vulnerable. . . so trusting.

"Worst day of my life," she'd declared to the bartender when seating herself at the counter. "And to top it off, it rains. Is that beautiful or what?"

The bartender had smiled at her, then nodded at Jared who sat two stools away. "He's having a bad day too."

She eyed Jared. He eyed her back. Then he returned to his whiskey while the bartender delivered her Tropical Peach Twist. She took a large sip through the tiny red straw before turning to face him.

"Seven years," she said. "Seven years of being good at my job, and I get fired because the CEO's son's just graduated from college. My car gives up on me, going ra-a-a-a-kh-kh," she cough-imitated for Jared's benefit, "and I don't know about you, but that's definitely a seven-hundred-dollar ra-a-a-a-kh-kh, in my opinion. I have to get it to the mechanic's somehow, but with my luck it'll probably collapse in the middle of the road and I'd get totaled by all the impatient cars behind me. Then my sister leaves a message on my answering machine, saying that she's running off to Vegas with my high school sweetheart -- not that we're together anymore, you understand, we haven't been for five years -- and needed a little cash, so she took five thousand out of my account. 'I swear I'll pay it back.' Pay it back? I'm still waiting for the two bucks she owes me when I bought her that Seventeen magazine when we were just twelve. We're twins, you know, not that that has any bearing on the story. And she still has my ATM card and PIN number, God help me I don't know how she got those. I've never told her my PIN number, but maybe it's one of those psychic twin things. If so, it's darn unfair 'cause it's a one-way deal. I can't even read her expression, let alone her mind!"

She leaned back, sighed, and stirred her drink. "Is that bad or is that bad?"

Jared swirled his whiskey. "Bad," he agreed, and downed a gulp.

She nodded, obviously confirming the thought. "So," she said, "what about you?"

He pondered the shotglass, observing the way the light sent prismic rainbows through it. "I killed a man."

She glanced at him, at the badge on his belt, then nodded again as she turned back to her drink. "You win."

The words were so unexpected that Jared barked out a laugh, but it wasn't a happy one.

They were silent in their own thoughts for a while, until the jukebox began playing some song with the words 'Honky Tonk' in the title. She clutched her head, elbows on table, and let out a moan. "Does it get any better than this?" she asked.

Jared shook his head. "I doubt it."

"I was afraid of that." She released one hand, though the other one still propped up her head. She held the free hand out to him. "I'm Carly."

He took the hand, both of them giving a firm, single shake, as if they were meeting in a boardroom instead of a bar. "Jared."

The hours passed by in a blur. She bought him one round, then he bought the next. When the jukebox began playing Rod Stewart's Maggie May she asked him for a dance. He obliged, clumsy from the lack of experience, but she didn't seem to mind. She'd felt warm and soft in his arms.

Somewhere along the lines they kissed, then broke off and rested their foreheads against each other. When the Raskat's started to close, he offered to walk her to her car. "Just to make sure it doesn't ra-a-kh out," he said.

"That's ra-a-a-a-kh-kh," she'd corrected.

It was still pouring when they'd exited the building. She insisted that he share her raincoat. They held it over their heads like wet newspaper as they ran across the street, then he stood there hugging himself in the rain as he waited for her to start her car. It sputtered twice before dying an ugly death.

She stared at the steering wheel. He tapped on the window and she rolled it down.

"That didn't sound like a ra-a-a-a-kh-kh at all," he commented.

"No," she agreed, "it's shy in front of strangers."

He squirmed for a moment before offering her a ride home. She took up the invitation, and looked severely chastened when he gave her a level look. Just to prove she was normally very wary about taking rides from strangers, she checked his badge to make sure it was real and he was an actual cop. He had a feeling it was just for show. Most citizens couldn't tell if a badge was real or fake unless they had a cop in the family.

They ran across the street once more, then walked down the block toward his car. She was worried about his being wet, although he assured her that his jacket was warm enough.

Somehow the conversation turned from being about warmth to giving warmth, for they stood outside an antique shop, kissing in the shade. Their tongues mated and he could taste sweet velvet. Something shattered in his mind.

He reluctantly extricated himself from the contact. "We'd better stop before we can't finish," he whispered.

Her eyes were blue lightning, heated and catching him in their grasp. Her lips were red and swollen. "Would you. . ." She cleared her throat. "Would you mind very much if we do finish it?"

At first he thought his ears were deceiving him. She did not look like the type to be picked up in bars. In fact, he knew she wasn't. "What?" he asked.

"You heard me." Her hands were still laced around his neck. "Do I have to ask again?"

He traced his finger down the side of her face, lingering at her mouth. "Are you sure about this?"

Her answer was a whispered "yes" before she reached up and claimed his lips once more.

Now they stood inside the crimson-coated motel, the nearest one around. Its walls, carpeting, and furniture were a scandalous scarlet. He walked toward the registration desk, their fingers still entwined together. Her two-inch heels were silent, sinking into the plush carpet as she followed him.

There was a couple putting down their names at the guestbook while the man behind the desk got them their key. The couple looked too young to be in a place like this, let alone renting a room. They were just kids. Jared considered making an arrest, but decided to let this one go. Tonight he wasn't a cop. Tonight he was just a man, flesh and blood.

The pot-bellied motel owner didn't bat an eye at Jared's request for a room. Apparently he was used to secret rendezvous. The thought was confirmed when he turned the guestsbook over for Jared to sign. There were plenty of 'Mr. & Mrs. Smith's and 'John & Jane Doe's conducting their business tonight.

The couple before him had signed their names Sebastian and Lia Smith. Jared thought it a bit incongruous to have written flamboyant first names to go with a standard last name.

He held the pen poised over the next empty space. After hesitating for a moment, he wrote down his own name.

He thought he felt Carly tense as they walked down the corridor. When they stood outside their room door, he turned to her.

"You can leave now, you know," he said softly, while inside he screamed, No, please stay. Just this one night. He couldn't -- wouldn't -- stop her if she chose to back out now, but the chill in his gut intensified, and it wasn't because of the rain.

She answered him by taking the key from his hand and unlocking the door herself.

The room was thankfully clean, perhaps a little quaint in furnishings. He only scanned it briefly before locking the door shut and reaching for her.

Their lips met, tongues touched. Their thighs pressed against each other, her breasts hard against his chest. He ran his hands down her arms to her ribs to her hips. She shivered.

"Cold?" he whispered.

"No," she whispered back. She kissed him, then hesitated. "Do you have. . . I mean. . ."

He knew what he meant. "I have one in my wallet," he said, knowing that one wouldn't be enough. Just his luck.

The sheets whispered beneath them as clothes floated to the floor. He sucked gently at the crook where her neck met her shoulder, and she flicked her thumb over his nipple. Their feet tangled with each other before he slowly insinuated his leg between hers.

There was a brief crackle of foil in the midst of heat. He felt her warmth surround him, heard her cry out his name before stifling a sob. Her own name came out muffled between his lips and her shoulder.

They slept after that, something that surprised Jared. Normally in a situation like this, one or both persons would leave at once, or cuddle for half an hour before shattering the dream. But this was never a normal situation to begin with. They slept for a few hours, wrapped in each other's arms before he came awake.

He studied her in the darkness, his hands clasped around her softness. There was something innocent in her expression as she slept, snuggled trustingly against him. Something within him twisted, wanting to be there when she woke up, wanting to always be there when she woke up.

She wasn't the type to look for company in bars. He wondered what she saw in him. And, suddenly, he realized he didn't want her meeting anyone else, anywhere. There were too many lunatics out there, too many people who would abuse her trust. An irrational desperation rushed up, wanting to protect her.

Maybe the shooting had gotten to him. Maybe he should see the department shrink after all. Maybe this was just some temporary thing that usually arose in the face of death, a need to reaffirm life.

Or maybe, maybe he wasn't going to be jaded yet, after all.

She shifted in his arms, then opened her eyes. At first disoriented, they refocused on him. He held his breath, awaiting her reaction. She smiled at him before her eyelids fluttered shut once more.

He felt like a fist had just punched its way into his gut.

"What's your last name?" he asked softly.

She snuggled closer, eyes still closed. "Mmm?" she mumbled, half-asleep.

"Your last name. What is it?"

She frowned, then opened her eyes. She slowly came awake and tried to draw away. His arms around her tightened. "Why?" she asked warily.

"So I can find your name in the phonebook," he replied. "Unless you wouldn't mind giving me your number as well?"

She stiffened. "I don't. . . I don't do this. Often. At all," she clarified. "This is the first time. . ."

"I know," he said gently, tucking her head underneath his chin. His hand skimmed up and down her side in an effort to relax her. "This isn't about that. I'd like to see you again."

"For more sex?"

He drew his head back and looked at her eye-to-eye. "This was more than just sex and you know it."

She hesitated. He replaced his chin on her once more. He could feel her slowly relax beneath his touch.

"We don't have to do this again," he said, watching the window in front of him. "Although 'this' would be nice. But maybe we could. . . date. Dinner and all that. Get to know each other better."

She was silent for so long that he feared he'd lost her. Then she released her breath and played with his chest hair. "We've already gotten to know each other quite well," she murmured.

He smiled against her hair.

"Dayton," she said softly. "Carly Dayton. 555-6981."

His hand clasped her hip. "Jared Kurscht."

"Nice to meet you," she whispered before closing her eyes.

He held her, felt her, as her breathing slowed and drifted off to dreams. On the other side of the thin motel wall, he heard someone cry out from their own release. The voice sounded like bells in Christmas time.