were sworn to protect the Kingdoms and their citizens—when one went rogue, he had to be stopped! And yet … the idea of taking part in such a hunt with Joanie as the target upset him more than it should. Not that the alternative was any better! "Joanie, please—don't do it."

"As I said, I don't intend to." Cortin took a deep breath. "You know me too well to believe I'd do something like going rogue if I had any choice in the matter. And I need time and resources a rogue wouldn't get, to do what I have to—but I can't do it if I'm stuck behind a desk, either." She frowned, still unable to make sense of the feeling of absolute certainty that had come over her during the Brothers' torture. "Mike, we both know I'm as practical and non-mystical as anyone could be—but while the Brothers were working me over, I … realized, or discovered, or something, that eliminating them is my job. It helps that I have a personal reason for wanting to, but that's a bonus. Whatever happens to me, whatever I have to do to accomplish it, I don't have any choice about the fact. I have to get rid of the Brothers—and I plan to enjoy it." She stared at her hands again. "Then I may be able to get rid of these Hell-marks. Can you understand that?"

"I think so—and God help me, I couldn't blame you if you did go after them on your own. But I'd still have to help hunt you down." Odeon was less positive of that than he made himself sound, though. He wasn't at all certain he'd be able to, even if not doing it meant he'd share her outlawry—if the thought of hunting her was upsetting, the idea of actually harming her was revolting. Worse than revolting, really—impossible was more like it.

The sudden awareness of that stunned him. He hadn't realized he felt so strongly about her! He shouldn't; no one in Special Ops should have any more than professional respect for another person. There most emphatically should not be anything like that strong a feeling! It was almost like—no. He was too professional to love anyone, especially a fellow officer, however many times he might have shared a bed with him or her.

On the other hand, what else could it be? He'd have no objection to hunting down Wolf Corbett, say, if it were necessary—and Wolf had been on his team the longest of any, almost a year now, and was the closest friend other than Joanie that he had.

He sent up a quick prayer for guidance, and felt an immediate sense of reassurance. He did love Joanie, and it was all right … but she didn't love him yet, so there was no reason to burden her with the knowledge of his feelings.

"Is something wrong, Mike?" Cortin's voice brought him back to the present. "You look like you ate something that's disagreeing with you."

"No, I'm fine. It's your problems we should be worrying about now, anyway." Odeon made himself smile. "Let's assume you make it into this classified project, and that it's something that'll let you at the Brothers."

"We might as well," Cortin said, shifting position slightly. "The first thing is to get off these drugs. The sooner I learn to cope with what's happened, the sooner I can get to work. I need to get my strength back, hone up my hand-to-hand combat, and do some serious study of interrogation techniques. I'm okay at first-stage, but Brothers don't break that easily; I'm going to have to be more than just good, at all three stages. Especially third. Will you help me?"

"Of course." That was his Joanie, all right, Odeon thought proudly. No crying or self-pity for her; instead, a plan that would let her accomplish what she intended. He took the clipboard from the foot of her bed and studied it for a moment. "Dear God! They do have you in deep, don't they? Do you want to make a cold break, or would you rather taper off?"

"Cold break," Cortin said firmly. Even though it was probably a decision she would regret, it was what she was certain he would have done.

"Right." Odeon made the necessary notations, initialed each one, then replaced the clipboard. "You can't do much about exercise or combat training until you're out of bed, but you can read … mmm. I think you should go for an Inquisitor's Warrant, even though you won't be able to do the practical work right away. If you want to go that route, I know an instructor at the Academy who'll give you classroom credit for reading the course materials and passing a test, then let you do the practical when you're back on your feet."

Cortin nodded. "I would—thanks." The Warrant wouldn't do her any legal good if she did go rogue, but she'd have the skill, and letting her subjects know she'd had a Warrant should make it easier to break them. "How soon can I get the texts?"

"I should be able to have them for you by visiting hours tomorrow. Anything else?"

"Newspapers, please—and a pair of gloves, for when the bandages come off."

"No problem; Sergeant Vincent promised to send your gear along. I figure it should be here tomorrow or the next day."

"Thanks—I should have thought to ask."

"You did have other things on your mind at the time," Odeon pointed out. He hesitated, went on reluctantly. "Speaking of which, as soon as you feel up to it, you should be debriefed."

Cortin would have preferred to keep the information for her own use, but by the time she was able to do anything with it, it would be obsolete, useless. Best to pass it on to the debriefers, then hope her fellow Enforcement troops would keep the trail warm without taking the quarry that was rightfully hers. "I'll be glad to talk to them any time they want. And if the team includes an artist, I think I can describe the ones I saw well enough for him to draw."

"That would help—I'll make sure it has one. And I'll try to get them here before the painkillers wear off; I don't think you'd want them to see you in pain."

"I don't, and I wouldn't be able to cooperate as well, either. As soon as you can, then."

"I'll do that." Odeon turned to leave, then hesitated and turned back. Joanie went to church Sundays and holy days when she wasn't on duty, though she wasn't what he'd call really devout. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask. "Would you like to see a priest?"

Not really, was her first reaction, but on the other hand, why not? As usual, she didn't have anything to confess—part of her, with wry humor, said it was because she hadn't the imagination to think of any interesting sins, as well as not having any opportunities. Might be a good idea to take advantage of this chance, though; if she were accepted for Special Ops, she'd be given Exceptional Holy Orders—empowered to carry out time-critical priestly functions, mostly Last Rites—and she really ought to be sure of being ready for ordination. "Maybe I should." She hesitated, then asked, "Mike—did you give me Last Rites?"

Odeon shook his head. "By the time I got to you, Sergeant Vincent had already taken care of it."

"If you get a chance, will you thank him for me?"

"My pleasure." Odeon bent to kiss her goodbye, then paused when bandaged hands took and held his.

Cortin looked up at him, her throat tight. Maybe he wouldn't fault her for one bit of weakness … "Mike, I know I'm not a real woman any more, but … maybe I can still function like one. Will you help me find out? Please?"

"As soon as the plumbing's out and you feel up to it," Odeon promised, stricken by her uncharacteristic vulnerability. Blessed Mother of God, he prayed silently, don't let them have robbed her of that, too! She's lost the ability to have children; don't let her be condemned to the constant danger we face without even this consolation! "Just let me know when, Joanie. I'll be here for you." He kissed her again, and left. Cortin watched him go, relieved. He'd been reassuring, not scornful, and that was a big help in itself.

She was kept busy the rest of the day, first by the priest, then by medical personnel, and then—over Dr. Egan's objections—by the debriefing team, which included