In many ways she was very different from Samantha, yet the two women had a gentleness in common, a softness beneath the bravado that Charlie treasured in both. And in his own way he loved Samantha, and he had been rocked to the core by what John had done. He had never liked him anyway and had always pegged him for an egocentric ass. John's rapid desertion of Samantha and subsequent marriage to Liz Jones had proved to Charlie that he was right, as far as he was concerned at least. Melinda had tried to understand both sides, but Charlie hadn't wanted to hear it. He was too worried about Sam. She'd been in lousy shape for the past four months, and it showed. Her work had suffered. Her eyes were dead. Her face was gaunt.

“So what's doing, madame? I hope you don't mind my coming over so late.”

“No.” Samantha smiled as she poured him a cup of coffee. “I just wonder how come you're here. Checking up on me?”

“Maybe.” His eyes were gentle above the dark beard. “Do you mind that, Sam?”

She looked up at him sadly and he wanted to take her in his arms. “How could I mind that? It's nice to know someone gives a damn.”

“You know I do. And so does Mellie.”

“How is she? Okay?” He nodded. They never had time to talk about things like that in the office.

“She's fine.” He was beginning to wonder how he was going to lead into what he wanted to tell her. It wasn't going to be easy, and he knew that she might not take it well.

“So? What's up?” Samantha was suddenly looking at him with amusement. He feigned an innocent expression and Samantha tweaked his beard. “You've got something up your sleeve, Charlie. What is it?”

“What makes you say that?”

“It's pouring rain outside, it's freezing cold, it's Friday night, and you could be at home with your warm, cozy wife and your three charming children. It's difficult to imagine that you came all the way over here just for a cup of coffee with me.”