The beach, she decided. It was the one place other than the city she was completely at home. All the rural landscapes and desert vistas, the off-planet sites the unit offered made her vaguely uncomfortable.

She started out at a light trot, the blue waves crashing beside her, the glint of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Gulls wheeled and screamed. She drew in the moist salt air of the tropics, and as her muscles began to warm and limber increased her pace.

She hit her stride at the first mile, and her mind emptied.

She'd been to this beach several times since she'd met Roarke – in reality and holographically. Before that the biggest body of water she'd seen had been the Hudson River.

Lives changed, she mused. And so did reality.

At mile four when her muscles were just beginning to sing, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Roarke, his hair still damp from his swim, moved into place beside her, matching his pace to hers.

"Running to or away?" he asked.

"Just running."

"You're up early, Lieutenant."

"I've got a full day."

He lifted a brow when she increased her pace. His wife had a healthy competitive streak, he mused, and easily matched her stride. "I thought you were off."

"I was." She slowed, stopped, then bent at the waist to stretch out. "Now I'm not." She lifted her head until her eyes met his. It wasn't only her life now, she remembered, or her reality. It was theirs. "I guess you had plans."

"Nothing that can't be adjusted." The weekend in Martinique he'd hoped to surprise her with could wait. "My calendar's clear for the next forty-eight hours, if you want to bounce anything off me."

She heaved out a breath. This was another change in her life, this sharing of her work. "Maybe. I want to take a swim."