Speak softly-but carry a big stick.

4:10 P.M.

"And those were the words Director Crowe used?" Kat asked.

Monk stood in front of her. She was seated on the sofa in her office. "His exact words. He needs a big stick."

"But do you have to be that big stick?"

Monk crossed to her and dropped to one knee, getting eye-to-eye with his wife. He knew this was going to be a hard sell. He had spoken to Painter thirty minutes ago. The director had offered Monk a field position, to accompany the big man himself to Oslo, Norway. Still, it had taken until now to get up enough courage to broach the subject with Kat.

"It's really nothing more than a glorified interview," Monk promised. "Like I've been doing here in the States these last months. This assignment's only a little farther away."

She wouldn't meet his eye. She stared down at her hands, which were clenched together in her lap. Her voice was low. "Yeah, and look how easy your last assignment ended up being."

Monk scooted closer and pushed between her knees. "We all made it out safely."

In fact, he had just checked on Andrea Solderitch. She'd already been moved to a guarded location, protected by Homeland, personally watched over by Scot Harvath, an agent Monk fully trusted to keep her safe.

"That's not the point," Kat said.

Monk recognized that. He reached forward, slid his hands under the bottom of her blouse, and gently palmed her bare belly. Her skin was hot under his palms. She trembled at his touch.

"I know the point," Monk said huskily. "My memory might be a little like Swiss cheese, but I don't forget what's truly important, not for one second of any day. And that's why I'm going to make sure nothing happens."

"You can't control everything."

Monk stared up at her. "Neither can you, Kat."

Her eyes remained wounded. He knew how hard she had fought to watch over him during his recovery, how she hated being apart. Even now. Her protectiveness was born out of raw fear. For months she had believed Monk was dead. He could only imagine what that must have been like. So, though it wasn't healthy for either of them, he didn't press the matter.

Even now, he refused to force her hand.

If she didn't want him to go, he wouldn't.

"I hate the idea of you out in the field," Kat said. She pulled his hands out of her shirt and clutched them tightly between hers. "But I'd hate myself more for telling you not to."

"You don't have to tell me," he said quietly, suddenly feeling selfish. "You know that. I get it. There will be other missions. When we're both ready."

Kat stared hard at him. Then she sagged slightly, rolled her eyes, and reached out to grab the back of his head. She pulled him forward. Her lips hovered over his. "Always the martyr, aren't you, Kokkalis?"

"What-?"

She silenced him with her lips, pressing hard, parting her mouth, tasting him. Then she pulled back, leaving him gasping, leaning forward for more.

"Just make sure you come back with all your parts intact this time," she said, poking his prosthetic with a finger.

Always the slower of the two, Monk struggled to catch up with her thoughts. "Are you saying-?"

"Oh, dear God, Monk. Yes, you can go."

Joy, along with a large measure of relief, swept through him. He cracked a huge smile, but it just as suddenly slipped into something more lascivious.

Kat read his thoughts and pressed a finger over his mouth. "No, not even one joke about you being a big stick."

"Oh, c'mon, babe...would I do that?"

She removed her finger, leaned down, and kissed him again. He slid his hands under her rear and dragged her onto his lap.

He whispered as he pulled her fully to him, "Why say it, when I can prove it?"

10:15 P.M.

Terni, Italy

Gray stood guard before the window, staring out at the dark garden behind the old country farmhouse. He also had a view of the parking lot and the nearby Via Tiberina road. They had traveled eighty miles to reach the small town in the Umbria region, noted for its ancient Roman ruins and baths.

Rachel had suggested the location. The two-story farmhouse had been converted into a hotel, but still retained much of its original charm, with chestnut beams, bricked archways, and iron chandeliers. It was also remote and off the beaten path.

Still, Gray refused to let his guard down. After events in Rome, he wasn't taking any chances. And he wasn't the only one.

Down in the garden, he noted a flicker of red ash. He hadn't known Seichan smoked-but then again, he knew almost nothing about her. She was an unknown quantity and a needless risk. He knew the standing orders out of Washington: capture her at any cost.