Operation: Monarch. Valerie Parv

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      Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door of the gymnasium and stepped inside. Garth was nowhere in sight, probably changing in the men’s locker room. She signed in and headed for the women’s locker room where she peeled off her sweatsuit to reveal a burgundy sports top and black leggings. With her long blond hair caught in a high ponytail, she still looked about eighteen, she thought, grimacing at herself in the full-length mirror. She supposed she should be happy, given the rapid approach of her next milestone birthday. But the image held too many reminders of the girl who had mooned around, waiting for Garth to notice her.

      She wasn’t about to do any such thing today, she reminded herself. She was a grown woman at the top of her profession. Well nearly at the top. She’d had affairs of varying degrees of satisfaction. Nobody current, through her decision to focus on achieving promotion. The ingenuous girl whose feelings Garth had trampled no longer existed.

      So close to lunchtime, the main floor was almost deserted except for an attendant straightening up equipment on the far side of the room. In the background the steady bass beat of rock music signaled a class in progress elsewhere in the building.

      Playing the part of a gym regular, she climbed aboard a stationary bike to warm up. Pedaling steadily, she glanced around, finding Garth doing the same at the other end of the row. He didn’t see her. He wore a tank top and light-blue gym shorts with a navy stripe down each side and a pair of well-worn cross trainers.

      After warming up for ten minutes he got off and went to a bench press where he picked out a pair of dumbbells, then lay on his back on the bench, planting his feet on the floor.

      She stopped pedaling to watch as he exhaled and slowly pressed both weights toward the ceiling. With perfect control he inhaled and lowered the weights to the starting position, his muscles gleaming in the artificial light. She counted about four beats on the exhalation and eight on the inhalation phases. Impressive.

      In danger of becoming mesmerized by the sight of his self-assured movements, she slid off the bike and chose an opal-colored balance ball suited to her height, nudging the sphere closer to Garth’s station. Wedging the ball between her lower back and the wall, she inhaled and lowered herself to a sitting position, bending her hips and knees. The pressure on the ball against her back felt as good as a massage.

      Exhaling, she stood, keeping the pressure on the ball with her back. Several repetitions later, she felt muscle fatigue creeping up, but Garth was too intent on his own workout to notice her. Déjà vu, she thought, determined not to let it bother her this time. No wonder he was still unattached.

      Deliberately she let the ball escape from under her so it bounced against his bench press. “I’m sorry,” she said as she went to retrieve it. Garth had the weights lowered to his shoulders. She injected surprise into her voice. “Garth? Garth Remy?”

      Noticing her at last, he swung himself upright. “Serena Cordeaux? It is you, isn’t it?”

      He didn’t exactly sound thrilled to see her, she thought. She forced a grin. “How long has it been?”

      He placed the weights on the floor and swabbed his face with a towel, although he had barely raised a sweat. “Years. I heard you left Solano after graduation.”

      Unwillingly pleased that he’d tracked her progress for a time at least, she nodded. “I went to the police academy.”

      If she had hoped to impress him, he didn’t show it. Merely nodded. “Quite a switch for you, wasn’t it?”

      “Modeling was my parents’ choice for me, not mine. I gave it up as soon as I was of age.”

      His eyes narrowed slightly. “I hope I didn’t have anything to do with that?”

      Annoyed because he had, she shook her head, feeling the old attraction resurface. Along with something far less welcome. Desire. Hot, potent, stinging because she didn’t want to feel it. She had been talking to him for less than five minutes out of thirteen years, and already she wanted to be in his arms so much she could taste the need. Some people never learned.

      “You have a high opinion of yourself,” she said, then felt even more annoyed because she had said the same thing to him after they kissed.

      He remembered too, she saw in the sudden gleam of interest flaring in his gaze. The flame died as she watched. “Always did,” he said easily, but the trace of pain in his voice wasn’t lost on her.

      She touched his arm. “I’m sorry about your parents’ accident.”

      He half closed his eyes, then opened them, his expression impassive. Too impassive, she thought, as if he was suffering but didn’t want anyone to know it. Same old Garth Remy, she thought. Never let anyone get too close.

      “I meant to get in touch and thank you for the wreath,” he said.

      She’d ordered it after seeing the news on television, telling herself it was the decent thing to do, not because she expected a response from him. “That’s okay. It can’t have been an easy time for you.” She hadn’t meant her tone to soften in concern for him, but it happened anyway.

      “I’m fine.”

      He moved to a mat on the far side of the bench press, snaring a length of resistance tubing as he went. Dropping to the floor, he stretched his legs out in front of him and anchored the tubing around his feet, then exhaled as he pulled the tubing in to his abdomen. The rowing movement was harder than it looked, she knew, and would help to account for his washboard-flat stomach.

      Picking up another length of tubing, she joined him on a neighboring mat. She preferred the cable-row machines but they were on the other side of the room, hardly conducive to continuing a conversation. Not that he seemed to welcome her company. His body language told her he considered the reunion over.

      She didn’t.

      She looped the tubing around her feet. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

      His slow exhalation as he pulled the cable taut was the only sound between them. She had decided he wasn’t going to answer when he said, “I worked my way through college. You might recall I had some catching up to do.”

      The defensive tone reminded her that he had been the oldest boy in their high school. His parents had pulled him out of class to help in the family business so often that he had fallen behind academically, although his IQ was the equal of hers. Being older than their classmates, he’d endured considerable teasing, not all of it good-natured. “Good for you,” she said sincerely. “What did you do then?”

      “Joined the navy.”

      Her arm muscles protested as she paused with the cable at full stretch. “I joined the police, you joined the navy. Interesting.”

      “Not particularly. It was the only way I could make a career out of diving.”

      “You didn’t want to work with your folks on their boat?”

      Seeing his mouth tighten, she cursed herself for mentioning the boat. Its shabby condition had always been a sore point with him. Now it also reminded him of his loss. “Not enough money in it for three people,” he said. From what she remembered, the boat had barely supported the family all along.

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