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she'd met earlier.
    Pepper smiled a little, reading his mind. "Everything went fine," she lied. Wolf had a habit of sticking up for friends rather boldly and sometimes to his regret. Not wanting Wolf to dislike Jim any more than he already did, she felt the white lie would help reduce office tension to below the boiling point. As she turned, she saw the oddest look in Woodward's gaze—an almost wistful expression combined with such heat that it threw her off guard.
    Woodward didn't like her because she was a woman in a military man's slot. Okay, so why was that look so tough to decipher? Sighing at the knowledge that Woodward was something of an enigma to her, Pepper grabbed her Pendleton coat off the hook and followed him out of the Perseus office.

    The late-November chill was matched by a gray sky that threatened the first snow of the year, and Pepper was glad to get into the heated Pentagon building. As she walked at Jim's side, she smiled to herself, once again surrounded by uniformed members of all four military branches walking the halls of this military icon. The tile floor was polished to perfection, and hundreds of pieces of artwork, depicting and honoring war from the ground, water and air, decorated the walls of the octagon-shaped building's outer ring.
    Jim was aware of the stares Pepper was receiving from more than one gawking officer. He tried to ignore her natural grace—the way she moved was more like water flowing than like the steady, deliberate steps he took. Maybe it was that effortless ease, he decided sourly, that made nine out of ten officers do a double take. Disgruntled, he had to admit that any man worth his salt would certainly look at Pepper. An old saying came to his mind: "She was easy on the eyes." It was a decided compliment.
    His office was tucked away, compared to many of the others. When they'd made their way in, Jim shut the door after Pepper. His natural inclination was to be a gentleman, to take her coat and hang it up for her. But a contrary part of him said, let her take care of herself. As he stood, debating which to do, Pepper crossed to the small closet, matter-of-factly hung up her coat and purse and turned toward him.
    "What now?"
    "This way," he muttered unhappily, preceding her into the interior office—his private space. His secretary had yet to come in, and with Thanksgiving tomorrow, many people in the Pentagon would be working only half a day, anyway.
    Pepper stepped into Jim's small enclave and looked around at the officious degree certificates and awards hanging on the walls. She was impressed. Woodward was more than a Recon. He had a degree in engineering from Ohio State University and had graduated with honors. Curious, she moved to a wall hung with several framed color photos. Most were of him with graduating officers, but one exception drew her attention.
    The photo showed a younger Jim Woodward, his arm around a much smaller, delicate-looking blond woman. Both were smiling, obviously happy, with champagne glasses lifted in a toast to the camera.
    "Who's this?" Pepper asked, turning to him. Jim was behind his desk, riffling through a pile of papers that had been stacked there for his attention.
    He looked up briefly. "Oh…that's Laura Bennett—I mean, Trayhern . Morgan's wife."
    Pepper returned her attention to the picture. "How old is this photo?"
    "Eight years." Frowning, Jim stopped reading the message in his hand and looked up. Pepper's profile was clean, even pretty. Her dark hair fell softly around her face, completely natural and untamed. He liked that about her—her utter naturalness, with no apology for the way she looked or dressed.
    "What was the occasion?"
    Jim set the paper aside. "It was taken down in the Pentagon archives. Laura had just sold a manuscript to a publisher. It was her first hardback book. I bought some champagne, and she and I and the people she worked closely with down there—who'd helped her bring the book to life—celebrated late