 
### REMEMBERING

By

Mac Zazski

Smashwords Edition

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Copyright 2013 Mac Zazski

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Discover other titles by Mac Zazski at Smashwords.com

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

Ginger peeked into Doctor Banner's office and paused to smile. Doctor Melissa Banner was a beautiful woman, twenty eight years old with long, soft brown hair and warm brown eyes, dressed casually in pleated slacks and a white top that hid her beautifully proportioned figure. Sitting perched behind a desk covered in files, her head down, she stared intently at the case file in front of her until Ginger spoke.

"You're late," stated Ginger, her voice smooth and sunny with the slightest hint of a Jamaican accent. Melissa peered up, startled by the intrusion. Ginger ran a long nailed hand through her copper colored hair and favored her boss with one of her most brilliant smiles. "I don't know how you keep your friends, girl. Where I come from, if anyone were as late as often as you are, we'd sit them down and give them a talking too, that's for sure. Girlfriend or no girlfriend, you'd feel the wrath."

Melissa smiled up at her, "Maybe I'm just worth waiting for."

"Never met anyone who thinks they're worth waiting for who was worth waiting for," replied Ginger with a laugh. "Now pick yourself up and get yourself to lunch before Beverly calls me again and we have to conspire against you. Go now."

Melissa put the file down and searched the desk top for her purse.

"Under the pile on the chair," stated Ginger as she sauntered out the door. "Never met an intelligent woman who lost her purse so much..."

Melissa giggled as she retrieved her purse and headed out the door.

"Can I get you anything while I'm out?" she asked as she streamed past Ginger's desk.

"Crazy white woman, do you think I'm sitting here starving while you're out stuffing your face?" replied Ginger, checking her makeup in a hand held mirror. "Don't you know I need you to leave so I can leave? Carlos is taking me to lunch; know that I'll be back late and I'll be sleepy when I return. That man is taking me to a place where you come back with a full stomach, not one of those trendy places you and Beverly go to where it's thirty dollars for a piece of lettuce and a papyrus napkin. I'll see you when you get back and take your time, I don't want to seem to be coming back too late."

"Thank you for the extended lunch hour," replied Melissa. "I'm never sure exactly who works for whom around here..."

"Don't worry your pretty head about it," replied Ginger as she made her way towards the elevators. "As long as you don't upset me, you can think whatever you like."

Melissa headed towards the stairs, "Sounds like a deal. Give Carlos my love."

"Only if he feeds me," replied Ginger.

Melissa hit the stairwell and headed upwards, two flights later emerging on the rooftop parking garage. She found her silver Camry and slid into the driver's seat, starting the car and groaning at the time that the clock revealed. She was late, again. Poor Beverly, Ginger was right; she really did abuse her friends. She drove down the ramps hurriedly and was out on the street in time to see Carlos sitting patiently in his battered BMW, waiting patiently while Ginger conversed with one of the other secretaries at the front door. She beeped and waved as she past him, catching the unfurling of his long arm out of the window in acknowledgement.

Melissa sped down town, maneuvering gingerly around the delivery trucks and double parked cars and anxiously waiting for the traffic lights to change. Twenty minutes later, she parked a short block from Beverly's favorite restaurant, The China House. Quickly alighting, she hurried down the block, not quite a run, but more than a walk.

Outside of the restaurant, she caught sight of Beverly, a bland expression on her beautiful face. Beverly had been Melissa's best friend since high school. Tall, with an incredible figure and clear, olive skin, Beverly had beautiful black hair that hung straight down to the small of her back, a beautiful cascade of shimmering darkness. Her bright blue eyes were set above picture perfect cheekbones. Melissa had always thought that Beverly should have been a model, watching as a pair of men glanced admiringly at her beautiful figure displayed in skin tight white pants and a blue top with plunging neckline. Spotting Melissa, Beverly's expression changed from boredom to a comical look of exasperation.

"You're alive," she shouted, hugging Melissa to her in mock relief. "I thought you had been crushed by a meteor or eaten by a crocodile."

"I'm just a little late," lied Melissa.

"A little?" asked Beverly, surveying her watch for confirmation.

"A little less than usual," suggested Melissa.

"It's fortunate that you are treating today, or I'd be very angry," replied Beverly.

"I had no idea I was treating," began Melissa. Beverly fixed her with a stare, "But if you say I'm treating, I don't see why not. It's the least I can do, seeing as you've been so patient."

"I thought you might see it my way," replied Beverly, wrapping a long arm around her friend's shoulder. "Come on before there aren't any tables left."

Upon entering the China House the world suddenly became a quiet place, the sound of the bamboo and stone fountain just beyond the front door suddenly the loudest noise one could hear. Sauntering up to the reception desk, the women were greeted by a sprightly middle aged man in a dark suit.

"Two for lunch?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," replied Beverly. "Two for lunch, one for paying."

The man smiled, "Wonderful. Please follow me."

Dark blue carpets smothered their footsteps as they followed the man behind an ornate screen to a long, narrow dining room with light green colored walls featuring oriental landscapes painted in white directly on them. The man took them to a small, dark wood table with a white marble top surrounded by four ornately carved dark wood chairs. After seating them, he produced two menus, which he handed them with a flourish. Suddenly, four Asian men appeared, filling water glasses, arranging silverware, removing chairs, producing condiments and bowls of noodles, rice and a pot of tea. A few moments later, a tall youth materialized and stood politely before them.

"I am Lin, are you ladies ready to order."

"I'll have the lunch special," replied Beverly, "and a martini."

"Excellent," intoned Lin. "And for you madam?"

Melissa restrained her surprise; Beverly rarely drank. "I'll have the sweet and sour pork and just the tea for now."

"Very good, madam," he replied, retrieving the menus and vanishing.

"So, what is the matter?" asked Melissa.

Beverly gave a sigh, "It's Tara..."

"She's not sick again is she?" asked Melissa. Tara was Beverly's step daughter, a beautiful girl and the light of Beverly's life. This past summer she had become grievously ill while vacationing with a friend's family in California. It had taken doctors months, but Tara had finally recovered.

"No, not physically," replied Beverly. "It's her attitude. I don't know what to think. I know she's a teenager now, but..."

She seemed unsure of how to continue.

"But what?" prompted Melissa.

"Look, I know teenagers rebel, I remember we did..."

"You did," replied Melissa with a smile, "I was a good girl."

"Fine," replied Beverly, "most normal teenagers rebel but something strange is going on. Ever since Tara was ill last summer, she has not been herself."

"Well, she went through a really tough time," replied Melissa softly. "I mean, you almost lost her, she was sick for weeks. That would make any kid prone to acting out."

"She isn't acting out, it's the exact opposite," replied Beverly, "She has always been a thoughtful girl, so I can understand that something like that might make her more...introspective. It was a long recovery for her, she was so sick, but it isn't her health, she's as healthy as a horse according to Doctor Morris and she should know..."

"Now is that nice?"

"Can I help it that she's a big woman? I notice things, what can I say?"

"You were speaking about Tara..."

"All I'm saying is that she's healthy, there is nothing physically wrong with her," replied Beverly as Lin brought her drink. After a sip, she continued. "Look, I try to talk to her, but she won't speak to me, I don't know if she won't or can't... I know she is having some sort of problem, she screams at night sometimes, has these horrible dreams... Last night Jim and I were sound asleep and she started calling for us. We ran in her room and she was lying on the bed, crying, I mean wailing and calling out our names in her sleep. She was soaked."

"Soaked?"

"Soaked with sweat," replied Beverly, "you would have thought she had a fatal fever to see her, she was wringing wet and thrashing around in her sleep, just begging for us... She was having some sort of horrible nightmare. We had to shake her to wake her up, it took Jim forever to wake her up; we were terrified. Neither of us knew what to do, we had no idea what was the matter. When she finally woke up and saw us she just grabbed onto us and cried and cried. Jim went and got a cool cloth and kept wiping her face, you know, trying to calm her down, but every time he would try to leave to rinse out the cloth, she would grab onto him, terrified. While he was gone, she'd hold me like she was afraid she would never see me again. We just sat there holding her until she calmed down. Mel, she was afraid to go back to sleep; Jim and I had to take turns sitting with her until she finally drifted off this morning. When she finally got up, we tried to talk to her about it but we couldn't get anything out of her. She just kept saying that all she could remember was that whatever it was, it was terrible, but it was just a dream. She kept saying that over and over, "It was just a dream", as if she had been trying to convince herself. She said that she had forgotten what the dream was about, all she could remember was being afraid."

Melissa shook her head, "A dream vivid enough to cause the reaction you're describing would be hard to forget. She wouldn't talk to you about it at all?"

"Just to say that she had been frightened, that's all."

"Has this happened before?" asked Melissa, toying with her food as she listened.

"A few times, but never as bad as this," confided Beverly. "She's had a few episodes, but she would calm down right away, never anything like this..."

"And this has been going on since she had that illness last summer?"

Beverly shook her head. "It's scaring me, Mel, and you know I usually don't get scared. The poor kid has been withdrawing; she seems distracted all of the time. Jim keeps saying it's a phase, but I don't believe that and I don't think he does either. At first I thought so too, but not anymore, not after last night. Something is bothering her and I don't know what to do."

"You said Doctor Morris gave her a clean bill of health?"

"We had her checked stem to stern and nothing is wrong," replied Beverly. "I don't know what to do. I was kind of hoping that perhaps you could speak to her, Mel."

Their food arrived, presented by Lin with a warm efficiency.

"You want me to speak to her?" asked Melissa. "I'm not sure, Bev, I mean, you know that I love Tara..."

"You've done family therapy, Mel...If you don't want to talk to her "officially", maybe you could just talk to her as a friend," offered Beverly. "When she came home from the hospital, you were such a huge help... the fact that you went through something similar, well, it made her feel so much better to have someone to talk too...I hate to impose, but I don't know what to do."

Melissa frowned, "I don't know if she'll talk to me, Bev. I might be too close to her for her to feel she can talk to me..."

"Please, just speak to her," pleaded Beverly as she sipped her martini. "If she clams up with you like she did with me, fine, then maybe you could recommend someone."

Melissa picked at her food with her fork for a moment. "Alright, I'll speak with her, but if she won't speak to me, don't be surprised. We might have more success if she did come to me "officially", this way she knows that there are professional ethics involved. She knows you and I are best friends and she'll probably think I reveal things to you that I shouldn't if we don't make that clear..."

"She knows better than that," replied Beverly. "She knows she can trust you, but if you think it best, we'll do it your way. Again, after you speak to her, if you think that she'd be better off with someone else, I'll take her there immediately. I'm telling you, Mel, she's got me worried."

Beverly seldom showed her softer side to people other than her family or her closest friend, but those close to her knew that she loved Tara as her own daughter. Jim's first wife had died of cancer when Tara was two and Beverly had met him at a sales seminar about three years later. Even though he was almost ten years older, the two quickly fell in love. Melissa remembered that exciting time, how thrilled Beverly had been that Tara had taken to her almost as quickly as her father had done. The three of them melding into a family almost instantly, they always seemed to be together, loving and supporting each other. Melissa often found that she had to remind herself that Beverly was not Tara's birth mother. Whatever was bothering her, Melissa wanted to help. She remembered Beverly sitting with her during that long autumn when she had been ill, spending hours with her talking and playing and keeping her company while she recuperated.

"Don't worry," smiled Melissa. "We'll find out what is the matter. I promise you, Tara will be fine."

***

Vance Tibbet stood in the hallway of his apartment building trying to look busy and doing a very poor job of it. Looking shorter than his five foot ten inch frame because of the massive amount of muscle that enveloped him, he looked like nothing so much as a superhero in need of a car to lift or an opponent to crush. His crew cut black hair and tightly trimmed black beard gave him an efficient, almost sinister quality, emphasized by his shining, black eyes. While Vance was as tough as nails, he hid behind his menacing stare, using it to hide a man often uncomfortable and shy around strangers.

Staring at the neat line of postal boxes in the lobby of the building, he grunted his displeasure at them. They left him little to do other than stick his key in his mail box, open it and then withdraw it again. Glancing at his watch and then again at the door, he tried to appear nonchalant, as if it were perfectly natural for him to be there, but it was impossible. The small space and his massive physique made him look even more threatening and he knew it, a fact that he could think of no remedy for.

"What the hell is the use," he muttered angrily to himself, preparing to give up. "You've been doing this for three weeks and..."

"Excuse me, Mister Tibbet."

Vance turned to see Mrs. Giamonte, the landlady, standing next to him. Tiny and ancient with brilliant white hair, Mrs. Giamonte lived on the first floor and was one of the few people in the building not frightened to death of him.

"You're standing in front of my mailbox and I don't have a truck to move you," she stated matter of factly.

"Sorry," he said softly, side stepping powerfully out of her way.

"Don't bump into the wall," warned Mrs. Giamonte. "You'll knock the building over." She opened the box and withdrew the contents, picking through her mail with a practiced eye.

"My doctor, the bastard, sent me another bill," she announced. "I'm not paying it. I'm dying; when he stops me from dying, I'll pay his damn bill."

"I'm sorry to hear that you're ill," stated Vance, trying to sound sincere, but unable to completely focus on anything but the front door.

"Who the hell said I'm ill?" asked Mrs. Giamonte indignantly. "I hate to tell you, Mister Tibbet, but you're dying too. Everyone is dying! From the moment you're born, you're dying."

Vance frowned, a facial expression that had caused strong men to shiver, "You mean you want your doctor to keep you from dying in general?"

"Of course," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "What do you think? Everyone dies from something, right? NONSENSE! Most people die from nothing, they just get up one morning and they drop dead. If I had cancer or heart disease, fine, then I could accept that I'm going to die, but there isn't a damn thing wrong with me, so why am I going to die too? I'll tell you why, because they can't make any money on me; that's why! I don't take medicines, I don't need the damn doctors, every time I go to one they say, "We don't understand it, your eighty years old and everything is fine" like I should be ashamed of it. I'm telling you, he's not getting a dime until he either promises to keep me from dying or gives me a reason I should die!"

Just then the front door opened and Melissa struggled in, a grocery bag in each arm.

"Hello, Mrs. Giamonte," she said happily. "Hello, Mister Tibbet."

"Hello sweetheart," said Mrs. Giamonte, her tone suddenly warm and friendly. "How is my favorite tenant this evening, nothing against you Mister Tibbet."

"No problem," replied Vance to the older woman. Turning to Melissa, his features softened, "Hello, Miss Banner."

Melissa gave the lurking wall shaped man a quick smile as she struggled to open her mailbox and juggle the two bags.

"Why don't you help her?" snapped Mrs. Giamonte, her dark eyes boring into Vance. "You could lift the building; you can't help a little girl like her?"

Vance snapped to attention, "Of course, I'm sorry. Here, let me take those for you." Vance gently grabbed the bags from Melissa and placed them in the crook of one his enormous arms.

"Oh, thank you, Mister Tibbet," said Melissa. "Thank you so much. I'll just be a minute." She quickly opened her mail box and pulled out her mail, stuffing it into one of the bags, moving to take them back from him when she was interrupted.

"What the hell are you doing?" snapped Mrs. Giamonte again. "You could push a train; you can't take the bags up to this little girl's apartment for her? When I was a young woman, my husband carried my goat up a mountain side for me in the old country. That's what's wrong with this country, men are afraid to be chivalrous. My husband weighed twenty six pounds soaking wet and he carried a big heavy goat up a mountain for me, all the way up, not half way, all the way."

Vance stood, unsure of how to react, "I'd be happy to bring these to your apartment for you if you would like, Miss Banner."

Melissa looked at the older woman who glowered at her indignantly.

"Oh, I suppose you're one of those women liberators who think that a man shouldn't carry packages for a woman. That's what's wrong with this country; women WANT to carry heavy packages! I spent my whole marriage carrying heavy packages, carry the kids, carry the laundry, carry the meal to the table, carry everything, like a pack mule! The only time I didn't was when my husband was trying to be chivalrous before our marriage. Trust me, let the bastards carry the packages whenever you can get them too because once you're married, they don't carry a damn thing! Not a damn thing! A goat up the side of a mountain, a whole mountain and then we get married and he couldn't carry a coffee cup to the sink! You listen to me..."

"That would be wonderful," Melissa stated to Vance. "I appreciate it, really, I do. Thank you Mister Tibbet. Have a good evening, Mrs. Giamonte."

"And make sure he takes them and puts them on the counter for you," shouted Mrs. Giamonte as they headed down the hall towards the elevator. "Right on the counter, not on the door step, it ain't the newspaper!"

"The counter, I promise," replied Vance, backing away from her as if she were a cobra. "I'll put them on the counter."

"Make sure that he does," she yelled to Melissa.

"I will, I promise," stated Melissa hurriedly, pushing the elevator button urgently.

The door to the elevator opened and the two tenants gratefully stepped aboard. Melissa quickly pushed the button for the third floor and let out a sigh of relief as the doors drew closed.

"I can take those, Mister Tibbet," said Melissa after a moment.

"To be honest, I would be afraid not to take them to your apartment, Miss Banner," he replied seriously.

The two looked at each other and Melissa began to giggle.

"I don't know what got her started, but perhaps you're right. She might have taken the other elevator up to make sure you fulfilled your word."

The doors opened. Melissa peeked out and seeing the coast was clear, led Vance down the hall to her apartment. Unlocking her front door, she made her way inside, turning on lights as she went. The door opened onto her living room, a medium sized room featuring a cream colored couch and two matching chairs. Book shelves stood on opposite walls, a television perched on the wall next to the front door. A door to the left led to the kitchen, straight ahead a short hallway led to the bathroom on one side and a bedroom on the other. Vance followed Melissa into the kitchen and gently lowered the bags onto the counter.

Melissa smiled up at the big man who seemed to have consumed all the room in her kitchen, noting that he seemed unsure of what he should do next.

Taking pity on him, she asked, "Could I offer you a cup of coffee, Mister Tibbet?"

Vance considered the offer for a moment, "That would be very nice, Miss Banner. Do you mind if I ask you a favor?"

"The bathroom is down the hall," stated Melissa as she moved towards the sink to get water for the coffee pot.

"Oh, no," he replied, looking at his feet in embarrassment. "I was just going to ask if it would be all right with you if you called me Vance."

"Vance?" Melissa smiled. "I had no idea what your first name was. Vance Tibbet," she mused. "You know I've lived here for four years and since Mrs. Giamonte calls everyone Mister and Miss I always just did the same. Of course, Vance it is. I hope that you'll call me Melissa."

"Melissa," he repeated. "That's a very pretty name."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Why don't you take a seat in the living room, the coffee will be ready in a minute. I have an old fashioned coffee pot as you can see, I really should get one of those ones where you stick a little cup of whatever in it and it shoots boiling water through it but I never seem to remember to pick one up when I'm shopping."

"I had one of those," he said as he stepped out into the living room. "It was nice."

"Oh, did it break?" she asked as she followed him into the living room, motioning him towards the couch.

"Yeah," he replied. "I dropped it sort of."

"Dropped it, sort of?" she asked, taking a seat opposite him.

"Well, I found someone in my old apartment one day trying to borrow some money that didn't belong to him, so I kind of dropped it on him."

Melissa considered it, "Well, I'll remember not to borrow money from you without asking first."

"I come from sort of a tough neighborhood," he said quietly. "When I started to make some money, I got out of there. I didn't want to have that type of life."

"What is it you do for a living, Vance?" she asked.

"I'm a security specialist. I design security systems for corporate buildings and set up security details for high level officials. I even act as a body guard sometimes, that's how I got into the business. I own Tibbet Security." He looked at her hopefully but could see the name did not ring a bell.

"That sounds like a very interesting line of work," she said as she rose to get the coffee. "I thought you were going to say that you were a weight lifter or something."

"I used to compete in strong man competitions," he confessed, "but I'm too busy now. I barely have time to do my workouts anymore. So, what do you do, Melissa?"

"I'm a psychiatrist," state Melissa, retreating back into the kitchen to pour the coffee.

"So, you're a doctor?" he replied as she returned with two cups. His heart sank; so far out of his league...

"Don't look so surprised," she smiled, handing him his cup of coffee.

"Oh, no, it's not like that," he stammered, recovering his composure. "It's just I've been calling you Miss Banner, I should have been calling you Doctor Banner. You're a doctor, a psychiatrist, that's impressive." He cleared his throat, "You sure don't look like a psychiatrist, I thought they were all bald, older guys with German accents..."

She responded with a light laugh, "I don't know what a psychiatrist is supposed to look like, but you're not the first to think I didn't fit the bill. A lot of people are surprised when I tell them what I do; they react as if I said I was trapeze artist or something. I don't mind, really. One day, I'll look more like Sigmund Freud or Mrs. Giamonte and then people won't act so surprised."

"I don't think you'll ever look like Mrs. Giamonte," he replied shyly, taking a sip of his coffee. "You sure as hell will never look like Sigmund Freud."

"We'll see in forty years, but thanks for the vote of confidence."

Vance finished his coffee and stood up to leave.

"I guess I'd better get going. Thank you for the coffee."

"Thank you for bringing in my bags, I really appreciate it."

"No problem, any time," he said.

Melissa led him towards the door and stopped as he hesitated.

Vance frowned to himself, oh what the hell, he thought, they were alone. It would never be less embarrassing than it would be at this moment.

"Do you think, Melissa, maybe, you might give me the chance to return the favor?"

Melissa looked at him, not comprehending.

"I mean maybe I could take you for a cup of coffee some time? You know, there's that café place two blocks down, what's its name..."

"The Coffee Café?" she replied with a giggle.

"I'm not much for cafés" he confessed, "but I would love to share a coffee with you, if you're not busy."

Melissa thought it over for a moment. Admittedly, he was nothing like the guys she usually dated; medium built medical professionals who she could never imagine picking up anything heavier than a check. Maybe she needed a change of pace and besides, she hadn't been on a date in forever.

"Sure. Why not? That would be nice."

"Good, good," he replied, suddenly feeling excited and happy and as if he were standing there completely naked all at the same time. "Would you like to go tomorrow night?"

She thought about it, "Tomorrow is Wednesday, I have group tomorrow night; how about Thursday?"

"Thursday, that would be great. I'll come for you, say about seven o'clock?"

"Seven o'clock that would be fine. I'll see you then."

Vance walked out into the hall and gave her a little wave as he watched her close the door. He moved a few steps down the hall smiling and almost collided with Mrs. Giamonte.

"So," she whispered, "did you ask her out?"

Vance looked at her in surprise; he had never said anything to anyone about his desire to ask Melissa out.

"Yes, I did," he replied, unsure of why he even answered the question.

"And did she say yes?"

Vance nodded in the affirmative.

"Good, good, it's about time you asked her. You should have asked her out months ago instead of stalking her like a bear looking for honey. Just ask her, see, it went fine. Now do me a favor, stop hanging out around the mailboxes waiting for her to come home every night, you're scaring the shit out of the rest of the tenants. They think you're gonna start asking for protection money."

She shuffled off down the hall towards the elevators muttering to herself but loud enough for Vance to hear, "Big chooch like that can't ask a girl out. He should get down on his hands and knees and kiss my ass for helping him out. Without me, he'd still be down there, put the key in, take the key out, subtle as an egg fart on a windless day..."

Vance watched the old woman enter the elevator. He was thrilled that Melissa had said yes, but as he moved down the hall he suddenly realized that for the first time in a long time, he was absolutely terrified.

Chapter 2

Melissa realized all too late that it had been a mistake to bring the subject up, especially first thing in the morning and especially with Ginger. While she had some wonderful assets, being tactful about Melissa's love life was not one of them. Ginger stood before her, hands on hips, her bright green top struggling to contain her form while her orange skirt swished above her heels with every movement. She studied Melissa with her best doctor-about-to-deliver-bad-news face.

"So on the plus side, he carried your packages and asked you out. On the not so sure side, he's got no neck, can lift up a train and kills people with a Mister Coffee..." mused Ginger.

Melissa cringed, she knew the warning signs, Ginger was about to unleash.

"A man capable of appliance violence is capable of anything, so watch yourself, girl. Now you listen to me, if you really want to give this an honest chance, you've got to take control of the situation right out of the gate. He's got to know who's boss because if you don't lay down the law, a man like that can be trouble. From day one, girl, the only answer to the question, who is the boss, has to be Melissa! Melissa is the boss or take your weightlifting, package carrying, Mister Coffee assaulting ass right out of here! And then you better let him know that you've got a whole lot of questions you need to get answered immediately if not sooner."

Melissa frowned, "I hate to ask, but what sort of questions?"

Ginger rolled her eyes, "Haven't you given this no thought? Where the hell are you gonna get shirts for a man with no neck? They don't make no damn no neck shirts. Here you are, a beautiful girl and you're going out with a box car. Tell him if you two are still together at Christmas don't get the fool notion in his head that you're buying him clothes cause anywhere that sells clothes for a box car is not a place you want to be. Remember to remind him, he's damn lucky to have a girl like you, beautiful girl like you wasting your life on a box car."

"Next, you got to find out how much money he makes..."

"Ginger I am not going to ask him..."

"You're a doctor," interrupted Ginger. "You gotta start acting like one. Get your nose up in the air a bit. You don't want to end up supporting his sorry ass! Then you ask him the less important things, like, is everyone in his family a box car? You don't want to be the one normal one in a family of box cars. My sister Clarice married a man with a lopsided head, whole damn family got lopsided heads. Now she's got two lopsided head children. She loves them, Lord knows she does, but she told me that those lopsided heads damn near killed her when she was giving birth. How the hell do you think it's gonna feel pushing a box car out of there?"

"We're going for coffee," replied Melissa, "just coffee. No one is having any babies, human or box car. As far as clothing goes, I mean, I've seen him around, he dresses all right. He's just really big and strong."

"He don't take none of those steroids, does he?" asked Ginger.

"I have no idea..."

"Leaves a man with palm leaves and no trunk, if you catch my meaning..."

"Ginger!"

"Don't shoot the messenger, girl," she replied, raising a hand in witness to her innocence. "I'm just telling you, you want a body guard, that's one thing, but most women want a lover somewhere down the line and him saying, "I can't help you with that but I can pick up the couch" is not going to get the job done when you want the job to be done."

"Ginger, you're a crazy person. I think we need to end this conversation."

"You've got to have it with someone," she replied. "Let's face it, just coffee or no, he's gonna want to kiss you. They all want a little kiss and then once they get it, they immediately want you to move on to other things, not that they know what they're doing, but they like to try. My Carlos, ain't no better man, but don't kiss him. Kiss him and he's halfway out of his clothes before you can blink. Can't kiss a man that he doesn't think he's going to try his luck at something else. They all think that's how the world works, one kiss and on to the bedroom and when you get there, all they do is disappoint you. They all enter the bedroom like Superman, all focused and strong and then they turn into Mister Magoo, wandering around, bumping into things with no idea where they are or what they're doing. My Tete used to say, "Man can't navigate a parking spot, what hope you got he'll find a G-spot" and she was right. Most of them don't care either. The best you can hope for is that they make a little money and that they know their place."

Melissa turned a bright red, "Ginger, are there any patients here yet?"

Ginger considered it, "None that I know of, but I don't really care about those people. We're talking about you now; God in Heaven takes care of crazy people and children. Now what was I saying, oh, you've got to lay down the law, girl. You don't want no big, bulky man wandering around down there without directions..."

"Please go and see if there is anyone looking for me," pleaded Melissa.

Ginger shrugged, "Be as embarrassed as you want, you'll see, I'm right. At least with him being large you won't have trouble finding somewhere to kick him to get his attention."

***

Len Edwards headed up the computer surveillance department at Tibbet Security. While mentally he and Vance were cut from the same cloth, physically they could not have been more opposite. Len was tall, about six foot seven inches tall and so thin that it was often suggested that he did not cast a shadow. His short blonde hair and light blue eyes, set in a happy, but pale face, gave him a dreamy expression that hid the vast, searching intellect underneath.

Len stared down at Vance sitting at the desk in his large office like some strange sort of unnaturally thin ostrich. Vance was speaking in hushed tones, looking at his hands, clasped before him on his desk, a sign of nervousness that Len recognized immediately.

"Look, she must like you to some degree if she agreed to go out with you," replied Len quietly. "My only question is what the hell made you pick the Coffee Café? Have you ever gone there?"

"No," replied Vance. "It just seemed like the natural choice."

Len folded himself up into a chair opposite the desk.

"All the furniture in the place is wicker. Look, I hate to add to your angst, but I can't help thinking it was a bad choice. You're five ten, three hundred pounds, with zero percent body fat; do you know what people like you do to wicker furniture? You're gonna be picking splinters out of your ass for months afterwards once that chair explodes. On top of that, do you know what they serve at the Coffee Café?"

"Coffee?" asked Vance hopefully.

"Nigerian Elephant Dung coffee and German Black Forest Moss coffee and ninety other looks- interesting-tastes-like-shit coffees from all over the world. What do you know about coffee? It comes in a pot? What are you going to say if she asks you to suggest something?"

"I'll say I don't know what to order, they all look so good."

Len considered it. "Not bad. If she persists, tell her how good she looks and if that doesn't work, fake a coronary."

"I left out the worst part," he mumbled.

"Alright, which one is it, that she's a coffee expert or that she's a member of the "Save the Wicker" society?"

"She's a doctor."

Len leaned back, stretching his long legs in front of him as he stared at the ceiling. "PCP?"

"Psychiatrist..."

Len ran his hands through his hair as he continued to stare at the ceiling.

"This just keeps getting better. I take it you told her the coffee pot story before you knew she was a doctor."

"Yeah, that kind of slipped out prior to me having that information."

Len chuckled, "She's going to have a field day with you, an absolute frigging field day. She'll be taking notes for her next paper, "Coffee, Muscle Mass, and Psychotic Episodes". I mean, between you and your landlady, she has material for at least ten papers."

"Len, I really want this to work. I know what you're going to say, I don't know her, but I've watched her..."

"In our profession it's called stalking..."

Vance looked up, "I know we don't seem to have a lot in common, but I like her."

Len laughed, "Obviously. I kind of realized you think she's special when I heard you use the word café in a sentence without laughing or swearing. Look, maybe we're making a big deal out of nothing. She did say yes, after all. You know, my cousin Frank is a doctor and he is the most normal person in the family. Admittedly, that isn't saying a lot, but it is something. There are lots of people who are brilliant in their field but yet who are completely normal outside of them. My friend Ed was taking college courses when we were in grade school. He's a brilliant guy but we still get together to shoot hoops or watch a dumb movie. You'd never know he was that smart if you met him, but speak to him about physics and you can't understand what the hell he's talking about."

"So I'll keep the conversation light."

Vance scowled at Len's laughter.

"How is that going to work?" asked Len. "How was your day, dear? Well, I gave a security assessment to the government for a minor dictator who's visiting us from a third world country and then leveled a guy for getting too close to my other client."

"I won't talk about my day; I'll ask her about her day."

"Even worse," stated Len, obviously shocked by the idea. "How was your day, dear? I explored the relationship between the id and ego of my nine o'clock appointment until three thirty in the afternoon at which time I joined a webinar on the effects of unfiltered drinking water on the subconscious mind."

"I'm in trouble," conceded Vance.

"Looks that way to me," replied Len. "Ah, love."

***

Mister and Mrs. Reynolds stood by their mailbox, alternately examining their mail and listening to Mrs. Giamonte's story.

"...so they're going out tonight."

"I'm just glad he's not hanging out down here anymore. I was afraid to get my mail," confessed Mrs. Reynolds, a plump woman of forty with bright red hair and vivid blue eyes. She looked to her chubby, balding husband for confirmation.

"I didn't mind seeing him down here," lied Mister Reynolds, "I just thought it odd that a man would take an hour or so to pick up his mail."

"He really isn't such a bad fella, though I think she could do better," stated Mrs. Giamonte confidently. "Not that he's bad looking, it's just he's got that look, you know what I mean, like either he's gonna kill you or he's constipated. She's gorgeous and smart; did you know she's a doctor?"

"No," replied Mrs. Reynolds eagerly. Nudging her husband, she continued, "Look at that, we got a doctor in the building."

"She's a head doctor, deals with crazy people. I'm gonna ask her about my son, not that he's crazy; he's got a rash he can't seem to get rid of," stated Mrs. Giamonte. "Anyway, I heard they're going out for coffee up the block. She's brave to do that, I heard he killed a man with a coffee pot once."

"Killed a man with coffee pot?" blanched Mister Reynolds. "Why did he kill him?"

"Who knows," shrugged Mrs. Giamonte. "He's in the security business. To look at him you'd have to figure he was probably a Navy Seal or former FBI or something. Those people can kill you with anything, a coffee pot, a nail file, you name it."

"I had no idea," replied Mrs. Reynolds. "Do you think he's killed a lot of people?"

"I couldn't say," she replied. "To look at him though, if he hasn't killed a bunch of people, I'd be really surprised."

Vance entered the lobby and headed for his mailbox. Glancing up, he saw Mrs. Giamonte, eyes squinting at him as if looking for a stain on his shirt. Next to her stood the Reynolds', nice people who for some reason looked as if they were deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"Good evening, Mrs. Giamonte, Mrs. Reynolds, Mister Reynolds," he said politely, pulling out his mailbox key and opening the little door.

"So tonight's the big night," smiled Mrs. Giamonte. "I heard you're going to the coffee shop."

Vance looked at her suspiciously. How did she always seem to know everything?

"Yes, just going out for a cup of coffee."

"She's beautiful," offered Mrs. Reynolds.

"A real looker," agreed Mister Reynolds, slinking back slightly at his wife's sudden stare.

"Have a wonderful time," stated Mrs. Reynolds as she grabbed her husband by the arm and aimed him towards the elevators. Their conversation was conducted in low tones, but it seemed to the practice eye that Mister Reynolds was having his life explained to him by Mrs. Reynolds.

"Have a good night," cried Mrs. Giamonte at the retreating pair.

"Well, have a good night, Mrs. Giamonte," said Vance, heading towards the elevator.

"Hold on," said Mrs. Giamonte, restraining him with a wither claw. "Are you gonna go out again after tonight?"

Vance examined her warily.

"I don't know, Mrs. Giamonte. We haven't gone out tonight yet, I kind of like to plan my dates one night at a time."

"You should go out again," she stated sagely. "People don't know if they like each other on the first date, you can't tell from one evening. Look at me and my husband, he seemed so nice when we met, it wasn't until we had been married fifteen years that I found out how much he got on my nerves. Of course by then, it was too late..."

"I'm sorry?" replied Vance, unsure of what should have been the proper response.

"Don't be," she replied, "some married couples never find out that they can't stand each other. At least we had that."

After wishing her a good night, Vance retreated to the elevator. He wasn't exactly sure why, but whenever he left Mrs. Giamonte, he had a slight headache.

Chapter 3

Melissa examined herself in the mirror. Casual, she had achieved casual. White top, not too tight, not too loose, dark jeans, could be mistaken for slacks from a distance, dressy but not too much so, black pumps with a sensible heel. Hair worn loose, a little eye make-up; yes, casual; maybe too casual? Was it too casual? No, it was coffee, coffee screamed go casual. What if he got dressed up? No, he wouldn't, he would be casual. Besides, did they make tux and tails in boxcar size? Her hand flew to her mouth; stop that, that wasn't you; that was Ginger speaking. She eyed herself one last time before exiting the bedroom and sauntering into the living room. The apartment looked neat, tidy, in case she wanted to invite him back for...for what? If you go for coffee, can you invite someone back for coffee? Should she invite him back for a drink? What would that say about her, if she invited him back for a drink? No, not a drink, but not coffee either. If they hit it off, what could she say, come back to my place for some juice? Did she have juice in the house? After age ten, who bought juice?

A knock at the door, ended her quandary and she took a deep breath. Why was she nervous, it was just coffee.

Opening the front door she smiled, casual had been a good choice. He had a jacket on with a dark, collarless shirt on underneath. A pair of jeans and a pair of dark boots, he looked nice but casual.

"You look fantastic," he smiled, awkwardly handing her a small bouquet of flowers. "These are for you."

Accepting the flowers, she dazzled him with a smile, "Thank you so much. Come on in, let me put these in water and then we can go."

He followed her in and watched her disappear into the kitchen. Glancing about the living room he saw a photo of her with what might be her family. An attractive woman, a sister maybe, hard to tell, no family resemblance there, a man, somewhat older, a brother and his wife maybe, and a pretty, young girl, maybe a niece. Was Melissa the youngest girl? Oh wonderful, no pressure dating the youngest girl in the family.

She came and placed the flowers on the coffee table. Set in a clear glass vase, the flowers seemed larger when she held them. "Let me just grab my coat," she said, maneuvering around him and pulling a dark suit style jacket from behind the front door.

Ushering him out into the hallway, she turned and locked the door and then walked with him to the elevators.

"Did Mrs. Giamonte say anything to you?" he asked quietly as they boarded the elevator.

"About a second date?" she asked. He nodded his ascent. "She mentioned it right after her theory that all illness was psychosomatic and did I have any idea what her son could do for his rash. I told her to tell him to think happy thoughts."

"I didn't say anything to her..." he began, but she waved him off. "I didn't mean to become a topic for the whole building to discuss. She seems to know everything; I'm surprised she didn't tell me what you were going to wear tonight."

"I've often suspected that she has listening devices planted in our apartments," smiled Melissa. "Do you have equipment to check on that?"

Vance smiled, "Actually, I do."

The elevator doors opened and before she knew it, it seemed that they were at the café and already seated. Their waiter was a tall, thin young man with a serious air, who hovered between them with an air of superiority.

"Can I take your order?" he asked gravely.

"I think I'll have a cup of decafe coffee and one of those brownies with the white chocolate chips," said Melissa pleasantly.

"Which type of decaffeinated coffee would you like?" asked the waiter.

Melissa shrugged, "Whatever the house coffee is, I guess."

"We have thirty three separate decaffeinated house blends," he replied with the air of a biblical scholar. "There are seventeen domestic and sixteen foreign blends, as well as a large selection of half cafs."

Melissa looked at Vance and then back at the waiter. "Do you have Maxwell House?"

The waiter's pained expression seemed to rise from his toes to his uncombed hair.

"Maxwell House?" he repeated. "I'm afraid we don't serve Maxwell House here."

"What coffee do you have that is most like Maxwell House," asked Vance.

"I really couldn't say," replied the waiter, offended by the thought that he would be privy to such information.

"Tell you what," replied Vance, "why don't you bring a selection for the lady to try. I see you have a coffee sampler here, why not bring that?"

"Would you like them all to be decaffeinated or do you want to have the mixed coffee sampler?" he asked gravely.

Vance looked to Melissa, "I believe just the decaffeinated?"

She smiled, "Yes that will be fine."

"Foreign or domestic?"

"Domestic."

"And for you, sir?"

Vance looked over the menu swiftly, "I'll have the same thing."

The waiter deigned to remove their menus and sauntered towards the counter.

"I wasn't trying to be difficult," stated Melissa quietly. "I had no idea there were thirty three different types of coffee."

"I'm as shocked as you are," replied Vance. "Domestic, foreign, for a moment I thought we were buying a car."

Melissa looked at him shyly, "You don't look very comfortable."

He glanced down at his chair and then fixed his eyes on the table, "Wicker, as you have probably gathered, is not my friend."

"I thought all cafes had wrought iron chairs," she said sympathetically.

"Wrought iron isn't my friend either," he replied softly. "Oh, it's sturdy enough, but they always make the chairs and tables as if there were a shortage. The table is as big as your purse and the chairs are as big as a postage stamp."

"You have issues," she giggled. "I've never been threatened by a chair, but the one you're sitting on seems to be angry at you."

He smiled as the chair squeaked a protest, "It does seem upset about something, doesn't it?"

"It's complaining as much as Mrs. Giamonte."

He looked into her eyes and the two of them burst out giggling. The waiter returned, finding their merriment an insult to the dignity of the café.

"I'm afraid we're out of Cambodian Yak Decaffeinated, so I suggest that we substitute the Austrian Lager Decaffeinated."

Vance and Melissa looked at one another and burst out laughing.

"Cambodian Yak Decaffeinated?" she cried. "You can't be serious."

"It's very popular," responded the waiter.

"With people or with Yaks?" asked Vance.

The waiter looked at him with disdain.

"I would not know, sir. I'm sure I've never served coffee to a Yak."

Instead of the pained silence he thought his cutting remark would yield, he found himself confronted with another peel of laughter.

Before the laughter died away, Melissa's cell phone began to ring. She wiped a tear away from her eye, "I'm sorry, it might be my office." Vance smiled his acceptance as she lifted the phone to her ear.

"Hello. Hi, Bev...what? Hold on, what?"

Her tone brought Vance immediately to attention. The waiter went to say something but Vance restrained him with an outstretched hand.

"I'll be right there," stated Melissa, rising and grabbing her coat.

Instinct took over, Vance threw some money on the table and the two bolted out through the front door. Stepping out into the street, he hailed a cab and had them inside and on their way before he had any idea of where they were going.

"Fifty-sixth between first and second," she said, a catch in her voice. "Hurry, please."

***

Beverly sat in a her richly appointed living room, her family doctor, Dr. Morris hovering above her.

"The cuts were not deep," said Dr. Morris softly. "She did not lose much blood; it looks a lot worse than it actually is. You said she was sleeping when she did this?"

"She said she was tired," said Beverly mechanically. "She said she wanted to take a nap. She's been so out of sorts lately that it seemed natural. I told her go and take a nap; I'll call you for dinner. I had the pork roast on and went upstairs, I'd left my purse up there and I went to get my cell phone and I heard her go downstairs. I didn't think anything of it. I just got my cell phone and went back to the kitchen and she was at the counter, with the knife..."

"She's okay Beverly," stated Dr. Morris. "It looked worse than it was. I doubt she'll even have a scar..."

The door opened and Jim ran into the room looking frantic. Beverly looked up at him blankly as he moved towards her and wrapped her in his arms. At his touch, she began to cry.

"She's all right," stated Dr. Morris to his unanswered question. "She cut herself with a kitchen knife, but the wounds are superficial. She was acting out in her sleep, she absolutely was not awake; it was not a conscious act."

"Where is she?" whispered Jim.

"Sleeping," the doctor replied. "I gave her a sedative; she should be out for a few hours. I wanted to give Beverly something, but she said no..."

Jim lowered Beverly back to the couch as her crying slowed.

"The kitchen's a mess and dinner is ruined," she mumbled.

"Don't worry about that, forget about that," he said softly. "Tara is okay and you're okay, that's all that matters."

"Tara's not okay," Beverly replied, "she's not okay, Jim. We need to do something, something is wrong..."

"Hush," he replied, pulling her close again, "we will. I promise. We'll get to the bottom of this."

A knock came at the door, rapid and urgent.

"It's probably Mel," said Beverly softly. "I called her right after I called you and Doctor Morris."

Jim rose and went to answer the door as Dr. Morris began to pack her things.

"She should sleep for a few hours," she said softly. "I'll come back tomorrow to check on her. Just let her rest."

Beverly nodded absently as Melissa entered the room followed by Jim and a huge man she had never met. Melissa was beside her in an instant, her arm around her waist.

"I didn't know what to do," said Beverly quietly. "I didn't know who to call. Who do you call?" She shook her head as the tears began again.

"It's all right," said Melissa, holding her until she calmed down.

"Would you like some coffee?" asked Jim, having no idea of what to do.

Vance studied Beverly and Jim for a moment; they were the people in the picture in Melissa's apartment. The young girl in the photo must have been their daughter, Tara.

"No, thank you," he replied. Quietly he directed himself to Jim, "Have you checked on her?"

Jim looked at Beverly anxiously, "I just got here before you two arrived, I was dealing with Bev..."

"Why not go and check on her," said Vance softly. "I'll keep an eye on things down here."

"Thank you," replied Jim, slipping quietly out the door.

Sitting on the couch, holding Melissa's hand, Beverly examined Vance for a moment.

"I am terribly sorry," she began, "I would offer you something to drink, but the kitchen is a mess at the moment..."

"Please don't trouble yourself."

"I'm Beverly," she stated absently. "Our daughter, Tara, she cut herself..."

"I know," he replied. "Melissa explained what had happened on the way over in the cab. I hope you don't mind that I came with her, she was upset and I didn't think it was wise to leave her."

Beverly nodded sadly, squeezing Melissa's hand tightly. Looking back at Vance she examined him for a moment more.

"You're a very big person," she stated absently.

He gave her a small smile, "Yeah, I've been told."

Jim returned from his trip upstairs, "She's fine, Bev, she's asleep. She looks pale, but I guess that's to be expected..."

Vance moved softly over to Jim. "Perhaps you and I should take a look in the kitchen. Your wife said that it was a mess and maybe we should clean it before she has a chance to see it again."

Jim looked at him, slowly comprehending the suggestion.

"That's a good idea, thank you."

Turning to Melissa, Vance said casually, "We'll be just inside if you need us."

Melissa nodded and mouthed the words, "Thank you" as Vance led Jim into the kitchen.

***

It was almost two o'clock in the morning before Vance opened the foyer door and walked with Melissa into the lobby of their building. The two walked silently to the elevator and boarded it, Vance punching the button for the third floor as Melissa leaned against the elevator's back wall.

"Well, you got to meet Beverly and Jim," she said wistfully. "Usually I wait a while before introducing my dates to my best friends but it seemed the only way out of drinking Yak coffee..."

He smiled down at her, liking her more by the moment.

"They seem like very nice people. I hope I get to meet them again under better circumstances."

Melissa nodded, "I hope so too."

The two exited the elevator and walked towards Melissa's door.

"You know," he said softly, "I can't stop thinking about that girl, Tara. I had a friend who was in the marines, was overseas and saw some things that you don't want to see. Anyway, he used to have horrible dreams, act out in his sleep. They said he had depression and post traumatic stress..."

Melissa nodded, "I understand what you're saying, but she's a teenage girl. They live in a nice neighborhood, she's got lots of friends, she didn't go to war. She's got all the symptoms, but I don't understand..."

"High school can be a real rough time, especially on a girl, especially on an attractive girl," he said quietly. "My sister had a real rough time of it."

Melissa smiled sadly, "You have a sister. I didn't know you had a sister..."

"Jenni," he replied. "She's younger than me by two years. We don't look alike; she's like you, a beautiful, petite girl. She went through some stuff in high school; it wasn't all cheerleader practice and fun. We grew up in a rough neighborhood, it wasn't easy for her. Tara's a pretty girl, maybe she's getting bullied or something happened..."

"That would explain the stress," said Melissa, unlocking her door and leading him inside, "but I think you were right. The acting out, the horrible nightmares, it's as if she suffered some sort of trauma."

"Maybe they need to contact her school," suggested Vance. "They're in a nice neighborhood, so I'd assume she goes to a decent school."

"Danderville," she replied. "It's one of the best in the country. I'd find it hard to believe that something happened there without anyone knowing. I know after I had been sick, I had had some awful dreams, but they faded over time."

"When were you sick?" he asked.

Melissa shrugged as she sat down next to him on the couch.

"When I was sixteen, my mother had to go to France for a month. My step-father took me to a party at his boss's house; while I was there I contracted a virus. I don't remember much about it, I was in the hospital for weeks, in and out of consciousness. When I recovered, I had nightmares, strange dreams that the doctors said were probably the aftermath of the high fever I had endured. It took a while, but they finally stopped. Tara was sick this past summer, she had gone to California with a friend and her family and had gotten deathly ill. Beverly was with her in the hospital for weeks, they were afraid they were going to lose her, but thank God, she pulled through. The nightmares started after that, but she would wake up crying or upset but she's never done anything to herself before."

He leaned forward, "I didn't mean to pry, but I heard Beverly ask you to speak with Tara. Are you going to do it?"

Melissa grimaced, "I want to help, but I'm not sure if I should. I might be too close, it might get awkward. I told Beverly I would because that is what she needed to hear tonight, but I'm not sure that's what's best for Tara."

"I would think that she needed compassion now and that would be easier to accept from a friend than from a stranger, don't you think?"

She looked at him warily, "Did Beverly ask you to speak to me?"

Vance put a hand on his chest, "I would never keep a secret from you. No, she didn't, but I think that young lady needs a friend right now and her Mom knows what type of friend you are and knows she couldn't ask for a better one."

Melissa placed her hand over the hand on his chest, "You really care about her."

Vance took her hand gently, "I don't like to see kids get hurt. Once they're hurt, I like to see them heal. I think Beverly is right; you're her best bet for that." He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, "I hate to say it, but it's late. I better get going."

Melissa nodded as he stood and headed towards the door, "Tomorrow's a work day. But Saturday isn't."

He stopped, "No, it isn't. Would you, perhaps, be free for dinner on Saturday? I still owe you coffee, we could have some after dinner."

She considered it, "On one condition."

"Name it."

"We go to some normal place for dinner and we have normal coffee. Oh, and NO wicker..."

He smiled, "Pick you up at five?"

"I'll be the one in jeans without a yak."

***

Ginger peeked into Melissa's office.

"She's here," she said, with a nod towards the waiting room.

Melissa looked up from her notes, surprised at how nervous she felt. She always felt nervous when facing a new client, always hoping that she would be able to help them, but this was different, this was personal.

"Please, bring her in and ask Beverly to wait outside."

Ginger nodded. She knew Melissa's methods well enough to know she was trying to make a statement to Tara; this is your safe place, no one enters here without your approval.

Melissa took a deep breath and arose from her chair, shaking out her arms and twisting her head to loosen up. Leaning against the desk, she watched Tara enter the room, eyes down cast.

Tara was a beautiful girl, just seventeen, with flaming red hair and brilliant blue eyes, both emphasized by her pale, flawless skin. Her beautiful face looked pensive as she made her way towards Melissa. She was wearing baggy jeans and a sweat shirt, a departure from her usually flirty wardrobe of shorts and short skirts and midriff baring shirts. Melissa knew that Tara had a lithe, toned body and was proud of her curves, her slender waist, her long legs. With a smile, she made a mental note to put her observation in Tara's file for later consideration. Pushing off from the desk she stepped forward and embraced Tara, something she would never do with another patient, but this was different, different tactics would have to be used.

"It's wonderful to see you," said Melissa softly. "How are you feeling?"

Tara's hand unconsciously swiped across her covered forearms, "I'm fine, Aunt Mel." She looked up, "Can I still call you Aunt Mel in here or is that not allowed?"

Melissa led her towards the couch opposite her desk, "Of course you can call me Aunt Mel. Tara, I just want to help you, everyone just wants you to feel better." Sitting her down, she looked at her seriously. "Tara, I want you to know that whatever is said in this room stays here. First and foremost, as your aunt, I would never tell another soul something you said to me in confidence and in here, everything is said in confidence. Less important, from a professional stand point, I would lose my license if I said anything about what we discussed in here to another person. I don't want you to worry that I will say anything to your mother. I know we gab about pretty much everything," she returned Tara's smile as she continued, "but not this. This is between you and me."

"I didn't cut myself when I was awake," said Tara quickly. "I just want you to know that I was asleep, I would never do that, I would never even consider it."

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I understand, but in a certain sense, please understand me, that makes our job harder."

Tara looked at her, sad eyes wanting to trust her, but stilled uncertain.

"If you had done it while you were awake," began Melissa, "I could ask you why you did it. Even if you had a hard time putting it into words, it would be something we could probably work out more easily. I believe you when you say you don't know why you did it and I believe that you were asleep when it happened. What that means, however, is that we have to try and find out why you did something when you yourself have no idea why you did it. If you don't know, it's hard for me to find out why, but I don't want that to frighten you. We'll find out together."

"Another thing," said Tara haltingly. "I know Mom feels terrible, like this is somehow her fault or it's because she's my step-mother. She hasn't said anything, but I can see it on her face, like somehow this is all her fault, but it isn't. I love Mom, she's my Mom, she always will be; this has nothing to do with her, I'm positive of that."

"Don't worry about your Mom," said Melissa softly. "I'll speak to her, not about what we discuss, but about her reaction to what is going on. I don't want you to worry. Her reaction is normal. Most parents blame themselves for things that bother their children, she just wants to protect you, but I will speak to her about it."

Tara looked down and started to cry. Melissa hugged her, unsure of why she was so upset suddenly.

"Aunt Mel, I'm sorry, I don't want to be a bother..."

Melissa held her, "Tara, you have never been and you never will be a bother."

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't."

Melissa held her more tightly, "We'll find out, Tara. We'll find out together."

***

The shadow falling across Len's computer screen was large and familiar. Still, he ignored it for a moment while he finished typing in data before peering up at its cause.

"That was the last of the building assessment for 327 Broadway," he stated by way of explanation. "I think you're going to have to focus on that rear stairwell, it leaves a lot to be desired."

"I have Tom checking into it," replied Vance. "I didn't like it when I saw it, but I didn't have the time to really examine it. I'm sure you found a lot more than I suspected."

"Don't forget this afternoon's meeting with Stan Eldridge," replied Len.

"All ready forgotten," replied Vance. "I'll get on it."

"What's the matter?" asked Len, gesturing him towards a chair. "You've been distracted for the last few days. Is it that kid?"

Vance sat down, "Well, that and the date tonight. I'm a bit nervous, in a certain sense it's our first time out together. I mean, things seemed to be going well, but it was too early to tell..."

"Don't over analyze," interrupted Len. "This job makes you over think things. You were having fun; an emergency interrupted that, so just go back to having fun. She meets with the kid today, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, about now as a matter of fact..."

"Well then, she's probably going to need a few laughs. I can't imagine examining your best friend's kid is going to be a walk in the park."

Vance stood up, "So be the supportive boyfriend is your suggestion?"

Laughing, Len returned to his computer screen, "Half a date and you think you're the boyfriend? A little presumptuous, buddy mine."

Vance smiled as he gave him a gentle swat across the back of his head and left the office.

***

Mrs. Giamonte lounged in a chair positioned just outside of her apartment door, waiting patiently. In her younger years, she would have just kept an eye out through the peep hole in her door, but with age came the realization that she shouldn't stand for long hours unnecessarily. Not that her legs bothered her, but why take the chance? Her girlfriend Marie used to stand for long hours and she died last year. Admittedly she got hit by a cab, but why chance it? If you were sitting down, not only did your legs not hurt, you seldom got run over by a cab, it was a win-win.

She heard the front door open and saw Melissa enter, smiling as usual. Such a beautiful girl, thought Mrs. Giamonte, so much like me when I was younger... She had been the most beautiful girl in her village, everyone had said so. Of course, some of the other girls were hard to tell from the goats, but that didn't change the fact that she had been a beauty. She pushed herself off the chair and moved to intercept Melissa at the elevator.

"Good evening, sweetheart, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Giamonte, just fine."

Mrs. Giamonte slid her hand through Melissa's arm and to Melissa's surprise started steering her back towards her own apartment.

"Do you have a minute," she asked as she maneuvered her towards her door. "I need to speak to you about something."

Before Melissa could answer she found herself standing in Mrs. Giamonte's foyer. The apartment was clean, the furniture old. Melissa could not think of when she had seen more doilies anywhere in her life. Under the lamps, the knick knacks, even the couch had them; it was as if Spiderman had paid a visit and felt the need to decorate.

"I'm afraid I can't stay long..." began Melissa.

"You've got a date, I know, I know," interrupted Mrs. Giamonte. "I'll just kidnap you for a minute, I promise. Please have a seat, just a minute."

Melissa sat down and looked up at the elderly woman expectantly. Mrs. Giamonte grimaced, how to start?

"Miss Banner, I think you know that I never try to interfere in the life of my tenants," she began diplomatically. "Still, as a mother, and as a grandmother, I know certain things about life that perhaps, even with all of your education, you don't know. Books are great for a lot of things, but experience, experience is the greatest teacher."

"I agree, Mrs. Giamonte," replied Melissa, thinking it best to be agreeable and seek the first opportunity to run.

"Good, you listen, that's good," she replied. "Now, I know you have your own mother, but she isn't here to...to speak to you about certain things. Miss Banner, you're a nice girl, everyone here thinks you're a nice girl, ask anyone. Everyone, even people who don't know you, who just know your face, they say, "I don't know her, but she looks like a nice girl", which is nice, right?"

"Nice," repeated Melissa, unsure of what else to say.

"And once you're nice, you don't want to be known as not nice, you understand?"

Melissa shook her head, "Not completely."

Mrs. Giamonte raised her eyes to heaven, how to put this delicately.

"What I'm saying," she began with a sigh, "is that once you're a nice girl, you don't want to be a...not nice girl."

Melissa looked at her blankly.

"What I mean is... you don't want to get a reputation."

"A reputation for what?" asked Melissa, now completely confused.

Mrs. Giamonte stood before her and took Melissa's hands tenderly into her own. "You don't want to be known as a whore, my dear. Once people think you're a whore, you lose all the privileges of being a nice girl."

"A whore?" repeated Melissa, shocked. "Who said I was a whore?"

"No one," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Haven't you been listening? I said everyone thinks you're nice."

"So why would you think people are going to think of me as a whore?" she asked.

"How long does it take to drink a cup of coffee?" Mrs. Giamonte looked at her more sternly. "You leave at seven you come back at two in the morning? What the hell sort of cup of coffee is that? Did you get the fifty five gallon drum of coffee? A coffee bath perhaps? I mean, it's your life dear, but you've got to consider your reputation. You're young and beautiful now, but when you get older, all you've got is your reputation and, if you're lucky, your husband's insurance money."

"Not that it's anyone's business," replied Melissa, rising from the couch to leave, "I had a medical emergency and Mister Tibbet was nice enough to accompany me."

"So you had to take care of a crazy person and he went along because it was late?"

"Another way to put it, but yes."

"Oh..." mused Mrs. Giamonte. After a moment, she threw her hands open in a gesture of letting bygone be bygones. "Forget I said anything. So, you're going on a date tonight?"

"We're going to dinner," replied Melissa as she headed for the door. "We might be back late, don't feel the need to wait up."

"It's no bother," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "You have a good time, dear. Don't forget, if there are any left-overs let him carry the bag. After you're married, they're no good for anything so make him work now."

"I'll remember," replied Melissa as she showed herself out.

Mrs. Giamonte watched her walk down the hall. With Melissa gone, she looked at her folding chair. Should she check Melissa's story by talking to Mister Tibbet? No, Melissa was an honest girl; she shouldn't check up on her like that, she would feel bad if she thought she had lost someone's trust. Such a nice girl, she thought. Picking up the folding chair, she closed it with a jerk and began to turn to enter her apartment when she saw Mister Tibbet making his way towards the elevator.

"Big date tonight, huh?"

Vance looked at her, startled.

"Oh, yes, yes, big date."

Mrs. Giamonte watched him board the elevator.

Calling out to him, she yelled, "Mister Tibbet!"

Vance stuck his head out of the elevator door, "Yes Mrs. Giamonte?"

Mrs. Giamonte thought about it, she was only treating her like her own daughter, she should be flattered.

"Mister Tibbet, have Miss Banner home tonight at a reasonable hour or I'm going to have to have a talk with you."

Vance eyed her for a moment and then slowly pulled his head back into the elevator. With a push of the button, the doors closed and the elevator lurched upwards towards his floor. He found it odd that a man in his position was dating a woman who had an eighty year old female body guard.

Chapter 4

Vance stared across the table at Melissa unable to remember ever sitting across from anyone who looked so beautiful. Looking up from her menu, she caught him looking at her.

"What is it, do I have something in my teeth?" she asked.

He laughed; she was just so easy to be with, "No, nothing in your teeth. I'm just really glad that you agreed to come out with me."

"It's the least I can do for the man who has people thinking I'm a whore," she responded casually.

"I had nothing to do with that," he replied with a smirk. "You can't blame me for your landlady being crazy."

"She's your landlady too," she reminded him. "Why is it every time she misbehaves, she's my landlady."

"Please, I have to get you home at a decent hour or she's going to sit me down for a talk. It will kill my professional reputation if I get bitch slapped by an eighty year old woman and if I lose my reputation, I'll lose money. If I lose money, I won't be able to afford Yak coffee and then you won't go out with me."

Melissa considered it.

"I don't go out with you to drink Yak coffee."

"So you go out with me because of me?" he asked.

"No," she drawled, "I go out with you to talk about Yak coffee."

He looked at her in mocked dejection.

"Our relationship is based on talking about Yak coffee?"

"Honestly speaking, we had half a date, so I don't know if technically you can use the term relationship. You also have to remember, in one half date with you I went from good girl to whore, so if I'm a bit slow to let go of the Yak coffee phase, I don't think anyone would find it surprising."

A look of deep thought shown on his face, "I've got nothing."

"My logic overwhelmed you," she replied, closing her menu triumphantly.

"You overwhelm me," he replied, closing his menu and taking a sip of his water.

"Ginger said I had to make sure you knew your place," Melissa giggled. "I didn't think it would be so easy."

The waiter arrived and took their orders. Melissa surveyed her surroundings, a nice middle of the road restaurant, table cloths, subdued lighting, unpretentious menus; all in all a much better choice than the snooty café.

"I know you can't really talk about it," he said softly, "but how is Tara doing?"

Melissa grimaced, "I can't talk about specifics, but today wasn't a bad start. The poor kid has issues, but not any that I thought she might be having. She's more upset that her Mom and Dad are upset, though that isn't surprising. She's always been tremendously thoughtful; she's a really good kid. There is something she either won't or can't talk about, but I'm hoping we can get through it."

"How is Beverly taking things?"

"It's hard," replied Melissa, taking hold of a bread stick. "Typical parent in a sense, thinking it is something she did to create the situation. I honestly don't think it has anything to do with her or Jim. Tara obviously loves her parents very much. I spoke to Bev a little bit, tried to reassure her, but I can see the doubt. I know she's dying to ask me things I can't answer but so far, she's been able to respect the process. I know it's only day one, but Bev doesn't take no very gracefully, so I just keep hoping that we'll have some progress quickly."

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

Melissa looked at him, slightly puzzled, "Fine."

He shrugged as the waiter brought them their meals, "I'm just thinking that you're being strong for your friends and keeping an eye on them, but this can't be too easy on you. You don't seem the type to leave your thoughts and concerns at the office and these are people you obviously care deeply about, so I want to make sure that you're okay too."

She offered him a warm smile, "I'm okay, thank you. I worry, of course, but I worry about all my patients. As far as leaving the job at work, well, I need to reflect on things that I see and hear and besides, I can see you don't leave your job at work either."

"My job is different," he confided. "Remembering my job is necessary outside of my work. Take what happened the other night, for instance. On my job, getting a subject to a destination within a given time frame is essential for success. You distracted me and I got you home late and now I have Mrs. Giamonte on my tail. Of course, she also makes it necessary that I be on the watch for her whenever I come home, so I'm always on alert. I can't let my guard down."

"I see," she replied. "So you're on call, twenty four seven."

"It's the life I've chosen," he said softly. "I have to reflect on things too. Sometimes, things don't go as smoothly as they might, so I have to think about what could we have done better? I always tell people that I'm in the preventive maintenance business; our job is to foresee the problem. I guess you're in the damage control business, you get the situation after the problem has occurred."

"I never thought of it that way, but I suppose you're right," she said, taking a forkful of her dinner. "Damage control; it often starts that way. You have to stabilize the subject before you can start to work on repairing the damage."

"In my business, if you're working to repair the damage, you failed in your primary task," he said. "Still, no one is perfect, so it's nice to know that there are people out there like you, who can put the pieces back together."

She gave him a little laugh, "It's kind of nice to know that there are people like you out there as well."

He looked down at his meal and tried hard not to get too excited.

***

Melissa sat at her desk, enjoying the early morning quiet before Ginger and her patients and her problems showed up at her door. She thought of Saturday night and could not keep from smiling. Vance was so easy to be with and so sincere, he made her feel good and that had not happened in a long time. She thought back to their first kiss, the good night kiss. He had been surprisingly gentle, something that his muscle and physique seemed to be hiding. For a man who could knock down a wall, he was a surprisingly good kisser. The thought of him made her smile, but she had to be careful. It was one date, no sense building it up in her mind, but she was looking forward to Friday. He had asked her out again at the door and she was having a hard time this morning focusing on anything else. Oh, well, why not? She would have to push it out of her mind soon enough.

Looking down at her schedule, she saw that Tara was her first patient this morning. She had decided over the weekend that Beverly could not be expected to behave herself for long, so she would have to move quickly to protect Tara from her well meaning mother. If Tara would agree, she would attempt to put her under today. It was obvious to her that Tara was suppressing something, that she honestly did not remember her dreams or actions. If she could at least find out what she was dreaming, it would be a first step towards uncovering what was bothering her. Bev had not been crazy about the idea, but after speaking to Jim, they had given her permission to try it.

A knock at the door surprised her. Glancing at the clock, she did a double take, eight o'clock, where had the morning gone?

Ginger put her head in the door, "Tara is here with her mother."

"Send Tara in," she replied. "Tell Bev, I'll speak to her later."

Ginger nodded sagely and withdrew. Melissa looked quickly at Tara's file. She had to find out what was triggering this and she had to find out soon.

***

Len slapped Vance on the back, something which he found remarkably like slapping a closed door with an open hand.

"A kiss," he chided. "So you kissed the fair maiden. Did seven dwarfs come out and sing a happy song? Did she leave you a glass slipper? Did you kiss her before or after you killed the dragon?"

"You have no romance in your heart," replied Vance with a laugh. "It was...sublime."

"Sublime?" snapped Len. "Sublime? Sublime for you a week ago was a punch in the face without brass knuckles now a girl kisses you once and you're using words like sublime and café. I don't know who you are, who is this person?"

"She's amazing," said Vance eagerly, not caring how he sounded. "Len, she is so smart and funny and amazing and it was three kisses, not one."

"Three kisses, I'm impressed. First off that you got her to kiss you three times and secondly because in the heat of the moment you could count to three. Did you get her home at a decent hour?" asked Len with mock concern. "You don't want an old lady ass whipping in front of your girlfriend; she'll never look at you the same."

"Midnight, actually, eight minutes before," replied Vance. "I thought I heard Mrs. Giamonte's door close just as we entered the elevator, but I can't be sure."

"Midnight," grimaced Len, "ten o'clock would have been better. Next time, come back at ten and knock on her door so she can confirm it, then sneak out the back. My brother and I used to do that to my mother as kids, worked almost every time."

"Well, I'll try to remember it on Friday," said Vance happily. "We're going out again on Friday. I can't wait."

"So where are you taking her?"

Vance squinted in thought, "I was thinking the Eldorado, but I'm not sure. She seems to really like casual."

Len considered it.

"Try it once and see how she likes it. You're in the learning what she likes stage, she'll give you a little leeway, I'm sure."

Vance couldn't contain his smile.

"I can't wait till Friday."

***

Tara sat on the couch, her red hair framing her beautiful face, her eyes closed, breathing softly, arms loose at her side. Her face and legs looked pale above the blue sweat shirt and below the denim skirt she wore, but it was the first time that Melissa had seen her relaxed in weeks. She had agreed to hypnosis skeptically, but had gone under relatively quickly. Melissa had the tape recorder on and was speaking to her gently.

"Now Tara, I don't want you to be frightened, I just want you to relax. You are going to remember the dreams you have been having, but you will not be afraid. You will look at the dreams as something apart from yourself, as if you were watching a movie. As you tell me about them, you will know that they aren't real, that what is happening is not happening to you, that no matter what is happening, no one is going to hurt you, do you understand that?"

"Yes," replied Tara in a soft, sleepy voice.

Melissa took a deep breath.

"Tara, do you remember the night that your parents came into your room and woke you up because you were crying in your sleep?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember telling them that you had had a bad dream?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember telling them that you did not remember the dream?"

"Yes," she replied, more slowly.

"Did you remember the dream, Tara?"

Tara squirmed slightly, "Some of it, not all..."

"Do you remember why you decided to say that you did not remember the dream?"

Tara began to breathe a little more deeply, "Yes."

"Why did you say you did not remember the dream?"

Tara hesitated, "Too embarrassing..."

Melissa nodded, "The dream you had, it was too embarrassing to tell to your parents?"

"Yes," replied Tara softly.

Melissa considered it, "In this dream, did you do something that you thought was embarrassing?"

"Yes," said Tara.

Melissa listened to her breathing, it was becoming more pronounced. "Tara, I want you to relax. You feel safe and relaxed. You know that while we are speaking, nothing and no one can hurt you. You are telling me what you see in the dream, that is all. It is not happening to you, do you understand?"

Her breathing slowed once again, "Yes, I understand."

Melissa paused.

"Do you remember how the dream began?"

Tara squirmed slightly, "Yes."

"Tell me the beginning of the dream and remember, it is not happening to you, you are just seeing it and telling me what is happening."

Tara licked her lips and began.

"It is a room... filled with light, bright and sunny... but cold. I'm waking up... the room is filled with light... can't keep my eyes open... my eyes are so heavy and there is too much light... I keep trying to turn my head away... away from the light... I can't... it is everywhere... can't keep my eyes open... the whole room... white and so bright...my eyes are so heavy."

"What are you doing in the dream?" asked Melissa.

"I'm on a bed... I can see the window...the window is to my right...it's open... I can feel the breeze coming through the window... I'm cold... I see the curtains on the window moving... so cold... I feel the wind...it's blowing on me... I'm cold... I'm cold and I'm naked... I have no clothes on... I'm laying on a bed... there's nothing to cover me...there aren't any sheets to cover me... just the sheet I'm lying on... I want to move... get off the bed... put something on... find a blanket... I can't... can't move... keep trying to move my arms... my legs... they won't move... I can't lift my arms or my legs... so tired and I can't keep my eyes open... so bright, it's so bright."

Melissa took a note and checked Tara; no distress, still relaxed.

"Do you remember what happened next?"

Tara wet her lips again, "Yes...a door... I don't see it... I hear the door open...a man...a man walks in..."

"Do you know the man?"

"No... I see his face... but don't know the man..."

"What does the man look like?"

"Older... older than Daddy... fifty...maybe fifty... gray hair... dark eyes... he's strong... tan..."

"What is he wearing?" asked Melissa.

"He's naked," replied Tara. "A naked man...don't want to look at him...tan all over... he's naked."

"Does the man say anything to you?" asked Melissa.

"No... yes...I don't know," Tara's features grew tight, "I don't know what he's saying... talking but... what he is saying... there are words... don't know, he's speaking...not to me, he's talking to someone else."

"Do you see anyone else there?"

Tara's breathing became deeper, "At first, no...now... turn my head towards the window... it's too bright... can't see... hear a voice... a woman's voice... she's talking... can't hear what she's saying...can't make out the words... I turn my head... back towards the man..."

"You turn back towards the man and what do you see?"

"Not there... man isn't there... man is gone... the woman... the woman is there... older..."

"Is she older than the man?"

"No... older than me... in her thirties... maybe forties... not sure"

"What does the woman look like?"

"Beautiful...very beautiful... beautiful face... blue eyes like Mom...blonde hair... golden hair, her hair is like gold..."

A knot formed in the pit of Melissa's stomach. "What is the woman wearing?"

"Naked," replied Tara. "Naked... like the man... tan all over... naked... beautiful... tan and her body is firm... beautiful skin... no hair on her body... on her arms or legs... no hair... between her legs... smooth skin, so smooth... long blonde hair... keep looking at her hair...she's leaning over me... long golden hair... leaning over me...looking at me... smiling... smiling at me..."

Taking a deep breath, Melissa tried to calm herself.

"Does the woman say anything to you?"

"Yes." Tara sighed softly, "She is talking to me... whispering in my ear.... telling me, "relax, little bird, relax"...keeps saying it...over and over..."

Melissa swallowed hard in a dry throat, her hands shaking, feeling as if she might get sick.

"What happens next?" she asked in a whisper.

"I feel her hair... it's so soft...so soft... it's touching my face... leaning over me... kissing me... kissing me on the lips... don't want to kiss her... try to turn away... takes my face... pulls my face back... pulls my face to her... she kisses me... keeps kissing me... want her to stop... forces her tongue into my mouth... want her to stop... don't want to kiss her... keeps forcing me... no... keeps kissing me... talking to me... kissing my lips... my chin, my neck..." Tara swallowed hard, turning her head slightly. "She's kissing me... can't open my eyes... kissing my neck... kissing my breasts... sucking... sucking my nipples... don't want her to... licking my nipples... hand going down... down between my legs."

Melissa took a tissue from her desk and blotted at her eyes trying desperately to maintain her composure.

"Is there more?" she asked, praying the answer was no.

"She's kissing my stomach... feel her hair on my stomach... she's kissing my legs... my thighs... soft hair on my legs... kissing me down there... between my legs... she's licking me... licking between my legs... stop...want her to stop... don't want a girl to touch me there... she's licking me there... stop... licking her fingers... stop... putting her fingers inside me... want her to stop... she won't stop... so bright, room is so bright... feel strange... feel warm... want her to stop... it feels good... want her to stop... want her to stop but it feels good... the light... too bright... she stops... felt good... she stopped..."

"Can you open your eyes?" whispered Melissa, wiping her eyes.

"No... can't open my eyes... light too bright..."

"Is there more to the dream?"

Tara sighs, "Yes."

Melissa hunched over in her chair, rocking slightly, "What happened next?"

"Can't open my eyes... someone kissing my stomach... touching my breasts... sucking on my breasts... pulling my legs... pulling my legs apart... touching me... rough... so rough... touching me... open my eyes... it hurts... too bright... start to see... start to focus... pain... hurts so much... my legs, my legs are being pushed up... held up... it hurts... I see the woman... the woman with the golden hair... next to me, she's hovering over me... next to me, but over me... kissing, licking my breasts... licking my nipples... old man, between my legs... my legs, on his shoulders... he's pushing... thrusting into me... pushing himself inside of me... pushing himself inside me... hurts, it hurts... keeps thrusting into me... can't catch my breath... laughing, she's laughing... rubbing me... it hurts, it hurts so much... she's rubbing me... rubbing my nub... rubbing me... starting to feel better... starting to feel good... thrusting... hurts, rubbing, good... no, don't want a girl... girl making me feel good...no... whispering... she's whispering... whispering... "relax, little bird, relax"... want them to stop... it hurts... he's talking... calling me names... he's saying things... slapping me... slapping my face... slapping my butt... "little bitch"... "little bitch"... she's laughing... want Mom and Dad to make them stop..."

Melissa put her hands to her ears, trying to block out the story.

"Tara, I want you to stop!" she commanded.

Tara stopped speaking, a pained expression on her face.

"I want you to relax, to think of... to think of the beach. I want you to think of yourself at the beach. You enjoy the beach don't you, Tara?" asked Melissa, fighting the wave of nausea she was feeling.

"Yes," said Tara softly.

"Good, I want you to relax and think of yourself, sunning yourself at the beach. You feel the sun on your face, the wind gently blowing your hair; you are happy and peaceful and relaxed."

She watched Tara ease back into the couch, relaxing, peaceful.

Rising, she moved quickly to her bathroom. Throwing on the light, she stared at her reflection, feeling ill. Quickly she splashed cold water onto her face, fighting to remain in control, fighting the overwhelming feeling of nausea. She had to get back to Tara; she had to concentrate on Tara! Quickly drying her face, she took several deep breaths and felt herself calming down. Returning to her chair she examined Tara sitting quietly, breathing easily. Good, good, Tara was good.

"Tara, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice growing stronger.

"Yes," replied Tara, a slight smile on her face.

"I'm going to wake you up in a moment. When you wake up, you're going to feel well rested, safe and relaxed. You will not remember what we have discussed, you will feel good and relaxed and safe. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm going to count to ten, when I reach ten, you will open your eyes and be fully awake. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

Tara opened her eyes and looked sheepishly at Melissa.

"How did I do?" she asked Melissa softly.

Melissa forced a smile, "You did wonderful, Tara, wonderful. I'm very proud of you. How do you feel?"

Tara offered her a shy smile, "I feel good, really good." She looked at Melissa, "Aunt Mel, you don't look too well."

Melissa cleared her throat, "I think something I ate is bothering me. I'm sorry; I had to cut our discussion a bit short, I'm not feeling well. But you did wonderful, Tara, you did wonderful. Come on; let's go see your mother."

Tara and Melissa stepped out into the waiting room. Beverly rose from her chair, moving smoothly over to her daughter and friend. Wrapping a protective arm around Tara, she glanced at Melissa while offering her daughter a smile.

"How did it going, sweetheart?" she asked, trying to sound upbeat.

"Aunt Mel said it went well."

"How do you feel?"

"Good," smiled Tara. "I feel good, Mom."

Beverly looked at Melissa and frowned, "Are you all right, Mel? You look green."

"I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me," replied Melissa.

"Perhaps you should see Doctor Morris," offered Beverly. "You really don't look well."

"Maybe I will," replied Melissa. "I'm sorry Bev, I've got so much work to do, can we talk later?"

"Oh, of course; come on, Tara, how about we do some shopping?"

"We could do that," replied Tara wistfully.

"Okay, Mel, I'll speak to you later," replied Beverly. "Get to the doctor, you don't look well."

"I'll take care of it, I promise." Melissa gave her friends another smile, "Go ahead, before you miss the sales."

With a wave, Beverly and Tara made their way towards the elevator.

Stepping up behind Melissa, Ginger spoke quietly, concerned, "You don't look good, sweetheart."

Turning to face her, Melissa swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check.

"I want you to cancel the rest of my appointments, Ginger. I need to go home."

Chapter 5

Virginia Allison Banner Kent Pena picked the morning paper off of her front step and retreated back into her house. Her blonde hair and careful makeup in conjunction with a vigorous work out regime had people often guessing her age to be in her early to mid forties despite the fact that she had just turned sixty. Dressed in snug blue jeans and a loose white top, she settled down at her kitchen table with a cup of coffee and unfurled the paper, scanning the headlines.

A muscular man of thirty five stepped into the kitchen, pulling his black t-shirt down past his well toned abs.

"See anything good in the paper?" he asked casually pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Same old nonsense," she replied. "All the haters still hating, all the lovers, still out numbered."

The younger man leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead.

"I'm running late," he state apologetically. "I had better get going."

Leaning over, he kissed her upturned lips and grabbed his car keys off the table.

"What time will you be home?" she asked.

"Probably about seven thirty," her replied. "We've got a meeting with the architect tonight."

Virginia grimaced internally, but forced a smile, "I'll keep your dinner warm."

"Later, babe."

Stepping out the kitchen door, he never saw her rise from the table, watching him through the kitchen window as he made his way to his car.

"Damn it, Kevin," she whispered as he pulled down the driveway and into traffic.

The ringing of the phone brought her away from the fury she felt and back into the moment. She picked up the receiver on the second ring and recognized Melissa's voice.

"Hi, Missy, what's up? Funny you calling..."

Melissa tried hard to control her voice, "Hi Mom, how are you?"

"I'm doing fine, dear, just fine. How is my beautiful daughter? Any new conquests to report?"

Melissa blanched, "No, I'm too busy to date."

"Still playing hard to get," replied her mother. "I was RE-married by your age."

Melissa refuses to rise to the bait.

"Mom, I have a case that I'm working on. It brought up a few things I was hoping I might speak to you about."

"Someone else's mother not living up to standards?" asked Virginia tartly.

"This isn't about mothers," replied Melissa stiffly. "This case involves a young girl."

"Well, everyone tells me I look young, but even I know I'm no girl," laughed Virginia. "What do you want to ask?"

Melissa controlled her reply with an effort.

"Mom, do you remember when I was sick?"

"Yes," replied Virginia dully. "I was out of the country; I shouldn't have been out of the country..."

"That's not important, Mom," replied Melissa evenly. "I want to ask you about what happened later, remember the nightmares?"

"You used to have nightmares for about a year after you were sick, you had nightmares, "vivid dreams" is what Doctor Eldon called them..."

"Do you remember how long after I was sick it was before the nightmares started?"

Virginia paused, "It was about three weeks, maybe a month after you left the hospital."

Melissa took a deep breath, "Do you remember if I was on medication at the time?"

There was another pause, "No. In fact, you had just finished your medication a week or so before you began getting them. I remember because I asked the doctor if the medication might be the reason for them and he said no, the medication was probably out of your system by that point."

"The nightmares lasted for about a year, isn't that right?"

Another pause, "I'm not sure, Melissa, why? Why is this important?"

Melissa tried to sound casual, "This patient was on a similar medication to the one I was taking and is having nightmares similar to the ones I was having. I contacted the manufacturer, but I'm not getting much information, so I was trying to see if our symptoms were similar."

"Well, all I remember is that you would wake up screaming and crying and we had a hell of a time trying to calm you down. After you had been going to Doctor Eldon for a while, they started happening less frequently and they stopped all together about the time Pierre died."

Melissa felt a chill, "They stopped when Pierre died?"

"About that time, yes," replied Virginia. "Doctor Eldon thought that the trauma of losing your step-father replaced the trauma of your illness and since it was something that was more understandable to the conscious mind, blah, blah, blah. Frankly, Melissa, I never understood what he was talking about, but it seemed to help you, so we stuck with it. Does that help?"

Melissa nodded absently, then realizing what she was doing, stammered, "Yes, yes, that is a help. Probably just the medicine..."

"It's too bad that Eldon died, he would have been better to speak to this about, he had the records and all. As I said, I never understood all that gobbly gook, I can't imagine why you find it so fascinating..."

"Mom, I have to go, I have another call."

"Of course...goodbye, Melissa."

"Good-bye, mother."

Melissa hung up the phone and sat, hugging herself. Suddenly being alone in her apartment made her feel frightened and vulnerable, a terror rising in her that she had not felt in years. Curling up into a ball, she wept, alone.

***

Melissa could see nothing through the peep-hole and hesitated before calling out, "Who is it?"

"It's Vance; may I speak to you for a moment?"

Melissa ran a tear stained hand through her hair. She had been on the couch for hours, wrapped in a blanket, her hair was wild, her face lined with tearstains.

"I'm not feeling well, Vance, could you come back some other time?"

"I won't stay long, please," he replied softly.

Melissa didn't want him to see her like this, didn't want anyone to see her like this, "Vance..."

He heard her crying softly through the door, "Melissa, are you all right?" No reply. He knocked again, "Melissa, please answer me. If you don't answer me, I'm breaking down the door."

Melissa opened the door frightened he would break it down and too over come to answer him.

Vance stood on the threshold, a look of concern on his face. His almost girlfriend stood before him, eyes swollen, hair disheveled, obviously in a state far beyond upset but still looking more beautiful to him than anyone he had ever known. Between the two of them he held an enormous, strange bouquet and a badly wrapped DVD.

"I came to apologize," he stated.

"Apologize?" she gurgled.

"According to Mrs. Giamonte you came home early today because I took you to dinner and gave you food poisoning. I got home late and there isn't anything open around here, so I ran down to the mini-mart and bought all the flowers that they had on sale. I called Len and asked him what I should do. He talked me through buying you a gift; I got you a Meg Ryan DVD from the dollar bin. I have no idea what it is about, but it was either that or an assortment of air fresheners for your car."

"I don't need any air fresheners," she stammered, swiping at her tears.

"I know that, but they didn't have much of selection of anything."

Looking at the mismatched flowers in his hand, she giggled, "That's the strangest bouquet I've ever received, thank you."

Taking the flowers, she retreated towards her kitchen. Vance wandered in, closing the door and making his way to the couch. When Melissa returned with the flowers crammed into a vase, he rose.

"How are you feeling?"

She swallowed hard, "I'm fine, Vance. I'm not sick."

He examined her a moment. He wanted to be diplomatic, but it wasn't his strong point and he knew it.

"You aren't looking your best."

She giggled again, "No, I suppose I don't."

"Okay, so I didn't poison you?"

She shook her head and sat down on the couch, her eyes tearing up. "I told Mrs. Giamonte that I had a stomach ache to get away from her. I needed to be alone."

"So physically, you are alright, which is good, but something is obviously bothering you."

"Oh, you picked up on that, huh?"

He sat down next to her and took her hand tentatively, "Can I help?"

She sighed, "I can't talk to you about it because part of it has to deal with a patient."

He nodded thoughtfully, "Well, maybe talking about what you can talk about will help. I won't push you, Melissa; I just want you to feel better. I won't pry..."

She looked at him doubtfully, "I don't want you to think I'm a drama queen. We've been on a date and a half and you've already had to run to my best friend's house on an emergency and come here thinking I had food poisoning. Most guys would run away."

He nodded, "There are always some people who run towards problems, especially when they know there is someone who needs help."

"I don't know Vance; this is a lot to ask." She wiped at her eyes, "I don't know what good it would do."

Vance chuckled, "Sounds like something one of your patients might say, don't you think? It couldn't hurt to talk about it, hearing it out loud might make you see things a bit more clearly."

She squeezed his hands, "You would make a good psychiatrist."

"The woman I talk to about Yak coffee has taught me a few things," he replied.

She smiled and wiped at her eyes again. "You might regret it."

He kissed her hand and looked at her, "I don't think I will."

Taking a deep breath she cleared her throat, "Something happened during my morning session today that I find very disturbing. A patient of mine told me a dream, a recurring dream. Dreams could mean many things, there are different ways of interpreting them, but this dream was different. It's a nightmare and it's my nightmare."

"I don't understand what you mean," he confessed.

She teared up again, but continued, "I mean that the nightmare that the patient told me today is the same nightmare I had, a recurring nightmare that I had twelve years ago, after I had been sick."

"You say that it's the same dream," began Vance softly, "maybe it's just similar."

Melissa shook her head adamantly, "No, Vance, no. It is the same dream."

He thought a moment, "Are there any other similarities? Between you and the patient, I mean."

Melissa nodded, "The patient is a young, about the same age I was at the time I began having the dream. I began having the dream after my illness and the patient had a similar illness recently."

Vance nodded, but kept his mouth shut. His job consisted of knowing when and when not to share his conclusions with a client and Melissa did not need to know his conclusion. He nodded, knowing she was speaking about Tara.

"What is the dream about? Is it a place, or an action..."

Melissa wiped at her eyes again, "It's a dream about being degraded, of being violated."

Vance controlled the surge of anger that threatened his reason. Logically he knew he could not protect Melissa from the unpleasantness of life, emotionally he wanted to personally dismantle anyone who so much as bothered her.

"Degraded?"

"I was sixteen years old, my mother went to France on a vacation, she needed to get away from the hassle of having her nails done and worrying over her next facial, so she left me alone with her second husband, Pierre. I don't know how they met; my father had died four years before in a car crash. No one would have ever measured up to him; he was an incredible man, sensitive, caring... Pierre certainly never measured up to him. Pierre was a plastic surgeon, very wealthy, I think that is how he and my mother met, she went to him for some work. He was handsome, I don't know if my mother really cared for him, but she hated NOT being married and interracial marriages were in vogue at the time, so suddenly I had a step-father. He had grown up poor in Haiti... he seemed to resent the fact that I grew up in a relatively secure middle class home. We didn't get along well. Anyway, mother went to France and Pierre and I went out to the Hamptons to his boss's mansion out there. I remember I was thrilled, I had just bought my first bikini and they had this fantastic swimming pool, it was huge. I was out in the pool all day, swimming and enjoying myself. I felt so grown up and sophisticated. After dinner that night, I was feeling tired, but Pierre kept stalling, he didn't want to go back to the hotel we were staying at and finally, his boss suggested that we stay over that night at his house."

Melissa took a slow, shuddering breath and let it out.

"They gave me a room at the top of a set of stairs and as I began climbing the stairs, I began feeling woozy. I remember clutching the railing, trying to steady myself and then, someone grabbing me just as I passed out. When I awoke a week later, they told me that I had had a terrible virus which had caused a pelvic inflammation. My doctor told me that in order to relieve the inflammation that they had had to remove my hymen, they thought that they might have to do a hysterectomy on me, but they were able to stop the inflammation. Still, I don't know if I'll be able to have children..."

She wiped at her eyes, trying not to think about it, just trying to get through the story.

"It was about a month later that I started having the dream, it was always the same. I was naked in a room where a man of about forty and a woman in about her thirties raped me repeatedly. The woman would whisper to me, "relax, little bird, relax" as they did things to me."

She pulled her hands free from Vance, pulling them close to her chest. "I would wake up, but not fully, I would be struggling to wake up, but I just could not do it, it was like I was drugged. The woman, the woman with the golden hair would appear, completely naked and tanned and begin to... to arouse me. Once I began to be aroused, the man would appear and rape me and call me names and slap me, on my face, on my breasts, on my bottom and then I would pass out and wake up and they would be doing something else to me. I remember waking up and turning my head and seeing them, the woman with the golden hair lying next to me and the man between her legs, thrusting violently into her and she just laid there, playing with my hair and smiling while he had sex with her. Then she got up and turned me over onto my stomach, I couldn't move myself, I couldn't defend myself... she propped my hips up on some pillows and began to massage me with oil and then he stepped between my legs..." she broke down into tears.

"Melissa," he said softly, trying to hide his own fury and pain, "Melissa, you said it was a dream."

"I must have blacked out from the pain. Later I woke up and I saw the woman lying next to me and the man and she were having sex again. She was closer this time, running her hand through my hair and kissing me as the man had sex with her and then I looked up and saw my step father, he was grinning down at me, looking at me as he raped me..." Melissa broke down again as Vance put his huge arms around her and held her for a long while.

"After that I blacked out. When I woke up, there was the face of a middle aged black woman staring at me. She had a big round, doughy face and the biggest smile you ever saw and she was looking at me with such concern and happiness. She said, "You made it, child, you scared the hell out of us but you made it." She was the nurse in the hospital. I woke up and was never so happy to see a face in all of my life. I was so weak and sick. The doctors said that I had been there a week and that I had been very ill. In the hospital, I didn't have the dream, but as soon as I got out and off the medications I was on, I started having the dream, except, Vance, I don't know if it was a dream. They told me it was a dream, the doctor my mother and step-father sent me to told me it was a dream, it was created by my subconscious to cope with what I felt was a violation because the doctors had to remove my virginity to treat my problem."

"And today, you heard someone tell you this same dream?"

"It's too much alike to be a mere coincidence," replied Melissa, her voice rough. "Even the ages of the people involved. In my dream, the people were ten years younger than what my patient remembers. In my dream, the woman uses the same phrase, has the same golden hair, it can't be a coincidence..."

"And your step-father?" he asked.

"The only difference," she replied. "My doctor said that his involvement in the dream proved that there were abandonment issues between myself and my mother. He said that I imagined him physically raping me because of the emotional rape of losing my mother to him."

"There was no other man in the dream with your patient, however," replied Vance.

"I don't know," Melissa whispered. "I couldn't continue the session. I had to stop it, I couldn't handle it."

Vance held her, cradling her silently for a long time.

"Melissa," he said finally. "You have to speak with your patient again; you have to find out their entire dream. As narrow a possibility as it is, you can't rule out that this is a coincidence until you know the whole story."

She looked at him mournfully, "And what do we do if it isn't a coincidence? If I'm right and that this isn't a dream?"

Vance's face became an icy mask, "Then we track down the sick bastards who did this and make sure they never do it again."

***

The next morning at seven o'clock, Vance exited Melissa's apartment and move stealthily towards the elevator. Before he had gone three steps a hand clasped him firmly on the shoulder.

"Mister Tibbet, I need to have a word with you."

"Mrs. Giamonte," he said softly, "Melissa has been sick all night, she finally fell asleep, can we have this discussion in the elevator?"

Mrs. Giamonte did not drop her scowl but allowed him to lead her to the elevator. Once aboard, he pressed the button for his floor.

"I stayed with Melissa because she was sick," he said softly, not in the mood to explain himself but seeing no way around it. "She sat up with me on the couch most of the night and finally, I was able to convince her to lie down and get some sleep. She fell asleep and I left to take a shower."

"You're going to work?" she asked.

"I'm taking a shower, getting dressed and going back downstairs," he replied. "She isn't feeling well and I'm not leaving her alone when she's sick."

"People will talk..." began Mrs. Giamonte as the elevator doors opened.

"Then to hell with people," replied Vance evenly. "I love her and I'm going to take care of her. If people don't understand that, they don't deserve the title of people. Have a nice morning, Mrs. Giamonte."

She watched him leave the elevator and did nothing as the doors closed.

"Some people are so grouchy," she said to no one as she pressed the button for the first floor.

On the next floor, the elevator doors opened and Mister Nussbaum entered.

"Good morning, Mrs. Giamonte," he said happily. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

Mrs. Giamonte eyed him suspiciously.

"And what the hell are you so happy about, Mister Nussbaum? What are you, the good morning fairy? Don't go around trying to spread good morning cheer, trust me, all it will do is bite you in the ass!"

***

"Is that big, bulky man bothering you?" asked Ginger excitedly. "You tell me girl and you tell me quick. If he's bothering you I'll cut him to ribbons, I don't care how the hell big he is. I got a place to hide the body, they'll never find him!"

"He's being wonderful to me," replied Melissa softly. "I want you to apologize to the patients, tell them that even doctors get sick once in a while and then call up Beverly and switch Tara's appointment to the first thing tomorrow morning."

"Are you sure you're coming in tomorrow?" asked Ginger. "Stomach flu usually takes at least a week..."

"I'll be in tomorrow, but I don't want you to schedule anyone but Tara. Tell the rest of my patients that I'm out for the week, but I want to see Tara first thing in the morning and don't tell Beverly that I'm out sick. If she calls during the day, call me here and I'll call her back, but she mustn't know I'm out sick, do you understand."

"Hell no, I don't understand," came the voice on the phone. "What is with all this James Bond, I'm in the office but I'm not in the office non-sense? You dating a spy and now you're turning into one too?"

"Please, Ginger, just trust me."

"I trust you girl, I trust you. You want to act all crazy, that's up to you. I'll do the rescheduling and call you if Beverly calls, but it sounds crazy to me. Of course, I can't afford to say too much because I got a performance review coming up so if you want to act crazy, I'm here to support you."

"Thank you, Ginger. I'll see you tomorrow and remember..."

"Not a word to Beverly, I know, I know. Get better girl, send the old uncrazy Melissa back to me, okay?"

"Good-bye Ginger."

A soft knock at the door interrupted Melissa's train of thought. She had jumped in the shower when Vance had left and thrown on a t-shirt and some pajama bottoms. Her damp hair had begun to curl slightly which it always did when she left it unbrushed after a shower. She was still feeling vulnerable after yesterday's emotional roller coaster, but she felt more alive and stronger as well.

She and Vance had stayed up all night, just talking and holding each other. Opening her door slowly, she peeked out at him as he smiled shyly and looked down at her.

Looking at her with no make-up on peering up at him from behind the door, he fell in love all over again.

"Hi," he said softly.

She opened the door and after he had entered and closed the door, she fell into his arms. The two of them stood together, just holding each other for a very long time.

"You're safe, Melissa," he whispered. "I promise you, you're safe."

"For the first time in a long time, I feel safe," she replied, squeezing him more tightly.

***

Tara took her place on the couch, a slight smile on her face, but her eyes revealing a secret sorrow. Her loose fitting sweatshirt was a brighter blue than previous ones; at least that was some indication of progress. Beverly had spoken to Melissa this morning, there had been no nightmares the last few nights, and Tara's fresh, clear face testified to the purifying results a good night's sleep offered.

"Tara, I'd like to put you under again and continue our work from our last session," began Melissa softly. "But before we get started on that, there is some information I need to ask you about your trip to California last summer."

Tara's eyes darkened, "My trip with Annie and her family?"

"Yes, Tara, the trip you took before you got sick."

Tara looked away, "Did I say something when I was under about the trip?"

"Not directly, no," replied Melissa. "It's just that the nightmares began after your illness and the illness began after your trip, so it's a good place to start. We want to get you back to where you were at the time of the trip, back to feeling as good as you did then."

Tara nodded, but her expression was doubtful.

"What would you like to know?"

Melissa sat back in her chair and paused.

"First off, how do you know Annie?"

The question seemed to surprise Tara a bit, "Know her? I know her from school; she's one of my best friends. We met in junior high; she's in a lot of my classes."

"Have you traveled with her family before?"

Tara nodded, "We've gone on day trips, Six Flags, stuff like that. She's gone on day trips with us too; Mom took us shopping at the Winterview mall, a girl's day out Mom called it. And Mom and Dad have taken us to the museums and we've taken her with us to see plays and stuff."

"What about Annie's parents, what are they like?"

Tara shrugged, "Mrs. Nielson, she works at a spa of some kind, some sort of administrative thing, like manager or supervisor or something. She's nice, kind of quiet, but nice. Her Dad is a doctor."

Melissa considered it, "What type of doctor?"

Tara shrugged again, "I'm not sure. He works a lot and once, when her parents took us out, we had to come back early because he got a call. I think he's some sort of surgeon, but I'm not sure. I know he had to go back to the hospital that time..."

"How did the trip come about?"

Tara took a moment to think about it.

"Annie's Dad was going to some sort of convention, she kept making fun of it, saying that we were going to a Tupperware convention," she giggled at the memory. "Anyway, he was taking Mrs. Nielson and Annie and then they invited me to come. Mom and Mrs. Nielson know each other, it's not like their friends like you and her, but she knows her because of Annie and I, so she said it would be alright."

"Do you remember when they asked you to go?" asked Melissa, making a quick note on her pad.

"It was the day of Annie's pool party," replied Tara after some thought. "Annie's mom usually lets her throw one pool party a year, they invite like ten of us girls and we go over and have fun all day."

"Was Annie's dad at the party?"

Tara thought about it, "Not at the beginning. Later in the day he showed up. It was on a Saturday and he sees patients in the morning."

Melissa nodded. "Tara, what were you wearing?"

"To the pool party?"

"Yes, do you remember what you were wearing at the party?"

Thinking back, Tara replied slowly, "I had on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, I think and I had my bathing suit on underneath."

"Your green one piece..."

"No, I out grew the green one piece, Aunt Mel," smiled Tara. "It's a black bikini. Mom didn't like it at first, she said it showed too much, but I talked her into it."

Melissa offered her a strained smile.

"When you went away to California, did you bring it with you then?"

Tara nodded, "Yes. In fact, I was wearing it when I started to feel sick. We had gone to visit a friend of Mister Neilson's, he had this huge estate out there with gardens and a tennis court and a pool, so Annie and I went to the pool and then after we went swimming, we went back to the house for lunch. We were running kind of late, so we just threw our shorts on over our suits and had lunch in our suits. After lunch I started feeling weird. Annie's Dad told me to go lie down, maybe I was just overheated and then he took Annie out to do some shopping. While they were away, I got sick..."

She looked down and shrugged, "They didn't come back until the next day..."

"Annie and her father?"

Tara nodded, "They went to the mall and then out to dinner. Annie felt really bad about it, but her father said that I needed rest, so they stayed out all day and then had car trouble, so they ended up staying at a hotel in town while the car was being fixed. When they got back, I was out of it, I don't remember any of this, but they sent for the ambulance when they returned."

"Who was taking care of you while they went into town?"

Tara shrugged, "I remember there was a maid there, she looked in on me when I first started feeling bad. I told her that I felt really sick and that I thought I had better go to the hospital, she said she was going to get Mister Nielsen's friend, the man who owned the house. I don't know what happened after that, I started fainting or something. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital and Mom was there. They told me I had been out of it for about a week."

"Do you remember Mister Nielsen's friend's name?"

Tara shook her head, "No, I never met him. I don't even remember Mister Nielsen telling us his name. When Annie and I got there, Mister Nielsen took us in the back and told us he would introduce us later, he and his friend had some business they had to deal with, so Annie and I went out to the pool. I remember meeting the maid; she's the one who called us in for lunch and she was the one who took me to the bedroom when I didn't feel well and checked in on me. When I was in the hospital, Annie said that when they got back, there had been a man there, a butler or something, but I never met Mister Nielsen's friend."

"Do you remember what the maid looked like?"

"She was about twenty or twenty five years old, she had dark hair and dark eyes and spoke with a really heavy Spanish accent. I don't think she was in the country too long, her English was really bad; she had to think to find words a lot."

"You didn't see the butler?"

"Annie did, I didn't. I suppose he got lost somewhere in the house when I was there, the place was huge. I don't know what Mister Nielsen's friend did for a living, but he had to be like mega wealthy."

Melissa nodded, noting down some thoughts on her pad.

"Is all this stuff important?" asked Tara.

Melissa smiled, "Just background information, that's all. It gives me an environment, where you were physically gives me a prospective on where you were mentally."

Tara nodded, "Oh..."

"Tara, I'm going to try and put you under again, are you okay with that?"

Tara's eyes showed her discomfort, but she nodded, "I haven't had the nightmares since you did it last time. I know you don't know if that is why they stopped, but if you think it will help, Aunt Mel, let's try it again."

Chapter 6

Attempting to mask his concern, Len studied the sheet that Vance had handed him.

"You want me to check on her dead step-father? Aren't dead guys more of Tori's area..."

"This is a personal matter," replied Vance evenly. "I don't want to involve Tori if I don't have to do so."

Len examined the sheet of paper, studying the information, "How long ago did he die?"

"It's on there," replied Vance, pointing to a date at the bottom of the page.

"Look man, you know I'll do this and keep quiet about it, but you're worrying me."

Vance studied him a moment, "What do you mean?"

Len grimaced, "You've gone out on a couple of dates and now you're checking into her family?"

Vance nodded, "He was her step-father."

"Look," Len leaned back, "I don't want to get involved in your private life, you know that, but don't you think this is going a bit fast? How do you go from a cup of coffee to comprehensive searches of dead relatives?"

Vance closed the office door and sat close to Len, "Nothing I say leaves this room."

Len nodded.

"Melissa has a patient who might have been raped, a young girl."

"That sounds like a job for the police, Van."

"There's more to it than that," replied Vance. "The same animals who raped this girl, might have raped Melissa."

Len's eyes narrowed, "Melissa was a rape victim?"

Vance lowered his voice, "We're not sure."

"Not sure?" asked Len. "I need to have a little more on this, Vance. Again, I'm not prying, but how are you not sure if you've been raped? I would think that's something that you'd be pretty sure about..."

"Not if you've been drugged," replied Vance evenly, his anger rising, not at Len but at the memory of Melissa's pain.

"Drugged?" Len leaned back in his chair, "When did this happen? Why didn't she report it?"

There was no other choice, he had to tell Len. As he had done hundreds of times before, Vance dictated the cold hard facts of the case to Len in as impersonal a style as a military briefing. Denying his personal feelings by careful control of tone and emphasis, he gave to Len all of the available information in as cold and calculated a delivery as possible. He knew that Len worked best with facts, not emotions, so he kept to facts and an explanation of his conclusions. Len sat, looking at his hands, taking in the information, processing facts. When Vance finished he leaned back slightly but did not look at his friend.

"I appreciate your candor," said Len. "I will do my absolute best on this, but I have to say, I think you're wrong to keep Tori out of this. She's the best we have and if what you're thinking is true, we need to get these guys before someone else suffers."

Vance nodded, "It's been hard enough to tell you about this and you're my best friend; I couldn't do this with Tori."

"Tori doesn't need to know who the client is in relation to you," replied Len. "I can handle the briefing. We'll follow a strict protocol, you to me to her and back. We need the best on this Vance and you know it."

Vance nodded his consent. The feeling of fury that rose within him was blocking out his ability to think clearly. He'd never felt about anyone the way he felt about Melissa. It made no sense, he had not known her for a long time, but the connection was undeniable. The thought that anyone would do her harm drove him to a fury that he could barely contain.

Len watched his friend and saw the struggle in his eyes. Vance had always worked to minimize the effect of his physique upon others, had always tried to highlight the power of his intellect. Len knew his friend's intellectual strength, but he also knew the danger of ignoring the enormous physical power that stood before him. His friend was hurting and the best he could do for him was to ignore the struggle and give him the chance to control it in private. He watched as Vance clenched and unclenched his hands and nodded slowly to some internal conversation he alone could hear.

"We'll get them," stated Len simply.

Unable to trust his voice, Vance nodded his reply and turning, walked out, happy that Len understood that the conversation needed to be over.

***

Virginia sat in the dining room, picking at her food as Kevin scoffed down his dinner, almost unaware of her. As he finished his food he took a sip of the wine from the glass in front of him, finally focusing on her.

"Are you still mad that I have to go back to work?" he asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

"You seem to have to work late a lot lately..."

He waved her off impatiently, "Ginny, I've had plenty of nights that I had to work late, you've got this nonsense in your head and nothing I say is going to change your opinion. What do you want me to do, tell everyone that I'm closing the company because my wife doesn't like me doing my job?"

"You've strayed before, Kevin..."'

"I've made mistakes, yes," he replied softly. "That doesn't mean that I'm making them now. I don't know what else to say. Do you want to come with me to work, sit in my office and watch me this way you know I'm where I'll say I will be? What do you want from me, Ginny?"

"A little attention once in a while wouldn't hurt," she snapped. "You eat like someone is taking the food away from you and you bolt out of here..."

He rose and moved to her side, "Ginny don't be like that..."

"You're never here anymore," she whined, "I sit in this house, all by myself..."

"Oh baby, don't be like that," he said smoothly, sliding his hand from her shoulder to her neck and downwards towards her breasts.

"All by myself..."

Kevin kissed her on the neck and pulling her to her feet, slowly dropped his hands to her waist. She murmured softly, her words unintelligible as he spun her towards him and sought her lips. He maneuvered her slowly towards the living room, slowly, erotically removing their clothing as he led her towards the back of the couch. Kissing her passionately, his hands traveled to her breasts, his fingertips carefully avoiding the scars beneath her implants. Her hands moved from around his waist to knead his buttocks, her right hand traveling gingerly around his hip to encircle his manhood. His hands continued to move, one hand dropping to the small of her back, the other seeking the warmth between her legs.

Finding her, he heard her breath catch, felt her shudder. In a well rehearsed action, his fingers magically brought her to the brink of an orgasm. Leaning against the back of the couch, she moaned and shivered as his hands serviced her, their lips locked. Her mind was a blur, unable to comprehend how he could excite her so easily, so quickly, but she found herself climaxing even as she felt him growing in her hand.

Breaking their kiss, he gently maneuvered her, spinning her to face the couch and gently bending her forward, urging her legs apart as he took up his position behind her. She gasped as he entered her, his urgent motions forcing the breath from her lungs with each thrust forward. She clasped the couch pillows as he continued to drive against her, growing in her, stretching her. She sensed his need, reacted to his rasping breath, his powerful thrusts jarring her with each motion until he could contain himself no longer. With a shudder he emptied himself into her, slowly removing himself as she fell weakly against the couch.

"When I get home, we'll continue our discussion," he said softly, picking up his clothing as he retreated to the bathroom.

Virginia struggled to prop herself up on the couch, her legs weak and unsteady. A moment later, Kevin exited the bathroom, pulled her close for a final kiss and sauntered out the front door. Virginia walked clumsily to the bathroom and turned the water on in the shower, glowing with a satiated happiness.

***

Kevin drove away quickly, a subtle smile playing across his lips. Twenty minutes later, he pulled onto the block next to his job and parked his car. Moving down the street with a jaunty air, he past his building and made his way two blocks further, disappearing into the gray apartment building on the corner. Gaining the elevator, he pushed the button for the fifth floor, happily riding to the well kept hallway. A minute more and he was at the door of apartment 519, which swung open before he could knock.

Sauntering in, he said nothing, hearing the door close behind him. He turned to find her nude, her body glistening with oil, her dark hair cascading downwards, covering her breasts. Her dark eyes were aflame as she reached for him, tugging at his belt and pulling him into a passionate kiss. In an instant he was naked, carrying her to the bedroom. He breathed in the mingled smell of her musk and the baby oil that she wore as he lapped eagerly at the entrance of her secret place. Her body twisted beneath his caresses, her back arching, her hands twisting the bed sheets as he continued his tender assault.

Rising above her, he stared down at her beauty, her form laid out below him, inviting, eager. He eased himself into her, hearing her sigh as he inched his way forward. Her legs rose and clasped him around the waist as he began to assert himself, to increase his rhythm. She met him at each thrust, eager, willing, lost in the strength of his body. Her words, moaned into his ear, calling out to him, loving him, drove him to greater passion. Together they rose, higher, more sweetly until at last his body froze and she accepted his offering, drowning in the rush of her own desires, sweetly falling together. They lay panting together on the bed, her flaming eyes now liquid, her tender lips trembling as he kissed her breasts.

When she found her voice, she spoke hesitantly, her words unsure, her pronunciation heavily accented. "She... suspect... suspection?"

"Yes," he replied in Spanish, "but she'll sleep well tonight."

***

Tara's body relaxed, melding into the couch as Melissa leaned back in her chair. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Melissa began.

"Tara, do you remember being in the room with the woman with the golden hair?"

"Yes."

"You said that the woman with the golden hair, she was nude."

"Yes...nude."

"Can you describe what the woman looked like, the woman's face?" asked Melissa.

Tara's face grew darker.

"She had golden hair... yellow gold... to her shoulder blades... blue eyes... so close to me... blue eyes... no make-up..."

"Was there anything about her that was unusual or distinct?"

Tara frowned, "Thin scars... she had thin scars... near her ears... thin scars..."

"Do you remember any marks anywhere else?"

"Thin scars... running under her breasts... from her nipples... under her breasts... thin scars...

looks white... so tan..."

Melissa quickly noted "plastic surgery" on her note pad.

"Do you remember anything else about the woman, anything else about the way she looked?"

Tara frowned again, "No."

"Alright Tara, now I want you to think back to the man in your dream. Can you tell me what the man looked like?"

Tara shuddered.

"Tara," said Melissa quickly, "Tara, he can't hurt you. I want you relax, he cannot hurt you, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Okay, can you see the man?"

"Yes."

"Can you describe the man's face?"

"His hair is gray... pushed back... parted in the middle... his face has wrinkles... wrinkles near his eyes... wrinkles around his mouth... dark eyes... big nose..."

"Can you remember anything else about his appearance?"

"His chest... gray hair... lots of gray hair... he isn't thin... he's heavy... not fat... strong..."

Melissa nodded as she noted the description, remembering the man of her own dreams, seeing his face, trying to age it and align it with Tara's words.

"You said he was strong, how do you know he is strong?"

Tara grimaced slightly, "I'm on the bed... I see him... he's over me... slapping my face... calling me names... telling me to put my arms... put my arms around his neck... angry with me... slapping me... across the face... slapping my breasts... forces himself into me... lifts me... lifts me up onto him... "little bitch"... "fucking cunt"... the back of my knees... are in the angle of his... elbows and... he's holding me up... he's big inside me... my head rolling back... can't hold onto me... I'm falling... hit the end of the mattress... she's over me... he picks me up... throws me on the bed... can't move... he's on me... forcing me into the mattress... forcing me down into the mattress... hurting me..."

"Stop Tara," gulped Melissa. "You can stop now. I want you to relax and think of a happy time when you were at the beach, enjoying yourself, just having fun. Do you remember a time like that?"

Tara smiled, "Yes, yes."

"Do you remember going to swim at someone's house before you got sick? Going to swim with Annie in the pool?"

"Yes, in the pool..."

"Do you remember the house?"

"I can see the house..."

"How do you arrive at the house?"

"Annie's Dad is driving... driving up to the gates... big black iron gates... beige stucco walls... big street... four lane street... divider in the middle... palm trees... Annie's Dad speaks into an intercom... the gates swing open..."

"Do you see an address on the gate?"

Tara frowned, "No address, no."

"What else do you see?"

"The driveway is long... the house... a long way from the road... can't see the road... courtyard in front... car goes around a fountain..."

"Do you remember what the fountain looked like?"

"It's tall... very tall... almost two stories high... made of stone... the center is straight... it has three dishes... the water falls from dish to dish."

"What about the front of the house?"

"I don't know," she responded. "Don't look at the front... see the door... beautiful door... stained glass... the whole door... stained glass... birds... beautiful birds..."

"Can you describe the house?"

"Big house... old house... Spanish looking... lots of red tile floors... stucco walls... iron gates... two stories... backyard has almost no grass... flower beds... levels... first level flowers... second level tennis court... third level pool... Olympic pool... huge pool... so warm... water, so warm..."

"You and Annie went swimming, you had fun and then someone called you for lunch. Do you remember someone calling you for lunch?"

"Yes, the maid... told us come inside to eat."

"What did she look like?"

"Small, Spanish woman... young... dark hair... dark eyes... kind eyes..."

Melissa shook her head, there was nothing much here, but maybe Vance could see something in it that she was missing.

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for what was next.

"All right, Tara. I want you to tell me how you felt when the woman with the golden hair and the man began to touch you..."

***

Tori Summers stood in Len's office, examining the folder that he had just handed her. She was a pretty young woman who looked younger than her twenty six years; petite, with short, light brown hair and lively brown eyes. She examined the file with a quizzical look.

"He's dead," she stated for no particular reason. "Do I have an angle on this? What exactly am I looking for, Len?"

"I want to know everything about him, his friends, his associates. I'm trying to find out if the guy was a pervert," replied Len. "I want to know of any sexual aberration, any hint of a scandal that has to do with women, young women."

Tori nodded, "Am I looking at a particular period in his life?"

"No," replied Len, "check everything."

Tori examined the file again, "What about the wife?"

Len considered it, "Check her out as well, but she's secondary. Focus on him."

"Time frame?"

He smiled at her, "Yesterday."

A smile played across her features as she turned to leave the room, "Same shit, different day."

***

Vance reviewed the notes Melissa had created based upon both Tara's and her own recollections. She had been careful to avoid any mention or indication of her patient's identity, a fact that hampered Vance in certain ways, she knew, but was essential to fulfilling both her promise to Tara and her professional ethics.

Vance grimaced, "I'm sorry to say Melissa, there isn't much here. We have a town in California with a rough description of a massive estate. If we're lucky, they have not changed the grounds, if they have, we have nothing to go on. Once we find the place hopefully we can move forward."

Melissa looked at him doubtfully, "I hate to place more on your plate, Vance, but I don't want to send you on a wild goose chase. We are talking about facts taken from a subconscious mind in a hypnotized state. We can't be sure if the details are correct, I can't vouch for the information. I won't lie to you, even though I believe it's there, I can't totally discount the idea that it might just be a painful coincidence. You might be looking for something that isn't there."

"Thank you, Melissa, but when I look into your eyes, I know this is more than just a coincidence. I have some contacts in California," he continued. "I can ask them to do some preliminary work and see what they come up with. If they find no possibilities, we'll reexamine the idea that this might be a wild goose chase, but we have to know... we all have to know."

She moved up to him and kissed him shyly, "Thank you, Vance."

Pulling her to him gently, he kissed her back.

"I'd do anything for you, Melissa. I don't want you carrying this nightmare around inside of you."

She felt the commitment in his words and it frightened her.

Pulling back slightly, she said nothing in reply. Sensing her fear, he gave her more space. He felt the knot in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he might be the cause of her discomfort.

"Don't worry," he stammered. "Don't be frightened."

A knock at her front door startled her. Excusing herself she moved to the front door, opening it to find Mrs. Giamonte standing in the hall holding a tray covered with aluminum foil.

"How are you feeling, Miss Banner?" she asked, peering in at Vance standing in the background.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Giamonte."

"I heard you weren't feeling well," replied Mrs. Giamonte.

Melissa looked at her quizzically, unsure if the older woman was getting forgetful or was trying, in her strange way, to be tactful.

"I told you I wasn't feeling well..." she began.

"So?" asked Mrs. Giamonte, obviously lost by whatever point Melissa might be trying to make. "I figured you wouldn't feel like cooking, so I made you a casserole."

Melissa took the pan from her slowly, "Oh, well, uh, thank you, Mrs. Giamonte..."

"Can I do anything else for you?" she asked, nudging her way past Melissa. "Oh, hello Mister Tibbet, I didn't see you there. How are you?"

"I'm fine," replied Vance, feeling as if he had been caught doing something that he should be ashamed of doing.

"So what are you two up to?"

Vance looked at Melissa, unsure of how to proceed.

"Mrs. Giamonte, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to go... I just don't feel well and I'd like to get some rest..."

"Of course dear, of course," she replied, genuine concern on her face. Looking at Vance, she gestured with her thumb as though she were trying to hitch a ride. "Well come on, Mister Tibbet, let's let the poor little thing rest."

"You go ahead, Mrs. Giamonte," replied Vance gently, "I have to speak with Melissa about something privately before I go."

Mrs. Giamonte's face lit up. "Gonna ask her out on another date?"

"Uh..."

Mrs. Giamonte waved him off, "Well, all right, but don't stay too long, she needs her rest."

Mrs. Giamonte shuffled towards the door, appraising the way Melissa had set up the apartment. Melissa followed her to the door, thanking her again for casserole.

"No problem, dear," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Don't forget Mister Tibbet, don't stay too long."

"I won't," he replied.

Melissa closed the door behind the old woman and offered him a shrug. "Probably has a listening device embedded in the casserole..."

"Be careful, she's also probably crouched by the keyhole."

Melissa tiptoed to the couch and sat down.

"Is there anything else you need?"

Vance shook his head and rose, "No. I'll get to work on this, Melissa. If you need anything, I'm just upstairs."

Melissa smiled shyly, "I think I just need a little time by myself, Vance. It's not you, it's me, I just have to... to process all of this, all that is happening... do you understand?" She didn't want to scare him away but she needed time.

Vance stood with his head down, his eyes downcast as if thinking. "I understand Melissa and I don't want you to worry about it. I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to go."

"Thank you, Vance," she whispered.

In two strides he was at her side, leaned down slowly and kissed her forehead gently. "If you need me, all you have to do is call."

She watched him as he moved silently out the door, listening to the gentle click of the knob as he closed it behind him. She moved to the door, locked it and put on her deadbolt. She needed another deadbolt, she decided. You could never be too secure.

Chapter 7

Tori thrust her chair away from the computer, stood up in one fluid motion and swore quietly under her breath. If it weren't for the obituaries, there would be nothing on this guy. They all agreed, he had been a fairly respected plastic surgeon, had pulled himself up from poverty, married a wealthy, attractive widow with a daughter who became a doctor and died in a car crash. Beyond that, nothing else; in fact if it wasn't for the car crash it seemed no one would ever have heard of him. There was almost nothing else about him outside of the normal records created in life, tax records, housing records, school records, but nothing much else. There was one thing that kept bothering her, haunting her thoughts. He had worked so hard to rise above his humble beginnings, had worked incredibly hard to get through school and then...nothing.

Tori had become a student of human nature and knew that people like Pierre Kent, relentless people who had fought and clawed their way to the top were never suddenly satisfied. They might channel their passion and drive it into other endeavors, but no matter how successful they became, they always remained restless. They had to be involved in something, had to be the best in something. Pierre Kent might have realized he would never be the world's best plastic surgeon but if history had taught Tori anything it was that once people of his ilk had the money, they would redirect their drive into something else. Cars, houses, antique boats, becoming the president of a society, something, they would get involved in something and he had gotten involved in nothing. Or...

She walked down the hall, her mind racing as her body sought a caffeine fix. That drive went somewhere, she was sure of it. As she sipped her coffee it suddenly hit her. There was no record because whatever that drive had been channeled into was something he wanted no one to find out about. Perverts were secretive and the most accomplished ones were the most secretive. She moved back quickly down the hall to her office, passing Len's office midway to her own.

"Find anything on that case we discussed this morning?" he called out, not looking up from his computer.

"Nothing but a new perspective," she called back excitedly.

Len said nothing; you don't interrupt an alpha predator when they're tracking their prey.

***

The building lobby was spare, modern, all glass and marble. Virginia listened to the click of her heels on glossy floor, smiling as she was waved through by the security guard. Her smile became smug as she glanced at the person behind her being stopped by security as she sauntered towards the elevator bank. It was nice to know that Kevin worked in such a secure building, she thought as she punched the up button. Her smile grew as the man exiting the elevator gave her an admiring glance. Entering the car she pushed the floor for the 18th floor and settled in for the ride. The car moved quickly to Kevin's floor, depositing Virginia in the reception area of his office. The logo of Kevin's company, Speciale, loomed above the receptionist's desk. Virginia noted that the girl behind the desk was new; pretty and young with short blonde hair, a microscopic skirt and a tight, sheer top. She greeted Virginia with a dazzling smile.

"I'm here to see Mister Pena," stated Virginia with a chill smile. "I'm his wife, Virginia..."

The blonde's smile grew wider, "How nice to meet you, Mrs. Pena. Kevin speaks of you all of the time; it's so nice to put a face with a name. He's in a meeting right now, but he should be finished shortly, can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?"

Virginia's smile warmed, "I would love a cup of coffee."

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Just some milk, please."

"Certainly."

The young woman rose, sauntering towards the kitchen with a smile and a wiggle. Virginia took a seat on a couch across from the desk, carefully lowering herself onto its edge. She admired the way her heels emphasized her sleek calves. She was still examining them when the young woman returned with her coffee.

"Thank you," she stated, taking the coffee from the receptionist.

"A pleasure," the young woman replied. "I'll check to see if he's out of his meeting."

Virginia watched her sashay down the hall towards Kevin's office. Returning she called out softly to her, "He'll be out shortly. Can I get you anything else?"

Virginia smiled over her coffee cup, "No, dear, thank you."

A half hour later, a group of people exited the conference room, the last of them Kevin. With a final word to one of the men there, he moved quickly down the hall towards Virginia.

"Ginny, what are you doing here?" he said, giving her a peck on the cheek and leading her towards his office.

"I was in the area," she replied. "I thought I would just drop in, if I came at a bad time..."

"No, no," he chuckled. "It's never a bad time to see you, sweetheart."

Disappearing into Kevin's office, Virginia never saw the attractive Latina turn the hallway corner holding a stack of files in her arms. The girl looked up and saw the receptionist rapidly gesturing for her to come over to the desk.

As she gained the desk, the receptionist pulled her closer.

"Mrs. Pena is here," she whispered urgently.

The young woman looked at her, uncomprehendingly.

"Mrs. Pena is here," stated again, slowly. "You have to go."

The young woman registered the words slowly, "Mister Pena?"

"Mrs. Pena," repeated the receptionist.

A look of understanding graced her eyes, "Mrs. Pena. Si, no, I go!"

"Go," urged the receptionist, taking the files and pushing her towards the door.

The young girl disappeared out the door, making her way to the stairway and exiting quickly. Shaking her head, the receptionist smiled knowingly. This was her third receptionist job in the last four years and as part of the interview she had asked what the bosses situation was, it never failed that there was some hanky-panky going on. She remembered the smile on the human resource persons face as she wisely asked her to start on Monday.

***

Beverly sat across from Melissa's desk, staring at her hands, unsure of how to proceed.

"Look, Mel, I understand this whole doctor patient confidentiality thing, and I really appreciate all that you've done... Tara is sleeping at night, she seems happier, seems to be getting better... but..."

Melissa nodded, "I know, I know. You want to know what it is that is bothering her, where the problem started... I'm sorry Bev, but I can't share everything with you..."

Melissa cleared her throat, "Look, there is something I can tell you, Bev, something you need to know. Tara loves you. She's worried that you think this is somehow your fault. She needs you to be there for her, Bev; she needs you to understand that this is about her, not about you."

"I understand that, Mel, but how can I not think that this has something to do with me? Her mother died and I came along and took her father away..."

"Nonsense," replied Melissa impatiently. "You made her father happy, you became her mother, you've loved her and cared for her and she knows and appreciates all of that. Tara never gave you a reason to believe otherwise, so why do you believe differently now; because there is a problem?"

Beverly looked at her, tears in her eyes, "What should I think?"

"You should believe that your daughter loves and needs you. She is having a problem and she needs your support, Beverly, she needs to know that you are all right. If you are all right, it will help her on the road to becoming all right herself."

Beverly nodded, "I'll try Mel, but it's hard."

"I know, but it's a process, Bev. It's going to take us some time to get Tara where she needs to be."

"I'm not the only one who needs to be there for her," replied Beverly. "Jim is having a hard time with this. He's shut down, he acts so awkwardly with her, he doesn't know what to say..."

"Then I think we need to speak to Jim. Tara needs you both."

"She needs you, Mel. We all do."

Melissa smiled, "Thank you, Beverly. Thank you for trusting me. I'm here for you, all of you."

***

Big Ben Essex lumbered into the office of Tibbet Security with a box in his hands. Standing six feet six inches tall and weighing over three hundred and fifty pounds, Big Ben's bald head sported a shine envied by most bowling balls. He wore black jeans, heavy boots and a long sleeved black t-shirt. A heavy black banded watch stretched across his massive wrist, the dial of the watch the only non-black item on his person. His heavy face was set in a perpetual scowl with dark eyes seated menacingly behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses that he normally removed only to go to sleep or to protect from damage while he beat someone unconscious.

The receptionist peered up at him, never comfortable in his prescience.

"Are you here to see Mister Tibbet?" she asked quietly.

Big Ben nodded his large head and grunted, which was the closest he came to a conversation with anyone he did not feel like talking with. The receptionist took the hint and punched the button for Vance's office.

"What's up, Keira?"

"Mister Essex is here to speak to you."

"Send him back, Keira."

Keira looked up, but Ben was already on the move, pushing his bulk around the desk and towards the hallway.

"He's on his way," she reported.

Vance came to his office door and watched as Ben moved relentlessly towards him. Vance felt as if he were watching a tidal wave move down the hall.

Motioning for Ben to enter, he stepped to the side as the big man pushed around him and entered his office. Vance said nothing, moving around his desk and taking a seat before speaking.

"Ben."

"Vance."

The voice was harsh and base, like a car backfiring; a very angry car.

"I appreciate your checking this out for us," stated Vance quietly.

"I think I found your place," replied Ben. "Here are the photos and some other information. I spoke to the realtor, he didn't want to cooperate at first but he came around."

"I imagine he would," replied Vance. Ben's scowl merely deepened. "Did you get a name?"

Ben shook his head, "A company, Zerricaks Importers."

"Never heard of them..."

"Part of some sort of conglomerate, Phelps Incorporated," replied Ben. "The information is in the report. They've rented the house a few times. They rent houses all over the world; different conferences and executive weekends."

"Anything else?"

Ben nodded, "It's in the second report. Eight years ago a young woman died at one of the rented houses from an allergic reaction to something. No one seemed to be able to determine what she took; the police didn't turn up much. There was a big downturn in the number of houses they rented for about five years after that, then things went back to how they were."

Vance opened his desk and pulled out an envelope, sliding it across the desk. The big man slid the envelope into his front pocket not bothering to count the contents. Ben never counted the contents when Vance paid him, a sign of respect that he showed few people.

"I appreciate it Ben. Are you going to be in town for a while?"

"I have to collect some money that's owed some people I'm working for," he replied rising. "I should be around for a few days."

"I might have something else for you to look into regarding this case, if you have the time."

Ben shrugged, his massive size making the movement seem like a mud slide.

"Let me know, you know how to get in touch with me."

Vance nodded, "I'll be in touch."

Ben rose, clasping Vance's hand. Without a word, he exited the office and rolled down the hall towards the front door.

Vance picked up the box and began rummaging through the contents. Everything was there, photos, reports, documentation. Ben was expensive but he always delivered. How he got his information, what he did to get it, Vance would rather not know.

Picking up his phone, he punched in Len's extension. Hearing him pick up, he didn't wait for him to speak, "Len, I need you in my office. I just got a delivery from Ben."

***

Patrick had no doubts about his effect on women. Tall with dirty blonde hair, warm brown eyes and a classically handsome face crowned with a cleft chin, he knew that there were few women who could resist him, especially when he applied his endless charm. He sat in the executive lounge, drinking a ginger ale and eyeing the local talent. He had decided on the brunette whom he guessed was an attorney when she walked in.

Her perfume had reached him before he saw her, a subtle revelation, an enticement and promise. As he glanced from his intended prey in search of its source, he immediately felt his libido shift into high gear. She was slightly older, perfectly tanned and made up, her long blonde hair falling in soft, feathery layers around her face and over her shoulders and breasts. She wore a light purple mini dress, her long legs perfectly proportioned and toned, her flesh colored shoes giving the illusion of her legs being even longer. The dress wrapped tightly around her hips, accenting her figure, the neckline offering a generous view of pert, bronzed breasts.

She stared into his eyes, forcing him to look away as she took a place at the bar. The bartender moved swiftly to her, breathlessly taking her order. Favoring the bartender with a stunning smile, she shifted her glance back to Patrick and bent forward, leaning gingerly on the bar. Patrick rose and moved smoothly to her side, there was no sense in trying to be clever, it was already obvious that he was interested.

"Hi," he offered with a brilliant smile of his own.

"Hello," she replied.

"Traveling today?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she replied, "I'm only here to pick up someone."

"Oh, your husband?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yes," she smiled, accepting her drink from the bartender, instructing him to keep the change as a tip.

"Oh," replied Patrick. "Well, he's a very lucky man to have such a beautiful woman to come pick him up."

Her smile expanded, "How flattering, especially coming from such an attractive man."

"Thank you. So what flight is you husband expected in on?"

"He won't be in for several hours," she replied casually. "I see that you are a pilot..."

"I just flew in from Atlanta on an overnight," he replied, sipping his ginger ale.

"Oh, so you'll be here for the evening," she said, lifting her drink. "Do you have any friends in the area?"

"Me? No, I don't know anyone in town..."

"Oh," she said with a pretty pout, "how horrible, all alone in a strange town with no one to look after you. Are you married, Mister, ah Mister..."

"Patrick," he replied. "And your name is..."

Her eyes clouded and her smile took on an odd glow, "It's not important, Patrick. You never answered me, Patrick..."

"I'm not married..."

"So hard to believe, such an attractive man and no woman has gotten her hooks into you?"

He leaned closer, "I guess I haven't found the right one..."

She dropped her hand and touched his arm sending a shiver through his body. Her tone, her body language, everything spoke of possibilities and yet there was a mystery, something hidden.

"You seem to have a talent, Patrick, for putting women at ease."

"I do my best," he confessed. "After all, there's no sense in being... tense."

"I agree, I agree," she said in a sultry tone. "I bet that you are very... attentive to the women in your life."

Patrick smiled, moving closer, "I've had no complaints."

"I'm sure you haven't, Patrick. And I'm sure you're quite chivalrous as well."

He looked at her, obviously unsure of what she meant.

"I mean, you would help a woman who needed assistance, wouldn't you Patrick."

He nodded, "Of course, if I could."

"I'm sure you would," she said, sliding her hand up and touching his chest with her fingers. "I'm sure you would do... anything... to please a woman, wouldn't you?"

"I've been known to go the extra mile," he chuckled.

"And if a stranger asked you for a little introduction, I'm sure you would be only too pleased to help, wouldn't you?"

"An introduction?" he looked at her, confusion obvious on his face.

She walked her fingers up his chest to his chin and then with her index finger gingerly turned his face towards the door.

"An introduction," she repeated, slowly pointing towards a small table near the door. He squinted slightly, looking at the young girl seated at the table, probably a college freshman nervously fidgeting with a small suitcase.

The young woman ran a hand through her long brown hair and glanced nervously about the room. Catching Patrick examining her, she showed him a shy smile, obviously flattered that he was paying attention to her.

"I have a room at the hotel next door," whispered the blonde, gently nibbling his ear. "My husband won't be here for another few hours. Perhaps you could persuade the young lady to join us."

Patrick started slightly, barely able to contain his excitement.

"What if she says no?"

The blonde smiled, "I thought you said you went the extra mile?"

He shook his head, "Yeah, but..."

She rose suddenly, gathering her purse and turned to leave. Stopping in front of him, she smiled.

"I'll be next door, room 384."

"But what if she says no?"

The blonde looked at him through heavily hooded eyes, "Don't come alone, Patrick. I'm an all or nothing type of girl."

***

Melissa swallowed hard, afraid that she was pushing Tara too hard. Tara was seated on the couch, her fair skin tinged pink, her breathing rapid and ragged.

"Tara, I want you to relax," repeated Melissa. "I want you to view what is happening, but not to feel what is happening."

"He's slapping me," continued Tara, "slapping my breasts... slapping... between my legs... she's laughing... "Relax little bird"... laughing... "

Melissa's could no longer hold off her own memories. The memories flooded back, crushing her, disorienting her. She began to weep softly. Tara, she had to think of Tara. She twisted a tissue tightly around her fingers and bit her lip.

"Tara," she croaked softly, "Can you hear them speaking, Tara? Are they speaking?"

Tara's breathing slowed slightly, "The woman... the woman with the golden hair... so pale... "not like Mexico"..."

"Not like Mexico?" asked Melissa. "Who said, "Not like Mexico"?"

"The woman," breathed Tara. "The woman...talking to the man... "

"What is she saying?"

Tara moaned softly, "Not like Mexico... she's pale...I like pale...pale skin... I like pale skin... "

"Is the man saying anything?"

Tara took a deep breath, her voice deepening slightly, "Stupid pale bitches... pale whores all day... want to look like this bitch... sixteen and pert... make them pert... make them sixteen..." Her voice changed, higher pitched, "You made mine pert... mine are pert..." Her voice dropped again, "Not pale... golden brown... Mexican whores..."

"Alright, enough Tara, enough... I want you to relax; to breathe deeply." Tara shuddered and began to breathe more slowly. Melissa dried her eyes and continued softly, "Okay, Tara, I want you to relax. Just relax. You're going to be okay..."

***

"So what is it?" asked Len.

"Maybe nothing," replied Tori. "Maybe I'm just frustrated at the lack of anything in this man's life, but I... well I'm not sure."

Len smiled, "I'd rather trust your instinct than you reason at the moment."

Tori favored him with a slight smile, "I'm not so sure that's the smart thing to do, but I found a habit."

Len raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair; long arms stretching behind his head, hands clasped and then brought to the back of the head. It was his listening pose and Tori continued, recognizing that she had the floor.

"From the time he was a young medical student, Mister Kent spent time each year in Mexico," she stated slowly. "At first, it seems that it was merely an inexpensive destination for a medical student with no money, but in time it seems to have become something more. It struck me as odd that a man as driven as Kent, who had worked so hard to pull himself up in the world, would continue to go to the same vacation destination, year in and year out. As he got more successful, he tried to camouflage his trips. It took me a while to uncover them, but I did. He would claim he was going to Vegas or southern California but there were always car trips from his original destination to the same place in Mexico. On one or two occasions I can't prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, but I'm sure I'm right. Either way, there is enough evidence to raise suspicion."

"What exactly are we suspicious about?" asked Len. "I'm not fond of Mexico myself, but I know a great many people who like it there and go every year."

"People who like Mexico usually go to resorts or go for the culture," replied Tori. "They usually don't go to a town like Nova, not on purpose anyway."

"I'm not familiar with it," replied Len, "but somehow it sounds like what I think of when I think of Mexico."

"From what I've been able to dig up about it, you're right. It's not the type of place a respected doctor would be found, certainly not after his college days."

"Why would he go there?"

"Not to be recognized."

A shiver ran up his spine.

"Go ahead."

"Kent was hiding something. I suspect a habit, maybe drugs, maybe whores, maybe something else. I would need more firsthand information, but there's enough here to suggest that Kent was doing something he didn't want anyone to know about."

Len pulled his hands from behind his head and placed them on the desk in front of him.

"I take it that you've gone as far as you can."

"I've reached the end of the line without first hand info."

Len shook his head. "Very well, I'll let you know what Vance wants done."

Tori turned to return to her office. Reaching the door, she heard Len call out to her. She turned to face him.

"Good job," he said softly. "Good job, Tori."

Chapter 8

Mister Reynolds opened his mail box and withdrew the contents, examining the letters in his hand as he closed the small metal door. He heard the front door open and looking up saw Miss Banner enter looking upset and tired.

"Good evening Doctor Banner," he called out, trying not to let his expression reveal his concern.

His voice startled her and she forced a smile, "Oh, hello Mister Reynolds. How are you?"

"Fine, fine, just came down to throw out the garbage and get the mail," he said pleasantly. "More junk mail and bills..."

Melissa crossed to the boxes and opened her mailbox.

"I know what you mean, there is never anything much in the mail these days," she replied quickly, examining her mail.

The door at the end of the hallway opened and Mister Reynolds thought he saw Melissa visibly wilt.

Mrs. Giamonte stepped out into the hall and shuffled down the hall towards them, "Good evening Mister Reynolds, Miss Banner..."

"Good evening Mrs. Giamonte," they both replied.

"Did you get your mail?" she asked them both suddenly.

"Yes," they replied in unison.

"I'm thinking of getting the mail boxes replaced," she said wistfully. "They're starting to look sort of crappy. My late husband liked these brass ones, but I saw new ones that have a silver glint to them, think they're made of aluminum. Nice and shiny; I think they would look nicer."

"That would be a lot of work, don't you think?" asked Mister Reynolds.

"I know it is, but you have to make improvements like this when you're a landlord or your tenants feel neglected."

"I like the mailboxes," said Melissa.

"Yeah, if you want to improve something, why don't you fix the door buzzer? I can't open the door from my apartment when people come to visit me."

Mrs. Giamonte stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.

"Who visits you? You never get any visitors. I get more visitors than you and everyone I know is dead." Mrs. Giamonte turned back towards her apartment muttering. "Mail, you get every day, visitors, who the hell cares if they have to call someone else to get in the building. Give people an inch and they want a yard, you work, you slave, you try to make it better for people, no damn appreciation, none..."

Melissa took the opportunity to catch the elevator with Mister Reynolds. Making her way off the elevator and down the hall she reached her apartment just as the phone started to ring. Rushing in, she grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

"Melissa?"

She took a deep breath, "Hi Vance, what's up."

He hesitated, "Melissa, could I stop by? I have some information that I'd like to speak with you about."

She nodded, "All right, Vance. Are you home?"

"I'll be home in about twenty minutes."

"All right, I'll see you in twenty."

Melissa hung up the phone and slowly lowered herself down to the couch. Clinically she understood her hesitance to see Vance. Still understanding did not slow her pulse or calm her fear. Retreating to her bathroom she splashed her face with cold water, patting it dry as she tried to regain control of her emotions. It had been an emotional day, Tara's revelations leaving her feeling raw. As much as she tried to be objective she knew that she was losing her balance.

Exiting the bathroom, she went into her kitchen and put on the coffee pot. It seemed to take forever for Vance to arrive and when he did, he looked extremely serious. After she had poured their coffee, they sat on the couch and examined each other. He noted the look in her eye, the discomfort in his prescience. He had seen this before in rape victims, the discomfort, the withdrawal. He knew he had to put himself on the back burner, but it was already complicated. He wanted to be objective, he promised himself he would be objective, but he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

"Do you remember your step-father ever speaking of a town in Mexico named Nova?"

Melissa paused, "I remember him taking trips to Mexico, but I don't know exactly where he went. Why do you ask?"

Vance looked at the coffee table as he sipped his coffee.

"Tori found that he went to the town of Nova in Mexico every year, usually for a week at a time, sometimes longer. Some years he went more often, but never less than once a year. He did this from the time he was in college until the year he died. It seems he never took anyone else with him, no friends, no family, it appears he never took your mother there..."

"A lot of people like going to Mexico. As I said, I remember him going there for business, I'm not sure what business exactly, I was a teenager and we didn't really get along to begin with..."

Vance leaned back, still not looking at her, "Not to put too fine a point on it, it's very odd that a man in his position would go to a town like Nova. It isn't now, nor has it ever been a party town, it's not a place most people would want to be caught dead in, never mind a successful doctor."

She leaned closer, "So why do you think he went there?"

He shrugged, "Drugs possibly, almost certainly something illegal. I've even had one of my staff suggest that he might have had another family there, we can't be sure."

"He always went alone?"

Vance nodded, "From here, we can't be positive, but it certainly seems that he was alone. Would your mother, perhaps..."

"I'd really rather not get her involved at this point if we can avoid it," state Melissa, gripping her cup more tightly. "I just don't think she would be of any help and she might be more forthcoming with information later, when we have a little more to go on."

Vance nodded remembering Len's oft quoted saying, "Family politics are difficult, dysfunctional family politics are fucking impossible."

"What if we went there?" asked Melissa.

Vance shook his head, "I kind of fantasized about our first weekend away and this is not the place I would like to take you. I think I know who I can send to check it out for us, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, I don't want to get all macho or anything, let me just ask you please not to consider going there. Let me handle it, I have some unique contacts who would be able to get into places and get information that I myself couldn't get."

Melissa shuddered, this thing had gotten even darker, even more frightening.

"How's your patient?" asked Vance suddenly.

Melissa snapped out of her reveries, "Doing better, I think, but..."

He sat and waited, the words hanging in the air like an unavoidable blow.

"I don't think I can help... my client further. I'm losing my objectivity... no, that's a lie. I've lost my objectivity. I hear... their story and I think of my own and I want the truth no matter what. I've lost the ability to pull back and I don't have the right to drag them along with me on my personal quest..."

"I think you're being unfair to them and to yourself," he replied quietly. "This is personal for all of us, but if what we think happened, it happened to them as well as to you. This is their personal quest as well. I thought that part of any quest was to get to the truth, no matter how ugly. You can't heal someone by denying what's making them sick..."

"I don't know if it is," she replied, rising from the couch. "I don't know because I can't stay focused on her... I mean on them... I...I can't be sure and I don't have the right..."

Vance rose and put his arms around her as she began to weep. She cried hard for a very long time and finally seemed to regain control. He stood, stoking her hair, saying nothing, knowing it had to come out.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered after a while.

"I'm not sure either," he replied, "but we'll figure it out together."

***

The town of Nova looked like the set of every cheap western ever filmed. A dirt road staggering between two lines of dilapidated buildings, dust blowing in the slightest breeze, people carelessly scattered in doorways and on steps seemingly without rhyme or reason. The inhabitants looked lost or drunk or drugged, most featuring vacant stares and faces older than their biological years. The men wore batter shirts and stained pants with no shoes, their hair unkempt and their faces smudged. The women appeared little better in worn skirts and tattered blouses, some with children on their hips, others warily slumped against the nearest available object for support. There was no comfort here, no hope, just despair and something else. A hidden evil, a dark thing that seemed to lie just below the surface, ready to swallow up anyone foolish enough to stay here more than a few moments.

The motorcycle that pulled in was dark and dusty and seemed about ready to bend beneath the weight of the behemoth it carried despite its own huge size. The man on the motorcycle appeared to be dressed in gray until he stopped the bike and rose up from it like a mountain. He slapped carelessly at his arms and chest, revealing great black swatches of material beneath the uniform dust that had made him appear like a ghost. Removing his helmet, his heavy face was red and covered in sweat.

He headed for what appeared to be the one place for social contact in the entire heap of buildings, a two story structure in the middle of town with a sign that was partially obscured, but which seemed to indicate that it was a hotel of some sort that served food. The big man lumbered up to the door and pushed it inwards, filling the frame from which the door retreated more solidly than the ancient door could hope to do.

Peering in he saw a room filled with empty tables, a bar to his left and two people. One was a withered old man, perched on a high stool in front of the bar. Behind him towards the back stood a young girl who peered at the intruder with a resigned air. The big man guessed that the girl was in her mid to late teens, her long dark hair flowing to her waist, her dark eyes sad, pained. She wore a long skirt and a very loose peasant blouse with barely enough elastic in it to maintain its perch above her breasts.

The man entered, his heavy steps causing the building to shake. As he advanced, the old man stared at him in fear, unsure of how to react. The man came to a halt a few stools away from him and took a seat.

Rising quickly, the old man took his place behind the bar, approaching the large man timidly.

"Si, senor?" he asked in a cracked and quavering voice.

"English," snapped the man, his dark eyes cutting through the man's soul.

"What is your pleasure, sir?" asked the old man, his voice shaking.

"Beer," replied the man.

He watched the old man pour the beer and place it on the counter before him. Picking it up in one of his massive hands, he drank half of it at a gulp and looked around the room.

"Have you lived here long?" he asked the elderly man.

"Si, I mean, yes, sir," replied the bartender. "I was born and raised here."

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a photo and placed it on the bar top. He watched as the old man peeked at the photo.

"Do you know him?"

The old man nodded, "He used to come here, sir. He is no longer alive, he died, or so we were told."

The big man picked up the picture and placed it back in his pocket.

"Who did he come here to see?" he asked as he took another gulp of his beer.

The old man blinked nervously, "He stayed here, sir. Stayed in a room upstairs and would visit with..."

The old man looked at the young girl who stood at the back of the room, anxiously watching the exchange. He spoke to her in Spanish, asking her to supply the words he was searching for. The young girl came closer, standing just out of reach of the large man. The old man spoke again to her and she looked at the big man.

"He stayed here but he spent most of his time at the Del Rey."

The big man finished his beer and placed his glass on the bar menacingly.

"What is Del Rey?"

The girl recoiled slightly, "It is a house at the end of the street."

"What is Del Rey?" he repeated.

The girl looked to the old man before speaking, "I do not know, sir. I am sorry. Girls are forbidden there as are the local men. Only men like you, men not from here can go there. That is all I know, sir."

The big man nodded; satisfied that he had heard the truth. Pulling a bill from out of his pocket, he slapped it onto the bar top.

"Did he have a room he always stayed in?" he barked at the old man.

"Always room three," replied the old man. "Always he take that room."

"I'll be back," stated the large man, as he rose, towering above the stool and bar and the man and the girl. "I'll be staying in room three tonight."

"Yes, sir, it will be ready."

***

Virginia leaned back on the couch and peered at the clock again. 7:45, where was Kevin? The gallery opening was in less than a half hour and she had not heard from him in two hours. Where could he be? Before they had married he had been so punctual, so attentive. She understood his need to succeed in business, indeed it was admirable, such drive in a young man. Still, he was forgetting their life, their dreams more and more.

She stared at the clock a few moments more and then rose to retrieve her wrap. She would go alone. Perhaps she would meet someone and stay out all night. That would remind him of what he was missing. Setting the alarm, she sauntered out the door trying to convince herself of how jealous Kevin would be when she didn't come home tonight.

***

Kevin awoke and rolled over to find himself alone in bed. Locating his underpants on the floor, he pulled them on as he stepped out into the living room, searching for her. She was sitting on the couch wrapped in a sheet, staring out the window.

"You go now?" she asked quietly.

Looking at the clock he immediately panicked.

"It's almost eight o'clock, she's gonna kill me!"

He ran back into the bedroom searching for his clothing as she continued to stare out the window. He stumbled out of the bedroom in a jumble, pulling and tugging at what appeared to be the ends and beginnings of clothing.

"You shouldn't have let me sleep..."

She turned to stare at him a moment, "It was the only way I could keep you here."

The words stopped him.

"It's just for a little while longer," he stated slowly.

Shaking her head, she returned to staring out the window. "No more, this. No more. I work with you, but no more..." she waved vaguely towards the bedroom as if trying to sweep the dust of the past out of her existence. "I was wrong...we were wrong...that is why it is no good. Go to her now."

He looked at her, frustrated. He didn't have the time for this, not now, he was late. "We'll talk tomorrow..."

"No," she said softly, finally. "No. Go now."

He moved towards her, torn. Bending down, he kissed the top of her head, "We'll talk tomorrow, I promise. In the morning, come early, we'll talk." He pointed towards her as he gained the door, "We'll talk tomorrow." Swiftly, he was gone.

Rising, she dropped the sheet, allowing the moonlight and soft evening breeze to caress her. She used to wear nothing back home, used to wear nothing at night in the silence of her home. She would walk nude through the house and feel innocent and pure, it was only when she arrived here that she became dirty. She had seen too much and she loved him too much. Tomorrow he would wait for her in the morning, but the longer he waited, the further away she would be.

***

Beverly sat in the kitchen, drinking her coffee and switching channels.

"Seven thousand channels and nothing on," she muttered as she heard someone walking down the hallway.

A moment later Tara peeked in, her girlfriend Chris sauntering in behind her. Chris was one of Tara's newer friends, a good kid from what Beverly could tell. She wasn't as physically mature as Tara and was a bit shorter, with mousey brown hair and glasses, but she was funny and sweet and intelligent.

"Can Chris stay for dinner, Mom?" asked Tara softly. "We wanted to study for our trig test tomorrow and she can't explain everything to me in an hour."

"Of course," smiled Beverly, glad to see Tara was interacting more with her friends. "Do you guys have a preference? I was going to make some chicken with tortellini salad."

"That sounds great, Mrs. Walcott."

Tara smiled, "Sounds good, Mom. What are you watching?"

Beverly grimaced, "I have no idea. Why do we pay for all of these channels, there is never anything on."

"There's always "I Love Lucy,"" giggled Chris as she peered at the television screen. "Oh, this is good..."

"What is it?" asked Tara.

"It's called "Renting California", replied Chris. "They show you all these mansions and villas and stuff rich people rent and then every now and then they show you a real dump that's all disgusting and stuff."

"Where do they get the ideas for these things?" laughed Beverly. "You sit and watch this?"

"Oh, it's great," replied Chris. "They have that guy, what's his name, the one with the Australian accent, he narrates it and makes all these snarky comments and..."

Beverly looked up and saw a look of terror on Chris' face. Instinctively she twisted to see what the girl was looking at. Her breath caught as she viewed Tara, her face void of all color, a look of absolute terror on her face.

"Tara?" snapped Beverly.

As Tara's eyes rolled white, Beverly bound towards her a moment too late. Chris' scream filled the air as her friend's limp body struck the floor in a jumbled heap.

Chapter 9

The small Mexican at the door peered up at the giant who stood at the threshold and clasped his pistol tightly.

"What can I do for you, senor?" he asked in a raspy voice, his dark eyes darting left and right.

Ben noticed the man was out of place, clean shaven, immaculately dressed in a light gray suit. He glazed past the man for a moment; there were others behind him, just out of view. While he was sure he could overpower him, there was no way to know what was lurking in the shadows.

"I understand you have parties here," drawled the big man.

The man smiled, "Sometimes..."

Reaching slowly into his shirt pocket to show he had no ill intent, he pulled the picture out and handed it to the man. "He told me that I should look you up if I were ever in town."

The man eyed him suspiciously.

"Before he died, of course," added Ben.

"He recommend you?" asked the man.

Ben shrugged, "He would have if he had lived. We had some...business together."

"You wait here," said the Mexican, closing the door behind him. It took a long time before he returned, but Ben had stayed on the porch, calmly watching a few stray people pass by the house. Finally, the door opened and the Mexican glanced up and down the street.

"Are you police?"

Ben smiled, "If I was, would I say so?"

The man grunted, "Follow me, please."

Ben walked into the hallway and found himself surrounded by four men who seemed to materialize from nowhere. He had been in this situation before and merely glanced at them before asking the Mexican, "Where are we going?"

The Mexican motioned to his left, "You Americans call it a parlor, I believe. Come, this way."

The men followed him to the doorway of the parlor, but remained outside as he and the Mexican entered. The room was stark white with a few cream colored couches. Paintings of Latin American stars stood in gold frames about the room.

"Please take a seat, senor, my boss will speak with you shortly."

Ben took a seat under a picture of Desi Arnaz and smiled to himself. If what he thought was going on here was going on here, it was certainly no place for Lucy and Ricky, never mind the Mertzes.

Fifteen minutes elapsed before the door opened again. A young man entered, tall, well dressed, a college kid whose father made a bundle if Ben's instincts were correct. He was wearing a light colored suit and blue tie and ran a well manicured hand through his hair. Taking a seat opposite the Mexican and Ben he smiled cheerfully.

"Your first time here?" he asked casually.

"Yeah," replied Ben.

"The gunman is a giveaway," he laughed, removing his coat and loosening his tie. "They always have a gunman with you the first time. After you show that you're a member of the club, things change. I hope you have money with you, it's the easiest way into the club."

Ben said nothing, studying the young man. "And you have the money?"

"Daddy does," laughed the young man. "He's a member here as well, when business allows."

The Mexican kept shifting in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

The door to the room opened again and a young girl entered. She looked to be about fifteen years of age and had the dark hair and eyes of the typical Mexican teenager. She was wearing a summer dress and sandals and looked at the young college man as if he were the only one in the room. The young man looked at her, studying her movements as she walked past him and then back.

"No," he stated simply.

The girl shrugged and sauntered out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

"They always try to get you to take the first one, especially in the beginning," he stated to Ben. "You can get a Mexican girl for almost nothing outside, but they always try."

A moment later the door opened again and another girl entered. She was about the same age as the last girl, perhaps even a year or two younger, but her skin color was lighter as was her hair. If Ben had to take a guess, he would say she was a mixture of cultures, but which ones he could not place his finger on. She wore a short t-shirt that revealed a trim stomach and a pair of tiny denim shorts. The young man smiled as she sauntered around the room.

"You'll do," he stated, rising and picking up his coat. Walking up to the girl he put a possessive arm around her waist and pulled her quickly towards the door. As they exited, the girl shot a glance at Ben, who remained impassive.

"Ass," muttered the Mexican. "That gringo thinks he got an exotic girl, she is from this village, more common than the dust in the street. A little make up and a little hair color..." The man grimaced knowingly and returned his gaze to the door.

The door opened again and a smart looking, middle aged man in a business suit entered, extending his hand toward Ben with a large, sterling white smile. "How do you do, sir? Sorry to keep you waiting, I was attending to some business."

Ben took the man's soft moist hand and squeezed it gently. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Please, come this way," said the man, moving back towards the door.

Ben followed him down a hallway to a large, well furnished office in the back of the building. Gesturing Ben towards one of the leather chairs that stood before his desk, the man lowered himself into his own chair and offered him a reassuring smile.

"I understand that we have a mutual acquaintance," stated the man.

Ben reached slowly into his pocket and produced the photo, which he handed to the man as he replied, "Pierre and I were friends. You see, I'm a private investigator..." he saw the man grow suddenly alert. "It's not what you think, Mister... I'm sorry, what should I call you?"

"My friends call me Edward," replied the man as he eyed Ben suspiciously.

"Edward," repeated Ben with a slight smile. "You see, Pierre and I became friends when he became suspicious that his wife was indulging in ... outside interests. He hired me to keep an eye on her."

The man's guard remained high.

"I'm surprised that a man of Pierre's interests would have cared that his wife was active, shall we say, outside of the home."

"Pierre had many interests, as you say," replied Ben, "which is why he hired me. He confided to me that if I did verify his suspicion that he wanted to encourage his wife in her pursuit. Pierre had a tendency to view life as a "the more, the merrier" type proposition. If his wife were engaged in other pursuits, he thought they might be able to ... meld their interests, so to speak."

The man relaxed slightly, "What did you find out?"

Ben smiled, "Unfortunately, Pierre died before I could file my report with him. I believe he would have been disappointed, but as a professional, I really can't say more..."

"Of course," replied Edward, relaxing slowly. "So what did Pierre tell you about our little enterprise?"

"He told me a few, what I believe are, general details of your operation," replied Ben, trying hard not to look as if he were feeling his way. "He said that he always had a wonderful time when he came here and that I might enjoy what you had to offer."

"And what is it that you enjoy?" asked Edward, leaning back slightly in his chair.

"I've always had a large appetite for the company of the fairer sex," replied Ben. "Of course, I prefer the company of younger women. Women my own age, well..." he spread his hands out allowing the gesture to complete his thought.

"There are many people who enjoy the company of younger women," replied Edward. "Why do you think Pierre suggested that you might enjoy yourself here?"

Ben leaned forward in his chair, almost certain that he was on the right track.

"Pierre implied, well...that you were able to supply a certain type of younger woman whose company I might particularly enjoy."

Edward rose and looked out of the window that stood behind his desk, out onto the dusty street of the town below. He saw one of his guards milling about on the property behind the club and smiled. Feeling secure was seldom a perk one enjoyed in this business, but he felt so now.

"If you don't mind, Mister...."

"Please, call me Ben."

"If you don't mind, Ben, might I make a few calculated observations?"

"Of course, feel free."

Turning the man stared at Ben with a chilling smile.

"You were born poor and you had to fight your way up, just like Pierre did. Were as he was able to secure a better education, your education was provided on the streets."

"I believe that is why we bonded so quickly," replied Ben. "Pierre understood what it was to be poor, to fight just to survive."

"And to envy," replied Edward coldly. "To sit with your nose pressed against the glass of life and peer at those who thought they were better than you enjoying themselves, enjoying the life that should be available to everyone, not just the privileged few."

"I see you understand," smiled Ben.

"You long to pay back those people, those women who would never look at you before, would never give you the time of day," said Edward heatedly.

"More than that," replied Ben, shifting forward in his seat. "You see, I used to work at a country club. I'd bust my ass working on the greens, living hand to mouth, cutting the lawns, cleaning the trash, everything." The man seemed to smile with satisfaction as Ben continued. "The women would come to the club and bring their daughters, fifteen, sixteen years old, snotty little brats who were being groomed to become the next set of wealthy, weak minded whores who marry well and look down on everyone..."

"And you longed for one hour alone with one of them, didn't you," smiled Edward. "One hour to prove to them how a real man would treat them, how a real man would breed them..."

Ben leaned back in his chair, "I see we understand each other."

Edward laughed, "How I miss Pierre. His was a sensitive soul..."

***

Melissa sat down next to Tara on her bed and took a deep breath. It had been a difficult half hour downstairs with Beverly, she knew that Melissa was being evasive but she did not understand why. Melissa knew she could not keep this from her much longer; sooner or later she had to tell Beverly of her suspicions, but not yet, not quite yet.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked, patting Tara's hand.

Tara looked pale and frightened, "I'm scared Aunt Mel, what's happening to me?"

"I'm not sure yet, Tara," replied Melissa, choosing her words carefully, "but I hope to find out shortly. Your mother said that you and your friend were looking at the television with her and you fainted..."

"I saw the room, Aunt Mel," replied Tara, her voice descending to a whisper. "I saw it, it was the room, I know it was!"

"All right, calm down," replied Melissa. "What room?"

"The room from my dream," replied Tara. "They showed the room I had dreamed about on the television."

"What were you watching?" asked Melissa, taking out a notepad and pen.

"It's called "Renting California", I've never seen the show before, Chris has..."

"Chris, your friend?"

"Yes, Chris. She was telling Mom and I about it and suddenly the room from my dream, they showed it, it was right there, the bed, the window, everything!"

Melissa nodded, jotting down her notes.

"You're sure you've never seen this show before..."

"Positive, I'd never even heard of it before..."

"So there is no way you could have seen a commercial for the show and had seen the room?"

"No, I don't watch that channel, that's Mom's channel," Tara replied. "I'd never heard of the show before today."

"And your Mom said she had never seen the show before..."

"No, she had no idea what it was," replied Tara defensively. "Aunt Mel, don't you believe me?"

Melissa looked up from her notes, "Of course I believe you, Tara. Don't doubt for a single moment that I believe you. I have to ask these questions to make sure that what you saw was something that you've seen before, but not on television..."

"I was in California, Aunt Mel," replied Tara. "I know I never saw that room when I was out there, yet it came up on the television and I knew it was the room. It doesn't make sense. The name of the place wasn't familiar to me..."

"What was the name of the place?" asked Melissa.

Tara frowned, "I don't remember. They said it and then showed the picture, I don't remember the name..."

"It's all right, Tara, we'll find out the name," stated Melissa. "Now if you saw the room again, you could identify it."

"Without a doubt," replied Tara.

Melissa nodded; she would contact the station and get a copy of the show. Tara would need to identify it, she needed to give Vance a name, a place to go and search. She needed to know, as much for herself as for Tara.

***

Kevin rolled back onto his side of the bed, breathing deeply. It had been a long night, but he believed he had pulled it off. Virginia lay panting at his side, her clothes strewn on the floor next to the bed. With a slow, drawn out sigh, she raised herself onto her elbow and stared at him.

"That was wonderful, Kevin," she said, "but it doesn't answer my question."

Kevin shook his head; he was out of ideas and patience.

"I was working, Virginia, why don't you believe me?"

"Because when I went to your office, my dear, you weren't there," she stated, stroking his chest with her hand. "You hadn't been there for hours, don't deny it because I spoke to the security people and you had left hours before."

Kevin closed his eyes, why was he continuing this masquerade?

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "You want the truth, here is the truth, I was with another woman; a young, sexy woman who wants nothing more than to be my wife and spend the rest of her life making me happy, who isn't afraid to let me out of her sight for two minutes, who doesn't order me around or try to make all of my decisions for me."

Opening his eyes, he looked up at Virginia and could see the slightest outline of a smile on her lips.

"Oh, she's all of those things, Kevin, all of them and more."

Rising, she did not bother to try and cover herself as she picked up the clothing on floor and brought it to the hamper. Her nude body moved with a slow, sultry motion as she closed the bathroom door.

Kevin lay in bed, unsure of what to do. Should he get up and pack his things, should he leave and spend the night with his lover, or would it be better to go to the office. As he tried to think of the best course of action, Virginia sauntered back from the bathroom and slid into bed next to him.

"Good night, Kevin," she said softly and turned away from him.

"I'll leave Virginia," he said finally.

"There's no need," she responded. "We can discuss it in the morning. Rest now, you've been busy."

Kevin grew tense, something was wrong.

"What are you up to, Virginia?"

"I'm up to sleeping," she responded with a yawn. "Good night dear."

In a few moments time, he heard her steady breathing as she fell into a deep sleep. Kevin stared at the ceiling, undecided as to what to do. He stared at the ceiling all night.

***

Patrick awoke, his hand gingerly rubbing his eyes. What the hell had happened? He could not seem to collect his thoughts, to remember what had happened. Easing onto his back, he felt something warm next to him. Forcing his eyes open, he turned his head and saw a girl with long brown hair lying on her back as if in a deep sleep. It took him a moment but his memory had become clearer, he remembered the evening now, parts of it anyway. With a wolfish smile, he could not believe that he had ever forgotten it.

It had taken several drinks to convince the girl to come back to his hotel room. He had not mentioned the blonde woman he had met at the bar earlier, afraid of scaring the girl off. When they had gotten to the room, the blonde woman was there, naked. He shook his head at the memory; she was stunning, absolutely beautiful.

The brunette had tried to bolt, but with the help of the blonde he had persuaded her to stay for a drink. The blonde had gotten up and fixed the drinks as he tried to calm the brunette. Thankfully she was pretty drunk at the time and once she had downed the drink the blonde had created she became quieter and much more cooperative.

Soon all three of them were nude, undulating in the bed. He remembered first the blonde, than the brunette then all of them, then the blonde and the brunette. He remembered another drink and then glimpses of the blonde and the brunette and a faint recollection of someone else, a man. The man was slapping the brunette while the blonde serviced them both, it was crazy and erotic and amazing and then nothing. He had no idea how long he had been asleep, what time of day it was, he just remembered being exhausted and drained.

Stumbling to his feet, he opened the curtains that blocked the windows and fell back as the sunlight streamed in. It had to be noon from the strength of the sun he figured. Turning he stared at the girl in bed; she was nude, her beautiful, long brown hair fanned about her upper body and face, her beautiful body displayed on the rumpled white sheets. As he looked at the space between her legs, he recognized a puddle of blood, its source still seeping from the girl. For a moment, Patrick panicked, but recovering himself he grabbed the phone at the side of the bed and called the front desk begging for help.

***

Vance put down the phone and stared at the wall. He could feel the anger fighting to overcome his reasoning but he forced it back into the dark place in his mind and closed the door on it. Anger would be dangerous now; anger might have fatal consequences at this point. He needed to be clear headed, he needed to focus.

A knock at his door brought Vance out of his reveries.

"Come in," he barked.

Len strolled in and lowered himself into the seat opposite Vance, studying his boss like a lion tamer with an ornery lion. No doubt about it, whatever had upset him had him on the point of explosion and with Vance that could be a dangerous thing. Len decided to take the professional route.

"You called me?" he asked innocently.

"Have you ever heard of a show, "Renting California"?"

An odd request, but, "No, boss, never heard of it. Has it something to do with the case you told me about?"

Vance continued, "It seems that there was a segment on today's show that triggered a memory. I need a copy of today's show; do you think you can get it for me?"

Len nodded, "No doubt."

"Alright, I need that then... have we heard anything from Ben?"

"Nothing," replied Len. "He's supposed to check in this afternoon, but Mexico isn't like here. They don't exactly run by the clock down there, so he might be a bit late in reporting. I wouldn't get worried about it though, Ben has a knack of taking care of himself."

Vance looked at his door to make sure it was closed before continuing, "I don't mind tell you, I don't like how this is beginning to look, Len. If Ben had found nothing, we'd know by now, which means he found something. From the reaction of Mel's patient, this program might offer us an important lead, but I'm not thrilled to where it's leading."

"A lot of ugly things happen in the dark that you don't really want to see in the light of day," replied Len, noting the slight relaxing of Vance's expression. "Our business tends to rip off the veil from a lot of ugly things. Making it personal only makes it worse..."

"What if you can't avoid it being personal?" asked Vance.

"Sometimes, you can't," replied Len. "When that happens, you need to focus on applying your A game to the problem, to doing the best that you can. If it's personal, you want to make sure to dot the I's and cross the T's so that we can nail whoever did whatever they did."

Vance nodded, "You're right, but it doesn't make it easier to do."

Len lowered his eyes and examined his hands.

"Boss, I don't want to get personal, but, watch yourself. You've only known this girl a very short time and things have been pretty intense so far and not in the way one usually hopes for in a new relationship. I'm just worried... well, just watch your back. I'm not saying anything against the lady, you understand, but... just watch your back."

Vance let out a long sigh, the door closing tightly on his anger, locking it safely away for the time being.

"I'll be careful, Len. Thanks."

"It's called, "Renting California"?" verified Len as he stood to leave.

"Yeah, we need a copy asap."

Chapter 10

A smirk played across Big Ben's features as the girl entered the room. She was tall and slender with blonde hair and blue eyes and she was wearing a plaid skirt with a white blouse and black, sensible shoes. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen and she glanced up in him with a mixture of terror and curiosity. Her doe eyes glanced to him and then to the bed and back again. Looking at the man with the gun who gestured her menacingly towards the bed, she moved gingerly to the bedside as the man smiled at Ben before easing himself out the door and closing it behind him.

"Who are you?" she asked in a small voice.

"Names aren't important," replied Ben, pulling his shirt off and kicking off his shoes.

The girl feigned confusion, looking desperately at the door for a moment before resigning herself to the inevitable. Slowly, shyly, she turned her back to him, removing her top and bra. Standing, she slithered out of her shoes and lowered her skirt, revealing a lacy thong. As Ben dropped his pants, she gasped. Stepping forward, his massive arm circled her waist and he pulled her closer.

His mouth descended to her well developed breast as she let out little protests and struggled ever so slightly. His other hand descended to her waist, grabbing hold of the thong, effortlessly ripping it from her taunt body. Her protests grew weaker as he caressed her mound and became sighs as he lifted her onto the bed.

Moaning loudly, she accepted him within her, her protests intermixed with moans of pleasure. As Ben found his rhythm, she slowly, reluctantly began to thrust against him, her legs hesitantly massaging his sides and then wrapping around his waist. As her body surrendered to him, her urgent whispers begged him to stop, pleading with him.

"Oh God, oh GOD," she cried, her arms lacing around his neck and pulling him closer as she arched to meet him, "oh forgive me, FORIVE ME, too good, oh... too good..." Her orgasm was strong and she withered beneath him as he continued until his own climax.

As he rolled off of her onto his back, she began to weep softly.

"Why won't they let me go?" she asked, pulling the sheet around her body as she shifted onto her side.

"Because you're too good at what you do," he replied.

"They make me to it, they force me," she protested, crying harder into her pillow.

"Where are you from?" he asked quietly.

"I was a student at Southern California University," she said, turning towards him and drying her eyes on the sheet. "My father is Richard Edwards, the industrialist. I went to a party one night, a nice boy asked me to be his date. When we got there, I had too much to drink. We decided to drive to Mexico for some fun, just some fun..." her eyes teared up, "we just wanted some laughs. When we got here, we got drunk. I went to use the ladies room and this woman came up to me and asked me something in Spanish. Before I could tell her I don't speak Spanish, someone grabbed me from behind and then everything went dark. I woke up here..."

"How long have you been here?" asked Ben.

"Almost a year," she replied, her hand massaging his chest lightly. "They make me have sex with different men; they take pictures of me... They sent my father a ransom note and when they didn't get the money in time, they filmed me having sex with two men and sent the tape to my father..." she began to cry again.

Ben stroked her hair gently and rose from the bed. Making his way to the bathroom, he took a quick shower and then returned to the bedroom and got dressed. Checking his wallet, he smiled reassuringly at the girl and let himself out.

Outside, the man with the gun who had brought the girl stared up at him and smiled.

"I want to see Mister Edward," he stated.

"Si, senor, this way," replied the man, pointing with his gun towards the door Ben had left behind earlier.

Entering the room, Ben saw Edward at his desk mulling over some paperwork.

"Ah, come in, come in," smiled Edward. "Do take a seat; I'll be with you in a minute."

Ben lowered himself into the chair he had occupied earlier and waited patiently until Edward looked up.

"So sorry, the chores of running a business," he stated, gesturing towards the pile of papers.

"No problem, I just wanted to ask a question," replied Ben. "What bullshit do you think you're trying to pull?"

Edward immediately became alert, "I don't know..."

"Look," replied Ben, leaning forward menacingly, "you can cut the shit. You said we understood each other and I took you at your word, so what are you trying to pull? That bitch was a professional, her story was horseshit. She's been turning tricks for years, what do you think, I'm some ignorant college kid? I didn't come here to play games, if you don't have what I'm looking for I'll go somewhere else."

Edward's face broke into a small smile.

"I hope you'll forgive me, Ben, we have to be sure. When you have a business like ours, when you have a "specialty", you can't just share it with everyone. We've had people here before who liked the fantasy, but couldn't be trusted with the reality. I have other clients to protect, you understand..."

Ben leaned back slightly, "And you just so happen to have them pay for the reality and then slip them the fantasy, which must add quite a bit to your bottom line."

Edward laughed, a short harsh laugh, joined to a shrug that admitted everything.

"It's a business, Ben and as Barnum said, "there's a sucker born every minute". I can see that you're not one of them, however."

"I want my money back," replied Ben.

"Not so hasty, my friend, not so hasty," replied Edwards good-naturedly. "You'll get what you paid for, that I promise you, but be fair, you have enjoyed some fun today..."

"I didn't ask for what you gave me," he replied, "so let's just chalk it up to a business expense...for you."

"You didn't have to take the young lady..." began Edward.

Ben smiled, "Some people might say that you hoped to pull a bait and switch. I've accepted your explanation of why you did what you did, what the young lady gave up was your price of doing business."

Edward nodded, "Very well, consider it a warm up for the main event. You've given us your money and as I said earlier, satisfaction is guaranteed. You still prefer a blonde?"

Ben nodded.

"Younger than eighteen but older than fourteen..."

Ben nodded again.

"I will send word to you at your hotel as soon as your order is filled," replied Edward. "It will take us no more than three days. If at the end of three days we do not fulfill your request, we will gladly refund your money to you."

"With interest?" asked Ben, smiling.

Edward laughed again, "My dear boy, you've already enjoyed your interest and wasn't she rather good?"

***

"Disgusting perverts," snapped Mrs. Giamonte. "They're all disgusting perverts!"

"I know what you mean," replied Mrs. Waters. The two stood by the front doors of their respective buildings giving vent to their undiluted distain.

"If there is any justice at all, they'll hang the son of a bitch by his balls," stated Mrs. Giamonte judicially. "A beautiful girl like that just minding her own business..."

"That's why girls shouldn't travel by themselves," stated Mrs. Waters. "When I was young, we didn't go anywhere without our brothers or our fathers. Now a days, these girls just get on planes all by themselves. If you ask me, they're just looking for trouble because that's all you're going to find acting that way!"

"Here, here's someone who knows," replied Mrs. Giamonte, pointing to Melissa as she made her way down the street. "Doctor Banner will tell you, the whole world is made up of disgusting perverts. She's a psychiatrist, she knows!"

"Good evening, Mrs. Giamonte, Mrs. Waters," smiled Melissa, hoping this wouldn't take too long.

"Tell her," insisted Mrs. Giamonte, "tell her the whole world is full of disgusting perverts."

"What are you ladies talking about?" asked Melissa.

"The thing on the news about that man," explained Mrs. Waters. "He's a disgusting pervert, what he did to that girl and they say there were other people, oh my God, disgusting."

"Disgusting perverts," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "This man met this young girl in a bar and they went back to his room."

Melissa shrugged, not sure of what she was supposed to be disgusted by.

"They went back to his room with other people," replied Mrs. Waters in a whisper.

"They had..." Mrs. Giamonte glanced around to make sure no children were present and then whispered, "sex. All of them; together! Four people all having sex, together! Disgusting perverts! In my day, you had sex with one person and you didn't even do that unless you were married and you absolutely had too!"

"Four people," added Mrs. Waters. "How does that even happen? How do you find people who'd agree to something like that?"

"You can bet your sweet ass I'd never agree to it," replied Mrs. Giamonte. The two octogenarians exchanged a firm nod in support of the sentiment.

"So the police arrested him and charged him with assault," stated Mrs. Waters.

"Arrested who?" asked Melissa, thoroughly confused.

"The man, the man on the news," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "The young girl he took to his room, turns out she had drugs in her system and he almost killed her. They're looking for the other people who they had sex with too; they got video tape of them at the hotel and at the airport. I hope they find all of them and put them in prison."

"Is the girl going to be alright?" asked Melissa.

"No one knows," replied Mrs. Waters. "The doctors, they interviewed them on television and all they said is that she has an inflammation in her privates and she was bleeding and that they don't know how things will turn out. I hope the judge throws the book at them!"

"All of them," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "I hope they catch them and the judge puts them away for a million years. It's the Democrats, every time the damn Democrats get elected; you start hearing about all these shenanigans. They can't keep their pants on, none of them. Look at those Kennedy boys; I'm surprised they even wore pants..."

"I blame their parents," stated Mrs. Waters apolitically. "They must have done something wrong. Everyone talks about sex today with their children, back in my day, we didn't talk about anything and we didn't have these problems. Who knew from sex? You grew up, you got married, you fumbled around and you had children. Now everyone, all they talk about is the fumbling around, nothing about married, nothing about children. Maybe if they taught marriage and children in school instead of sex, kids would stay away from it."

"What do you think Doctor Banner?" asked Mrs. Giamonte. "You're a doctor; you deal with people like this, these crazy people..."

"They do seem a bit confused," stated Melissa, "but I don't know the whole story so I'd rather not say..."

"What, we told you the whole story," replied Mrs. Waters.

"She's right, she's right," replied Mrs. Giamonte, "she needs all the facts. You know these doctors now a days, if they don't have all the test results, they won't tell you what you've got."

Mrs. Waters agreed with a nod.

"Well, ladies, I'm really sorry, but I have to make a call. It was nice seeing you..." stated Melissa as she hurried through the door.

Mrs. Giamonte watched her disappear through the door and smiled, "She's going out with Mister Tibbet, I helped to set them up."

"Who is Mister Tibbet?" asked Mrs. Waters.

"The stalker who used to hang out by the mailboxes," replied Mrs. Giamonte.

"That pretty little thing and that big moose?" asked Mrs. Waters. "He'll crush her by accident, why'd you set them up for?"

"Cause it was either set them up or not be able to get to the mailboxes for the rest of my life," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "He's not a bad guy, he's just bulky. It's like having a moveable wall in the building."

"He must be hell on the floors," replied Mrs. Waters.

"He ain't as bad as your friend there, Mister I-never-missed-a-meal-in-my-life..."

"Mister LaBlanc? He's not so bad on the floors, he's light on his feet," countered Mrs. Waters. "He's hell on the plumbing though. I'm always calling in plumbers..."

***

Kevin picked up the phone and dialed again, waiting, hoping. Four rings, five... how could he have been so stupid? She said she was leaving, she said she couldn't go on anymore and he hadn't listened. How could he find her, what would he do? The intercom buzzed, he hit the button automatically.

"Kevin, your wife would like to speak to you."

"Could you tell her I'll call her back?"

"She's here, Kevin."

"Oh, very well, send her back."

How could he ever get her back? He strained his mind to remember the town she had said she had come from in Mexico...

The door to his office swung open and Virginia sauntered in followed by a tall, stern looking man in an expensive suit.

"Virginia?"

Virginia smiled, "Kevin, I want to introduce you to Mister Phelps, he'll be handling my side of the divorce."

Kevin looked from one to the other, "Mister Phelps, would you like to sit down?"

"I prefer to stand," replied Mister Phelps as he glanced about the room.

"Kevin, I understand that you want to end our marriage and I won't stop you," began Virginia. "I've had Mister Phelps draw up my offer. I think you'll find it reasonable."

Kevin took a paper proffered by Mister Phelps as Virginia continued.

"I understand that you'll want to have your attorney look into the matter, so if you have no further questions, we'll be on our way."

Kevin nodded, "I'll fax this to my attorney today, Virginia. I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize, Kevin," she responded. "These things happen."

Phelps extended his hand, "A pleasure to meet you."

Following Virginia to the door, he paused when she stopped.

"Oh, Kevin, I almost forgot," said Virginia. "I don't think it is proper for us to continue to live together. I am assuming that you'll be a gentleman and find other accommodations..."

Kevin nodded, "That only seems fair, Virginia. Yes, I'll check into a hotel this evening."

Virginia offered him a sad smile, "Is there a place where I may send your things?"

Kevin considered it, "Yes, Virginia, please forward them here if you would, I would appreciate that; thank you."

"Of course," smiled Virginia.

Stepping outside, Mister Phelps followed her down the corridor and out of the office.

"You've had her arrested?" asked Virginia as they made their way to the street.

"My contacts took care of it first thing this morning," replied Phelps. "Apparently she was leaving, going home to Mexico. This is your last chance, my dear, you could let her go and save yourself the money."

Virginia smiled a wicked smile, "No, no it's better she's here. Proceed with what we discussed. I'm not through with him yet."

***

Patrick sat squirming in the chair. How the hell did this happen? How could it happen? The police officer sat down heavily across from him, slamming a file folder onto the table. His suit was worn, his expression a mixture of disgust and curiosity as he eyed Patrick.

"I'm Sergeant Owens," he barked, his dark eyes examining Patrick closely, a slight smile on his thick lips. "So Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, you've been a naughty boy..."

"I don't remember all of it, but I'll tell you everything I remember," replied Patrick quickly.

"Cooperative, that's good," replied Owens, leaning back slightly, his bulky form causing the old wooden chair to squeal in protest. "We'll make a note of that, we'll make sure to tell the DA when he charges you with manslaughter, or will it be murder two..."

"She died?" Patrick whispered, his eyes large and frightened.

"Yes, Patrick," replied Owens slowly, "that sweet little girl died a half an hour ago. Toxic shock and a few long words that I can't pronounce but one word I have no trouble pronouncing; murder. As far as I can see and correct me if I'm wrong, Patrick drugged her, Patrick violated her, which means Patrick killed her."

"I didn't drug her, I was drugged myself," he replied.

"Oh you had drugs in your system, too," replied Owens. "Seems you were having yourself a nice little party..."

"It was the blonde, I'm telling you, she's the one," he replied desperately. "You've got to believe me. We went to her room and she gave us a couple of drinks..."

"I know the story, Patrick, I know it all too well," replied Owens. "You just happened to be there for the orgy when the drugs were put in the drinks, you know nothing about it. Just like you didn't know the girl was underage, just like you didn't know..."

"She was underage?" he snapped.

"Seventeen," replied Owens, "same age as my daughter." Owens leaned in, his eyes hard and angry, "I'm gonna nail you, you sick son of a bitch. I'm gonna see to it that you spend the rest of your life in prison."

"I swear, I didn't know," replied Patrick, "I swear it. She said she was a college sophomore..."

"She was," replied Owens, his jowly face growing red, "that little girl didn't lie to you. She had skipped two grades; she was book smart but naïve about perverts..."

"She was in the bar," replied Patrick.

"Don't fret, Patrick, your friend the bartender is in the cell downstairs, I'll deal with him shortly. Now I want the name of this blonde and the man, I want their names Patrick or so help me God, I'm sending you to prison all by yourself." Owens leaned back, a sadistic smile twisting his lips. "You're a pretty boy, Patrick. Those lifers, they like pretty boys, except when they get done with you, you ain't gonna be too pretty anymore..."

"I don't know her name, I never met her before," replied Patrick, sweat pouring down his face. "She wouldn't tell me her name..."

"But she had no hesitation in letting you screw her brains out," replied Owens. "Nice crowd you hang out with, Patrick."

"She wanted the girl," replied Patrick. "If I didn't bring the girl, she didn't want me to come to her room..."

"No honor amongst thieves," laughed Owens. "She left the bar, we have the film, she entered the room alone. She left you alone to persuade the girl to join you. How did you get her to stay once she found out what you were doing? Did you force her to stay, tie her up while you were waiting for the other sicko to get there?"

"I don't know them," replied Patrick. "I met the blonde in the bar, she wanted me to meet her in the room and bring the girl. I didn't know the girl was underage and I didn't know that they were going to drug us. I thought it was going to be a party, that's all..."

Owens reached into the folder he had brought into the room and pulled out a photo.

"Is this the woman, Patrick, the one you claim gave you and the girl the drugs?"

Patrick stared at the photo, "Yes, that's her. She's the one."

Retrieving another photo from the folder, Owens slapped it down in front of Patrick, "And is this the man who "joined" you at the orgy?"

Patrick shook his head, "That's him... he wasn't there at first, he showed up later."

Owens leaned back in his chair, his expression one of mock sorrow, "Bad news for you, Patrick. They don't exist..."

"What do you mean they don't exist?" snapped Patrick. "You've got photos of them..."

"They gave a false name to the hotel at check in, phony ID, prepaid credit card for the room. They don't exist, can't be traced, Patrick." Owens rose and headed for the door, "I'll give you some time to think about it."

"Think about what?" yelped Patrick, desperation growing in his heart.

"Think about their names, Patrick," replied Owens, "cause if you don't come up with something, you're going down for that little girl's death all by yourself and I'm going to see that you hang for it."

***

Melissa noted the package Vance carried as he entered her apartment. Kissing her on the forehead, he pulled off his coat and then retrieved the package from the coffee table.

"A copy of the show," he said quietly, "and a report I received from my source in the field. It seems your step-father had a reason we hadn't thought of for going to that Mexican village."

Melissa looked at the package, removing the DVD and handing Vance the report. Opening it, he perused the contents before continuing. Taking Melissa's hand, he led her to the couch and sat down with her.

"There is a brothel there," he began. He was surprised when Melissa laughed.

"I'm sorry," she replied, "I always suspected him of cheating on my mother. I would never say anything to her, it would hurt her vanity."

"Well, this brothel has a specialty," continued Vance, suddenly uncomfortable. It wasn't the type of thing one spoke about on dates with women they wanted to impress, but he went on, "It seems it is a player in the slave trade market, specifically under aged girls from well to do families."

"What?"

"If my source is correct, they kidnap teenage girls and force them into prostitution," stated Vance flatly. "At least that is what they are trying to sell him on at the moment."

Melissa rose and began to wander about the room, lost in thought.

"I don't understand it," she said finally. "How does this link with what my client and I have been through? We weren't kidnapped and sent to Mexico..."

"No," replied Vance, "but it appears that you both were drugged and possibly raped. The brothel may act as the home base, that doesn't mean it doesn't happen outside the brothel. Our man had to pay a fee to become a member. The person in charge at the brothel made vague promises of "other activities", but he's too new a member to find out exactly what those are. Perhaps one of the "other" activities has to do with what you and your client went through."

Melissa turned to him, her expression a mixture of fury and disgust, "What sort of animals are these people?"

Vance stood and put his arms around her, "You degrade animals when you call people like this animals. These people are evil, but we can't move on this yet until we find out what else they are in to and where it takes place. Our guy is snooping around the best he can, but he's got to be cautious, obviously these people are suspicious and super secretive."

"So it's true," replied Melissa softly. "Both of us...we were raped..."

"I'm sorry, Melissa, but the more we look into this thing, the more likely it seems."

Melissa pulled away from him and headed for the kitchen. Vance lowered himself back onto the couch, staring at the report. Ben needed to be careful but how he wished he had more answers to share. He could hear Melissa in the kitchen, trying to suppress the sound of her crying so that he wouldn't hear it. Rising, he felt the hatred growing in his heart. He would get these bastards.

***

Tori plopped down in the chair opposite Len and offered him a weary smile.

"The next time you need to have a background check on some dictator's entourage, could you assign it to someone who gives a crap?"

Len laughed as he took the report from her, "Thank you. You're the best I have and I need it on short notice."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she responded. "Now a raise..."

"I plan to speak with Vance about it when things slow down to a low roar, I promise," he replied.

"Oh, and I wanted to give you an update on that woman you asked me to look into, Mrs. Kent Pena," she replied, running her hands through her short hair. "Thanks to your emergency background check, I haven't finished writing the report, but there are some interesting things going on there."

Len tried not to show his concern, "What do you mean? I thought Nova was her husband's thing..."

"Apparently it was," replied Tori with a yawn, "but she seems to have some connections with the people Ben was able to help us identify."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's taken out money recently, ten thousand dollars and it hasn't turned up anywhere. It's missing from her savings, there have been no large purchases that we can confirm, no outstanding debts, but when I ran the finances of our friends in Mexico, there was an unaccounted for ten grand. I can't trace it completely, but it seems to have come from a California account of a business she's had dealings with in the past."

"You should be able to trace a money transfer," replied Len.

"Normally, yes," she replied, "but this wasn't a money transfer. She withdrew the money and then created a cashier's check. That check went into an account for a business, Phelps Incorporated, which then, I believe, listed it as a payment and then transferred the funds to our friends in Mexico through a sub division of the business."

"Phelps Incorporated?"

"They're an LLC, owned by a husband and wife team of investors, real estate mostly though there are some stocks and various savings accounts. They seem to be most active in Southern California, Mexico, Russia, Georgia and the Ukraine."

"Did they provide any service for her that might account for the payment?" asked Len.

"The woman has two hobbies," smiled Tori, "she collects husbands and plastic surgeons. She had no procedures and she's still married to Mister Pena. He created a nonprofit agency that helps illegal immigrants to obtain legal status and to find employment, housing and to receive education. He did not get the money, though she's made some large contributions to his organization in the past."

"Nothing to do with their home?"

"No, nothing I can find anyway. There's been no remodeling and no large purchases, no stocks or bonds purchased, nothing. The check went to Phelps Incorporated just yesterday, but nothing was purchased with it."

Len leaned towards her, "Do you think they're a front for the Nova operation?"

Tori shrugged, "They could be, but then again, they might just be transferring money for her as a favor. As I said, she's had dealings with them in the past. The husband of the couple who own Phelps Inc. is a well known plastic surgeon and she's had her share of fix ups. This didn't go for any procedure however; their accounting practices would have shown it. On the other hand, Phelps Inc. has connections in Mexico and it's a lot easier to transfer money to a company from an established player than to do so yourself, so it isn't completely impossible that they were doing her a favor, however unlikely."

"Why would she send money to a brothel in Mexico?" he asked.

"I can't say," replied Tori. "Through Vance, I sent Ben a message to keep his ears open, perhaps he'll overhear something that might explain it, but if you ask me, it's payment for some other service."

"Do you have anything on her as far as cheating on her husband or husbands?" asked Len.

"Before her marriage to Pena, she ran with a pretty fast crowd," replied Tori. "Some of her friends were into swapping and some of the guys she dated had a penchant for high priced hookers, but there's nothing I can say she did. I mean she was surrounded by it, but until yesterday, there was nothing to directly link her with anything. I doubt she's innocent, but from this distance, we can't tell how involved she is..."

Chapter 11

The house was opulent, marble floors, vaulted ceilings, expensive furnishings, at least in the rooms that had furniture. The house was enormous, but most of the rooms were empty, save for a bedroom upstairs, the living room, dining room and the main foyer.

Mister Phelps watched from the living room as the black town car pulled into the circular part of the driveway and slowed to a halt at the front door. A young man exited from the driver's side and marched to the back of the car, opening the door for the young woman who sat in the backseat.

The young woman who exited appeared confused as the driver marched to the front door and opened it, gesturing her to enter. Clutching a suitcase, she entered the house timidly, unsure of what to expect.

Mister Phelps stepped into the foyer and smiled at her as the driver came closer.

"She doesn't understand much English," he stated.

"That's alright," replied Mister Phelps, "take the car around to the garage and then go and get ready."

The young man nodded and passing the woman, shut the door on his way out.

Mister Phelps smiled reassuringly at the woman and began to speak to her in Spanish, "You are from Mexico?"

The young woman smiled at hearing her native tongue, "Yes, I am. How did you get me out of jail? Did Kevin send you?"

"Not exactly," replied Mister Phelps, "Kevin and I are friends, but you must understand that he could not get involved directly."

"Yes, yes I understand, that makes sense. Do you work for his agency?"

Mister Phelps gestured her into the living room as he spoke, "No, we're just friends. If I worked for the agency, people would know that I had acted on Kevin's behalf and that would be dangerous."

"I see," replied the young woman, lowering her eyes. "It is better that Kevin is not involved. All I want to do is return home, I was wrong to get involved with Kevin; he will see that in time..."

"I understand," replied Mister Phelps, directing her to the couch and offering her a drink.

The woman took the drink and raised it to her lips as Mister Phelps did the same with the one he had poured for himself.

"These things never end well," said Mister Phelps softly. "Kevin took advantage of you..."

"No," she replied, sitting with her suitcase between her legs, clutching her glass, "Kevin is a good man. We made a mistake, I realize that now. He is a good and loving man, but he is married and we should never have allowed temptation to get the better of us."

Mister Phelps offered her a soothing smile as he sipped his drink, "Still, Kevin should have known better. You are just a young girl, new to this place; he should have been smarter than to get involved with a young woman, he's a married man. It was wrong of him and of you too..."

"Yes," she agreed, finishing her drink in one gulp, "I have feelings for him, I won't lie to you, but we were wrong. I should have known better, I should have acted better. Now all I want to do is go back to my village, I'm so ashamed..."

"Yes," replied Mister Phelps, "I understand. You want to return home, it is only natural." He stood and refilled her glass, watching her watch him.

"The man who drove me here told me that Kevin paid you to send me home, to make sure that I would get back home," she stated. "I have some money, it isn't much, but I want you to give it to Kevin. If the officers had not caught me, I would not have needed your help but I will pay you back..."

"It isn't necessary," smiled Mister Phelps, watching her sip her drink. "Kevin wanted to help and seeing all that has happened, don't you think he should?"

"It was my mistake," she replied, looking sorrowful, "I knew he was married, it was my mistake as much as his..."

She looked up at Mister Phelps, he seemed to be swaying. Her eyes felt so heavy, she suddenly felt so tired. He seemed to be looking at her with such curiosity, like she was some sort of exotic animal he had never seen before. She felt herself sliding from the couch and then he was at her side, slowly lifting her back onto the couch. He was stepping out of view, she could hear him, but couldn't make out his words. She was so tired, why was she so tired?

Mister Phelps made his way to the staircase in the foyer and called upstairs. The driver appeared at the head of the stairs, glancing about nervously before descending to the bottom of the stairs.

"Take her upstairs," instructed Phelps.

"No problem," replied the driver. "Could you explain this to me again? Why do I have to wear this stupid suit? I look like an idiot..."

"It's retro," replied Phelps with a smile. "Besides, what do you care? You're being well paid, aren't you?"

The driver agreed with a short snort and then disappeared into the living room, returning with the girl in his arms. Sweeping around Phelps, he made his way upstairs and into the bedroom.

The bedroom was an enormous room with French doors opening out onto a balcony that overlooked the highly manicured backyard. A large bed surrounded by lights and cameras stood in the center of the room.

Phelps directed the driver to put the girl in a chair where a small Asian woman began to curl her hair. A young black man approached dressed in the same style as the driver.

"That our costar?" he asked.

"That's her," replied Mister Phelps. "Remember, I don't want you to speak in English to her, you only speak to her in Spanish."

"No problem," laughed the black man. "I'll speak Swahili to her as long as I get paid..."

"Have I ever disappointed you?" asked Phelps.

"No," replied the black man.

"She ready," barked the Asian woman, pulling the curling iron from the girl's hair.

Phelps turned and sighed, "What is she doing with her clothes on?"

"You want them off here?" asked the driver.

"Yes, I want her nude in the bed when you two enter," replied Phelps.

The driver shrugged and leaned down to remove the girl's blouse while the black man pulled off her sneakers, socks and jeans.

"Damn, she's a fine piece of ass," said the black man. "We're gonna have some fun with her..."

"Have all the fun that you want," replied Phelps. "Just make sure I catch it on my camera."

The driver picked up the girl and placed her on the bed.

"Now remember," began Phelps, "you're supposed to be detectives and you come upon this girl, but she won't talk, so you make her talk."

"We know what to do," laughed the driver. "We ask her some questions and then we do her..."

"And you," barked Phelps, pointing to the black man, "remember, speak to her in Spanish, only Spanish. You, you say your one line and nothing else, understand?"

As the driver nodded, Phelps turned to the crew and smiled. With the ten thousand dollars Virginia had given him, he could shoot the whole film. After she had her revenge, he would sell the film to various porn sites and porn shops across the country as a retro porn film. Who cared if it was retro or not, as long as the action scenes were good. Peering over at the girl on the bed he smiled, she had a fantastic body, yes, Virginia would have her revenge and he would make a tidy sum on the girl. Once she was finished in film, she could have her own room at the Del Rey; some men would pay anything to have sex with a "star".

The Asian woman was already slipping into her leather outfit, good, good; they might be able to shoot the entire thing by the end of the day tomorrow. A dollar saved was a dollar more in his pocket.

"Places everyone... ACTION!"

***

It was early in the morning and Big Ben seemed to be casually wandering about the town of Nova, just a curious tourist unsure of what his walk might turn up. Ben, however, seldom was without a plan and it was no different now. The general store stood adjacent to the Del Rey, its second story allowing a view over the property's stonewall. Slowly taking the two stairs up from the dusty street, he gained the door of the general store and entered.

The store was something out of an old western; it even had a wooden barrel off in the corner and a pot bellied stove. The small, dark man behind the counter looked at Ben with frightened eyes and nodded an acknowledgement.

Like all of the men in town, he had heard about the large man who had arrived yesterday. Watching Ben move about the store, he could not imagine what would bring someone like that to Nova, it was a horrible place. As one of the town's few businessmen making money, he still found it a horrible place. There were rumors about what brought men here, but like everyone else, he acted as if he did not know for sure. Unlike the others, however, he had seen the girls...

"You speak English?" snapped Ben.

"Si, senor, English, I speak," replied the man.

"Cigarettes?" asked Ben.

"I have several brands, senor," replied the storekeeper, gesturing to a shelf behind him.

Ben pointed and continued, "How long have you been here?"

"My father, he owned the store," replied the man, picking the cigarettes off the shelf and placing them on the counter near the register. "When he died, my brother and I ran it and then, my brother died, so it is all mine now. I have been here all my life, senor."

Ben flipped some money towards the man and picked up the pack of cigarettes, cramming them into his pocket.

"Then you must know a lot of what goes on in this town," replied Ben.

The man was instantly on his guard, "I see something's, senor, but who does not if he lives somewhere all his life."

"Have you ever been to the Del Rey?" asked Ben.

The man smiled and looked away, "Noooo, senor, no. The Del Rey is a private club, I don't make much money here, senor, I could not go to the Del Rey even if I wanted too."

"And you don't want to?"

"Noooo, senor, no. It is a bad place, no good. There are rumors about it, things, many things..."

"Like what?"

The owner realized he had said too much, "All sorts of things, senor, all sorts of things. It is not the place for a married man, I am married, senor. It is bad for a married man..."

Ben leaned closer, "It is a whore house?"

"Si, yes," replied the man, anxious to end the interview.

"Where do they get the girls from?" asked Ben.

The man shrugged but as Ben's features descended into a scowl, he saw that he would not be able to end the conversation that easily.

"The poor, I imagine," he shrugged again. "I do not know where one finds girls to become prostitutes, senor, such a thing I can no imagine. Rumors say that some families are so poor that they even sell their girls, their daughters, to make money and so as not to have another mouth to feed, but I don't know for sure..."

"But you've seen these girls?"

"Me? No senor, no, I have not seen them. I know they are there because of what they order from me, but I don't see them, no..."

Ben nodded and then drew closer. Placing his fists on the counter he stared at the man, "Why don't I believe you?"

The man backed away, frightened. He had a baseball bat behind the counter and was able to handle most rowdy customers with little trouble, but this man was too large and strong to confront.

"I don't know what you mean, senor..."

"I mean I think you've seen the girls that work there," replied Ben, his voice descending into a low growl. "I think you know more than you're saying and I want to know what."

The man glanced around, he was alone with this angry mountain; either way he was going to receive a beating, he decided to postpone the inevitable by speaking now.

Drawing closer to Ben and staring at the counter, he spoke softly, hesitantly, "I see them, senor. If they find out I tell you this, they beat me, maybe even kill me. I see them senor, they bring our girls in a van, young girls, always scared, always tears. They bring them to a building behind the big house and make them walk from the building to the big house. They have a high wall around the back, but from my second story, I can see...I have seen...I wish I had not seen. The girls like you," he gestured at Ben, "the white girls, they bring in different. They no go to the building behind the big house...they don't take them there. They come in cars, dark cars mostly; sometimes motor homes and they are never awake. Sometimes they are wrapped in blankets, sometimes they are not...they pick them up like sacks of potatoes, they just throw them over their shoulders like those sacks and carry them in..."

"So the white girls, they aren't awake when they arrive," said Ben.

The man shook his head, not daring to look up, "No, senor, they are all asleep. I used to think it is stupid that they don't wake them up and make them walk themselves and then I realize, I am stupid, the girls can't wake up..."

Ben slowly stood up, thinking hard as the man looked up at him.

"You think, senor, that I am a coward," he said softly. "I have a daughter myself, you think, how can a man with a daughter do nothing about this, but they tell me they will kill me if I say anything, they threaten my wife, my daughter...they say they will be next to go into that building in the back. I'm not a strong man, senor, I cannot fight them and I don't want to stop bullets with my body...I am afraid, senor, we are all afraid."

Ben looked down at the man, examining his guilt ridden features, "I don't think you're a coward. You have to protect your family the best way you know how, I understand. Listen to me now, you tell no one, no friends, no family, not your daughter or your wife that you and I had this conversation, you understand?"

The man nodded, not daring to look at Ben, "I understand, this never happened, we did not speak."

"Good," replied Ben. "Good. You might be of some help to me later on, but don't speak about this to anyone else, got it?"

"Yes, senor, yes," replied the man. "No one will know we spoke, I swear it upon my life."

Ben nodded and slowly sauntered back into the street. Passing the Del Rey, he meandered to one of the cafés and took a seat, ordering a beer and watching the main street as the sun grew hotter. Few people ventured out into the heat of the day and everyone avoid the large man who sat drinking his beer. Finally, he rose and wandered back to his hotel, he needed to get word to Vance as soon as he could. It was time to call for reinforcements.

***

Patrick stared at his lawyer, a tall, thin man with wavy grey hair and a jowly face.

"Well, Mister Costello, how does it look?"

The lawyer removed a pair of glasses from his pocket and placed them down at the tip of his long nose before retrieving a paper from his briefcase. Looking at Patrick, he glanced back down at the paper. He disliked holding a conference in an interrogation room but it was the only place available. There was always the sneaking suspicion someone else was listening, but there were no other options.

"Patrick, if you know anything..."

"I swear Mister Costello; she didn't tell me her name..."

"Very well," he waved him off, they'd been through it twice already and he had believed him the first time. "Patrick, we need to get them to release the footage to the media, we need to find these people. The hotel people were of no help and neither was the bartender, everyone had the same story, an attractive couple arriving separately and leaving leisurely. Whoever they are they are cool customers. After leaving you, they went and had breakfast at the hotel restaurant before leaving. Apparently, they were in no hurry, innocent people never are..."

"They knew the girl and I were drugged," urged Patrick. "They knew they didn't have to hurry."

"The girl's parents are pushing for you to get the chair," remarked Mister Costello casually. "They've got ever media outlet hooked into the story, so the time to strike is now. We need to get the police to release the video footage."

"Do you think you can get them to do it?"

Mister Costello smiled, a sad, mopey expression, "I believe I can make it happen. If all goes as planned, their faces will be on the eleven o'clock news. If not, well, we'll do what we can."

"They're the ones the cops should be looking for," began Patrick.

Mister Costello rose, "Patrick, don't you know that the police like things neat and simple? You're asking them to stretch themselves, they have the person they think did it, it will be hard to get them looking again, but the pressure is building. I had a little talk with the parent's attorney, they hate you, but they want justice done. Sit tight and let me handle it."

Patrick buried his face in his hands, "I had no idea..."

Mister Costello smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "I've looked into your background, Patrick. Innocence isn't your strong point, but in this case, I think we can make it work."

***

Melissa sat on the couch in Beverly's living room and smiled reassuringly at Tara.

"Tara, I want you to look at the video and tell me which room it was that you say was in your dream. I don't want you to be frightened or get startled; we're all here for you, okay?"

Tara smiled but seemed pale and fragile, "I understand Aunt Mel. Don't worry, the first time I saw it, it just took me by surprise, that's all."

Melissa turned to Beverly who held the remote control and nodded. Beverly turned on the DVD player and the three of them examined the screen. The credits began to role and the voice over began to promise a fun time for the viewers when Tara pointed, her face flush.

"That's the room, that's it!"

Beverly paused the tape and the three of them stared at the bedroom, a huge room with a large white bed in the center. At the foot of the bed appeared to be a fireplace with a door to its right. A window offered a view of a large estate and then the sea beyond.

Melissa picked up the notes that Vance had gotten from the producers and ran through them anxiously.

"If I'm reading this correctly, that room is at the Van Norman estate in Southern California. Now Tara, I want you to think about this, think hard, have you ever been to the Van Norman estate?"

Tara considered it for several moments, "No, Aunt Mel, no way. I've only been to California once and that is not the place where we stayed."

"When you went with your friend to that estate..."

"That isn't it," replied Tara. "See, if you look out the window at the backyard, there's no pool. We went to swim in the pool. There was a lawn beyond the pool, but there weren't any gardens."

Melissa nodded, noting Tara's responses. "Okay, according to our friends at the television station, they were the first people allowed to photograph inside the Van Norman estate and this is the first time they've ever aired this episode, so you could not have seen it on television before."

Beverly joined them on the couch, concern on her pretty features, "What are you saying, Mel? That Tara WAS at this place, that she didn't dream it?"

Taking Tara's hands into her own, Melissa looked from mother to daughter and back again.

"Tara has been having nightmares about a place that does exist," she began cautiously. "She has no conscious recollection of ever having been there, but there it is on the screen. Beverly, I haven't said anything to you because I had to have more proof, had to be more certain..."

"More certain of what?" asked Beverly, a note of fear growing in her voice.

"Tara's illness, when Tara got sick," stumbled Melissa. "It might not have been the accidental catching of a virus..."

"Aunt Mel, what are you saying?" asked Tara. "Someone made me sick?"

Melissa nodded, "It's possible sweetheart that you were drugged. Once you were drugged, you were taken somewhere else..."

"To the hospital," interrupted Beverly.

"Before the hospital," replied Melissa. "Tara might have been taken to that place, to that room..."

"If I remember the room right," Tara began, a look of terror growing on her face, "does that mean I remember what happened in the room right? Is that what you're saying Aunt Mel?"

"What happened in the room?" asked Beverly, instantly growing alert as she saw the panic growing in Tara. "What happened?"

Melissa wrapped her arms around Tara as the young girl began to cry.

Beverly rose, terrified at the answer she knew Melissa would deliver but unwilling to believe it until she heard it.

"What happened in that room? Melissa, WHAT HAPPENED TO MY DAUGHTER?"

***

Vance paced nervously in his apartment, awaiting word from Melissa. She had left hours ago to speak to her "client". His discussion with Ben had verified what they had suspected. It made his stomach lurch every time he thought about it, but he had to remain cool if he were going to help anyone. Ben had said that he had summoned some assistance and that he would be in touch as soon as he had more to report.

If the room meant what Melissa thought it meant, then they needed to get out to California as soon as possible. There might still be something there...where the hell was Melissa? Sitting down, he tried to remember his training techniques, focused breathing, hand exercises...

A knock at the door had him catapulting off the couch and towards the door. Flinging it open he stared down at the shriveled form of Mrs. Giamonte.

"Is Doctor Banner here?" she asked, peering around the giant man standing before her.

"No Mrs. Giamonte," he replied quietly, "Melissa isn't here."

Frowning, she pushed her way past him and shuffled into the room, "You keep your apartment nice, Mister Tibbet. Women like that, when a man keeps his apartment nice. My husband, he lived with his mother, so there was no way to know what a pig he was until we lived together which is what I wanted to speak to you about."

Vance felt his confusion growing, his normal mental state around Mrs. Giamonte, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand..."

"Let me explain," replied Mrs. Giamonte, lowering herself down onto his couch. "I think it's time you and I had a talk about living together."

Vance raised an eyebrow, "Thank you, Mrs. Giamonte, but I tend to like things my way, I don't think it would be a good idea if we became roommates."

"You're funny, Mister Tibbet," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Unless of course you're serious and then you're an idiot."

"I'm not serious..."

"Good, then you're funny. Still, I've been watching you and Miss Banner and it occurred to me that you two seem to be getting serious..."

"We've only been out on a few dates, Mrs. Giamonte," replied Vance. "We're hardly ready to move in together..."

"That's good, because I couldn't allow that," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "I run a respectable building here, Mister Tibbet, no pets and no living together out of wedlock. I know that's old fashioned but that's the way it is. Look at it from my point of view, Mister Tibbet, I would still have both of you here and I'd still have the same expenses but I'd only be getting one rent, which isn't fair."

"If we got married and moved in together, wouldn't that be the same, financially speaking?" he countered.

Mrs. Giamonte considered it, "No, because if you were married, you might have children."

Vance frowned, "We might have children if we weren't married..."

"Not here you wouldn't because you'd have to be married to live in my building and share an apartment," she replied.

"What about Tim and Allan?" he asked.

"What about Tim and Allan?" she replied.

"They're not married and they live together in this building."

"They're two men," she replied, waving a hand at him as if he were crazy. "If two men want to be roommates and live together in a two bedroom apartment, what's wrong with that?"

"I think they're more than roommates, Mrs. Giamonte."

"What else could they be?" she asked. "They're both men and they aren't related, you can ask them, they're not even cousins."

Vance took a seat on the couch next to her, "Mrs. Giamonte, hasn't it ever seemed strange to you that they never date, that they're always together, that they wear matching outfits?"

Mrs. Giamonte considered it, "What do you mean? Some men have no luck with women, look at you, other than stalking Miss Banner; I've never seen you on a date."

"Granted, but how about them always being together?"

"They're best friends; I'm best friends with Mrs. Waters, so what? You see us together all the time..."

"You don't wear matching outfits."

Mrs. Giamonte shook her head, what the hell was he talking about?

"About a week ago, we had on the same house dress; the world didn't end Mister Tibbet. Frankly, I don't know what you're driving at but I just want you to know that if you want to play fast and loose with the rules of society you'll have to do it somewhere other than here. I like you and Doctor Banner, but I've got the building's reputation to think of..."

Vance hung his head, "Currently I have no intention of insulting you or society, Mrs. Giamonte or of discrediting the building's reputation. Melissa and I are nowhere near the point of moving in together or getting married."

"Good," smiled Mrs. Giamonte, "I'm glad we had this little talk."

Standing, she made her way to the door.

Turning back she smiled at him, "Remember, rent's due next week. Just a friendly reminder..."

As he watched the door close Vance remained on the couch, shaking his head. How could she know everything else going on in the building and not know about Tim and Allan? At least he had calmed down. Perhaps Melissa should investigate the calming effects of confusion on people under stress, what a case study that would make.

Chapter 12

Mister Phelps exited his car and made his way to the elevators, checking to make sure he had the proper security clearance card. There was so many of them it was becoming a damn nuisance to keep track of them. Arriving at the elevator, he swiped the card and entered, taking the car to the sixth floor. He exited out into a plush waiting area, a beautiful receptionist with long, blonde hair sitting behind a stainless steel desk greeting him with a smile.

"Go right in Mister Phelps, he's expecting you."

Too bad he hadn't seen her a few years earlier. She would have been a lot of fun and what a price she would have brought, "Thank you, my dear."

With a nod and a restrained smile, he moved beyond the desk, casually walking down the hallway to the large corner office and entered without knocking.

The office beyond the door was large and ornate, vintage furniture and thick carpeting encapsulated by modern architecture and enormous windows. The man seated behind the antique desk was bald and heavyset, his dark eyes constantly shifting, his puffy hands in constant agitated motion. He arose, his expensive suit struggling to maintain its grip on his frame.

"They're releasing it..." he gasped, gesturing Phelps to a chair.

Phelps looked at him, not comprehending his meaning, "Releasing what?"

"The tape, the TAPE..." yelped the fat man, eyes searching the desk for something.

"What tape..." began Phelps.

The fat man barreled around the edge of the desk towards him, thrusting a memo into his hands, "I've been calling you since yesterday, didn't you get any of my messages?"

"No," replied Phelps, "I was involved, helping a friend, you might say..."

"They have a tape of you and Illyana coming in and out of the hotel room where that girl died," stated the fat man.

"I know," replied Phelps, "your boss the attorney general promised me..."

"He's running scared," interrupted the fat man. "The media pressure, the girls' family, they're all demanding the release of the tape, he can't stall anymore, he's releasing it tonight!"

It took a moment for the facts to register, "Releasing it, to the PUBLIC?"

"Tonight," wheezed the fat man, eyes growing wilder with each passing moment, "What should we do?"

Phelps looked about the room like a man caught in a trap. Taking a deep breath, he regained his composure.

"We'll have to lay low for a while," he mused. "Call Illyana, tell her to meet me at the airport, we'll take a little flight down to Mexico..."

"Not a flight," wheezed the fat man, "once the tape goes public..."

"We'll be gone before the tape goes public," replied Phelps, staring at his watch. "Call Illyana, tell her I'm on my way. Book two tickets for us under the name of Mister and Mrs. Wainwright, do you understand? Normal procedure..."

"I'll do it, but hurry," begged the fat man. "Get out of here, go!"

"Before I go," he reached into his briefcase and handed the fat man a DVD. "Give this to Virginia Pena; tell her it's all there. She'll know what I mean."

"Virginia Pena, yes, yes of course. Now please, hurry."

Phelps smiled; thankfully Illyana was an expert at packing quickly. As for the attorney general, well, he would take care of that problem shortly.

***

The old Ford that lumbered into town looked as if it had seen better days. Pulling into the town's one gas station, the beat up looking car was covered in dust and dents. As the door swung open noisily, a clean cut young man with short, blonde hair dressed in a polo shirt and khakis exited, a smile on his handsome features. Sauntering over to the gas station attendant, he asked him in tolerable Spanish where he might find the nearest hotel.

After receiving directions and filling the tank, he slowly made his way down the main road to the hotel. Pulling up to the building, he parked the car. As the man again exited, the passenger side door opened and a young woman wearing a tight black t-shirt and a pair of tight black jeans emerged. A pair of boots with a low heel ascended her calf laced tightly to just below the knee. Her long blonde hair was pulled back tightly in a braid that ran to the small of her back and she wore sunglasses that hid her eyes. Making their way up the stairs, into the building, the man carried a small knapsack. Entering, he saw that the man behind the bar and the young girl sweeping the floor were the only people present.

"We'd like a room," he stated casually to the bartender.

"Si, senor, I have several rooms."

"One will do," laughed the man.

After signing in, the bartender instructed the girl to lead them to the room upstairs. The girl placed her broom in the corner and made her way up the stairs with the couple close behind her.

"Will you be staying long?" she asked.

"Do people stay long here?" asked the man.

"Some do," she replied, "but most, no, they don't."

"We haven't decided," stated the man as she opened the door to their room.

"If there is anything you need," said the girl, "just call us."

The man handed her a few bills and locked the door after she exited. The woman examined the room apparently to her satisfaction and then making her way to the door, checked the hallway.

"It looks alright," she said softly.

"Very well," said the man.

The two eased themselves out of the room and down the hall to room three. The man knocked softly, the woman close behind him. The door opened and the two slipped inside.

"It's about time you guys got here," said Ben.

"It's not around the corner," replied the man. "You said you didn't want us to attract attention. Finding the right car was a nightmare..."

The girl walked up to Ben and kissed him on the cheek.

"How are you?" she asked surveying his room with a smile.

"Not bad, how was the trip," he asked.

"Hot and dusty, thank God I had someone interesting to keep me company."

The man offered her a shy smile that made her laugh.

"Cut the crap, you two," snapped Ben. "We've got work to do."

***

At the first knock Vance was propelling himself towards the door. He almost pulled the door off its hinges as he yanked at the knob. In the hallway, Melissa stood looking utterly exhausted.

"Hi," she offered in a small voice.

Gently, he put his arm around her and pulled her inside, a look of concern on his face.

"You had me worried," he confessed, trying hard not to sound like he was complaining. "When it got late, I knew things probably weren't going so well with you and your client..."

The two of them sat down heavily on the couch and Melissa leaned into him and said nothing. Leaning against him this way, feeling the strength that lay in his chest made her realize all the more how tired she was, how long a night it had been.

"They want to call the authorities," she said finally. "I tried to dissuade them, but I don't think I did a very good job. It would have been my reaction, to think someone touched...did that to my daughter..."

"Did you tell them that you think it happened to you as well?" he asked.

She shook her head, "They have enough to deal with and that isn't their problem..."

He sat, his arm wrapping gently around her, unsure of what to say. Could anything be said? She seemed so fragile, so small at the moment, perhaps it was best to let everything else go until the morning; they wouldn't be able to do anything until that time.

"I made dinner," he said softly. "I'm not a great cook or anything, but even I can't screw up meatloaf...well, not fatally so..."

"I don't know..."

"You haven't eaten have you? I'll get you some, just sit here and relax."

He rose and out of force of habit, handed her the remote. It was a guy thing; you didn't yell between rooms, you watched television until your host got back. She took the remote, shrugged and clicked on his television. Diversion wasn't such a bad idea...

Vance moved swiftly into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, searching for the aluminum foil packet containing the meatloaf. He found it perched at the front of the top shelf as if awaiting his summons. Pulling it out he checked the bowl of vegetables that sat behind it, should he reheat them together or would she just prefer a sandwich?

"Go with the sandwich," he muttered. Pulling out a loaf of bread, he dropped it and the meatloaf onto the counter and went searching for a plate. Would she want ketchup...

The scream snapped him out of his reveries. It was all instinct now as he hit the kitchen door, knocking it partially off its hinges. He pulled himself up short, confused by what he saw.

Melissa was standing on his couch, her eyes wide, pointing with the remote at the television. Tears streamed down her face which wore and expression of...of what? Fear? Exhaustion? Relief? Anger? He couldn't make it out, wasn't sure. Circling to face her he stood, watching her cry as she began to laugh.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked.

"That's HER!" shouted Melissa, pointing to the screen. "That's the BITCH, right there, on television. THAT'S HER!"

Vance turned but the picture had changed, a news reporter speaking solemnly about "if you have any information..." Turning back he saw the light of revelation change Melissa's features.

"Where's your phone? I need the PHONE!"

Twisting, he picked up his cordless phone and she grabbed it out of his hand, savagely punching the numbers into it.

"Come on, come on, pick up, pick up," she muttered. "Bev? BEV? Listen to me, do not under any circumstances allow Tara to watch the news, do you understand? BEV, LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN TO ME! Keep the television off, okay? Repeat it back to me, what did I say? Yes, we'll be right over!"

Slapping the off button on the phone, she turned to Vance, a strange look in her eyes, "We have to go, we have to go right now to Bev's house. We've got them, we've got the bastards!"

Vance shook his head, confused, "How? What are you talking about?"

Advancing on Vance she pointed to the television, "They're looking for them; the police are looking for them. They were involved in the killing of that girl, the one at the airport. They had surveillance photos, it's them, I know it's them."

Vance swept an arm around her and led her out the door.

***

The ride to Beverly's house seemed to last an eternity despite the cab driver's best efforts at speeding and driving recklessly. As Vance paid the cab driver, Melissa bolted up the front steps and beat on their front door savagely.

Beverly barely opened the door as Melissa streamed past her.

"Where is your computer?" she demanded.

"Living room," responded Beverly. "What the hell is going on?"

Jim stood in the living room as they entered, his face wearing a haunted expression. Having heard what Melissa revealed about Tara's dream, Beverly had become angry, first at the situation and then at Melissa and then at the situation again. Jim had become quiet, a sense of depression, pain and failure engulfing him. He had failed to protect his daughter; he had failed as a father.

"Jim, is the computer on?" snapped Melissa.

Jim nodded, drawing closer.

Melissa sat in front of the screen and began to search for the story.

"I need you to get Tara," she snapped, all energy and focus.

"I'll call her," replied Jim, moving towards the stairs.

"Melissa, what the hell is going on?" asked Beverly. "Hasn't she been through enough?"

Melissa popped up from the seat and pointed, "You want to see the devil, there she is, right there!"

Beverly peered at the screen, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't say anything, don't do anything," she replied.

Vance cleared his throat to bring Melissa's attention to Jim and Tara coming down the stairs. Tara entered and looked at Vance for a moment, shying away towards her father. Melissa crossed to her and spoke quietly to her.

"Tara, I have something I want you to look at," she began softly. "I don't want you to become frightened, remember, we're all here and we all love you." Drawing her closer to the computer, she watched as Tara's expression changed from fear to surprise and then to rage.

"That's HER!" she snapped, pointing at the screen. "That's the woman in my dreams, that's the one!"

Beverly and Jim stared at the image and then back at Tara.

"Are you sure?" asked Jim, his voice growing stronger.

"Absolutely," Tara replied. "She's the one, I know she is..."

Beverly stared at Melissa, "How did you know it was her?"

Melissa took a deep breath and let it out. Vance moved closer to her as she looked at her feet and then back at Beverly, her eyes angry, her face hard.

"Because... they did it to me too..."

***

The jet rumbled as its engines forced the aircraft into the evening sky, the rumble increasing momentarily and then receding into a soft hum as they leveled off and vaulted over the city. Illyana looked down at the evening traffic, she always loved to see the city from the air as dusk approached, it made it somehow look clean and tidy. Sitting next to her, Phelps checked his phone, examining his calendar for the next few days. He would have to contact Mark and see if he could cover his surgery schedule. He would do it when they landed, no sense bothering with it now.

"Do you think we'll have to stay away for long?" she asked casually. Illyana loved to travel so having to leave held no problems for her.

"We're being punished for being careless," he replied. "We might not ever be able to get back..."

"Don't be upset, darling," she laughed, "you hate Los Angeles anyway. Besides, we were thinking about changing our base of operations. You yourself said that the longer we indulged..."

"True, true," he agreed. "Still, it was careless. I should have put a stop to it the moment I got off the plane..."

Illyana laughed, "As if..." Leaning closer to him, she nibbled his ear, "You were in rare form, darling, even for you. Three times? It's a miracle she didn't die of ecstasy then."

"You were wonderful, as I recall," he mused. "You liked your little bar friend..."

"He had some talent, no doubt," she replied, rubbing his chest, "but she was who I wanted. I wanted to surprise you. You sounded so tired when we had spoken on the phone and all I wanted to do was make you happy and she seemed like the type of pick me up you needed."

"She was an excellent choice," he conceded. "You know my tastes."

"I only needed him to secure her services," replied Illyana. "I hope he had some fun, he's in for a rough time now."

Phelps eyed her and smiled, "Perhaps he isn't the only one."

Illyana looked down at the zipper of his pants, "I can't wait to get off of this plane and make love. I can't wait until we get to the Del Rey and then you can show me how rough you can be."

He considered it as he caressed her upper thigh. He could hardly wait until he got to the Del Rey...

***

Kevin Pena sat at the end of the long conference table and ate his solitary meal in almost total darkness. He needed to find her, he had all of his friends looking, but he had no clue as to where she was going. Why hadn't he listened more, she had spoken of her village, of the people there. No, he had been too lost in the wonders of her body, in the feeling of love he felt when he was near her to listen. What would he do if he didn't find her? He could not even contemplate it, he had to find her.

A knock at the door startled him. Checking his watch he stared for a moment at the door, it was after eleven, the staff had left hours ago, even the cleaning lady was gone.

"Who is it?" he asked.

The door opened slowly and Virginia stood in the hall, a clutch purse in her hand. She was dressed in a form fitting dress and heels and she stood quietly at the door.

"Would it be alright, Kevin, if I came in for a moment?" she asked softly.

Kevin rose, what was she doing here?

"Yes, Virginia, please come in."

A thought crossed his mind, might this be a set up? "Does anyone else know you're here?"

Virginia nodded, "I told my attorney I was coming over to speak with you, he's the only one."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable..."

"Kevin, this isn't a trap," she interrupted softly. "I just wanted to speak to you about a few things. I want this divorce to go smoothly. If I've learned anything in my life it's that it's best not to fight life, it is best to accept things for what they are and move on. I knew you were cheating on me, knew you were interested in other women. I accepted that, hoping that once you settled down a bit more, things would change. I see now that they won't so I accept them. May I have a seat?"

Still uneasy, he motioned her to a chair and resumed his place at the head of the table.

Lowering herself onto the chair she smiled at him, a sad resigned smile.

"Have you had a chance to have your attorney look over the agreement?" she asked.

"He's had it for a few days now; he said he would call me on Friday."

Shaking her head she looked about the room, "Good, good. I don't want things to become strange between us, Kevin. We've always been friends; I hope we can part that way."

Kevin nodded, "I hope so. I never meant to hurt you, Virginia. I thought it was love; perhaps I was too young when we married... I'm not making excuses. I made mistakes, I didn't honor our vows and for that, I'm sorry. Sometimes, you just can't help how you feel..."

"And when you met this girl, you "felt" something," she responded.

He shook his head, "Yes, I've never felt anything like it. I'm not proud of what I've done, but, I've never felt this way before. I hope you can understand."

Virginia nodded thoughtfully, rising and drawing nearer.

"I meant what I said, Kevin," she replied finally. "I want us to be friends and friends protect one another, look out for one another..."

Kevin said nothing, unsure of where she was going with this.

"I know you feel something "special" for this girl, something like... well, like what I feel for you..."

"Virginia..."

"Please, Kevin, let me finish. All I'm saying is that I know a bit about how you feel. When we married, my friends told me you were too young, you'd wander, but I didn't listen, didn't want to listen. I stopped speaking to some of them; that was my fault, I don't blame you, I didn't want to hear what they had to say. I hope you won't do that to me, Kevin."

He rose and approached her, "I want us to be friends too, Virginia. I don't want you out of my life..."

She waved him off, "You might want me out of your life, Kevin. My attorney found something, something that he shared with me today. He wants to use it in court, but I told him no, I didn't want to hurt you like that..."

Kevin was instantly on his guard, "Hurt me like what?"

Virginia reached into her clutch and pulled out a computer thumb drive.

Handing it to him, she looked away, "He found this Kevin, wanted to use it, but I said no. I thought it was better that you found out from a friend, that's all. If you get angry with me, I understand..."

Taking the thumb drive, Kevin retreated to the far end of the table where there was a computer. After turning it on, he plugged in the drive and saw that it contained a single video file. He pressed play.

"What you need to see is at around the twelve minute mark," she said softly, drawing nearer to him.

He pushed the controller to the twelve minute mark and began to watch. The sound was warped, bad funk music playing too loudly over the picture. Two men dressed like losers wearing fashions from five years ago came into frame, one white, one black.

"We can't wait any longer," said the black one in terrible Spanish. "We have to deal with her now."

"Si," said the white guy, obviously unable to understand a word his partner had said.

The two men entered a bed room and a nude woman lay on the bed before them.

Kevin stared at the woman, unable to take his eyes off of her. There could be no doubt, he knew every inch of her, had treasured every single inch. She looked at the two men with heavily lidded eyes, her curly hair bouncing slightly as she peered at them.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"We warned you, baby," said the black man. "If you won't talk, we have other methods."

"What?" she asked, slurring her words.

In a minute both men were nude. She reached out as if to push them away but they brushed her hands aside easily and began to stroke her, grabbing her breasts, causing her to moan and writhe. Then, as she whimpered feeble protests, the black man mounted her triumphantly.

Kevin bolted suddenly backwards in his chair as if electrocuted, trying to distance himself from the computer, from the screen, from his own thoughts. Virginia moved forward, pausing the picture.

"I'm sorry, Kevin," she said softly. "I know what it is to love someone and have them betray that trust, that connection."

"Oh my GOD," he cried, "how..."

The question died on his lips as he buried his face in his hands and began to weep. Virginia moved to him and tentatively, gently, began to stroke his hair. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around her waist and placing his head on her chest, cried. Virginia continued to stroke his hair gently as they held one another in the darkness.

"There, there," she said softly, "there, there..."

Looking at the screen, Virginia smiled, a small, triumphant smile.

Chapter 13

Sergeant Owens looked at his phone receiver doubtfully and placed it back to his ear.

"Let me get this straight," he began, "you think these people raped two young women in New York and possibly more because they had erotic dreams?"

Vance did his best to hold his temper and then continued, "Look, sergeant, it's complicated, I admit, but the two people you are looking for are involved in a lot more than this girl's murder."

"Not here in California they're not, Mister Tibbet," replied Owens.

"Yes, in California," replied Vance. "The girl I told you about was raped in a home in California, the other one, well we're not sure of where she was raped, but these two have international connections, this case is bigger than you know."

"Mister Tibbet, this case is already bigger than I know," replied Owens. "I've got people calling me with all sorts of crazy theories, I've got news reporters hounding me for answers and I've got a bunch of politicians running after me demanding results."

"Sergeant, I'm on my way out to see you, all I'm asking you for is a chance to present my evidence."

"Dreams aren't evidence, Mister Tibbet," replied Owens patiently.

"Houses are," replied Vance, "as are bank receipts and other paper trails."

Owens exhaled, he must be nuts.

"Come and see me when you get in, Mister Tibbet. You know where I am. I can spare you five minutes, but I swear to God if you're another nut case..."

"I'll be there tomorrow," replied Vance. "I may be nuts, but not about this."

"Goodbye Mister Tibbet," replied Owens. Slamming the phone down, he looked across his desk and muttered, "Five years to retire, I need this shit..."

***

"Awwww, shit, now you going away with this man?" snapped Ginger, vigorously shaking her head to indicate her disapproval. "What you been on, three dates? THREE DATES and you're going to California? This ain't good girl, ain't good at ALL..."

"Ginger, please," replied Melissa, "it's an emergency. Vance is just helping me out, please just cancel the patients. I need to do this; I'll be back in a week..."

"What's happening in California?" asked Ginger suspiciously. "Is your mother giving you trouble again? What is it this time, an emergency butt lift? Trouble with her teenage husband? What happened, he didn't get his learners permit and now there's no one to take her for her collagen injections?"

"This has nothing to do with my mother," replied Melissa. Pulling open her files, she searched for Tara's record; she might need it when she spoke with the police.

"Well that's a relief," replied Ginger, sauntering over to Melissa's desk and lowering herself into Melissa's chair. "I ain't saying nothing, but with a crazy old cow like that for a mother, no wonder you're all confused. "Lay down with dogs and you'll get up with fleas," my Tete used to say. Marrying a man young enough to be her son...You're not going swimming while you're there, are you?"

The question caught Melissa off guard.

"I don't think so," she replied, "why?"

"Don't go swimming, girl," replied Ginger authoritatively. "You get that pretty little shape of yours into a bathing suit and that boxcar of yours will lose his mind. You listen to me, you cover up or you'll end up with those big paws of his in places you didn't even remember you had..."

"It's not a vacation, Ginger," replied Melissa, stuffing Tara's file into her brief case.

"Ain't you forgetting something?" asked Ginger.

Melissa stopped, was she? "What?"

"Me," replied Ginger, long fingernails pointing at her chest. "What the hell am I supposed to do while you're gone for the week?"

"Look, just call and reschedule the patients, tell them I had a personal emergency. I'll be back in a week..."

"The patients are crazy, they don't know one week from the next, but I need my paycheck," replied Ginger.

"Take it as vacation," countered Melissa.

"What? I can't plan a vacation in two hours! Who the hell wants to go on vacation this time of year anyway?"

"Fine, take the week off..."

"With pay?"

Melissa rolled her eyes, "Yes, fine, with pay."

Ginger stood up and put her hands on her hips, "Don't roll your eyes with me. I didn't send you to California with a no neck boxcar, that was all you. Ain't my fault other people got to live..."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," replied Melissa, "I'm just under a lot of stress..."

Taking up her briefcase she grabbed a few things from her desk. Ginger sat behind the desk, her expression thoughtful.

"Doctor Banner, there's something I got to say to you," she said quietly.

"Ginger, now isn't a good time..."

"It's important," she replied. Melissa noted the seriousness of her tone and slowly sat down opposite her. "You know I love you like my own little sister, don't you?"

Melissa smiled, "Yes, I know and you know..."

"A hell of a lot more about men than you do," finished Ginger, leaning across the desk with a sincere look. "I know you're an educated woman, which is all well and good, but now you're going away with a man..."

"Ginger, I don't have a lot of time..."

"I know, girl, I know," replied Ginger, raising her hand to pause the thought. "There's so much you don't know and I want to tell you... I know, you've got to go, so I'm gonna give you the best advice I can in the little time we have..."

Melissa was touched, "Thank you, Ginger, but I have had boyfriends before, though I've never been away with one..."

"Yeah," replied Ginger, "but this one seems to have gotten serious awful fast, so please, listen to me on this one thing."

"What is it?" asked Melissa.

Ginger took a moment to collect her thoughts, "Men and women, we're different. I say a lot of things against men because for the most part, they're all dogs, but they have some good qualities too, so you have to excuse certain things about them, even though they're disgusting."

"Is that all?" asked Melissa, starting to rise.

"I can't sugar coat this, we don't have time, so here goes," continued Ginger. "Men ain't like you and me. They do certain things they can't help, do you understand?"

Melissa shook her head, "Not entirely."

"Look," began Ginger. "If you go to lunch with your girlfriend, things happen..."

Melissa stared at her, not comprehending.

It was Ginger's turn to roll her eyes, "Look child, you go and eat lunch and you come back and if you have a little...discomfort... you go to the powder room and take care of it. Men aren't like that..."

Melissa squinted, "Discomfort?"

Ginger leaned forward, confidentially, "You fart, girl. Don't look so shocked, we all do it, we don't admit to it, but we do it. Now men ain't like us, they do it all the time; it's like a hobby with them. Don't need to feed'em even, they just start tooting and blowing like a damn trumpet..."

"Ginger!" snapped Melissa.

"Don't "Ginger" me," replied Ginger. "Don't shoot the messenger, girl. My Carlos could play the Star Spangled Banner without having had a bean for weeks and there ain't nothing you can do about it. To them it's not a necessity; it's a form of entertainment. Get a group of them together and they'll start playing like its Fat Tuesday during the Carnival. Now you listen to me, someone built like a boxcar probably lets loose like a trade wind, but it ain't his fault, can't help it, and you've got to be prepared cause they think nothing of it..."

"Ginger, I REALLY have to go..."

"Oh, and they like to announce that too," she replied. "You're minding your own business and they come in the room and announce, "I REALLY got to go" like you give a damn and they get mad if you ain't proud of them for doing it. You could be standing there with the cure for cancer, they could care less, but if you don't say "Okay" or "How nice" or "Good for you" when they announce that they have to go, they pout like children. They think everything they do is important, act like they're announcing a weather alert during hurricane season, like it's something you need to know and just as proud of themselves as if they'd won the lottery. No sense in their heads, none of them. Now don't go getting upset about it girl, just don't, cause they're all the same and there ain't nothing you can do about it, it's inbred in them. Every woman has to get used to it, if you want a man, you need to put up with..."

The door closed. Ginger looked up and realized she was alone in the room. Raising an eyebrow, she sauntered back out of the office to her desk and picked up the schedule. She'd have to call all the doctor's crazies and tell them they had to go and be crazy somewhere else next week. Checking her watch, she eyed her computer and sighed. Where could Carlos take her next week...

***

Ben paced the room like a caged lion, "Mike, are you guys set up yet?"

Mike sat in front of a table holding four computers and shook his head, "It's not that simple. We've hacked into their phone lines and web accounts, but we're still analyzing the data."

"Where's Cin?" he growled. "She should have been back by now."

"It's not a short ride, Ben and she's a woman alone. She gets noticed you know..."

Ben grimaced, "You said the sight you guys scouted before coming to town offered an unobstructed view..."

"The whole back of the building, but it isn't around the corner," replied Mike.

Ben lowered himself onto the bed and grimaced, "If they call now..."

"They won't call now," replied Mike with a smile. "I'll kill their phones if they try it, don't sweat it. She'll be in position shortly, now why don't you look at some of this stuff." Motioning Ben to a chair, he turned one of the computers in his direction. "This is the contact list, I've gotten the names attached to the emails and that is their client list."

Ben slowly read the names on the list, "Half the politicians in California..."

"It gets better," replied Mike. "Keep looking."

"Doctor, doctor, lawyer, doctor, good God," spat Ben. "I know this guy and this guy..."

"Calm down," replied Mike, still concentrating on his multiple screens. "Remember, these people paid for a service, it isn't necessarily the same service you're receiving."

"That makes it okay?" asked Ben.

"I'm not saying that, but there are levels of disgusting," smiled Mike, "and you've been in this business long enough to have seen most of them..."

"I thought I had," replied Ben, "but I never saw one like this, not this type of thing done on this level with this amount of sophistication. The technology..."

"Don't blame the technology. Computers only widen the field and speed up the possibilities," replied Mike. "It takes the human side to make it truly revolting. Sophisticated technically perhaps, but the incredibly crude and cruel is all on a human level..."

"I always said that you liked computers better than people."

"Other than Cin, that's true. But at least I like one person, how about you?"

Ben considered it.

"No more than I like computers."

"Do you even own a computer?" asked Mike with a smile.

Ben shook his head, "You have to now a days. What you don't need is to own a person..."

***

Amber Hopkins watched her father's car pull out of the driveway and gave a squeal of delight. The whole weekend to herself, she couldn't believe it. There was so much to do and so little time. First things first, she needed to get in touch with her best friend, Lynn. If only she hadn't failed that damn drivers test, she pouted. Oh well, there was no way Daddy would have left his car home even if she had passed the test.

Racing into the kitchen, she picked up the wall phone and dialed Lynn's number. The conversation lasted an hour and a half, most of it consumed discussing Lynn's newest crush, Josh. Amber could not see the big deal, yes, he was a senior, but he wasn't THAT cute... She'd have to be home for her father's call; she knew he would call to check up on her, so she was stuck in the house until at least four o'clock. Lynn would stop by at about seven thirty and then...

Amber checked the clock in the kitchen, eleven o'clock. She had so much time and now, she didn't have to get ready for hours. If they were going out, she wanted to work on her tan. Racing upstairs, she moved to her closet and pushed back the boxes of shoes, reaching around until she found the bag she was looking for. She had hidden it there over a month ago, hoping and praying that the maid didn't find it when she cleaned.

Pulling the bag down, she opened it, checked the contents and then began to strip. Soon she was nude and pulling out the contents of the bag; a black string bikini. She had only tried it on once, in the store, she hoped it still fit. It was so tiny, but it was the perfect thing if she wanted an all over tan. The hedges around the pool would hide her, no one would know. Quickly she slipped into it, nervously adjusting the tiny strips of fabric. Checking herself out in the mirror, she gave herself a smile and, grabbing a towel and some lotion, made her way down to the pool. Placing the towel over the lounge chair, she gingerly lowered herself onto the chair and applied the lotion. Laying back she felt the warmth of the sun. She felt so sophisticated and empowered. She had the perfect outfit for tonight, an orange top with white shorts and those new heels she had just bought.

As Amber planned her evening, she never noticed the man standing in the window of the house behind hers, holding binoculars. He had watched her for a long time, watched her growing towards maturity. She was right on the threshold, just ready.

"A woman's body and a little girl's mind," he chuckled, watching Amber as she twisted her body slightly to better catch the sun.

A friend of her father's, he knew he was away this weekend. Amber had never known her mother, but the man with the binoculars certainly had. She was a real experimenter, that one; ran off with some biker right after Amber was born. Too bad that; he had enjoyed her many times, she was such a freak. Still, she left a little gift for him and right in his own backyard...

Picking up his cell phone, he located the number and returned to gazing into the binoculars.

"Yes," answered a heavily accented, deep voice.

"I have what you're looking for," he replied, slightly saddened by the fact that he would not be the recipient of the delicious girl he was watching. "I'll need some assistance, so send someone right away. I'm sure she's invited some of her little friends over and we want to act before they get here..."

***

Vance picked up Melissa's suitcase and his own and moved quickly down the terminal, joining her outside. She had just managed to stop a cab as he stepped out into the warm California sunshine.

"Perfect timing," she smiled, lifting her sunglasses as he advanced towards them.

The cabdriver looked up at Vance uncertainly and then stepped aside so that he could throw the bags into the trunk before entering the backseat opposite Melissa.

"Sheridan Inn," stated Vance quietly, easing back into the seat.

The cab driver seemed a bit nervous having such a large man sitting behind him and didn't speak more than to ask where they were coming from and to get the name of the hotel again.

Melissa chuckled quietly to herself, whatever else might be said for Vance, he certainly was a pleasure to travel with. People took one look at him and instantly became deferential.

"So what's our plan now that we're on the ground?" she asked.

"If you feel up to it, I'd like to drop the bags and then go see Owens."

She nodded, "It's too bad that Tara, Bev and Jim couldn't get a flight until tomorrow."

"How's she holding up?" asked Vance quietly.

"Who, Tara or Bev?"

"Either," he shrugged, "both."

Melissa considered it, "Tara is going to have to take time to heal, she's frightened... it's a horrible thing to try and cope with it and... she needs time. Bev...well Bev is angry, furious. She can be irrational at times, but it's her initial reaction. I think over time... a lot depends on what we can accomplish here. Beverly will need to see that justice is done, so will Jim for that matter. For Tara, what is justice?"

Vance moved slightly closer, "And you?"

Melissa smiled at him, "It's hard, but I've had a little more time and training... hopefully some maturity to help me cope with it. I don't pray a lot, but I did last night. I'm angry and hurt, but... well, it's just hard."

Vance nodded and held her slightly tighter.

"We'll get them, Melissa. I hope we can get to see the guy they have in custody, the one who met the woman. Maybe he can offer us some clue."

"Did you hear from your contact in Mexico?"

Vance shook his head, "I don't contact him; he contacts me. From his last message, his back up arrived, but I'm not completely sure what that means or what they plan to do."

"You're sure there is a connection between that... place... and what happened to Tara and me?" she asked softly.

"It looks that way," he responded. His cell phone vibrated against his leg, causing him to release Melissa and pull it from his pocket. It was Len.

"Yeah?"

Len recognized the tone; Vance was in front of someone he didn't want hearing their conversation.

"We checked further into that person we discussed," stated Len quietly. "One of Ben's guys did a little detective work for us and found out a few alarming things concerning her. Can you talk?"

"No," replied Vance. "I'll be at my hotel in about a half hour or so, let me call you back when I get there."

"This thing is getting deeper," replied Len. "You might want to consider having someone out there with you, I think it's bigger than we suspected."

"As soon as I get in the room, I'll call," replied Vance.

"Later boss," replied Len, hanging up the phone. Eying the phone, he leaned back in his chair.

Ben's associate had been positive, Mrs. Pena had finance a porn film, a rush job even for that industry. They couldn't be sure, of course, but as Tori said, you can usually figure out what happened by the effect it caused and suddenly, Mister Pena had moved back in with his wife.

Phelps Incorporated seemed to have produced and filmed the little epic, but had not released it for general distribution. Still, Ben's associate, a man name Cypress, seemed to think he could get a copy of it shortly. Who was in it and why had it caused the reaction it had?

Len didn't like it. He didn't like Vance being involved with the daughter of a woman who financed porn movies or had ties to brothels and possibly the white slave trade. He wasn't a prude, mind you; it was just that even in this business you had to have certain standards.

Tori knocked and walked in, not noticing Len's pensive mood until she had lowered herself onto the chair opposite him.

"Nothing so far," she stated.

"We're sure he moved back in though," replied Len.

Tori nodded, "I got Anita to call as a telemarketer and she spoke to him, confirmed his address, marital status and so on. He and the missus are going strong apparently."

Len shook his head, "Anything else on the Del Rey?"

"It's complicated, but the property belongs to Phelps. The building was constructed and financed through an Anaylli Corporation that was formed just before and folded just after construction. The stated purpose on the building permit was housing, but after the corporation folded, the building was sold as housing/corporate space to a Dento LLP, which is a doctors group in Southern California. It's convoluted but it turns out that Dento is owned by Phelps."

"Why go through all of this trouble just to construct the building," asked Len. "There is no one in Mexico who gives a damn who built it or what it's used for as long as the local officials get their cut."

"According to Ben's people, everyone made out very nicely on the deal," replied Tori. "Whoever the people at Anaylli were, they were extremely generous with the local officials. Permits, permission, everything was green lighted at a record pace. That's Phelps m.o.; where ever they build, things move quickly and with no hassles. Another thing I thought you might be interested in..." she flipped a thumb drive over to him.

Len picked it off his desk and looked at her questioningly.

"That's off the webpage of a site called "UkRaining Singles". It's a dating site out of Ukraine, ninety percent women, ten percent men, looking for international companionship. Checking with Interpol, we found that seven percent of the women listed on the site are also listed as missing with the local authorities. The company that runs the site has a name that translates to the Ukrainian Models and Actors Group. Their corporate offices are in a building created by the now defunct Anaylli Corporation and owned by Phelps Incorporated."

"White slavery," murmured Len.

"We're going to have to let the police in on our findings," stated Tori. "Whoever these people are, they're too big for us to tackle alone."

Len nodded, "I'm supposed to speak to Vance in a little while. In the meantime, keep on it. Information is what we need, Tori."

Tori rose and offered him a smile, "Any word on my raise yet?"

Len laughed, "It's coming, I promise, it's coming..."

Chapter 14

Lumbering up to the check point, the motor home rocked gently to a stop as the dust all but swallowed the United States Customs Official who stood near the gate. Peering up in the noon day sun, sweat glistening on his face, the official called out to the driver, a well built, middle aged man.

"What is the purpose of your trip, sir?"

The man behind the driver's seat smiled, "Just going to see a few sights, do a little camping."

The customs official frowned, "I have to warn you that directly beyond this point, we've had reports of killings of American citizens. It may not be safe for you to travel in this area of Mexico."

"Oh, I'm not going to stop here," he replied. "I'm headed further south, a town called Nova."

"Never heard of it," replied the official, checking his paperwork.

"I've been there before," replied the man cheerily. "Great camping..."

"Can you open the door on the other side, sir?" asked the official. "I need to check the vehicle."

"Certainly," replied the man, putting the vehicle in park and unbuckling his seat belt.

The official stomped around the vehicle, cursing the dust and heat. He felt the sweat gathering at the small of his back as the side door to the motor home opened and the door swung out. A touch of the cool air inside the vehicle leaned out and brushed against his hot cheek.

"Come on in, officer," stated the driver, directing him in with a wave of his hand.

The officer climbed the steps, feeling the chill of the air conditioning envelop him, making him feel human again.

"Do you mind if I check the cabinets, sir?" he asked, as much as official duty as a chance to stay in the cool air for a longer period of time.

"Go right ahead officer," replied the man.

The official ran a practiced eye over the contents of the cabinets, checked the stove and bathroom, checked the cushions and seats. As he stepped towards the back of the vehicle, the man held up a restraining hand.

"I just ask you to be a bit quiet," he said softly. "My daughter is inside sleeping. Feel free to check anything you like of course, but just she got home from school this morning after driving all night to join me."

The official nodded as the man opened the door. Slipping in, the man checked the closet briefly and the nightstands. A young woman laid on the bed, snuggled beneath the blankets, an angelic expression on her face. Lucky kid, thought the official, sleeping through the heat of the day in a sweet setup like this.

Stepping out of the room, the official made his way towards the door.

"Would you like a drink, officer?" asked the driver.

"Thank you, sir, no," he replied. "I just need you to sign this form and you can be on your way."

The man took the clipboard from the official and signed it as the official recorded his name and address.

Stepping back outside, the official waved the man on with a courteous, "Have a good day."

Watching the motor home lumber away, he sighed internally. He would have given anything to take a nap in the air conditioning on a day like this...

The driver moved slowly down the road for several miles, working hard to not be noticed. Picking up speed, he continued for another hour before stopping at a gas station. As the attendant filled the tank, he wandered to the back of the vehicle and checked on his cargo.

The girl moved slightly and moaned, her eyelids fluttering as she struggled to wake up. The man knelt on the bed and examined her eyes. Pulling down the blanket, he examined her body for bruises, especially near her wrists, near the handcuffs. Though the handcuffs were padded, he had to be careful, bruises were not tolerated. Returning to the front of the motor home, he opened one of the cabinets and opened a box of cereal, producing a syringe and vial. Returning to the bedroom, he closed the door and rolled the girl onto her side, pulling her bathing suit bottom down slightly and swabbing a spot with some gauze and alcohol that he had taken from the bathroom. Inserting the syringe into the vial, he extracted a dose of the medication and administered it as the girl moaned and began to twist slightly. Slowly, she opened her eyes, stared blankly around the room and then closed them, her breathing becoming regular once more.

Returning the syringe and vial to the cereal box, he exited the motor home and encountered the gas station attendant.

"Your tank is full, senor," said the thin, narrow faced boy.

The driver smiled, "Good. Very good..."

***

Ben hung up the phone and looked hard at Mike, who merely nodded, returning his attention to his monitors.

"Got it," he stated flatly. "So they'll be ready for you, tonight at seven..."

Cinthia sat on the bed watching Mike for a moment and then turning her attention on Ben, "I can cover the entire back of the house, but the front is wide open."

"It'll be getting dark by seven," mused Ben. "We'll be taking a chance. They don't exactly move like they have anything to do around here, which means I probably won't get the girl until seven thirty, eight o'clock..."

"What if they try a switch, like last time?" asked Cinthia.

"I doubt they will," replied Ben. "Still, what does this get us? Even if I manage to get out with the girl and we get the whole group, we can't be sure we're getting anything but the small fry..."

"I've been in contact with Tibbet's people," replied Mike, turning to Cinthia. "This thing is a lot bigger than what we're working on. I've explained our set up and they're offering tech support which is great, but we're going to need people down here and I don't know if we can wait until they get here."

Cinthia shrugged, "I can't cover the whole building..."

"Is there any way we can stall them?" asked Mike. "Perhaps we could intercept your prize..."

"They're not going to take a chance with her," replied Ben. "If anything goes down before she gets here, they'll get suspicious and pull the plug on everything."

"Maybe if we cut power to the building," offered Cinthia.

Mike shook his head, "Electricity is not a necessity in a brothel, my dear. Darkness is their friend, especially with armed guards around. No, that won't stall them..."

Ben's eyes narrowed, "What about a visitor?"

"Visitor?" asked Cinthia. "What do you mean?"

Ben gave her a scowl, "I'm not completely sure it's doable, but I'm working on it..."

***

Roger Adams, the assistant district attorney and Owens sat on the far side of the interrogation room table, Melissa and Vance opposite them. Adams was a short, well dressed man in his forties, his thick sandy hair peppered with distinguishing gray. Owen ran his eye over the folder Melissa had handed him, examining the contents again.

"You're saying this girl can identify them," stated Owens. "You're positive she can."

"I'm positive both of us can," replied Melissa. "It's all there, sergeant, everything."

"And this man you have in Mexico," drawled Adams, his hawk like features descending into a scowl. "He's watching this bordello..."

"They called him just before we got here," replied Vance. "They're delivering a girl to him tonight at seven o'clock."

Owens shook his head, "Even if we could get there in time, we've got no jurisdiction and there is no guarantee that these two will be there."

Adams stood and paced, head down, "They boarded a flight to Mexico, we're sure of that."

"Yeah," agreed Owens, "but we don't know where they went after that. Just because they own this place doesn't mean they'll hide out there. Hell, just because they're involved doesn't mean they're the ring leaders."

"They have some sort of management role in all this," replied Vance, pushing the documents Tori had faxed over towards him. "They own the place and Interpol has been tracking them for the last five years. They've got businesses in multiple countries all either confirmed or suspected of being linked to the slave trade. If we can get them, we have enough to hold them on..."

"But we can't get them," replied Owens. "We don't have jurisdiction and we don't know who in Mexico is on their payroll. According to the list your friend sent, half the people HERE are on their payroll. Even with Interpol's help, I've worked a few cases with the cops down there and I can tell you there's no guarantee that corrupt officials won't impede us to save their own asses."

"I've got some connections down there," mused Adams, "but if they're spending money the way you're saying they are, well, I don't know if I can trust them to move on them in time. That and the fact that some of the people I know are on that list. The Mexican authorities in that area are just as happy to have problems slip away as to deal with them."

"These things take time, I know that," replied Vance evenly. "We don't have time. These people already skipped the country, if they skip Mexico, there is no knowing where they might go. They've got property all over Eastern Europe and the Far East. It will be years before you might have a chance at them again, if ever. If we can't get the officials down there to act, then it's up to us."

Adams retook his seat and looked from Melissa to Vance and back again.

"I'm going to be blunt with you; there isn't much "officially" I can do, at least not quickly. I believe your story, doctor and I believe your patient's story, but we have no proof, nothing to tie them to the crimes you're accusing them of, in your own case, no proof the crime even occurred. We need time to assemble more evidence, which is something we just don't have."

"The strongest current charge I have is the girl's murder and that case has problems as well. The girl was drugged, by who we can't determine. She was underage which makes it a greater tragedy, but in court they'll all swear that they didn't know that. We have no proof as to who did what, there were four people in the room and two of them will have high powered attorneys who will blame everything that happened on the other participants. We've got no proof to show a jury what exactly happened, it's all circumstantial, so depending upon the jury, we might end up with nothing."

"But the..." began Vance.

Adams held up his hand, "Let me finish, please. Our best hope for a conviction and for taking down the entire operation is if we catch them with girl that your friend is waiting for. If we find that they kidnapped an American citizen and took her out of the country, we can charge them with a list of things, but the sergeant and I can't do that without the permission of the Mexican authorities. It's doubtful we can set up a sting operation in Mexico in three hours time, I'm sorry, but if you can do it, I'll back you in any way I can. I can contact Interpol and the FBI and get those agencies invested in this, but as to the time element, all I can do is make some calls and hope I hit pay dirt in Mexico."

"So my client, this young girl, suffered and I suffered and at this moment we have no right, no redress to justice of any kind?" snapped Melissa, the anger and hurt rising in her voice.

"Doctor, I'm a lawyer," replied Adams. "I'm sorry to say that the law sometimes has nothing to do with justice. I have to operate within the law, I have to try and stop these people from acting again, but until I have the proof, as much as I can sympathize, there isn't much I can do."

"What if we manage to take them down without the help of the authorities?" asked Vance. "If we can stall for a day, I can get people down there..."

"If you can nail them with a kidnapped American citizen, then we have something," stated Owens. "As far as the prostitution charge, I'm sorry to say that brothels in that part of Mexico are like convenience stores here, as long as the cops are getting their cut, they're not going to do anything. If they're as hooked into the Mexican authorities as your list suggests, by the time the DA gets through the red tape to get them extradited for the murder charge, they might fly the coop on any lesser charge, even the murder charge here might not be enough without the kidnapping charge there."

Melissa stood up angrily, "So at the moment, you can do nothing! You're going to let these bastards get away with rape and murder!"

"I've been working with Interpol since I first spoke with Vance," replied Owens, "and I've got calls in to my contacts in Mexico..."

"As do I," interrupted the Adams.

"It's going to take time, Doctor Banner. I know this is frustrating; it's frustrating for us as well. What the DA said about justice is correct, sometimes the law doesn't support it, but it's what we all are working for. Unfortunately..."

"Unfortunately my client and I didn't have the common sense during our drug induced rape to collect samples or videotape testimony," replied Melissa. "How foolish of a sixteen year old girl not to walk around with a finger print kit! What you're telling me, gentlemen, is that young women are fair game as long as you make sure that they're drugged and there's enough time to clean up the room afterwards."

"The world is full of predators, Doctor Banner," replied Adams. "Some are smarter than others. We usually catch them in the end, but it isn't always easy and sometimes, we have to satisfy ourselves that we caught a criminal and he's serving time but not for all of the crimes he committed. I need one solid case against these people, one solid case and I can put them away for life, but I don't have that case yet. Not with what we have here, not with the testimony here, not for the murder of that young girl and not with what Mister Tibbet has given me. Can I investigate? Yes. Can I try and put together evidence? Yes. Can I count on a jury's common sense? Maybe. Can I guarantee a conviction? Not at all, not at this stage, not with what I have here." Adams rose, disgusted, "I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm truly sorry, but those are the facts and I'm not going to lie to you about them to make myself feel better about it."

Melissa looked at Vance, tears in her eyes, "What do we do now?"

Vance pursed his lips and thought for a moment.

"We go to Mexico and see if we can't help Ben. Maybe they can get their Mexican counterparts to help us, maybe they can't. I'm not giving up, either way."

"Go," replied Adams. "I swear I will do everything I can here. Time is the enemy..."

***

Edwards stared at the computer screen, eying his Excel files, making sure that all the financial reports were up to par before sending them out. The knock at his door barely registered.

"Come in," he called out, annoyance evident in his tone.

The door opened and he did not bother to look up. What was the complaint this time? Someone want satin sheets instead of cotton? Why he was stuck here instead...

"You have a beautiful tan, darling."

Edwards knew the purr of that voice. Startled, he looked up and saw Phelps and Illyana saunter in with a benevolent look directed at him.

"It makes you look so distinguished," she continued with a seductive smile.

Edwards rose and kissed her hand. Taking Phelps' hand, he shook it vigorously, his smiled broadening, "What are you two doing here?"

"You didn't hear about our trouble in the states?" asked Phelps casually.

"No," replied Edwards, motioning them towards the couch. "No, what happened."

"A little bird flew away," drawled Illyana. "So sad..."

"You were involved?" asked Edwards, surprised that they might have been careless.

"Only on the outside edges of it," replied Phelps. "They have someone in custody, give them a week or two for the outcry to die down and all will be well."

"Will you be staying with us?" asked Edwards happily. "I would love to have you here for some time and my office is yours, just say the word."

Phelps laughed, "We'll probably hang around for a time. Get in your hair a bit, if you don't mind."

Edwards crossed to the bar in his office and began mixing drinks.

"I'm delighted you're here," he confessed. "We have a special delivery coming in shortly, special order for a new client, seven o'clock tonight. We need to have her back by Monday morning; still that gives you several hours to enjoy her..."

"What type of order?" asked Illyana, slowly reclining on the sofa as she took her drink, offering Edwards a generous view of her legs.

"Blonde, sixteen, shapely," replied Edwards.

"Excellent," smiled Phelps. "We could use some diversion after what we've been through..."

"She sounds like a delightful little bird," purred Illyana, slowly rubbing her calves together and then lifting them gingerly to fold neatly beside her on the couch.

Edwards smiled; he had always had a fascination with Illyana. Once, several years ago, she had come to the Del Rey a day before Phelps and they had had relations. He had never forgotten it, the feel of her skin, the smell of her musk. Edwards took a chair and tried to hide his growing erection. Had she told Phelps about it? He never knew, but if he knew Phelps, he could not have cared less. It was a wonderful memory...

"We also have a local shipment arriving shortly and of course, your special shipment arrived this morning."

Phelps looked up, momentarily confused and then realization dawned on his features.

"Oh yes, in my haste I had forgotten all about that, yes..."

"Which one is that, darling?" asked Illyana, lazily circling the edge of her glass with her fingertip.

"Oh, the little home wrecker that Virginia put us on too," he replied. "I sent her here since I had nowhere else to hold her at the moment. I was going to star her in a few more pictures..."

"She's in the basement," replied Edwards. "She's medicated, she gets weepy otherwise and it annoys the guards..."

"You have film equipment here, of course," stated Phelps.

"Of course, whatever we don't have I can get for you," replied Edwards. "Are you thinking of shooting some scenes here?"

"No, not in the Del Rey," replied Phelps, "too risky. Also, I don't want any of the local talent..."

"The men are too thin," interjected Illyana. "She's the curvy one, right?"

Phelps nodded.

"Yes, to set her off you need stronger types, men with some muscle. These Mexicans are either too fat or too thin; no one wants to watch an ugly man and a beautiful woman."

"It destroys the fantasy," agreed Edwards, rising to refresh her drink.

"Still, if I could get some decent actors, I'd like to get some more scenes with her, she's a natural," stated Phelps.

"What sort of scenes do you want?" asked Edwards. "We do have other locations that are useable. There is the villa, it's got the most gorgeous views and the bedrooms are large, they can easily accommodate the equipment..."

"Is that the one with the charming well outside?" asked Illyana, happily sipping her drink.

"Yes," replied Edward, "that's the one."

"It would be perfect, darling," smiled Illyana.

"I don't remember it," replied Phelps.

"It was where we had that delightful little Ukrainian girl last year," purred Illyana. "Oh, it was so nice to experience her body in that setting. Remember, you sold her to the Brazilian couple..."

"Oh yesss," laughed Phelps, "yes, she was something special. Brought a good price, that one... he was well pleased as well. Yes, she was delightful and the setting really did add to it. Very well, get her out there with the equipment; I can work on a script while we get the talent down from Los Angeles."

"I'll have her sent out right away," replied Edwards. He stood, the sound of a car entering the backyard bringing him to his feet.

"Our special order has probably arrived. You two help yourselves; I'll be back once I check on our little delivery..."

***

Virginia stared across the table, watching Kevin's face. Darkness had descended over his features and she watched his jaw line twitching, his interior agony crying for an outlet from the pain he felt. Slowly rising, she took her plate into the kitchen, leaving it in the sink before returning to the dining room and reaching for his plate.

"Kevin, my dear, you haven't even touched your food," she stated reproachfully.

"Not hungry I guess, Virginia," he replied quietly. Rising he left her and the plate and made his way to the living room where he slowly lowered himself onto the couch.

A few minutes later, Virginia joined him, snuggling up next to him. Reaching for the remote, she made to turn the television on, but he stayed her hand.

"Please, Virginia," he said painfully, "I'm not in the mood for TV."

"All right," she replied. "I understand..."

"Do you?" he asked, taking her hands in his own. "Do you understand what it is to be a man and to have been made such a fool of that you can't stand for people to see you? Do you understand what it is to throw away your self-respect, your marriage, your trust, to sacrifice it all for nothing, for an illusion?"

Virginia patted his hands, "Kevin, we all make mistakes. Do you think you're the first man to make this mistake? Men make it all the time. Pretty little liars, pretty little whores playing games and destroying marriages; just be thankful that you found out in time."

Kevin placed his arm around her, "You've been so good about this, Virginia, so good to me..."

She began to unbutton his shirt, "Darling, we're husband and wife. If it had been the other way, I'm sure..."

She leaned forward and kissed him hard and they fell into each other's arms. She removed his clothing with practiced fingers as he slowly stripped her. Nude, they joined on the couch, her writhing beneath him as he rode her slowly, patiently. Climaxing together, he lay on top of her, the two of them breathing hard, her hands slowly stroking his back.

As he laid his head on her shoulder, she stoked his hair and spoke soothingly, "The best thing we can do is forget. Forget everything but how we feel for one another..."

"You're right," he breathed, "you're right. I'll make it up to you, Virginia, I swear, I will spend my life making it up to you..."

Virginia kissed his forehead and smiled. Her money had been well spent...

Chapter 15

The long, shiny black car pulled slowly into the town of Nova, two motorcycled police officers riding ahead, two behind. Pulling to a halt, the five vehicles caused a small dust storm that briefly filled the street and obscured vision of the buildings for several minutes. As the dust subsided, the passenger side door of the limousine opened and a large man with a large gun emerged. Stepping to the rear door, he opened it and a short, heavy set man in a heavily decorated uniform emerged.

The man was disheveled and overweight, his dark hair sticking out from a hat lavishly embroidered with gold braiding. His large sunglasses could not hide a round, heavily perspiring face and his weak chin wobbled as he spoke rapidly to the men who quickly surrounded him.

The men moved as a group towards the Del Rey, climbing the stairs in the early evening sunshine. The large man with the gun knocked harshly on the door and snarled as the door swung open.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" asked the small, well armed man who answered the door.

"Our distinguished guest would like a word with the proprietor of this place," answered the large man.

The small man ushered them into the parlor where Ben had been placed a few days earlier and retreated to Edwards' office.

"Who is it?" asked Edwards.

"He does not say," replied the small man.

Phelps and Illyana stared out at the car and shrugged, the man did not appear familiar.

"Go and see what he wants," instructed Phelps.

Edwards nodded and descended the stairs. Grabbing the small man before he entered the room, he whispered urgently, "Put the special delivery back in the motor home and lead them out to the safe house. Wait there until you hear from me."

"Should we put the movie star in with her?" asked the small man with a devious smile.

Edwards thought a moment and nodded, "No, send her in a separate car and hurry. Also, leave a second car ready and running in case our guests decide that they need to leave."

The small man moved quickly towards the rear of the house to comply.

Opening the door to the parlor, Edwards assumed the air of a gracious host.

"Gentlemen, so sorry to keep you waiting..."

The fat man in uniform stood and took Edwards's hand, his dark eyes merry.

"It is no problem, no problem at all," he chuckled. "We came unannounced, I understand."

"May I get you a drink?" asked Edwards.

"Certainly, certainly, some tequila," smiled the fat man. "Your name is Edwards, no?"

Edwards smile became frosty, "Yes, how do you know?"

"I must know many things," smiled the fat man. "It is my job, after all."

"You have me at a disadvantage," replied Edwards, "You know my name but I don't know yours."

The big man with the gun moved forward menacingly until the fat man restrained him, "Easy, now, easy. I'm sorry," he stated, turning towards Edwards, "my men get nervous in such sumptuous settings. I am General Diaz; perhaps you are familiar with me..."

Edwards face dropped. Diaz had been a popular politician who had been indicted as a member of a Columbian drug cartel. He had disappeared several years ago, but his prescience was still felt throughout the Mexican underworld.

"I am honored," replied Edwards, grasping the general's hands in his own. "Please, what can I do for you, General?"

Diaz offered him a large, gleaming, toothy, terrifying smile.

"You are friends with my cousin, I believe," he stated.

Edwards nodded, "Of course, Senor Alvara."

Alvara was the man who had been bribed to allow for the building of the Del Rey. Locally, he could cause enormous trouble, but he had never been a problem. He liked money and women and Edwards had supplied him with generous helpings of both.

"My friend," said the general, taking Edwards by the arm and leading him away from his bodyguards. "I have come to ask a little favor that my cousin says he believes will be granted."

"If it is in my gift, general, it will surely be yours," promised Edwards.

"My wife died," said the general solemnly. "A good woman, a true child of the soil..."

"My condolences," replied Edwards, unsure of where this was going.

"For a year, I have been in mourning," replied the general quietly. "Respect, my friend, respect owed to a good woman, but now, the time for mourning is over, the year is up. I have done what I could to respect my wife, to honor her memory, but senor; men have needs, do they not?"

"Oh yes, absolutely," smiled Edwards.

"These men, they are my brothers," he stated, gesturing at the four heavily armed men. "When my wife, she die, they take a vow that none of them will even LOOK at a woman before my year of mourning is finished and each one, on his honor, has kept his word!"

Edwards saluted the men with his drink and turned back to the general, beginning to see the light.

"Yesterday, the year ended and our mourning is over," stated the general. "Now, it is time to once again act like men, to be men again. My cousin tells me that you can help us with this, is this not true?"

"Of course," smiled Edwards. "I have a special suite upstairs..."

"The house," barked the large man with the gun.

"I beg your pardon," replied Edwards, aware of both the size of the man and the gun he held.

"The house," growled the man. "The whole house..."

Edwards looked to the general for an explanation.

"You see, my friend, we have many friends, but many enemies also," explained the fat man amicably. "We can no take the chance of being caught with our pants down, so to speak..."

One of the guards began to laugh, slapping another on the arm, "Our pants down, he says..."

All of the guards laughed.

"I see, general, but my other clients..." began Edwards.

"Make them go away," growled the big man with the gun.

The general smiled his agreement and Edwards realized there was no point in continuing the conversation.

"The house will be yours for the evening," stated Edwards politely. "Please, help yourself to the refreshments; I will attend to the arrangements immediately. Would an hour be too much to ask for?"

"An hour is fine, very good," replied the general, slapping Edwards heartily on the back. "We understand each other, very good. He is a good man, hey boys?"

The men nodded and agreed, raising their glasses in salute as Edwards left the room and closed the door.

Once in the hall he summoned two of the guards, there was much to be done.

***

Patrick entered the visitor's room and glanced momentarily at the group that awaited him. Lowering himself into a chair, he stared at his hands.

His attorney, Mister Costello, cleared his throat and began the introductions.

"Patrick, this is Doctor Banner and Mister Tibbet, they've come to speak with you regarding your experience."

Patrick looked questioningly at his lawyer, "Why? Where are they from?"

"We're from New York," stated Vance evenly. "We believe that the people who were with you in the hotel room are part of a much larger criminal enterprise."

"I didn't know they were criminals," stated Patrick quickly. "I just thought she was in it for the fun, that's all. I'd never met them before..."

"Relax, Patrick, please," replied Vance. "You might say we're all on the same side. We don't condone what happened to the girl..."

"Neither do I," replied Patrick emphatically. "Look, I didn't know she was underage, I DIDN'T. Physically, she was mature for her age, I'm not making excuses, but I didn't know. That blonde got me going, you're a guy; you know how it is..." Vance said nothing. "Look, she was very sultry, very...inviting. I went for it, I'm not proud of it and I'm certainly not happy with the results, but most guys in my shoes wouldn't have thought twice about it. Well, I didn't think twice about it either. A gorgeous woman was offering me a threesome..." he looked up at Melissa, "I'm sorry Doctor; I mean no disrespect, honest, but..."

"I was a victim of the same people," stated Melissa quietly.

Patrick took the statement in, weighing the words and their meaning.

"I'm terribly sorry, Doctor," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm terribly sorry... What I did was wrong, but I didn't kill anyone and I didn't drug that girl..."

"They believe that, Patrick," stated Mister Costello. "They're looking for the couple who did drug and kill the girl, that's why they are here."

"We want to see justice done," stated Melissa. "The police...the police can only do so much..."

"We have reason to believe the couple is in Mexico," stated Vance. "I need you to think hard, Patrick. I know you were drugged, but do you remember anything they said, anything they mentioned, anything at all..."

Patrick swiped at the tears in his eyes and took a deep, shuttering breath, "I don't remember much. She and I met in the bar; she invited me to come up to the hotel room if I could get the girl there and left. She told me her husband was on a flight, she was waiting for him but the flight wouldn't be in for a few hours..."

"Did she say where he was coming in from?" asked Vance.

.Patrick shook his head, "She wouldn't even tell me her name, just gave me the room number. To tell you the truth, I was hoping the husband wasn't real, that she was just making him up...anyway, she left. I bought the girl a drink, flattered her a bit, you know..."

"Did the girl know her?" asked Melissa.

"No," replied Patrick. "I'm positive of that. When we got to the hotel room, she was there waiting for us. She answered the door nude and invited us in."

"How did the girl react?" asked Vance.

"She was stunned, shocked. I had told her that I was meeting a girlfriend and that the three of us could go to dinner. The girl was talking about how she wanted to get an internship and I lied, told her my girlfriend was a big wig who could help her get in at the company she wanted to be part of...she was naïve, when we got there, she still didn't understand. The woman fixed us some drinks and then excused herself, said she had to cover herself up. When she went into the bathroom, the girl got up and was trying to make an excuse to leave. I was trying to get her to stay and then she swayed kind of and sat down again. I was talking to her and the room seemed to be shifting, I felt tired and confused, so I sat down too."

"Then what?" asked Vance.

"The woman came back and told me to go to the couch. I could barely move by that point, so she helped me to the couch and then went back to the bed, where the girl was...she was just staring, like she was numb or something. The blonde, she started undressing her, kissing her and fondling her and talking to her..."

"Do you remember what she was saying to her?" asked Melissa.

Patrick shook his head, "She was telling her to relax, she was going to enjoy this, things like that, but I don't remember the exact words..."

"What happened next?" asked Vance.

"I was kind of coming out of it, I felt like I was drunk, but I was getting back some of my ability to move. By this time, they were both nude on the bed and the blonde was all over her. I staggered to my feet and the blonde got up and helped me undress and then led me over to the bed. We had sex, her and I and then she helped me have sex with the girl..."

"Helped you have sex with her?" asked Melissa.

Patrick looked down, ashamed, "Yeah. I was still pretty unsteady, but the blonde helped me and I...I had sex with the girl. Then she started having sex with the girl again and I kind of nodded out. I was trying to stay awake, but I kept falling asleep..."

"Could you see what she was doing to the girl?" asked Vance.

"They were going at it, well, she was... the girl would moan and occasionally move a bit, but she positioned her. I wouldn't say the girl was resisting, but she wasn't helping either... she was too much out of it..."

"Patrick," prompted Mister Costello, "what happened next?"

"I woke up for a bit," replied Patrick softly, "and suddenly, there was this guy there. The blonde was still going at it with the girl and he was undressing, but slow and casual. It kind of reminded me of those old fifties sitcoms, you know, when the father would come home and take off his tie and unbutton his shirt and speak with the wife as he got changed. I'm not trying to be funny, or disrespectful, but it was like that, he was just casually getting undressed and talking to the blonde as she was having sex with another woman, it was surreal..."

"Do you remember anything that was said?" asked Vance as he tried to hide his disappointment.

"There's only one thing that I can remember them saying," replied Patrick.

"You said you couldn't remember anything that had been said," stated Costello anxiously.

"It doesn't mean anything," replied Patrick. "It came to me the other day. I was thinking about it, what else do I have to do? I remember her, the blonde and the guy, they were having sex and she said to him, "When will we go to tell Ray?" and he said something like it was too soon and they would go next month."

"Go to tell Ray?" asked Costello. "That doesn't make any sense. Who is Ray? What were they going to tell him? Perhaps he's the person who runs this whole thing..."

"No," snapped Vance. "No, I don't think that is what she said."

"What do you mean..." began Costello.

"Patrick, are you certain she said, "When will we go tell Ray"," he replied, looking at Melissa excitedly, "Might she have said, "When will we go to Del Rey,"? Is it possible you misheard her?"

Patrick shrugged, "My head was spinning, it's possible. Either way, it doesn't mean anything, what does it matter?"

"Where is Del Rey?" asked Costello.

"The Del Rey is a whore house in Mexico that these two have connections too," replied Vance. "If she was asking when they were going, they not only own it, but they visit it as well. We think they're in Mexico; that might be where they're held up now."

"They had to leave the country quickly," mused Costello. "Mexico is convenient and would buy them some time and you said that you thought that was where they had headed..."

"They might be at the Del Rey," replied Vance.

"We need to tell Owens and Adams," stated Melissa.

"We need to get down there," replied Vance. "Ben and his people are already there, if we can get the Mexican authorities to move quickly..."

"Go then," interrupted Costello. "I'll handle the DA and I've got a few connections in Mexico as well. We need to keep this quiet, however. If the media gets hold of this and they hear about it, they may fly the coup before your friend can stop them."

"Okay, you go to Owens and the DA," replied Vance. "Come on, Melissa, let's go."

***

"What do you mean delayed?" snapped Ben into his cell phone.

"I apologize," replied Edwards, his voice dropping as he continued. "I am afraid that we hosting members of the Mexican government at the moment and the scheduled activities might cause an incident."

"I thought you said that you ran a safe establishment," countered Ben evenly.

"The Del Rey is a very safe establishment," replied Edwards softly, "but even safe establishments must deal with realities. I am asking you to be patient for one more day. Once the officials are gone, we will be able to get back to more important and, may I say, pleasurable, pursuits."

"I'll give you a day," snapped Ben. "After that, I'm coming to get my money back, officials or no officials."

"Don't worry," replied Edwards suavely. "I will call you the day after tomorrow. Good-bye."

Ben signed off the phone and looked at Mike with a slight sigh of relief.

"We've got twenty four hours," he stated.

"There was a lot of activity out there a little while ago," stated Cinthia. "A couple of cars and a motor home left out the back gate and headed out into the hills. Perhaps we should track them."

"A motor home," mused Ben. "What better way to bring in the girl..."

"A motor home shouldn't be hard to track," stated Mike. "Still, we'll have to get going."

"We all can't leave," replied Ben.

"I'll go," began Cinthia.

"You'll both go," growled Ben. "Report back as soon as you've got anything."

"What will you be doing?" asked Mike.

Ben stared at him, a look of violence in his eyes, "Taking care of some loose ends..."

***

Tori handed the folder to Len with a resigned air.

"She's got to be involved," she stated flatly. "I can't determine how deeply or for how long, but it's the only conclusion I can come too."

Len eyed the folder, not bothering to open it. If Tori thought Mrs. Pena had a less than honorable connection to these people, he knew what awaited him. Fact, figures and explanations all laid out in a logical, conclusive way. Tori didn't make mistakes, not on something like this.

"Len, I can't talk to Vance about this," she stated hesitantly. "He's too personally involved. This girl, the doctor... I haven't found anything and personally, I don't want to know." Len's throat suddenly went dry. "I'm not suggesting she's involved, Len, but I just don't want to see Vance get hurt..."

Len relaxed slightly, "You found nothing by accident in your research, tying the doctor to her mother's activities?"

"Not at all," replied Tori. "I didn't look specifically, but she's clean. If there is something you want researched, fine, but I don't see any connections with her."

Len motioned her to a chair and rose, stepping behind her to close the office door.

"Tori, this girl, the doctor...she was one of the victims." Tori said nothing as he continued, "From what she's told us and what we can piece together, we believe her step-father either drugged her or allowed her to be drugged by his associates and that she was raped. Vance didn't want to tell you because he is personally involved, he didn't want you to know until he was sure."

"Didn't he trust me?" she asked quietly.

"He trusts you, Tori," replied Len. "He was embarrassed, wouldn't you be? Understand, when we started looking into this all we had to go on were the nightmares of the victims. Even with all the work we've done, legally, we can't prove a hell of a lot."

Tori leaned back, trying to take in the scope of the entire thing.

"Vance is headed to Mexico," stated Len. "He's hoping to get them arrested down there and sent back for trial. The LAPD is trying to work with him; even Interpol is in on it."

"What's he going to do with this information about her mother?" asked Tori.

Len patted the folder on the desk, "He doesn't say it, but I'm sure he suspects what's in here. I trust Vance, I know you do too, he won't hold anything back, he'll tell her."

"This isn't going to go well," stated Tori. "I just hope he doesn't see me as the person to blame in all this..."

"You know Vance isn't like that," countered Len.

"When a guy is in love, reason goes out the window," stated Tori. "I know Vance; I don't know Vance in love."

"He's the same guy," replied Len, "and he's going to need our help. The authorities haven't given him much hope of getting their act together before these people make a move. Vance isn't even sure they'll be there once he arrives on the scene, so keep digging. Anything you can find might hold a clue as to where they plan to go next or what their next move is."

"There was something," stated Tori, reaching for the folder. Opening it, she flipped through a few pages and pulled up a sheet of paper. "Film equipment...they're having film equipment sent to a location about thirty miles outside of the town of Nova, it's being sent in from California. Another thing, they hired seven drivers..."

Len shrugged, "I don't understand; what's the concern with having seven drivers?"

"There are only three trucks," explained Tori. "Four of the "drivers" have criminal records, associated with their work in porn."

"So we know what type of movie they're shooting," replied Len.

"The worry is," replied Tori, "who will they get to be the female lead."

***

Melissa knocked gingerly on the hotel room door. It was opened almost instantly by Tara, who gave her a hug and invited her and Vance in.

Beverly and Jim were just wrestling their luggage onto gleaming metal racks as they greeted Vance and Melissa.

"How was your flight?" asked Melissa.

"I'm not sure we should have even come from your phone call," replied Jim.

"Sorry we couldn't meet you at the airport," replied Vance, "but we were able to speak to Patrick..."

"Who the hell is Patrick?" asked Beverly.

"The man who was with them in the hotel room with the girl who died," stated Melissa.

"From what he told us," continued Vance. "I believe more than ever that they're in Mexico."

"How does that help us?" asked Jim.

"I have a man with a small team there now," stated Vance. "I spoke to him a short time ago, if they're there, he'll find them."

"So what do WE do?" asked Beverly.

"We spoke to the DA and to Sergeant Owens of the LAPD," replied Melissa. "They're going to need Tara to make a formal complaint and identify them as her attackers."

"I thought they said that Tara's testimony wouldn't hold up in court," said Jim, crossing to his daughter and placing a protective arm around her.

"Even if it doesn't, it gives them additional leverage," replied Vance. "The more complaints, the more they have to hold them on as they build a case."

"I don't want my daughter's case to be just something extra that gets thrown out of the mix," stated Beverly. "What if they decide not to prosecute them on the rape charge? What if they can't find any physical evidence or any witnesses? I don't want Tara going through this emotional rollercoaster for nothing."

"It won't be for nothing," replied Melissa. "We have to do what we can to stop them. Even if they never are prosecuted for what they did to Tara and me, we have to try to stop them somehow. Think of the other girls whose lives they've destroyed! Do you think they'll stop?"

"I want justice for Tara," stated Jim evenly.

"We all want justice for Tara," replied Melissa, "but they have to have something to hold them on."

"I want to do it," said Tara quietly.

"Honey," began Beverly, "I don't want..."

"I know Mom," she interrupted, reaching over and squeezing her hand, "but I don't want anyone else to go through what Aunt Mel and I went through. Did they take a statement from you, Aunt Mel?"

Melissa shook her head, "I'm not sure where what happened to me even took place, it was almost certainly not here in California and it was so long ago, it's impossible to prove anything. You have a location and a time frame. While your medical records probably don't support your charge, a lawyer could argue that they didn't know to look for rape at the time..."

"Tara," began Jim, "are you sure? This isn't going to be easy..."

"As long as you and Mom are behind me and believe me..."

"Of course we believe you," stated Beverly, hugging Tara close.

"Then I want to do it," replied Tara.

"I have the DA's number here," stated Melissa, digging in her purse, "I'll arrange the meeting. The three of you can go..."

"You're not going?" asked Tara, surprised.

"I'm going with Vance," replied Melissa. "There isn't much time, even if we can't get them in Mexico, we can try and find out where they're headed."

"What do you want us to do?" asked Jim.

"First, Tara needs to go and make her complaint," instructed Vance. "Then I want you to wait here until you hear from us. We might need you to come to Mexico, or they might need you here. Either way, it would be best if you stayed put for the time being. Whatever happens shouldn't take long."

Jim lowered himself onto the bed, "Very well. If Tara is sure, we'll do as you ask."

"I'm sure," replied Tara, taking Melissa's hand, "for both of us, I'm sure."

***

"So what DID you see?" asked Ben.

The owner of the general store glanced up as a small Mexican man entered the store.

"No senor, we don't carry that brand," he stated. "These are all the cigarettes I have, but I can order them for you if you will be in town for a few days."

Ben eyed the store owner and shook his head, "No, never mind. Did you get the other thing I ordered?"

"It is in the back, senor," replied the store owner. "It came this morning; it's on the table in the back. Please go and look at it yourself and if it is the one you want, let me know. If not, I can order that for you again."

"Well, let me see it first," replied Ben, pushing his way around the man and behind the counter to the door leading to the back room.

Ben entered the rear of the store and closed the door behind him. The store room was filled with several rows of neatly stacked metal shelves. Making his way past them, he found himself near an opening to staircases that led both up to the second floor and down to the basement. In a few minutes, the store owner entered the back room and hurried to his side.

"I am sorry, senor," he stated rapidly. "That man is one who speaks too much. He cannot be trusted."

"What did you see?" asked Ben.

"Early yesterday, a car came to the back of the Del Rey," he began nervously. "I have seen the people who were in it before, a man and a woman. She is very beautiful, blonde hair and wears very little. He is a man always in a suit, gray hair. They must be very important, when they are there, everyone is always very alert. They no come in the back when they visit, they always come in the front door and then one of the guards come and move their car for them. Yesterday, no, they come in the back, like a secret. Later, in the afternoon, a motor home bus came in from the back as well. A man got out and then a few minutes later, several of the guards came out. One of them came out of the bus with a white girl wrapped in a blanket. Not long afterwards, the big black car you see out in front showed up. I hear it is General Diaz, though I no see him. When he goes in, a short time later, the guards come out again, one of them carrying the girl in the blanket and they go back into the motor home. Then some of the guards come out and load up two of the cars. The last thing they took out was a girl..."

"Another white girl?" asked Ben.

The store owner shook his head, his expression puzzled, "No senor, that was what make it strange. She looked like a local girl, but they treated her like they treat the white girls. She was asleep and wrapped in a blanket. They stuffed her in the back seat of the car with the supplies they had put there. Then the two cars and the bus went out, but quietly, as if they did not want the general to know they were leaving."

"Did the guards come back?" asked Ben.

"No senor, not so far."

"How many guards left?"

The owner considered it, "Four, maybe five, plus the two girls and the man who drive the bus."

Eyeing the stairs to the second floor, Ben asked, "Do you have a gun?"

The man nodded nervously, "Si, senor, a rifle."

"Do you have a cell phone?" asked Ben.

The man shook his head, "I don't need one, senor. I'm always here, I just have the regular store phone, it is good enough for me."

"If I send someone to you, will you let them look out the back from the second floor?" asked Ben.

"Si, senor, if you wish, but they must be careful. As I can see, so can they see, that is why I never stay long at the window, they will notice if I am looking too long."

"They won't be seen," replied Ben, "until it's too late..."

Chapter 16

The fat man in the loud shirt and baseball cap struggled up the steps of the hotel and waddled in the front door. He was tall and heavy and wheezed as he walked, sweat streaming down his face. Behind him a thin woman with a kerchief on her head wearing a sleeveless blouse and pedal pushers trailed behind him, complaining loudly.

"It's so hot," she whined. "Why the hell we had to go to Mexico, I'll never know."

The man shook his head and removing his baseball cap, mopped his brow.

"I thought it was supposed to be exotic," he rumbled. "Damn heat..."

The hotel keeper popped up from behind the bar and stared at the two tourists for a moment.

"May I help you, senor?" he asked finally.

"I need a room," replied the man. "I've been behind the wheel of that damn rental for the last fourteen hours..."

"Don't exaggerate," crabbed the woman. "It was bad enough without you exaggerating..."

"Do you have a room?" snapped the man, throwing his wife an angry glance.

"Si, senor, I have several."

"Are they clean?" asked the wife. "I don't like bugs and I won't stay if they aren't clean..."

"Si, senora, very clean..."

"Fine..." began the man.

"You didn't ask how much," crabbed the woman.

"I don't care how much," replied the man. "I've been sweating so bad my pants are stuck to my ass like they've been sewn there. All I want to do is take an ice cold shower and take a nap!"

"Is the room air conditioned?" asked the woman.

"Yes, senora, yes," replied the man behind the bar. "It is too hot here to stay without air conditioning."

"Fine," she replied. "I don't care what you charge "Diamond Jim" here as long as we're cool."

"Don't start, don't start," whined the man. "Sign for the room and I'll get the bags..."

Waddling back out to the car, he picked up two suitcases and waddled back inside before following the hotel keeper up the stairs and into a room. Plopping the bags on the bed, he waited until the man was gone before beginning to unbutton his shirt.

The woman tiptoed over to him and whispered, "Is it okay do you think?"

The man nodded, removing the padding that surrounded his waist.

"Good God, it's hot out there," he whispered.

"I'm sure it wasn't any fun with all that padding around you," she replied with a giggle. Pulling the kerchief off, she ran her fingers through her brown hair. "I hope that isn't us in a few years..."

The man stood and embraced her, "I'm glad to hear you're thinking of "us" in a few years."

"Who else would drag me to a hell hole like this and talk to me about Cambodian Yak coffee..."

Vance leaned down and kissed Melissa on the lips, surprised at the willingness of her response.

"I should have put on the fat suit on our first date," he murmured.

"It's a real turn on," she sighed. "When do you have to meet your man?"

Checking his watch, Vance grimaced, "He should be knocking shortly."

"Oh well," she replied with a smile, "there's always later."

Vance raised an eyebrow, "If that's your attitude, I'm never going to be able to concentrate."

"Don't think of me," she replied, her expression growing sad, "think of Tara."

Pulling her closer, he kissed her softly on the forehead, "I can't forget you OR Tara..."

***

When she opened the door, Melissa was shocked at the size of the man who walked in. Vance was huge and muscular, but this man was a giant and from the looks of it, a very angry giant. After entering, the man closed the door and looked down at her, saying nothing.

"Ben, this is Melissa, Melissa, this is Ben."

Melissa extended her hand timidly, "Very nice to meet you, Ben."

Ben's hand swallowed hers as he turned to look at Vance, "They moved yesterday afternoon, took the girl to a location outside of town."

"Any particular reason we know of?" asked Vance.

"General Diaz, the drug lord, showed up with some of his men and took over the place for a private party," replied Ben with a smirk.

"I take it that was no coincidence," replied Vance.

"I have some connections you don't need to know about," replied Ben.

"Trust me," smiled Vance, "I'm not asking..."

Looking at Melissa, Ben motioned towards her with his head, "What's her specialty?"

"Identification," replied Vance. "We want to make sure we've got the right people. I couldn't get a picture to you; she's one of the victims."

Ben looked down at her, his scowl slightly less harsh, "We'll get the bastards."

"I appreciate that," replied Melissa, lowering herself onto the foot of the bed, trying to hide how intimidated she felt.

"They won't," snapped Ben. Turning back to Vance he stated, "They took two girls out to a location in the hills. So far, they're keeping one of them in a motor home, I think that's the one they brought in for me. The other one is a Hispanic girl, can't say for sure, but I think they're intending to use her for the movie they're making. I'm figuring she isn't a local, might be from out of the country..."

"Why do you think that?" asked Vance.

"They're treating her differently than they treat the local talent," replied Ben. "There are four or five guards in addition to the motor home driver. If we move, we can take them all right now..."

"If we take them and they manage to get an alarm off, we'd have a hard time holding the others here," replied Vance. "The DA in Los Angeles is working overtime on this, but he's making slow headway. He's begging for more proof and if they're thirty minutes away from the action, it might become hard to connect them to it."

Ben's frown grew deeper, "Agreed, but it would be better for us, divide and conquer. Even separate they still outnumber us but with stealth and surprise we can take them out. Together, we're vastly outnumbered and the generalissimo might have to be added into the mix..."

"I'm for going cowboy on them as much as you are," replied Vance, "but there are a lot of people who need closure."

Ben shrugged and said nothing.

"We can't just sit here," said Melissa. "They might take off anyway."

"They're here?" asked Vance, glancing down at the dirty street through the yellowing curtains.

"At the Del Rey," replied Ben. "From our information, they'll most likely be moving to a second location they have out in the desert. That's the location the film stuff is scheduled to go to, I've got a set of eyes watching them, when they move, we'll know about it."

"Is there any chance of catching them on the fly?" asked Vance.

Ben considered it.

"I don't know how they came in," he replied. "My source said they came in alone, but we can't be sure. If they're the heads of this thing like you figure, I doubt they'll leave alone even if they arrived that way. Without advanced notice of which route they'll take, it would be difficult to guarantee the effectiveness of an ambush."

Vance considered the situation. He trusted his people, but how far could he trust Owens and the DA?

"I almost forgot," interrupted Ben, pulling a sheet of paper out of his back pocket and handing it to Vance. "Here's an extended clients list that my people were able to secure. These people have a lot of pop, both here and in the states. We're still doing a cross reference on some of them, but I'm sure you'll recognize some of the names..."

Vance groaned, "Cops, lawyers, good God, who isn't on this list?"

"Power players and doctors," stated Ben flatly, "lots of power players and doctors."

"Can I see that?" asked Melissa.

Vance handed her the sheet, "Sure, why not."

Scanning the sheet, Melissa felt her stomach lurch.

"Are you sure of these names?" she asked.

"We got the list from their own files," replied Ben.

"These doctors," she said, her anger growing, "Half of them worked with my step-father. Many were colleagues and friends of his and my mother's... this one did work on my mother!"

Ben looked at Vance and then back at Melissa, "Your father was the man in the photo?"

"Yes," replied Vance.

Ben considered it, "Look, I'm not trying to upset you, but he was very well known here..."

"I know," replied Melissa, still scanning the sheet. "I can't believe it..."

"You understand that if we do capture these people, all that's going to come out," stated Ben. Turning to Vance, his frown grew, "We have to be all in..."

"She's all in," replied Vance flatly. "She had no love lost for him before; he isn't exactly growing in her estimation now."

"He raped me," stated Melissa flatly, rising from the bed and stepping closer to Ben. "He and the lovely pair you are watching drugged and raped me. They raped my best friend's daughter so yeah; you could say I am all in."

Ben didn't move, "Your friend over there, I trust him to have my back because we've been through a few things, but I don't give my trust lightly. Giving your trust to the wrong person can get you killed, especially in a place like this, so if I question you it's because I don't feel like dying or getting my team killed. I don't know your history and you don't know mine and none of it matters. All I need to know is when the shit hits the fan, whose side are you on. I can excuse fear, I can excuse inexperience, I won't excuse traitors."

"I'm in," replied Melissa.

"It's not going to be clean or easy..." began Vance.

Melissa wheeled on him, "I don't care, I'm in."

Ben looked from her to Vance and back again. "Then let's get started..."

***

Edwards took a moment and leaned back against the wall in the hallway outside of his office. Between the general and Mister Phelps, it had been a trying day, but a rewarding one. The movie equipment was already on its way to the villa and the actors were on their way. Phelps had begun to get excited about his latest epic and was asking for various props which Edwards had the guards tracking down. The general, on the other hand, had need of only one type of prop, but multiple varieties of the same. If he kept up his current rate of consumption, they would need to bring in more talent by the end of the day so as to keep from repeating themselves. Most of his men, thankfully, had found a preferred companion, but the general liked variety, a trait that Edwards could admire.

Gathering himself, he entered his office and found the exquisite Illyana curled up upon his couch with Phelps speaking casually on his cell phone. Waving him over to her, she gestured for him to be quiet as Phelps paced slowly about them.

"Illyana is clearly discernable," he repeated sourly. "I am as well. I expected as much. On the news all day...Who called in?" Turning to Illyana, he gave her a quizzical look, "Nancy Masters?"

Illyana pondered the name for a moment and then her eyes grew wide, "My hairdresser!"

"She's Ilyana's hairdresser," repeated Phelps. "Every channel, well...yes, she'll need a new hairdresser...very well, I'll speak with you later."

Phelps ended the connection, "Well you've given your hairdresser her fifteen minutes of fame; she has been identifying you from the photos that they have been showing on the news."

"Prudish little bitch," snarled Illyana, "I knew I should have never gone to her... Everyone said she does the most delightful highlights but she doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut..."

"What about the attorney general?" asked Edwards quietly.

"He did the best he could," responded Phelps, his voice bored as he lowered himself into a chair opposite them. "I really can't fault him. He tried to suppress the tapes but the outcry had become too much, damn media, all it wants is sensationalism. He tried calling yesterday, terrified by what we might do, but I told him to go ahead, we're out of the country, in a week no one will remember..."

"Do you really think so?" asked Illyana.

Phelps smiled, "I exaggerate my dear, of course, but we have other business to attend too...Still, it will eat into my surgical business, I have no doubt about it. Our friend told me that they are picketing in front of my office as we speak..."

Edwards tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh. Phelps' look demanded that he explain.

"I'm sorry sir, I just imagined all of those panicked wealthy matrons encountering a picket line on their way for their latest augmentation, the image was amusing..."

Phelps considered it, "It isn't my bread and butter anymore, but I have to tell you, Edwards, I enjoy surgery. There is a certain gratification that comes from destroying the ugly and unpleasant and replacing it with beauty. I suppose sculptors feel the same about their rocks or their lumps of clay..."

"You have done more than anyone else to beautify the world, darling," purred Illyana, "and look at how they treat you. Doesn't a man deserve a respite?"

"Oh well, I suppose it just leaves me with more energy to employ on my next production," smiled Phelps. "I have a part in it for you, darling, if you're interested..."

"Really," smiled Illyana. "I had thought you had forgotten about me. I haven't been in one of your productions in a few years now..."

"Oh darling, how could I ever forget you," smiled Phelps. "I was hoping we might make you a redhead this time..."

"A wig, darling?" she asked. "I hate to dye my hair..."

"Yes, but I prefer it to be long..."

"As do I," she responded, "it makes more of a statement, I think."

"Will you be needing any other girls?" asked Edwards. "We have one girl, a blonde, she plays the wealthy teenager role here, she has some talent..."

"I thought you said that she didn't fool your most recent referral," replied Phelps.

Edwards smiled, "He's a man who knows what he's about, I don't think anyone could have fooled him. She does a very good orgasm..."

"Try her, darling," said Illyana excitedly, "she sounds like fun. If she isn't up to par, you can cut her scenes later."

"I would have to rearrange the plot," mused Phelps. "I hadn't pictured a blonde, but if you're a redhead and the other one is a brunette, I suppose that would work best..."

"I'll see that she is transported to the villa immediately," stated Edwards.

Excusing himself, Edwards made his way down the hall to a small door that led to a set of steep stairs that descended to a long corridor that ran perpendicular to the street beneath the building. Outsiders were never allowed here, it was where the girls were kept until they were needed. Passing a dressing room on his right, he followed the corridor to a locked gate. Producing his key, he unlocked the gate and continued down the corridor, passing rooms without doors where girls lay sleeping or curled up and crying. Stopping at the third door on the left, he peered in at the blonde who lay sleeping on her side on a cot in the middle of the floor. Entering the room, he shook her awake.

"Get up and get dressed, a skirt and white top. A guard will take you to where you need to go."

The girl looked at him with an air of resignation and nodded. Leaving the room, Edwards encountered a girl running out of one of the rooms, her eyes wide with fear. Running straight into Edwards she was babbling something in Spanish he could not understand. One of the guards appeared and pulled the girl from him, yelling at her to shut up and get back in the room, but the girl just keep babbling and pointing. The guard looked to where she was pointing as he was forcing her back and paused.

"Damn it..."

Edwards peered in and saw the blood soaking into the cot. Turning towards the guard, he struck him across the face.

"You're supposed to be watching them!"

"I'm sorry, senor, I had to use the bathroom and there was no one..."

Edwards waved him off and looked back into the room for a moment more.

Turning back to the guard, his eyes narrowed, "Clean it up, NOW and don't let Mister Phelps see what you do with her."

The guards nodded and disappeared into the room. Edwards straightened his jacket and continued down the hall. At least it had been one of the local girls; there was never a short supply of those...

***

"So, how is the big, no necked boxcar in bed?" asked Ginger.

"He's been a perfect gentleman," replied Melissa, quietly pacing the room as she anxiously awaited Vance's return.

"He's either blind or gay," replied Ginger. "He had you for four days now and he's still a gentleman? Ask him to decorate your office for you or design something chic for your apartment. If he say no, ask him how many fingers you're holding up, guaranteed he don't know. They got Pearl Vision Centers down there in Shitville, Mexico?"

"Ginger, please..." begged Melissa. "All I want is for you to do is cancel Monday and Tuesday and not schedule any more appointments for next week, I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"If you're waiting for him to make a move, girl, I might have to clear the next month's calendar as well. You do know I had noooo intention of going into the office, don't you? You said I could take vacation..."

"I know, I'm sorry..." replied Melissa, vaguely unsure of why she was apologizing. "Things have gotten complicated here..."

"He didn't start farting yet did he?" asked Ginger.

"Ginger!"

"From your tone, I take that as a no. Well don't let him, if he ain't given you nothing to remember the trip by but the beautiful scenery in Shitville, make him hold it. Men can't hold gas, they cramp up like them deep sea divers..."

"Ginger, I'm begging you, just cancel next Monday and Tuesday and I'll let you know about the rest of the week."

"The crazies aren't going to like it," replied Ginger. "I told Miss Pasternak that you were out of town and she cried, CRIED! I told her, don't try that nonsense on me, that might work on that stupid husband of yours but it don't work on me..."

"Will you do it for me, Ginger, please?"

"Don't beg girl, it ain't pleasant. I'll do it, why I don't know..."

"Maybe because I pay you?"

"Has nothing to do with it," replied Ginger. "You tell that boxcar to get on the tracks or go to the railyard, you hear me? And don't let him fart! Keep a cork with you if you have to, but he ain't earned that and you let him know it!"

"Good-bye, Ginger..."

"Don't shoot the messenger, girl. Just 'cause YOU'RE frustrated..."

Melissa disconnected the call. Here she was in a hell hole in Mexico searching out rapists and killers and all her trusted assistant could think about was if her new boyfriend had gas. What did it make the psychiatrist if the psychiatrist hired crazy people? Hopeful? Broadminded? Somehow "insane" kept leaping to mind, but it just didn't seem correct...

The door knob began to turn and Melissa scrambled to the far side of the bed, picking up the gun that Vance had left there for her. Vance entered in his fat costume, glancing at her and smiling.

"Getting used to that thing?" he asked.

"You said I should be concerned," she replied, putting the gun down awkwardly. "I hate guns, I'll never get used to it."

"I know," he replied, "but they're on the move. Ben tells me that they went out to the place in the desert, two cars, our friends, a guard and a girl."

"Another girl?" asked Melissa.

"Ben said she was one of the girls who works at the Del Rey. From what they can tell, they are setting up a movie shoot. I'm not exactly sure as to where our friends work into the scenario..."

Lowering himself onto the bed, he began to remove his shirt, "We were able to contact Owens, he said that he was coming down and put us in touch with a Mexican detective, a Carlos Perez. I spoke to him, he seems on the up and up, but you can never tell, we're pretty far out in the water..."

"Did you tell him about the general?" asked Melissa.

Vance nodded, "He was ecstatic that they were going out to their desert place, he wanted nothing to do with the general. He's dedicated, not suicidal if I read my man right. Anyway, he agreed to meet us at a location about a mile west of the place. Ben's people are tracking them, if we move fast, we can nail them now. The problem is the guards, if they move before the authorities arrive; we might not be able to pin them down."

"What about the people here?" asked Melissa.

"We need to catch our people," replied Vance. "Perez wants the general to escape, so if anyone here takes off with them, there is nothing we can do..."

"I mean the girls that are here," replied Melissa. "We can't just leave them..."

"If they're on the run, they're not going to take the girls," replied Vance. "The girls mean nothing to them, so they'll take off and leave the girls here."

"Or kill them," replied Melissa.

Vance considered it, "I don't think so. Is it possible, yes, I won't lie to you, but it's unlikely. All the girls can do is identify them and if they're being chased, they're already identified. Another thing you have to remember, the list."

Melissa sat on the bed next to him, "I don't understand, what has the list to do with it?"

"You saw all of the plastic surgeons on that list," replied Vance. "Don't think they wouldn't go to one of them to change their appearance."

Melissa nodded, "I hadn't thought of it..."

"We don't have the people to cover both locations," replied Vance. "We need to get our pair before we can shut down the whole operation."

Vance sensed there was more, but they had to get ready. Stripping off the last of his fat suit, he retreated to the closet to get his gear. Glancing over, he noticed Melissa admiring his torso, his chiseled chest and small waist. With a shy smile, he pulled a t-shirt over his head and picked up one of the suitcases, bringing it to the bed and opening it.

Inside were several shirts, some pants and beneath them, several guns. Taking two of them, Vance carefully loaded them and placed them in his belt before shutting the suitcase and returning it to the closet.

"Don't you have any of those rocket launcher assault rifle things like they use in the movies?" asked Melissa uneasily.

"I don't have any rocket launchers," replied Vance. "I don't like guns anymore than you do, but I need to know how to use them for my job. On the plus side, Ben is here; he loves guns. I'm sure he's got a bazooka or two lying around somewhere."

"So we're going to meet the police and then what?" she asked, trying to sound optimistic.

"Hopefully, all goes well and we capture the bad guys," he replied. "Once we do that and get them back to Los Angeles, maybe I can take you on a proper vacation. There are NICE places in Mexico."

She rose and joined him at the door as they prepared to leave.

"I don't think I want to come back to Mexico," she said softly, "not for a long time."

With a brief kiss, she opened the door and they slipped into the hallway.

***

Owens drove the battered car down the dusty highway with mixed feelings. He did NOT like Mexico, never had, never would. His ex-wife used to nag him to go to Mexico when they were young and stupid and he never failed to contract some disgusting disease or have some horrible car trouble. On the plus side, if the advanced forces could hold on a little while longer, he had with him a fairly substantial group of law officers. In the passenger seat sat Thomas Morton from the FBI. Younger, of average height and looks, Morton was a quiet, steady officer who was well liked in Los Angeles. In the back seat sat Nigel Rand from Interpol. Rand was thin with red hair and a narrow, pale face. With his clip British accent and expressive features, he reminded Owens of the assistant in a James Bond film; pleasant, intelligent and mysteriously deadly.

"You spoke to Perez?" asked Morton casually.

"Yes, he's in touch with them. If all goes well, we'll get there before they start, if not, he's leaving one of his men to cover the command post when they go in."

"With the others in the trailing car, our number comes to six," stated Rand. "I believe you said that they have five additional people..."

"Three men and two women," replied Owens. "One of the women has no training; she's there to identify our criminals. The other is a weapons and tactical expert."

"A female weapons and tactical expert," replied Rand. "That is something different..."

"I don't know how dependable these people are," replied Owens. "This guy Tibbet, I mean his rep is okay from what I've been able piece together, but there wasn't enough time..."

"I've worked with Tibbet before," interrupted Morton. "He knows his stuff. Essex has an unsettling reputation, but from what I understand they work well together..."

"I don't know them;" stated Rand, "but I do know our culprit. We've been following Phelps for decades, but he was always one step ahead of us. Dreadfully clever fellow never leaves a trace, nothing there to hang on him. With this murder investigation and the young girl's testimony, we finally have something, if we can only get there in time."

"You have charges to prefer, Mister Rand?" asked Morton.

"From several places, though yours are the strongest so far," replied Rand. "The Ukrainian government is watching this with interest. Have you ever worked with the Ukrainians, Mister Morton?"

"Can't say that I have..."

"Well, I can assure you that they believe in justice and the niceties be damned," replied Rand. "They've been looking for Phelps for some time now, but he was able to evade them, has a massive network over there. The American charges will be first, followed by the British and then the Ukrainians if we capture him. If I were Mister Phelps, I'd pray to be convicted in the States. The British charges aren't that strong, which means he might be able to beat them, he certainly will if he beats the American charges. If his lawyers win in both of our countries, they won't win in the Ukraine, I can guarantee it. You don't want to do prison time in the Ukraine; they don't believe in country clubs, you know..."

"You almost make me hope we don't convict him," replied Morton.

"We'll get him," stated Owens. "My fear is that they'll drag this out for years with appeals and nonsense."

"The wheels are justice may not be swift, Mister Owens," replied Rand, "but they are sure. He'll be a hunted man, no matter where he goes."

"And what about the woman?" asked Morton.

Rand sniffed unhappily, "I would like to say that justice is blind, but you both know that to be patently untrue. An attractive woman could claim anything and might get away with it. I would be happy to get Phelps..."

"I'm more of an all or nothing guy," replied Owens.

"Be careful with that," said Morton ruefully, "all too often, nothing wins..."

Chapter 17

Carlos Perez was a well built man of about thirty, his dark eyes and hair framing a ruggedly handsome face. He greeted Ben and Vance with a dazzling smile, but eyed Melissa suspiciously. At her arched eyebrow, he offered a polite smile and self depreciating laugh.

"I pray you forgive me, doctor," he said cordially, "I am a product of my culture. Women should stay away from gunfights."

"So I take it you disapprove of women doctors as well," replied Melissa with a small smile.

"You are a psychiatrist, I understand," he replied. "Who knows the mind of men better than women? No doctor, I have no macho attitude towards doctors, but this, this is not the situation for a woman, or for a man if he is wise."

"How many people have you brought?" asked Ben, all business.

"I have ten men. I've sent five of them out to scout the area. They know where your people are, I sent a man with a two-way to keep them company." Perez pulled out a map and placed it on the hood of the car. "Here are where they are, this is where your people are and my men are circling here. I think what we should do is send the rest of my men to hold the rear of the villa, there is a hill behind the house, I will put them there."

"What about the road?" asked Vance. "It's pretty wide and flat out here..."

"There is a gully about a quarter of a mile from the house that you cannot see because it is behind a small incline," stated Perez. "I think we should take our cars there and block the road. If they get past us, they won't be able to get around the cars."

"The problem with that is that approaching cars kick up a lot of dust out here," stated Ben.

"If we approach slowly enough, we should have no problem," replied Perez. "Still, you are right, it is a risk."

"The whole thing is a risk," spat Ben.

"Where is the motor home?" asked Vance.

"The house is here," pointed Perez, "here, to its right is where they have placed the motor home."

"Cin said that they haven't moved the girl, she's still in there," stated Ben. "We need to get someone in the motor home or else have them disable it."

"We could have a man approach from the side of the motor home," stated Perez. "The shades are drawn, if he came from here, towards the rear, no one should be able to see him from the house or the vehicle. If there girl is in there, she will not be alone. I suggest that we disable the vehicle. If a fight breaks out, they won't be able to run, they might abandon the girl."

Vance shook his head, "It's risky. If they kill the girl, we won't be able to prove that they kidnapped her, they could say that she was hitchhiking or came voluntarily."

"If we could get on top of the motor home, there is an air conditioning unit," stated Ben. "We could drop tear gas in, smoke them out."

"I doubt we could get on top without being heard," replied Vance.

"Someone small might be able to do it," stated Ben, glancing at Melissa.

"Hell no," replied Vance.

"I could try," replied Melissa. "If you have someone go with me, I could try to climb up..."

"Hell no," repeated Vance. "She isn't trained, even if she was, it's too dangerous."

"Mister Tibbet, I don't like the idea either," stated Perez.

"What about Cin?" asked Ben.

"I still don't like it," replied Vance.

"She can handle it," began Ben.

"It's an exposed position," stated Perez. "I would much rather see if we could not think of another way."

"Time is running out," Ben spat. "If we're going to come up with another plan, let's have it now."

"Do they have a phone in there?" asked Vance.

Ben shrugged, "I think they have a man with a cell phone, why?"

"Perhaps Mike could call him; tell them to bring the girl out and into the villa. When they leave the RV, we strike."

Perez frowned, "There is not much room between the RV and the villa. We might not get the shot, it would be risky."

"If we had a man on the opposite side of the RV," began Ben, "we would have them in a crossfire."

"We would have the girl in the crossfire as well, no?" Eyes narrowing in thought, Perez continued, "What if we had the man get close and as they exited, then drop the tear gas on them? It would give us a better chance, it would cause a distraction."

"How's the wind?" asked Vance.

"Very slight," replied Perez. "The hill blocks it from behind the house and the RV is near enough where it should shield it from the other side. The gas should gather between the building and vehicle, at least initially..."

Vance looked to Ben, "It could give us the extra time we need to grab the girl."

"We'd need two men then," replied Ben. "It's going to be confusing for our people as well; we don't want the girl getting lost in the shuffle."

Vance smiled, "You and me?"

Ben nodded, "My thoughts exactly." Turning to Perez he asked, "Do you have gas masks?"

"Yes," he replied. "Come, they're this way."

***

The living room of the villa was just inside the main entrance, a huge, sprawling room of wood and tile. The terra cotta floor tiles spread out in an intricate pattern towards an enormous stone fire place with large, comfortable looking couches placed in locations throughout the room. Indian rugs were thrown casually about the place with antelope and elk horns placed high upon the walls. Above the fireplace, the enormous head of a bison looked down upon the proceedings with apparent disapproval. From the animal horn chandeliers and enormous glass windows, light streamed into the room, aided by several movie lights and their reflective white back grounds. Two cameras stood opposite the couches, several chairs arranged to their rear. In the foreground enormous muscular nude men peered down at Illyana, lounging upon a couch dressed in a barely there leather bikini, her red wig flowing to the small of her back.

Phelps examined the scene through the camera and grimaced.

"It just looks artificial," he proclaimed finally. "I'm afraid the hair is just all wrong..."

"Somehow red does not fit the setting," agreed Illyana, glancing at one of the men with approval. "What should we do?"

"Do we have a black wig?" asked Phelps to no one in particular.

Behind him a small Mexican woman stirred, scurrying towards a doorway behind them. A moment later she returned triumphantly, holding aloft a long, black wig.

"It will throw off the color scheme," pouted Illyana.

"We can leave the blonde a blonde," replied Phelps, "and we'll curl the girl's hair as we did in the last picture. It's shorter than yours; that should create enough of a difference..."

Illyana raised herself to a sitting position as the Mexican woman assisted her, removing the red wig and helping her to attach the new wig.

Examining herself in a handheld mirror, Illyana frowned, "I am not thrilled by it."

Phelps considered it.

"Why don't we shoot the girl's scene now and you can peruse the options available?"

Illyana rose, glanced at the nude men again with a shrug and followed the small Mexican woman back towards the room from where she had retrieved the wig.

"Bring the brunette in," instructed Phelps, retreating to his camera and examining the room through the view finder.

A moment later, the girl entered, dressed in a white robe, weakly struggling against the guard who pulled her along by her hair.

"The couch," instructed Phelps, still peering at the scene through the camera.

The guard pushed the girl towards the couch, pulling his hand from her entangling hair and backing up towards the camera while brandishing his gun menacingly. The girl stared at him, obviously frightened and confused, unsure of what to do. Observing the two nude men, she shrunk back on the couch and looked about the room wildly.

"Very well," stated Phelps, pulling himself to his full height and addressing the two nude men. "It's pretty straight forward; you pull the robe off of her and tie her hands with the belt..."

"Does she understand what's going to happen?" asked one of the men.

"No," replied Phelps, "she'll struggle, but not much, we took care of that, so you're going to have to guide her. Rough, but not too rough, at least not initially. Once the action begins and you sense the mood, go with it where ever it takes you."

"How did she get to the couch?" asked one of the men.

"What are you, a method actor?" snapped Phelps. "I'll shoot how she got there later, after the fact. Trust me, just do your part and I'll do mine..."

The two men shrugged.

"What has she got on under the robe?"

Phelps rolled his eyes, "It doesn't matter, just rip it off of her and get on with it!"

Illyana reentered the room wearing a purple wig. Pirouetting in front of him, she awaited his judgment.

"The wig is fine," he stated, "and don't forget to put some oil on your ass, I want it shiny in the close-ups."

With a smile, Illyana sauntered back towards the wardrobe room.

"All right, places everyone," snapped Phelps. Leaning over the camera, he peered at the girl on the couch and shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Stupid frigging actors..."

***

"You won't miss anything up here," stated Mike to Melissa.

She gazed about at the two computers and other equipment he had on the ground surrounding him, unsure of what to make of it all.

"Cin is up on the hill behind us, she said she could cover the troops better that way," he said, staring at the computer screen in his lap and pointing absently at a space behind them.

Melissa's gaze trailed up the hillside about forty yards to a rock where she could see a woman with a large rifle and scope looking down the hill towards the villa below. Returning her gaze to the villa, Melissa was impressed by the beauty of the building. Whoever had built it had spared no expense, but why build it here in the middle of nowhere?

As if reading her thoughts, Mike spoke up.

"Stupid place for a home; twenty miles from anyone or anything," he mumbled absently. "As my old mother used to say, if you aren't doing anything wrong, you have no need to hide..."

Melissa considered it, "Who owns it?"

"Phelps Incorporated," responded Mike. "The ground we're sitting on is their property too. I'm surprised that they never fenced this in or created some sort of security here, but this is a fairly new acquisition for them and perhaps they didn't have the time."

"Might it be a trap?" asked Melissa, glancing about in search of evidence that they were being watched.

"They'd have acted before this, I would think," replied Mike.

A two-way radio crackled to life on the ground next to him.

"Can you see our dust?" asked Perez.

Melissa and Mike looked to their left towards the road where the cars were inching their way up to the roadway behind the hill. There was no sign of activity from their position.

"We don't see anything," stated Mike. "Can you see us?"

"I can see Cinthia," replied Perez, "you, no. We're too close to the base of the incline to see you."

"Vance and Ben are in position and waiting for your go ahead to approach the vehicle," replied Mike.

"We've got the cars almost in position," replied Perez. "Give me a few minutes after that to get in position, out."

Mike placed the two-way back on the ground and scanned the horizon, noting the country behind and on either side of the house. From their vantage point, he could just make out the Mexican policemen as they slithered into their final positions. Unlike the others, Mike was no adrenaline junkie, he liked to do his job and observe. Moments like these did not excite him, if anything he seemed to become more analytical. They would gather and discuss what had happened after it was all over and someone had to observe and be objective.

"The suspense is killing me," whispered Melissa, staring at the two-way radio.

"Hurry up and wait," replied Mike casually. "You have to get used to it in this business."

"Happily, I'm not in this business," replied Melissa with a rueful smile.

"It's unfortunate that anyone has to be," replied Mike with a smile of his own.

***

Phelps stood up behind the camera and let out a low curse.

Pointing to the man who had not asked the questions he called out, "Do you think you could look at the girl and stop staring at your partner?"

The man looked up at him stupidly, "Looking at him is the only way I can stay hard."

"Look at the girl," hissed Phelps. "You're screwing the girl; you might at least feign interest!"

"She's really being uncooperative," whined the method actor. "Every time I get into a rhythm she pulls away, it throws me off."

Phelps threw up his hands, "You could bench press the piano and you can't control a woman who is sedated and whose hands are tied? Slap her if she won't cooperate!"

Illyana sauntered up behind him, "You seem upset darling..."

"Brainless muscle," snapped Phelps, gesturing towards the couch. "Einstein on the left can't keep his eyes off his partner's dick and Brando on the right can't figure out his motivation or how to stay between her legs!"

"West Coast actors," replied Illyana with disgust. "At least East Coast actors have some stage experience; they can deal with the unexpected..."

"I'm not flying in two homosexual actors from the East Coast," replied Phelps angrily. "We got these two from LA for God's sakes; it's their frigging home planet!"

"You need to relax, darling," purred Illyana. "We were supposed to be taking your mind off of your troubles..."

"He's out of the shot," stated the cameraman.

"What the hell are you doing?" snapped Phelps, refocusing his attention on the action on the couch. "I told you if you're going to bend her over the couch say so! I'm shooting couch, I've got fifty feet of couch on film!"

Phelps stalked over to the couch shouting, "Cut! Cut!"

Staring at his two actors he could barely contain his fury, "Go in the corner and fluff each other until I call you!"

The two actors moved away together, leaving Phelps staring down at the struggling girl. Raising his hand, he slapped her hard across the face and then, grabbing her by the shoulders, forced her entire body back onto the couch. Stepping away, he hesitated and then stepped back to slap her once again. Stalking back across the room he plopped down into one of the chairs next to the camera and brooded.

***

Melissa watched through the binoculars as Vance and Ben approached the rear of the motor home. Arriving first, Vance squatted low, his head just above the bumper while Ben loomed behind him trying to force himself to appear smaller. Ben looked back towards the hill and waved his hand in a signal.

"He signaled," said Melissa quietly.

Without looking up Mike placed his headset on and manipulated the keyboard, patiently awaiting an answer. He heard the phone click and a gruff voice say in Spanish, "Yes?"

"He wants the girl," he replied in Spanish.

"We just gave her..."

"He wants the girl," he interrupted.

"He wants the girl," repeated the man under his breath. "We'll be right in."

Mike disconnected the call and stood. Ben acknowledged the movement with another wave. He and Vance reached down around their necks and pulled their gas masks onto their faces, quickly adjusting them as they crept around the back of the vehicle.

Picking up the two-way, Mike spoke rapidly, "The call has been made, they'll be coming out."

"Copy," replied Perez.

"Copy," replied Cinthia.

All eyes strained for any signs of movement from the motor home, but nothing seemed to stir. After a tense moment, the motor home door suddenly swung open, slamming against the side of the vehicle with a loud thud. Vance and Ben crept closer, their gas masks in place. The first guard stumbled out into the open air and glanced at the villa. Turning he motioned to his partner, who slid out of the motor home with the girl wrapped in a blanket, asleep in his arms. Vance pulled the pin and flipped the gas canister between them and the villa door. A cloud of white smoke streamed from the canister, quickly engulfing the threesome in thick, white smoke. Instantly, the two men started choking and stumbling towards the villa, cursing loudly in Spanish. Vance stepped between them and wrestled the man holding the girl for possession. His partner was stumbling towards the door and turned just in time to see Vance wrench the girl free. Raising his rifle through eyes streaming with tears, he never saw Ben emerge from the mist next to him. Ben placed the muzzle of his gun within inches of the man's head and pulled the trigger, the gun's report muffled by a silencer. The man fell dead at his feet.

The other man stumbled out of the mist, calling to his confederates in the house. Ben's second shot dropped him just in front of the motor home. The villa's front door sprang open as Ben and Vance began running for the back of the motor home. Raising his rifle, the man in the villa doorway suddenly slammed back into the door as other men with guns at first ran past him and then retreated back into the house.

Up on the hill, the crack of the high powered rifle shots had made Melissa jump. Looking back up the hill, she saw wisps of smoke as they separated and floated aimlessly around Cinthia who continued to fire at the front of the villa.

Inside the villa, the sound of the rifle shot and the yelling of the guards had brought everyone to the alert.

"What the hell is going on?" snapped Phelps as he moved forward towards the front door.

"Smoke," replied one of the guards, choking. "Gas of some kind...two men down..."

"Three," corrected the second guard, retreating towards the window, rifle at the ready.

"The girl!" snapped Phelps.

"They took her," replied the first guard.

"We have to get out of here," shrieked Illyana.

The others began to panic, running around the room until Phelps grabbed a gun and fired into the ceiling.

"Stop it," he roared. "It's what they want us to do! Don't panic. You men get to the windows and see what you can see, now!"

The guards instantly obeyed, taking up positions near the windows.

Grabbing Illyana, Phelps whispered to her, "Get dressed; we have to get out of here."

Glancing down at her costume, Illyana nodded and ran to get some clothing. Phelps listened as a voice filtered into the room from outside, identifying itself as the police and demanding that they throw down their weapons. Before Phelps could react, one of his men shot out the front window and began shooting in the direction of the RV.

"Stop it you idiot, you'll get us all killed!"

The sound of gunfire seemed to be enveloping the house, from every angle windows could be heard breaking, screaming and explosions drowning out Phelps' words. The tear gas wafted in from the broken front window, causing those in the living room to begin to choke and gasp.

"Throw your guns into the yard," snapped Phelps. "Surrender, surrender now!"

The guards could not hear the order, the sound of gunfire drowning out everything else. Pulling out his cell phone, Phelps slapped the number for the Del Rey. Edwards answered.

"We're under attack," he yelled, ducking behind a couch as a line of bullets tore the floor near him.

"Attack?"

"Yes, we're being shot at by the police! Send help!"

"Immediately sir!"

The line went dead.

***

Edwards moved to push the intercom when the door opened and the general's large guard entered wearing an earpiece, his gun at the ready.

"Don't move," he spat.

"You don't understand..." began Edwards.

"Yeah, I think I do," replied the guard. Motioning Edwards with his gun muzzle, he watched him as he moved away from the desk, walking towards and finally lowering himself onto the nearby couch.

The general entered, a wide smile on his face.

"They will be coming soon, yes?"

"Yes," replied the body guard. "You had better go."

"Thank you, my friend, thank you." Looking around the guard he smiled at Edwards, "Thank you as well. We have had a most enjoyable time, but I cannot be here when the authorities arrive, it would be awkward, most awkward. Thank you for your hospitality."

The general gave a salute and withdrew, leaving the guard with Edwards. Edwards watched the guard nervously.

"Aren't you going with the general?" he asked finally.

"No," replied the guard, "I have a little business to take care of here. I'm holding you until the authorities arrive."

"Do you really think that you can get a prostitution rap to stick here?" scoffed Edwards.

"Prostitution is the least of your problems," replied the guard. "Kidnap, rape, murder, they're going to have fun with you..."

"I never kidnapped..."

"Save it for someone who might believe you," replied the guard. Touching the earpiece he smiled, "Got our man, take your time."

Chapter 18

"Move over," snapped Ben, gun raised at the side of the motor home where he and Vance had previously hidden. Glancing up the hillside, he could just make out Cinthia, firing above them at the front of the house. Peering back at the house, he could hear the gunfire as it raked the opposite side of the motor home, some bullets ricocheting inside the vehicle, most shooting through it and spraying the hill behind them.

Vance pulled Amber further into the depression that he and Ben were hiding in, allowing Ben to move over slightly and drop down lower into the rut.

"If they come around either end of that vehicle, we're screwed," yelled Vance over the increasing sound of gunfire.

"Thank God they can't see us," replied Ben. "I don't think they could hit us if they could, but we're too close for comfort, especially with her."

Vance placed a protective arm around Amber's head and looked down into her face. Whoever she was, she was a pretty young girl. Despite the incessant gunfire from all sides, she didn't even stir. He felt along the blanket, examining it for holes or blood, but there was nothing there. Her breathing was normal and steady and he was hopefully they had gotten her away from them without her being hurt in any way.

Glancing up the hill, he could barely see Michael and Melissa's position. Something moved on the hill between them and he saw it was Perez, carefully negotiating his way down the hill towards them. With him were two men who kept up a steady stream of fire.

"Drop your weapons and come out," ordered Perez yet again as he drew closer to Ben and Vance.

The fire began to slow somewhat, but no one was sure what it meant. Were they surrendering or reloading? Finally, Perez dropped down into the rut on Vance's opposite side.

Quickly looking at the girl, he asked, "Is she okay?"

"Heavily sedated," shouted Vance over the gunfire, "but otherwise, all right as far as I can tell."

Something moved towards the front of the motor home and all three men opened fire, blowing out the front tire and sending metal and shards of glass exploding towards the house.

"Drop your weapons and come out now," yelled Perez once again. Again the firing slowed, would they finally surrender?

***

Illyana hugged herself as closely to Phelps as she could. The house was in ruins and still the gunfire continued.

"What are we going to do?" she screamed.

"We need to get to the car," he replied. "Edwards is sending help, but we can't wait here."

He peeked out the window and saw that the smoke from the gas bomb was hovering over the front yard, a car just beyond the rear of the motor home clearly visible. If they could only get to the car...

Grabbing one of the guards he pointed out the window, "Whose car is that?"

"Hector has the keys," replied the man, ducking away from the glass that shattered towards them from another round.

"Get Hector," roared Phelps.

"He is in the yard dead, senor," replied the man.

"We can't stay here," screeched Illyana.

"Out the back," yelled Phelps. "Come on."

Grabbing the guard, he forced him towards the back of the house. Gaining the entrance to a bedroom door in the rear, Illyana turned to Phelps.

"What about the girl?" she yelled. "She can identify you..."

Phelps considered it.

"Go inside and check to see that the coast is clear," he yelled. "You, stay with her, I'll be right back!"

Before either could reply, Phelps slipped back into the living room and made his way to the couch. The brunette lay in a stupor on the couch, reacting to shots moments after they were fired, her eyes glassy. Leaning over the back of the couch, he pointed his gun at her head and pulled the trigger. Two shots later, he smiled; she would cause them no more trouble from now on.

Snaking his way back to the bedroom, he found Illyana and the guard hunched beneath the window.

"I see nothing, senor," stated the guard.

"If we can get to the top of the hill, we'll be alright," stated Phelps. "There's a gully down there that leads to a back road, come on."

The three bolted out of the window. The sound of gunfire in the front made them run in a low crouch to the foot of the hill. The guard had begun to snake his way up a small path when a voice called out to him to drop his weapon. Twisting towards the sound of the voice, he suddenly spiraled the other way, cut down by a bullet.

Illyana screamed and fell face first on the ground, but Phelps merely held up his hands and stood calmly. After a moment, he let the gun fall from his hand. With a grimace he watched the police officers appear, springing suddenly from the earth like overgrown gophers. Slowly they approached, guns raised. The first to arrive grabbed his hands and put them behind his back, handcuffing him, while another helped Illyana to her feet and did the same for her. Taking out his two-way, the first officer spoke casually.

"We have them."

***

Owens examined the officer's face, his expression stricken.

"No coffee?"

"No, senor," replied the officer. "The machine broke last week."

"A WEEK without coffee?" Owens snapped. "How do you function?"

"There is a store on the corner, senor," replied the officer. "They sell coffee there..."

Owens walked away in disgust. He knew the Mexican police worked with certain limitations unknown to their American counterparts, but to pay for your own coffee? It was like being back in the 1800's or something...

"Sergeant?"

Owens looked up to see Rand motioning him towards the conference room next door. Sauntering in behind Rand, he followed his nod, focusing on Melissa standing behind a two way mirror as a group of suspects was led into the adjoining room.

"Thought you'd want to see her identify him..."

Owens nodded as he watched the men being brought in beyond the glass. All of the men seemed nervous as the officer instructed them in Spanish to face forward.

Perez stood by Melissa, speaking in a quiet voice, "Take your time Doctor Banner..."

"Number three," stated Melissa immediately.

"You are certain?"

Melissa faced Perez and then pointed towards the window, "That man has haunted my dreams for years, number three, I'm positive."

Perez offered her a small smile, "Excellent doctor, thank you."

Leaving the room, Perez sauntered next door and motioned to one of the officers.

"Release all but number three, put him in interrogation room one."

The officer nodded and began to address the men gathered there in rapid fire Spanish.

Rejoining the group in the room next door, Perez found Owens, Morton and Rand speaking intently with Ben and Vance.

"I have him waiting in interrogation room one," he said softly. "Doctor Banner, I still need you to identify the woman..."

"I'll wait here," replied Melissa.

"I'll wait with you," stated Vance, "I believe these gentlemen have other matters to attend too."

"Interrogation room one, you say," smiled Rand. "Why don't you show me where that is before they bring the ladies in?"

Perez smiled, "My privilege, please, come this way..."

***

"You may speak to my attorneys," stated Phelps. "I have nothing to say."

"Oh, we will speak to your attorneys," replied Rand. "They'll have plenty of explaining to do at your trial..."

"I was shooting a film when we were assaulted by the police for no reason," snapped Phelps. "I will have your badge; the three of you won't be able to get a job as mall security by the time I'm done with you..."

"You're going to need an attitude adjustment, Doctor Phelps," replied Owens. "The boys up on death row, they don't take kindly to people looking down on them..."

"I've done nothing wrong," sneered Phelps.

"The gun you were holding when my men captured you was the gun used to murder the girl on the couch," stated Perez.

"I picked that gun up off the floor before we stepped outside," replied Phelps, "I don't know who it belongs too..."

"It won't do, Doctor Phelps, it really won't," replied Rand, easing himself down onto the edge of the table. "You see, there were no other prints on the gun and we have at least three witnesses who saw you kill the girl. Add to that the murdered girl in the hotel room..."

"I had nothing to do with any girl in a hotel room," replied Phelps.

"That don't wash," stated Owens, leaning forward over the table. "When our friends down here went through your luggage, they found vials of the same medication used on the man and woman who were in the hotel room with you and your mistress. Her fingerprints are all over it..."

"That man..." began Phelps.

"That man was drugged, just like the girl," snapped Owens. "You drugged them and then used them for your sick sex games, except this time you got careless. The cameras caught the two of you entering and leaving and the drugs were found in your luggage."

"We have you for the murdered girl on the couch and both of you for the murder of the girl in the hotel room," stated Rand. "Add to that the multiple additional charges of assault, kidnapping, battery, prostitution and the additional charges that I'm sure we will find, well Doctor, I don't think you will be seeing the light of day for a very long time."

"We have a positive ID from one of your rape victims," snapped Owens, "and when we get you back to L.A., we'll have another line up. My money is on you being the winner of that little contest, seems to me that you're going to be a very well known man in the prison system."

"You have nothing on me," replied Phelps. "My lawyers are on their way, I'll be back in Los Angeles by tonight..."

"You will have to stand trial here in Mexico first," interrupted Perez. "We do not take murder lightly here and if I know anything about our legal system, no one is going to let you free on bail; too big a flight risk. No, you might as well get comfortable, you will not be going anywhere for a while, doctor."

A brisk knock on the door brought them to a halt. Perez crossed to the door and opened it, having a brief conversation with the tall, thin Mexican officer on the other side. Closing the door, he turned and smiled at Rand.

"She ID'd his mistress."

"Well, well," smiled Rand, returning his gaze to Phelps. "I'll leave you in the very capable hands of Sergeant Owens. I think I'll just take a moment to speak with your beloved Illyana. Perhaps she will be more cooperative."

"I wouldn't bet on it," replied Phelps with a slight smile. "I'm sure you'll get nothing out of Illyana. We'll wait for our attorneys..."

***

"You killed that girl," stated Rand, pointing to a picture of the girl from the hotel that lay on the table in front of Illyana.

"I killed no one," she purred, smiling up at him. "This girl wanted to have sex with the man from the bar and so did I, so we shared him; that is all. I never saw her before and I never saw her again..."

"You killed her with the medication you gave her," replied Rand. "She died of the hemorrhages that your medication produced. It acts differently in men, there is no hemorrhage, but all of the other side effects, the black-outs, the loss of control, all of that is the same."

"I know nothing of any medication," stated Illyana, leaning forward to give Rand a better view of her cleavage. "I am not a doctor; I am only the doctor's friend..."

"You assist him by appearing in his pornographic films?" asked Rand.

She smiled at him, a hypnotic display of beauty. Rand remained objective, capable of seeing the evil behind the glamour.

"So I enjoy sex," replied Illyana. "I am a liberated woman, I am not afraid to admit that I enjoy it. Your prudish standards are your problem..."

"Is seeing you hang for murder my problem as well?" asked Rand.

"You have no proof that I committed murder," replied Illyana with a laugh. "We had sex, that is all. By the time that girl died, we were long gone, we had left. You have the right person in jail already, why bother us?"

"It's no good, I'm afraid," smiled Rand. "We have the good doctor for the murder of the girl in the film and we have you for the murder of the girl in the hotel room. You're going to die in prison my dear, as will your accomplice."

"You have no proof of anything!" she yelled.

"We have witnesses, evidence and now the testimony of a very dear friend," replied Rand, standing and straightening his suit jacket. "Your Mister Edwards has become quite cooperative. You see, my dear, prison isn't normally easy for beautiful people but prison in this country is even worse." Gaining the door, Rand stared back at her, "Such a pity, all that work done only to be ruined in a Mexican prison. Such a pity..."

***

Edwards sat nervously next to the tape recorder as Perez turned to him, "You wish to make a statement, Mister Edwards?"

"Yes," replied Edwards.

Edwards knew that Phelps and Illyana were powerful, that they would hunt him where ever he should go, but the idea of ending his life in a Mexican prison did not appeal to him. Besides, most of the guards who had survived had already guaranteed them both at least some time in prison. It made no sense to be a company man, even at the risk of his life. Edwards was no fool, he would never survive even the shortest term in prison.

Standing outside the room, Ben, Vance and Melissa turned to see a tall man in an expensive suit making his way down the hallway. Stopping outside the door, he faced the three and nodded.

"Our little canary singing?"

"You did some good work, Cypress," replied Ben.

"The general and I have done some business together before and when I told him he could have a brothel for free..." Cypress shrugged.

"You worked security for him before?" asked Ben.

"A few years back, it's a long story. I hate to nail creeps and run, but there's that other case in Fresno..."

Ben reached into his pocket and took out an envelope, handing it Cypress.

"This is yours, there's a little something extra in it. We'll talk when I get back."

Cypress offered Vance and Melissa a polite smile, "Nice working with you." He gave Ben a quick bear hug, "We'll talk when you get back, man. Later."

"He saved our asses," stated Vance. "If he hadn't delayed their departure, God knows what would have happened. The Mexican cavalry arrived late and the international group didn't arrive until all the fun was over."

"How is the girl?" asked Melissa.

"Amber?" asked Vance. "Pretty shaken up, but medically she's doing all right. Her father will be here shortly, the Mexican police want them to stay a few days in order to wrap up their case and when she gets back to L.A. the police there will need to speak with her I'm sure."

"I spoke to Bev and Tara earlier," she replied. "The police took Tara's statement and Bev said that they were very considerate, they handled it very well. Jim wanted to come down here to get a look at them, but Bev talked him out of it..."

"It's better that way," stated Vance. "He'll have plenty of time to see them when the trial begins."

"Did they figure out why he killed the girl on the couch?" asked Ben.

Vance shrugged, "No idea. She was a porn actress as far as they know, so why go back to kill her? There was something there, no doubt, but they haven't found it yet."

"So what are your plans?" asked Ben as he started towards the door.

"We'll check in with the police in L.A. and then head home," replied Vance. "They have Melissa and Tara's statements, there isn't much more we can do here..."

"Well, I'm out of here," replied Ben. "I've got some shit to do before I get to Cypress in Fresno. I'll be back your way at the end of the month, we can settle up then."

The two men shook hands.

"Thanks again Ben, we would have never nailed these bastards without you," said Vance.

Ben shrugged.

Melissa walked up to him and standing on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said.

Ben gave the slightest smile, "I'll be seeing you both." With that, he was gone.

Vance placed an arm around Melissa's shoulders as they head out into the parking lot.

"If we hurry, we can catch a flight out to L.A. tonight," he said casually. "Could I interest you in a few days' r and r?"

"I don't think this relationship is going to work," she replied quietly.

Vance felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach, "Why not?"

"You're too unpredictable," she replied. "First you want to take me for Yak coffee, and then I never get the Yak coffee. Then you say we're going to Los Angeles to speak to the police and we end up in Mexico in a gun fight. I need someone who is stable, dependable. Mrs. Giamonte was telling me that she has a nephew..."

"He has a rash," snapped Vance.

"Her son has the rash," corrected Melissa. "Her nephew has bad teeth, but is a nice person who is the spitting image of her late husband, God rest his soul."

"If you want, I can carry a goat up a mountain for you," offered Vance as they headed towards the car.

"Dependable," replied Melissa. "I'm looking for dependable..."

Chapter 19

Tori stood in Vance's office, her expression calm and somber. Len stood beside her, both facing Vance, trying to be as professional and sympathetic as Vance would allow.

"You're sure?" he repeated yet again.

"There's no doubt," replied Len. "We've checked and double checked; Tori didn't make a mistake here, Vance. I'm sorry, but we have to let the police know."

Vance looked up at Tori, his eyes pained, his expression somewhere between angry and sad.

"I'm sorry, truly I am," she said softly, her expression unchanged. "That girl wasn't a porn actress; she wasn't part of the local talent. I had my suspicions so we asked Ben to track down one of the guys in the picture. I don't know how Ben got him to talk, but he did, he spilled the whole story. Phelps knows her mother, the girl was her husband's mistress and the old lady paid to have Phelps put her in the picture. She got one of the first copies of the film and showed it to him after she paid to have it made. It was all part of her plan to get him back."

"You have to make up your mind, Vance," stated Len, "but you need to tell her before we tell the police."

"Do you know what you're asking me to do?" Vance stood, putting his hands over his face, "She'll hate me for this! This isn't like telling someone you don't like their mother's cooking or you don't want them coming to visit..."

"Vance, she can't go free," replied Len. "The information will strengthen the police case against Phelps, it goes to motive. As far as she goes, the longer we wait, the longer the chance she'll go free. In good conscience, we can't allow that to happen, Vance. She sold that girl into prostitution, into porn. Her actions were directly responsible..."

"I KNOW," snapped Vance, "you think I don't KNOW THAT? All I care about is Melissa; this is going to tear her apart!"

"She's strong, Vance," stated Tori. "You know she is, you've been through a lot with her. I'm sorry, but you can't protect her from this. All you can do is be there when the shit hits the fan."

Vance looked at her, his anger abating.

"You're right," he said finally. "You're right. I'll tell her, I'll go to her now and tell her. Len, you call Perez, tell him what you found, give him all of it."

Grabbing his jacket, Vance headed for the door. Stopping just outside of it, he turned back.

"Good work, Tori. I'm not happy about it, but good work. Len asked me about your raise, we'll discuss it when I get back, I promise." With that, he was gone.

***

Ginger hung up the phone and checked her watch.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon Boxcar?" she called out as Vance approached. "Why aren't you working?"

Vance drew up to the desk and glanced nervously at Melissa's door, "Ginger, I need to speak to her right away."

"She's in with a patient, Boxcar," she replied, her concern growing. She had come to like Vance and enjoyed teasing him, but she could see something was bothering him. "What's the matter and don't tell me nothing, I can see it on your face..."

"It's important," he replied quietly.

"She'll be done in another ten minutes. She has a patient waiting, but I can slip you in for a few minutes..."

Glancing back at the waiting room, Vance drew closer, "You might want to cancel her next appointment..."

Ginger understood his tone, "Boxcar, are coming here to upset my girl?"

"It's not me, Ginger," he stated softly. "I'd do anything not to upset her, but it can't be helped."

Ginger nodded, her dark eyes sympathetic. He might be a boxcar but she didn't doubt that he loved Melissa very much. Whatever it was, it must be bad, very bad.

"Go get a cup of coffee and let me deal with Mrs. Nimis," she said softly, nodding at the woman in the waiting room. "I'll call you as soon as she's free."

Vance nodded and headed towards the small back room that served as a small kitchen. Picking up the coffee pot, he poured himself some coffee. How could he do this? What words could he use? She'd hate him for this for sure, how could she not? If her mother had done this, had she known about Melissa's rape? Had she sanctioned it? He had no answers, only the painful truth, the painful, awful truth that would come out in the papers and be sensationalized throughout the news. Mother of Slave Master's Victim Accused of Complicity. He could just see the papers eating up this new angle. The press had been at it for months since Phelps arrest, vying with each other to publish every lecherous detail and now...

"Boxcar..."

Vance looked up and saw Ginger at the door, her dark eyes filled with hurt, "Go in now, Boxcar."

Vance nodded and made his way to Melissa's office. Melissa was sitting at her desk, head down, examining a file. As he closed the door she looked up and her beautiful face broke into a happily surprised smile. He fell in love with her all over again and he felt worse than ever before.

"What are you doing here?" she laughed, rising to clutch him about the waist and give him a kiss.

"Melissa," he began, his eyes averting her gaze, "I need to speak with you."

"Is everything all right?" she asked, acknowledging his suddenly all too transparent pain.

"No, sweetheart, it's not," he said softly. "Please, sit down; I need to talk to you." Lowering himself down on the couch next to her, he stared at his hands, unable to think of how to begin for a moment. He felt her anxiousness and forced himself to begin.

"Melissa, you know that we have been helping the police to investigate the identity of the girl who Phelps shot in Mexico, the actress he killed on the day we captured him."

"Yes, I know," she said softly, worry creeping into her voice.

"Today, Tori and Len and Ben confirmed who the girl was and how she came to be in Mexico. She wasn't a porn actress or even a prostitute," he stated softly.

"Was she another one of his victims?" asked Melissa.

"Yes," stated Vance, "and something more..." Vance looked at her, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. "The girl...the girl Phelps killed was your mother's husband's mistress."

Melissa frowned, not understanding, "How did they find that out? I don't understand..."

"Phelps was given money to feature her in a porn movie to show to your mother's husband so that he would stay with your mother..."

"I'm sorry, Vance, I still don't understand."

Vance looked down at the floor, "Your mother gave Phelps ten thousand dollars to kidnap the girl and feature her in a porn movie. Then she took a copy of the movie to her husband in order to get him back."

He looked up at Melissa and saw the shock on her face. Pulling her hands away from him, she balled them into fists in her lap.

"She gave him the money to make a movie to discredit the girl in Kevin's eyes?"

Vance nodded, "That's why he went back and killed her. She was another kidnap victim, except unlike you, Tara and Amber, HE had kidnapped her, had drugged her and forced her to make the movie. She could identify him as her kidnapper, she had to be gotten rid of..."

"My MOTHER paid him to kidnap and rape that girl?"

Vance hesitated, he could not sugar coat it, he would not sugar coat it, "Yes."

Melissa stood and wandered towards her desk, "She paid him...she paid the man who raped me to rape someone else...Vance, VANCE!"

Vance was beside her in an instant as she wheeled around and stared up at him.

"Did she know? Did she know about what he DID TO ME? ABOUT WHAT PIERRE DID?"

"I don't know," replied Vance. "We can't know, there's no way to find that out..."

"Are you sure," she asked, staring up at him. "Are you sure?"

Vance looked down at her, "Ben interviewed one of the men in the movie, he confirmed it, confirmed everything."

"Maybe he lied?" she replied, tears falling from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mel," he said, wrapping her in his arms. "I'm sorry..."

Melissa grabbed his shirt, two handfuls at his chest and buried her face into the space in between.

Ginger stood outside the door and listened to Melissa cry and Vance apologizing over and over again. With tears in her eyes, she went to the phone and began canceling all of Melissa's appointments.

***

The guard closed the door behind Melissa and stood on the other side, her face a blank mask. Melissa moved slowly to the table that sat in the middle of the room and pulling out a chair in the center of the table, slowly lowered herself down onto it. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to collect her thoughts, to steel herself for the coming encounter.

She heard footsteps and then saw the door on the opposite side open and a guard enter, a tall, heavy set woman with a sour face. She glanced to her left and motioned with her head and Victoria entered. Melissa rose and stared at her for a moment. Her mother's hair was pulled back into a pony tail, her roots graying, her face, sans makeup, appearing older and worn. Her mouth was drawn down into an angry frown and she looked frumpy in her orange coveralls. With a glance at the guard, she moved to the table and sat down, staring angrily at Melissa.

"I wish you hadn't come," she stated after a moment of silence. "I hate how I look..."

"Is that all you can think about?" asked Melissa, suddenly angry. "You're responsible for the death of that girl..."

"I had nothing to do with the death of that girl," snapped her mother. "I had nothing to do with it. He told me the money was for an investment, I had no idea..."

"This isn't court, mother," replied Melissa. "I'm your daughter; YOUR DAUGHTER...the least you can do is tell me the truth."

Her mother examined her for a moment, "Which truth do you want, Melissa, the prosecutor's truth? My truth? The real truth? What do you want me to say?"

"I want you take responsibility for what you did to that girl and what you did to me," replied Melissa.

"I didn't do anything to you, Melissa," snapped her mother. "You are not the victim here!" Pulling at the orange overalls for emphasis, her mother continued, "You're wearing two hundred dollar heels and I'm stuck in this!"

"I am NOT wearing two hundred dollar heels," hissed Melissa. "I don't own a pair of two hundred dollar heels..."

"All right, all right," interrupted her mother. "You COULD if you wanted to, I can't. I can't pee without permission; do you think that's fair? I didn't do anything, I gave some money to a man my deceased husband knew to make a film, he told me it would make money..."

"And it just so happened to star your husband's kidnapped and drugged mistress," snapped Melissa.

"Oh, I'm paying for that," moaned Virginia. "He left me, the rotten bastard left me when I needed him most. When he was in pain, I stood by him..."

"You caused the pain, remember?" interrupted Melissa. "You sold his mistress into pornography..."

"Phelps did that," snapped Virginia. "I invested in a movie and now I'm to blame for that wretched mans actions. If I had known..."

"Did you know, mother?" asked Melissa. "Did you know what type of man he was? Did you know what he did to me?"

Virginia looked at her, annoyed by the interruption, "Be plain, Melissa..."

"Did you know what happened to me?"

The question hung between them, a knife awaiting a direction to be thrust.

"You step-father was foreign," stated Virginia evenly. "People where he was from had sex with animals, multiple partners, you name it. He invited me to join that type of lifestyle and I refused, completely refused..."

"Did you know what he did to me?" asked Melissa.

"I told him if he wanted that type of life, he would have to do it outside of the home. I would not allow him to bring that into my house..."

"Did you know what he did to me?"

"And he didn't! He would go for a week or two to Mexico and get it out of his system. When you got sick, I thought nothing of it. How could I know that he had done that, the doctors didn't say you had been assaulted, merely that you were sick..."

"Did you know what he did to me?"

"And then he died. Even if I had had a suspicion, which I did NOT, how could I ask him? Who would think something like that? Am I a bad person because my mind isn't in the gutter?"

"Did you ever suspect what he did to me?" demanded Melissa.

"Never," replied Virginia, "never. Once he died I met Doctor Phelps. Oh, I had met him before at parties, at gatherings, they were colleagues, both plastic surgeons. Doctor Phelps was of course much wealthier than we were, he had houses all over the world..." she looked at Melissa as if just seeing her... "After Pierre died, he came around, he was so nice, so accommodating; he helped me with some financial decisions." Something in Virginia's manner brought Melissa to her feet.

"You slept with him," she stated.

Virginia looked up at her wistfully, "I don't believe that's any of your business..."

"You slept with him, that monster..." breathed Melissa, angry and ashamed.

"I was alone, he was comforting me," snapped Virginia, her tone changing back to annoyance on the next sentence, "Then he introduced me to Illyana and suggested something I refused to do..."

"I can't believe you," said Melissa flatly.

"I had no idea..."

"You had to have an idea," replied Melissa angrily, turning on her. "If you didn't have an idea what made you go to him with your troubles concerning Kevin? If you didn't know he did what he did..."

"All right, Melissa, all right!" snapped Virginia. "I'm a terrible mother; I'm horrible because I slept with a man I had no idea raped you! How was I to know..."

"You knew," replied Melissa. "You had to know. Even if you didn't know at the time, you're not stupid; you've never been stupid, mother..."

"Thank you for that..."

"You had to know what he did, that sick bastard..."

"I don't condone what he did, but he is a very intelligent..."

Melissa moved to the door, "I'm leaving."

"Melissa, I need you to get me a few things..."

Melissa wheeled on her, tears in her eyes, "You don't understand do you? We're through, we're done! You conspired with the man who raped me; you conspired to kill a young woman who had the audacity to fall in love..."

"With a MARRIED MAN," shrieked Virginia, jumping up from the table angrily. "Let's not forget that! She was a whore, Melissa, whether you and your friends think so or not, she was a whore and she got what she deserved! Phelps only took advantage of her natural talents..."

"Like he took advantage of MINE?" screamed Melissa.

"YOU WERE DIFFERENT!" yelled Virginia. She stopped, realizing what she had revealed.

"I was different?" asked Melissa, her glowing eyes expressing the rage building inside of her.

"You don't understand," replied Virginia, backing towards the door, "Pierre was going to leave me, I wouldn't do what he wanted, I wouldn't degrade myself, but he said if he could have you...it was supposed to be just him... only once, he promised...you don't know what it's like to try to please a husband...you don't understand..."

With a shriek, Melissa reeled towards the door and pounded on it until the guard appeared. Looking at Melissa as if she were mad, she threw open the door, "What the..."

"Get me out of here," sobbed Melissa. "Get me out of here now!"

"That's right, that's right," screamed Virginia. "Run away, leave me, they all leave me..."

The guard ushered Melissa into the hallway. Searching her purse, Melissa pulled out her handkerchief and ran blindly down the hallway. At the end of the hallway, the guard opened the door and she bolt through it, ramming straight into Vance who held her tightly in his arms. For a long time he cradled her to his chest, rocking her softly in his arms.

"It will be all right Melissa, everything is going to be all right," he repeated over and over as he gently kissed her hair and tried desperately not to cry.

***

The gravesite was up on a hillside, a small, dilapidated town sprawled at its dusty feet. Kevin Pena climbed the hill slowly, reverently carrying a small bouquet of flowers. Standing to the side of the headstone he read the inscription several times, placing the flowers gingerly on the freshly dug grave. The carvers had done a wonderful job; it was clean and perfect, just as he wanted it to be.

Looking out over the valley below, at the dusty town in which she had grown up, he could almost hear her voice calling his name, almost hear the breathy words of passion she had spoken to him when they had made love, almost hear the pain in her voice the last time she said he would see her no more. Had he known, had he had any idea...

Climbing the last few yards to the top of the hill, he looked out into the vast wilderness, the vast emptiness that stretched beyond the hill into the desert. He saw the brush give way to stones and then the stone give way to dirt and the dirt give way to dust. About a mile beyond the foot of the hill he saw a dust devil grow out of the desert floor and casually head out into the vacant wilderness. Kevin ambled down the hill and followed the dust devil out into the vast emptiness. No one ever saw him again.

***

A knock at the door disturbed Vance's thoughts. Putting down the file he was looking at, he crossed his living room and opened his front door. Mrs. Giamonte stood in the hall, a frown on her face.

"Mister Tibbet, I'd like to show the apartment this afternoon," she stated.

"Of course," replied Vance. "I'm leaving now and won't be back until tonight."

"Are you ready?" she asked, following him back into the living room as he retrieved his jacket.

"Almost," he confessed. "It's going to be a big change, but I think we're ready."

"Well, I'm glad you're staying here," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Of course, you could have moved into either her place or yours..."

"We figured it would be better for both of us to start new in a neutral place," responded Vance. "Plus the new apartment is much bigger..."

"Lucky for you Mister Banski died," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Truthfully, I'm surprise he made it to sixty seven, he had everything; diabetes, cancer, arthritis, emphysema, heart disease, diphtheria, cholesterol, high blood pressure, low blood pressure..."

"How could he have high blood pressure AND low blood pressure?" asked Vance.

"He had high blood pressure before he had his stroke and then when he died his heart stopped and his blood pressure dropped," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "Technically speaking, we all die of low blood pressure 'cause your circulation stops." She looked at Vance and waved him off, "You don't understand medicine, Mister Tibbet. When you get older, you have too because if you don't, you can't tell your doctor what to do. You'll learn..."

"Well, their waiting for me," replied Vance, feeling a slight headache coming on. "If you'll excuse me..."

"Certainly, certainly," she smiled. Leading him out into the hall she hooked onto his arm as they made their way towards the elevator. "So how many do you think you'll have?"

Vance looked down at her, confused, "How many what?"

"Children?" replied Mrs. Giamonte. "You're not one of those communists who doesn't like babies, are you?"

"We haven't decided," replied Vance as they boarded the elevator. "We want children but..."

"Have no more than seven," replied Mrs. Giamonte.

"Seven?" asked Vance.

"Anything below three is too little, anything beyond seven is just showing off," replied Mrs. Giamonte. "The rule of thumb is, "Have a baby or two every year, until you hit seven then stay clear." Cute isn't it, it makes it easy to remember, my mother taught it to me."

"I thought you only had one son," replied Vance, thankful that the elevator doors were opening.

"I got married late in life," replied Mrs. Giamonte, "I was almost twenty three, which back then was like being fifty. Besides, my husband was a busy man; he came home tired, if you know what I mean. You're big and strong and she's a doctor, you should be good for at least six. Discuss it with her..."

"I will, I promise," replied Vance as he made a beeline for Melissa's apartment.

Gaining her door, he knocked quickly, glancing at the elevator much like a rabbit does a hawk. The door swung open and there stood Melissa, dressed in a pair of slacks and a silky blouse. Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her hungrily.

"Get a room you two," shouted Beverly. "Save some for the honeymoon."

"Oh, Mom, let them be," smiled Tara. "I think it's cute."

"Yesterday when I kissed your mother you said it was gross," said Jim with a laugh.

"You're my parents," replied Tara, moving forward to hug Vance, "I don't need to see that!"

"You all set?" asked Melissa.

"We meet my sister at city hall, pick up the marriage license and then meet the rest of the bridal party for dinner at Patsy's," replied Vance. "We're all set."

"Well then, come on," said Melissa, waving to the others, "let's get this show on the road. It's going to be a long weekend. I never thought I would go for an all out church wedding..."

"On behalf of the bridesmaids, thanks for picking out decent dresses," laughed Tara. "I was afraid we'd have to wear bad prom dresses."

Jim, Beverly and Tara filed out into the hall laughing and talking excitedly about the upcoming wedding as Melissa grabbed her jacket. Turning, she found herself in Vance's arms again.

"Thank you for saying yes," he said softly as he nuzzled her neck.

"Thank you for asking," she replied, kissing him. Suddenly she hugged him tightly, "Thank you for helping me to believe again."

Holding her tightly, he kissed the top of her head, "That's all behind us. We have our whole lives before us..."

Looking up at him, she offered him a shy smile and then laughed, "Come on Boxcar, we don't want to get there late, Ginger will start drinking without us."

"Then we'd better get going," he said, ushering her out into the hallway. "God knows what she'll call me when she ISN'T sober..."

###

I would like to thank you for reading "Remembering". I hope that you have enjoyed this novel. If so, I hope that you will continue the series by reading book two, "In Memoriam", which continues the adventures of Melissa and Vance. I also invite you to let me know what you thought of my books. Please feel free to drop me a line via email at mailto:maczazski@hotmail.com. Thanks again for choosing "Remembering"; I look forward to hearing from you!

