Every Breath You Take
by Whimsicle-1

CHAPTER SEVEN

Monica Colby stared at the photos passed to her across a formica café table for a long moment, then flicked a glance at the man who'd requested the meeting. "Why give these to me, Detective Larson?" He was the one who'd been charged with finding out what happened at the Carlton and as far as she could tell, he'd done nothing to see Adam Carrington pay for his crimes, and now suddenly he wanted to meet with her and hand over information. That didn't make sense.

He shrugged. "I hear your mother's companies have had some setbacks recently," he said by way of answer. "When I..." he paused, clearly uncomfortable saying too much about how he'd come across the photos, "I came into possession of these, I thought you might want to know."

She didn't respond, just continued staring at the detective and avoiding the images splayed out on the table. Grainy, but recognizable, they unquestionably showed Adam and her mother's assistant, Joanna Sills, wrapped around each other in intimate embraces. Far worse, two showed Joanna passing Adam file folders marked with the SableCo. label. No wonder Adam had been able to beat them on several deals in recent weeks. Monica had thought it was just her mother's distraction since Dex's death and Blake's shooting. She'd silently blamed the pregnancy and her mother's involvement with the Carrington's, convinced that she'd made some mistake that might well sink them. A muscle pulsed in her jaw as she realized it looked like she'd misjudged her mother.

Apparently her only error had been trusting her assistant.

"Look," he finally muttered into the silence that stretched between them, "I just figured you'd want to know that someone in your company is sleeping with the enemy."

"Why?" she asked simply. Even if the information was genuine, that didn't mean she trusted his reasons for giving it to her.

Jarod reached for a cigarette, then remembered the restaurant had recently gone no smoking and killed the impulse, leaving him fumbling for something to do with his hands. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. "Because I don't like the fact that Carrington put a stop to the investigation...that he's playing the law...and your family...." He shook his head disgustedly.

Monica tensed a moment later when one of his large hands covered her own, his skin rough and warm against hers.

"And I really don't like the fact that he gets to go on making trouble when he probably killed a man," Larson continued, his voice low and intent.

Absorbing that, she nodded. "I need to make a call."

He ducked his head. "One small request," he said softly, questioning his sanity in deciding to trust her, "I'm hoping you'll stick to our agreement to keep my name out of this."

A muscle clenched along the line of Monica's jaw and she nodded. "I gave you my word," she said tightly.

"I know," he assured her to take some of the sting out of repeating the request. "And I feel bad asking you to lie...but I could lose my job over this."

Her stiff posture deflated ever so slightly. "I understand."

Nodding, he stood. "I'll just go out and have a cigarette."

When he'd gone, Monica pulled out her cell phone and quickly dialed her mother's phone number. "We have a problem..." she began without preamble.

She hung up several minutes later just as the detective returned and threaded his way through the tables.

As he sat, she slipped her phone back into her valise. "My mother's authorized me to pay you—"

"I don't want your money," he interrupted before she could get any farther.

"Then what?" she questioned.

He pushed the pictures toward her, signaling they were hers to keep. When she made no move to take them, he began to explain, "All I'm asking is if you come up with anything against Adam Carrington, you give it to me first. My superiors are so damn afraid of the little SOB suing that I'm afraid they'll just bury anything they get."

"You hate him," she said softly.

Jarod shrugged. "He got in my face."

Finally, Monica gathered the photos and slipped them into her valise. "All right," she agreed. He thrust a business card her way, and she took that as well. "I'll definitely let you know if anything comes up."

Glancing at his watch, he noted the time. "I have to get back to work," he murmured.

"Thank you for giving this to me," she said quickly, then said her goodbyes. She started to rise when he reached out, laying a hand over hers and drawing her to sit back down.

"One more thing," Jarod said before she could go.

"Yes?"

"Don't get caught alone with this guy."

Monica frowned, uncertain what he was referring to.

"It doesn't show in the photos, but a couple of times there were bruises on the Sills woman...and other things. The guy has problems...particularly with women."

A shudder of revulsion worked its way down her spine. She could believe it. She nodded. "Thank you," she exhaled, then slipped out without further word.

Jarod stared after her for a moment, then rose and hurried out. His phone rang a moment after he reached his car. "Larson here?"

"You gave her the photos?" A woman's voice, educated, intelligent, the accent foreign, but unidentifiable.

Jarod immediately looked all around his car, wondering if he was being watched even as he answered, "I gave her enough."

She laughed softly. "I'll bet I can guess which ones you left out," she drawled. "And here I thought chivalry was dead."

"Look, I gave her what she needed to see. Now I'd like to know who you are, and what your part in this is."

Another soft laugh reached his ears. "I'm simply a good Samaritan, Detective, doing my part to make the world a better place."

"All right," he allowed, " then why don't you tell me—" The line went dead before he could finish. "Dammit," he hissed, but didn't bother to call for a line trace. He'd done that before and come up with nothing. Whoever his strange benefactor was, she knew how to avoid being tracked. Not for the first time, a frisson of unease slid down his spine. He'd checked the story out thoroughly, confirming for himself that the pictures represented reality, but he still wasn't sure why she wanted the information to get to Sable Colby and her daughter. Hell, he wasn't sure of much if he was honest. Maybe they were all rotten as hell, and the sympathy he'd felt on meeting Sable Colby at the hospital and later Monica for an interview was nothing more than male hormones being swayed by a pair of attractive women. God knew, his research had indicated that Sable had done a few things in her life that had walked right up to the line if not over it. But Monica had seemed clean. And Adam Carrington just reeked of a sick combination of terror and satisfaction over Dexter's death. Still, one never knew, and maybe....

Maybe.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, he reminded himself. That die was cast. Time to get on with other things.

Only when he checked his voice-mail there was a message from Blake Carrington's office, demanding a meeting ASAP.

Despite the temptation to just ignore the call, Jarod finally dialed the number provided, waiting impatiently while the receptionist took his name and information, then passed him through to a very polite secretary who barely allowed him to get his name out before commanding him to appear at the Carrington offices as quickly as possible and assuring him that the old man himself would see him as soon as he arrived.

Well, he thought as he hung up, this should be interesting. He sat and ran through several scenarios in his head, but none of them felt quite right and finally he started the engine.

There was only one way to find out what Carrington wanted....

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alexis tapped sharply tapered fingernails impatiently while she waited for the doctor to examine the latest round of tests, though she didn’t really care what he had to say. Her legs were still too weak to allow her to stand, but the feeling had returned so thoroughly that her muscles jumped in response to even the slightest touch to the bottoms of her feet. Despite the occasional bouts of dizziness caused by the drugs, she'd never felt better and no longer had any doubts in the efficacy of the treatment. Eager to get back to her life, she was chomping at the bit for the moment when they proclaimed her sufficiently healed to leave the clinic and had little tolerance for the doctors and their need to insist she wasn't ready. She had things to do after all, which did not involve sitting around in a private hospital, no matter how luxurious it might be.

After all, her calls before leaving Denver should be bearing fruit. An especially important likelihood given several other developments recounted in the reports sent by her strange benefactor. He’d been kind enough—though Alexis was cynical enough to realize it was unlikely that kindness had anything to do with it—to include photos and even recordings keeping her updated on her concerns in Denver.

Which was how she knew that Adam was playing footsie with Sable’s P.A. and had managed to inflict a reasonable amount of financial damage on her cousin while turning a handy profit. Of course, Alexis wasn't as certain as her son that Sable would continue to be blissfully unaware of her assistant's betrayal. Sable might not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but even Alexis had to admit she was generally several strides ahead of Adam. On the other hand, Alexis had no doubt she could make it all work in her favor either way. If Adam won out, well, then all the better, but if Sable had seen through Adam, she'd be overconfident and never see the real trap in the making. Not until it snapped shut on her scrawny neck.

And then she’d pay.

Alexis clung to that notion with the fierce strength of a shipwreck survivor holding onto a passing bit of flotsam in hopes of surviving.

Sable would pay and Dex would be avenged.

Alexis tried to clamp down on that thought before it slipped through her brain, but failed. It was easier if she just focused on Sable and didn’t think about Dex, about the good times or the bad, and certainly not about the fact that she still couldn’t remember the accident or if he’d said any final words to her.

That hurt the most in an odd way, the not knowing if there’d been any kind of reconciliation in those final moments. As angry as she’d been at him, there’d been real love there once upon a time, and she couldn’t bear thinking of it all ending with just nothingness between them.

And because she couldn’t bear thinking about it, she played every mental game imaginable to avoid doing so. Better to focus on hate than love, because she could still do something about the hate. It had kept her alive before—when she’d been banished from Blake’s home and her children’s lives—and it would keep her alive again.

In fact, she was almost looking forward to the game. There was a certain wicked glee in throwing all morals, ethics, and human emotion to the wind. Freedom came with having nothing left to lose.

And the devil willing, she'd make sure Sable understood that message to the depths of her very soul.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Carrington office building was a high rise monster of glass and steel that carved a deep wake in the Denver skyline, towering above its nearest neighbors like a king before his kneeling subjects.

Or a master before his beaten slaves, Jarod thought with dark irony. Blake Carrington hadn't risen to those heights by playing nice with those who got in his way. If he couldn't pay them off, he'd run through them and rolled over them.

And which one would he do to a cop hellbent on investigating a crime where his son and his mistress were the prime suspects?

Whatever the answer, Jarod doubted it boded well for him.

Ah well, he didn't like Denver that much anyway, he decided as he straightened his shoulders and prepared to beard the lion in his den.

It was amazing, he thought some minutes later as he rode the private elevator to the top floor, just how polite the crisply formal receptionists had become when they realized the scruffy detective at the front desk had been issued a direct ticket straight to the emperor's inner sanctum.

Whatever he might have predicted, it wasn't that Blake Carrington would be there to meet him as he stepped off the elevator, his hand held out for a fast, but surprisingly welcoming shake, his tone friendly as he greeted Jarod. "Detective Larson, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I would have scheduled something sooner, but things have been a little insane recently." He waved the younger man past the receptionist's desk and into his office.

The oil magnate wasn't at all what Jarod expected. Not at all larger than life, surprisingly soft spoken, and still moving somewhat stiffly in the aftermath of the shooting, he sank down in the chair behind his desk as though he was still hurting. "You all right, sir?" Jarod questioned, automatically polite though he didn't trust Blake Carrington any farther than he could throw him.

Carrington looked up, eyeing Jarod as he nodded. "Still weaker than I'd like," he allowed cautiously as he waved the younger man into one of the chairs in front of his desk. "But gaining ground."

"You're a lucky man I'd say," the detective responded honestly. "I've seen men take months to get over shootings that weren't as bad as yours."

Blake Carrington shrugged, not bothering to argue. "I was lucky," he murmured distantly, "and the doctors were very good at their jobs." He glanced down at the papers spread across his desk, then back up at Jarod, his gaze assessing. "I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here," he said at last.

"To be perfectly frank, I am," Jarod admitted. "I don't have anything to do with the investigation into your shooting...and in case you're unaware, the investigation into the events at the Carlton Hotel which resulted in the death of Farnsworth Dexter has been tabled for the time being."

"I understand those orders came from the governor's office," Blake said very softly.

Jarod bristled in spite of his best efforts to remain neutral. "They did," he ground out, still bitter over the way his investigation had been halted from above.

"I also understand that it doesn't seem to have stopped you. You're still investigating my son," Blake continued coolly.

"If you have a complaint, take it to my superiors," the detective challenged even though he knew perfectly well that Blake Carrington was likely to do just that.

"I can do that," Blake said softly, the threat implicit in his tone, "but I think we'd both prefer to avoid going that route." A muscle pulsed in the older man's jaw and he dropped his chin to stare at the papers on his desk again. "I'd like to know what you've found," he said after a beat, his tone softer and less threatening.

"Mostly just that your son's a misogynist bastard," Jarod ground out. "But unfortunately there don't seem to be any witnesses or pictures to prove what happened at the Carlton."

Blake tensed, but didn't respond in kind. Instead he leaned back in his chair, studying Jarod thoughtfully. "I have a call into the governor's office," he said at last. "I can make them back off on the threats to your job...."

"And in return?" Jarod demanded. Offers like that never came without a price tag.

"You do what you feel you need to...but I want to know everything you find."

A sharp snort escaped the younger man's lips. "Right," he sneered, "so you can get sonny boy's defenses in order—"

"No," Blake snapped impatiently, "so I can make certain no one else gets hurt." He took a breath, calming himself with effort.

"Why should I trust you?" Jarod demanded a little less confidently. Carrington sounded sincere, but the detective was far from certain he trusted anything that ephemeral.

Something flashed in Carrington's eyes, a silent reminder that he wasn't a man used to explaining himself, but he took a breath, visibly calming himself. "Are you aware that Adam had a medical power of attorney for my ex-wife and she was removed from the hospital shortly her accident?"

Jarod froze, caught by surprise not so much by the question as by the fact that Carrington was offering him a tantalizing piece of information. "I was told she was moved to a special clinic of some kind," he admitted, "but the doctors weren't terribly forthcoming with any other information."

Blake nodded. "Adam wouldn't let anyone see her...not even her daughter. And he refuses to tell Fallon where her mother is...or even prove she's still alive."

"She was the final witness to the fight on the mezzanine," Jarod pointed out. He might not trust the other man's intentions, but he was willing to play along if he could get additional information. "I never got to interview her...at first she was unconscious and then she was gone."

"And if her story had matched Sable and Monica Colby's?" Blake questioned.

"Your son would be in a great deal of trouble."

Dark eyes slid closed and the older man seemed to shudder. "Alexis has been a thorn in my side for years and caused my family more pain than...." he growled before falling silent for a long moment. "But she's the mother of my children..."

Jarod almost believed him that time. "Are you aware that Adam's been using ColbyCo. to attack your mistress' company?"

Blake looked up sharply, his brows drawing together in a frown. "My mistress?" he repeated doubtfully.

"Sable Colby," Jarod clarified, wondering why the other man was playing dumb when the whole town knew about the affair.

"Ah...no," Blake exhaled without any additional explanation.

So Monica hadn't called him. Jarod was oddly relieved to learn she'd kept his confidence. "He's taken some pretty nasty chunks out of her...her company's hemorrhaging money."

Dark eyes fell away. "I didn't know."

Which was an interesting detail. Despite the affair, it looked like Sable Colby hadn't gone to him for money or protection. Because she didn't want to worry him, didn't want to put him in the middle, or didn't trust him? "Yeah, well, what's more, he did it by sleeping with her assistant...some pretty rough stuff by the look of it."

"Rough stuff?" Blake repeated on a questioning note.

"She had bruises more than once...and she didn't look real happy the last few times they met."

Blake blanched, every last bit of color draining from his face, and he muttered a curse under his breath. "You're saying my son...." He didn't finish. By the look of him, couldn't finish.

"She was a willing player in the game...at least at first," Jarod clarified. "But in all honesty, I wouldn't leave the bastard alone with any woman I cared about." He almost pitied the older man as he ducked his head and curled one hand into a tight fist where it rested on the desk. It couldn't be easy to hear that kind of thing about one's own child. "I have pictures if you don't believe me."

"No," Blake croaked, his voice uneven, his denial quick. "I don't doubt it," he admitted. He was silent for a long moment before he finally looked up, his expression shuttered. Whatever he was feeling, he was determined to lock it away from view. "My offer stands," he threw out. "I can protect your job...in return, I want to know everything you've found."

"How can I trust you to keep your end of the bargain?" Jarod asked, his tone practical.

"You have those pictures," the older man pointed out as he momentarily shielded his eyes. "You must know I don't want those aired in public."

Bristling, Jarod pushed to his feet. "I didn't come here to extort something out of you."

"I'm not accusing you of anything," the older man agreed, waving that subject aside. "I'm just pointing out that you have your own leverage...and I have my own reasons to distrust."

A muscle pulsed in the younger man's jaw. "Los Angeles," he said very softly.

Blake inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Your former supervisor seems to believe your version of the story, but..." he trailed off suggestively.

"The charges were bullshit," Jarod snapped. "I never gave any information to the rags."

"And I'm willing to take that on faith," Blake said softly, "in return for a little faith from you."

Jarod was utterly silent for a long moment. The older man had pinned him in, and while Jarod wasn't comfortable with the situation, Carrington made a fair point. "All right," he murmured at last. "Let's say I agree to your deal. What are you looking for?"

"Everything," the older man said, his tone obdurate. "Copies of every paper, report, photo...everything."

It was the detective's turn to blanch. Handing over all of the materials he'd gathered wasn't in his gameplan. Shaking his head, he paced away from the older man, gaining a moment's time to think. "For all I know you're just building a case to keep your son out of prison."

"All I have to do to achieve that is have the governor fire you for disobeying direct orders by continuing your investigation," Blake pointed out quietly. "Meanwhile, I have no way of being certain that you aren't just building a story to sell to the tabloids."

Jarod was silent.

"Each of us has something the other one needs," Blake continued. "It seems to me that neither of us has much choice here."

A long moment passed, then Jarod pivoted sharply. "And what if I find the evidence to hang him?" he demanded. "What then?"

Carrington seemed to whither ever so slightly, but he faced the younger man's challenge with stiff pride. "Then he pays for what he's done," he said very softly.

Seconds passed as the two men assessed each other until finally Jarod nodded. "It'll take me a day or two to get everything copied."

Dark eyes slid closed and Blake nodded. "That'll be fine...I'd like some time to read them, then go over them with you."

"All right," Jarod agreed stiffly.

Blake was about to say something else when there was a knock at the door which was pushed open before either man could say a word.

"Father?" Fallon Carrington popped her head in through the crack. "I was just wondering if.... Oh," she exhaled as she saw Jarod, "I didn't realize you weren't alone." She stepped fully into the room, eyeing the detective with a look that was somewhere between worried and hostile. If he was harassing her father in some way, she'd make certain it stopped. "Detective."

"Miss Carrington," Jarod said with an automatic duck of his head. "I was just leaving." He flashed a quick glance at Blake. "I'll take care of that matter we discussed."

"Thank you, Detective," Blake responded. "Rest assured, I will as well."

Fallon glanced back and forth between the two men, well aware her father was intentionally cutting her out of the loop and annoyed that he would do so. She considered saying something, but the look on her father's face warned her to stay out of it.

Concluding he was better off to stay out of it, Jarod said a quick goodbye and hurried out.

After he'd gone, Fallon turned to face her father. "Why don't I like the sound of that?" she complained.

Blake waved the subject off. "It's nothing you need to worry about," he insisted, chafing under her tendency to hover since his release from the hospital.

Bracing her hands on his desk, Fallon leaned forward until they were eye to eye. "Father," she said, her tone brooking no argument, "what was that about?"

"It's nothing," he repeated. He didn't want her involved in whatever might come of any investigations.

She didn't believe him for a second. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the office door was closed. "Wasn't that the detective investigating the accident at the Carlton?" she demanded when she faced her father again.

He nodded. "Yes," he admitted, well aware that she wouldn't back off without some kind of answers. "He just had a few questions...nothing to worry about."

Dark eyes narrowed as she assessed his response. Not the whole story, that was for certain, but her father was a stubborn man, and she doubted she could get any more out of them than he intended for her to know. "Be careful," she whispered at last.

"Fallon—" he began, but she cut him off, her voice ragged.

"It's not that long you were in the hospital with a bullet in you," she reminded him. "And you're still feeling the effects, even if you won't admit it."

"Fallon," he soothed as he rose and paced around the end of the desk, "I'm fine...and there's nothing for you to worry about." He rested his hands lightly on slender shoulders.

She didn't believe him. In her experience, there was usually something wrong whenever someone put too much effort into convincing her all was fine. On the other hand, calling her father a liar to his face didn't seem like the way to continue improving their recently restored relationship. A soft sigh escaped her lips. "I just stopped by because I thought maybe I could give you a lift home," she said, tacitly accepting his lies.

"I have a driver," he assured her.

"I know," she admitted. "I just thought it might be nice...have a pleasant drive and spend a little time together."

A genuine smile curved his mouth and he nodded, happy to accept any olive branches offered. "That would be wonderful." He started gathering the papers on his desk. "Just give me a couple of minutes to get things together."

"Take as long as you need," she assured him through a pleased smile.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hours later, after having seen to her father, her son, and matters at home, Fallon lay sprawled in John Zorelli's bed, a faint sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin, her breathing rough and deep. A blowsy smile curved full lips as he pressed the softest of kisses to her bare shoulder and snuggled her close.

"Mmm, I've missed you," he murmured against her skin.

They'd barely seen one another in the weeks since her father's shooting. There was simply too much to be done, leaving the lovers with little more than occasional stolen moments. A soft smile curving her lips, Fallon turned into the warmth of his body and pressed a small kiss to his chest. "I've missed you too," she sighed, though her mind was already racing to other issues, running over events of the day.

Petting her hair lightly, Zorelli relaxed drowsily into the mattress and they both lay quiet for a long time, enjoying the comfortable, post-coital lassitude. Finally, Fallon pushed up on one elbow, her other hand resting lightly on her lover's chest as she peered at him. The meeting at her father's office was still on her mind. "Can I ask you a question?" she said after a beat.

His mouth split in a wicked grin and his hand turned caressing where it rested on her back. "Anything?"

She shook her head. "Not that," she said to discourage him. She had more serious topics in mind. "Do you know anything about a detective named Larson?"

"Jarod Larson?" he questioned, his tone becoming serious.

She nodded.

"Not much," he admitted. "I don't really know the guy. He's the one investigating Dexter's death, isn't he?"

Another nod.

"He seems like a stand-up guy," he murmured thoughtfully. "But he hasn't been with the force long...was with the LAPD or maybe SanFran and only joined the Denver PD last year."

"Any idea why he left his old job?"

He'd heard a bit of gossip, but uncertain there was any truth to the rumors, he feigned total ignorance and shook his head.

"Can you find out?' she pressed.

Shifting uncomfortably, he toyed with the sheet as she continued to watch closely. They'd already dealt with a lot of problems in their relationship. And he'd caused his fair share of them, he reminded himself. "I guess I can take a look," he allowed without specifying how much of that he might share with her. "Is there a reason for this?"

Nodding, she settled back down with her head pillowed on his chest. "My father went in to work today...first time since the shooting...and when I went to pick him up, Detective Larson was there...said something about seeing to what they'd talked about and he hurried out. I asked father what it was about...but he wouldn't tell. He got very evasive." She shook her head. "I'm probably just being paranoid, but I want to make sure it's nothing. After everything that's happened, I just..." Trailing off, she exhaled a soft sigh. "My family's already been through so much...I just need to make certain he's not a threat."

Staring at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused, and very much aware of the warmth and softness of the body stretched out against his own, he nodded slowly. He couldn't blame her for being afraid. Her family'd been badly hurt by people purporting to be honest representatives of the law. "I'll see what I can find out," he assured her. "And I promise you," he added to assuage his own guilts, "if he is up to something, I'll make sure he doesn't get away with it." Cupping a hand along her cheek and jaw, he carefully drew her head up until their eyes met. "I won't let anyone hurt you or your family."

The kiss started leisurely, the two lovers comfortable with each other and their passion, but quickly intensified until the outside world went away. They'd already made love that night, so there was no rush, but as they continued to kiss and caress, the passion built anew. Soon enough, she would have to get up and return to her lonely bed in her father's home—things were still too tenuous for her to feel comfortable staying away an entire night. But for the moment, they were free to enjoy each other and forget everything but each other.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I should have known," Sable Colby growled as she slapped the photos of her executive assistant down on the coffee table in her suite and rose sharply, stalking the room with long, predatory strides to let off excess energy. Monica's call had started the windup, but actually seeing the pictures had set her spinning faster than the Tazmanian Devil on a tear. "I've been so goddamned distracted, I actually made the mistake of believing Joanna's lies and feigned sympathy." Graceful hands cut the air in slashing gestures. "Oh, but I promise you, Monica, she won't get away with this little scheme."

"You could just fire her," Monica suggested from her vantage point on the couch, her relaxed position in direct contrast to her storming mother. She'd long since learned to pace herself when her mother went into rant mode. It was how Sable Colby worked through her problems, and she seemed to thrive on the intensity of it all, but for more mortal souls, the whole process could be utterly exhausting.

Eyes narrowing to feral slits, Sable spun and pinned a furious gaze on her daughter. "And let Adam continue using the information she's given him to destroy us?" she snarled, then shook her head in answer to her own question. "I don't think so." So angry she was quivering with barely the barely controlled urge to find her assistant and throttle her, she leaned over to slap the photos again, punching a sharp nail into the surface with each word to emphasize her point. "Not to mention the fact that if something isn't done quickly, we could be looking at Chapter Eleven."

Exhaling a heavy sigh, Monica nodded in acknowledgment. Though she didn't want to admit it, her mother had a point. With what Joanna already knew, she could go on hurting them for months to come if something wasn't done. Changing business plans would help mitigate some of the damage, but it was going to take more than that if they were going to survive. They needed to turn things around and make a pile of money, preferably at ColbyCo.'s expense. "You should know though," she said after a beat, "that if Adam files a complaint with the SEC, we could be in trouble."

A grim laugh escaped her mother's lips. "Somehow I really doubt Adam wants the SEC looking too closely at the situation...given his little bit of insider trading."

"Maybe," Monica admitted before adding the cautionary warning, "but I wouldn't put it past Adam to claim you had Joanna seduce him if he's cornered."

The muscles in Sable's jaw rippled as she ground her molars until they threatened to turn to powder. She knew her daughter was right. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could do about it. "Point taken," she admitted through clenched teeth. "But we don't have a choice...not if we intend to maintain any financial viability." She did a sharp turn, pinning a hard look on her daughter. "Something has to be done, and you know that as well as I do." She shook her head. "We need outside financing...and we need to use Joanna against Adam...preferably in a way that makes us a great deal of money." She did a slow turn, then stood perfectly still, her eyes sharp, muscles quivering ever so slightly, reminding Monica of a cat in the final moments before it leapt on some hapless bird. Except Joanna and Adam were anything but hapless.

Monica drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah," she admitted unhappily. She muttered a curse under her breath as she pushed to her feet. "I'll start making calls," she assured her mother as she reached for her briefcase.

A tiny, feral smile curved Sable's lips. "And I'll make certain the proper reports are ready for Joanna to discover and share with Adam."

Even as uneasy as she was with her mother's plan, Monica couldn't hold back a small smile. If everything came out right, it really would serve Joanna and Adam right.

Of course, if it didn't come out right, the same could probably be said for her mother.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rough edged shackles bit into her flesh, but she barely noticed, just like she barely noticed the surrounding stench or the guards' leers and jeers. It couldn't possibly be real. She had no business in Nathumbé's most infamous and brutal repository for those labeled insurgents or terrorists. Here there were no laws to protect the accused, no lawyers demanding rights, no appeals, and no rules save those the guards chose to enforce.

"What do you know about Alexis Colby?" hard voices demanded over and over, but she had no answers to give, not even when the needles slipped into her arm, the drugs making it hard to think or focus.

Then there was a man, his eyes not precisely kind, but at least lacking the utter cruelty of the guards. His skin was soft---banker's hands her grandfather would have called them---and his eyes were oddly desperate. "I can take you away from here. Just tell me your name," he implored.

Her name? The drugs made it hard to respond "Winthrop," she said at last, "Raven...Winthrop...."

He abruptly backed up a step. "Sorry, not the right one. I'd like to look at another model. Perhaps something in a blonde."

Laughing, the guards hauled her to her feet, and back into hell where her screams only drew more cruel laughter.

No, it was just a nightmare, just a nightmare, just wake up, it wasn't real, not real, wake up, NO!

Breathing hard, her skin and the surrounding bedclothes soaked in sweat, Raven Winthrop sat straight up, then folded over forward, face shaded by one hand. Just a nightmare, she told herself over and over. It was just a goddamned nightmare.

She'd escaped Poviro, but the place continued to torment on a nightly basis. Lifting her head, she eyed the expensive surroundings. Maybe it was because she'd simply jumped from one prison to another—albeit a far more gilded one. Half out of her mind, she barely remembered the hours between her rescue and waking here, but the weeks since were planted firmly in her memories.

Staggering out of bed, she found a nearby mirror to stare at her reflection, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. The short time she'd spent in Poviro had been enough to melt away any remaining baby fat, while her hair, the dark length of which had usually been constrained by nothing more than a rubber band was now loose, faded to an unfamiliar shade of auburn and treated to a $200 haircut that left it layered and feathered and looking entirely alien. The last of the bruises had healed, and she reached up, trailing a fingertip along the underside of one eye, noting the remaining liner she'd missed when washing her face, a last remnant of the daily makeup regime that had become a part of her life since her rescue along with lessons on the international oil and stock market and assorted other business matters about which she'd never cared.

"Nightmares?" Low, rich, perfectly smooth and cultured to anyone who hadn't worked in the slums of Nathumbé enough to recognize the underlying lilt, her strange rescuer's voice washed over her.

Raven did a sharp turn, wishing she was wearing a robe as she realized she wasn't alone. He was sitting in a chair on the opposite end of the room, nearly lost in the shadows except for the sharp glint of his eyes. So her rescuer and jailer had finally returned.

She hadn't seen him since the night he'd brought her here, though she had no idea where "here" was, beyond the fact that it was an expensive penthouse in a major metropolitan city that had no recognizable landmarks. Unfortunately, the elevator had a key lock and her guards—a very polite team of two men and two women who simply ignored her every request to be released even as they laid out their "lesson plans"—were quite effective at keeping her from going any father than the terrace.

"Something like that," she said at last, her voice as flat as she could make it, instinct warning her to give away as little as possible.

He didn't press for a more complete answer, simply shifted topics. "Are you doing well otherwise?"

She swung a hand, indicating the rest of the penthouse. "Why don't you ask the guards."

"I have," he admitted without elaborating about what he'd been told.

Raven froze, uncertain what to say. This man had pulled her out of hell, but possibly he'd put her there as well, and even if hadn't, she had no idea of his intentions. His body language gave nothing away, and his expression was shrouded in shadow. Which was exactly how he wanted it, she reminded herself. He'd chosen that spot, just like he'd chosen the place and time for this confrontation. "Why am I here?" she asked at last, opting to cut straight to the chase. Mind games had never been her specialty.

"What do you know about Alexis Colby?" he asked without addressing her question.

It was the same question they'd asked her over and over in Poviro, and she had exactly the same answer for him that she'd had for them. "Nothing."

"Surely you've heard the name before," he prodded.

"No...not until the guards at Poviro."

Pushing to his feet, he paced around her, gaze sliding over her assessingly while Raven resisted the urge to cringe or try and cover herself. "What do you know about Blake Carrington?" he asked when he was standing almost directly behind her.

She frowned. "The billionaire?"

"So you've heard of him," her jailer questioned, his tone sharpening.

"I've heard of Donald Trump too...doesn't mean I know him." Turning her head ever so slightly to one side, she tried to get a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, but he stayed just out of view. "All I know is what I've seen in the tabs...crazy kids, scandals, that kind of thing."

"And what about Sable Colby?"

"No," she snapped more impatiently than intended. He was silent for a long moment, leaving her to wonder if she'd gone too far, and then suddenly he was at her side and thrusting her robe into her hands. He paced on past her, giving her time to sling the light garment on over her nightgown.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," he apologized unexpectedly, his back still to her. "I know this must all be very overwhelming."

She wasn't sure she believed him, but this wasn't time for a confrontation. "I just don't understand any of this...who you are...why I'm here...why Poviro...."

"No, of course not." He took a breath, pacing slowly around her and taking in the changes wrought by the expensive team assigned to bring them about. She hardly looked like the same woman. Only someone who knew her well was likely to recognize her. "I'm sure it doesn't make sense. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much I can help clarify things." He moved stand in front of her. "As for why you've been kept here...contrary to your obvious fears, it was for your own safety." Seeing her doubting frown, he slipped something out of a pocket and handed it to her—a newspaper clipping.

The color draining from her face, she read the words, and felt a chill slide down her spine. The article was short, three brief paragraphs detailing how she'd died in a car accident in Nathumbé. One of the doctors from the clinic had given the paper a praising quote and it ended on a note that she wasn't survived by any known family. It was a jarring thing to read one's own obituary and see how little there was to show for life.

"That was in The Independent shortly after your arrest."

She didn't know what to think. It made no sense. "I don't understand any of this."

"Someone wants the world to think you're dead," he pointed out the obvious, then turned away to retrieve a stack of folders from the shadows. "I thought it best if they think they've succeeded."

She shook her head. "That doesn't explain what's been going on here," she pointed out the obvious.

"No," he admitted, his expression growing even more serious. "I'm sorry if you've been frightened, but you see I need a favor from you...one which requires certain skills...but which I believe may also answer your questions about your arrest." He saw the way she pulled back, her expression suspicious, and knew he was close to losing her. If he didn't make the right moves, she'd hare out of there the first chance she got. "You see, I work for Alexis Colby...the woman the guards asked you about," he added pointedly. "Sable Colby is her cousin...Blake Carrington, her ex-husband. They're constantly plotting, willing to do anything to destroy Alexis...no matter who gets hurt. I think somehow you got caught in the crossfire...and I need to know why and what they're planning next."

He could tell she wasn't buying it.

"I assure you," he exhaled as he pressed the papers into her hands, "you'll find the proof of what I'm saying...right here."

She glanced down, then back up at him. "What do you want from me?"

"Help me make certain they can't hurt anyone else the way they did you."

She flicked open the top folder, glancing at the contents, then finally looked up. "All right," she said at last, then added a proviso. "If this checks out...I'll help you." By the look of things, it was her only way out of her current prison, so she was willing to go along—at least for the moment. Besides, if Sable Colby and Blake Carrington had been responsible for her arrest, she would be more than happy to send them both to hell.

René only smiled ever so slightly, enough in control of the situation to allow her the illusion that she had any choice but to do what he wanted.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

To Be Continued

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