CHAPTER SIX

So Blake Carrington was going to live. René Denier shook his head in amazement at the latest news, delivered not through their hospital spy, but plastered on the front page of the Denver Star. Though it would have made his life easier had Carrington succumbed to his wounds, he felt a tinge of admiration for the tough old bastard. Only a few days after a gut wound, and already he was giving statements to the press. René exhaled a soft, depressed sigh. Of course it was going to make his life that much more difficult. Not that he personally wished the man any ill, but with the collection likely destroyed, Helena was hellbent on her revenge schemes and he’d borne some small hope that if Tom Carrington’s only son died, she might let go of them. No such luck.

As that thought ran through his head, he experieced a nagging undercurrent of shame that he’d become so much like Krieger, hating no one yet willing to wish ill on others because it would make his life’s task easier. Fortunately or un, shame wasn't an emotion had time for. His soul was long gone. There was no going back now.

Unaware of the dark timbre of his thoughts, Helena was clearly quite pleased with the latest round of reports from her assorted spies. Amazing what unlimited amounts of money could produce in a short amount of time, especially if one knew a few good bagmen and computer hackers.

"Well, it looks like our prey is still very much in our sights," Helena said happily as she went over Blake Carrington’s medical reports.

Unfortunately. More than a few men half his age and in good health wouldn’t have been doing as well. It occurred to René that there was a lesson in that fact. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one he had the privilege of taking into account as long as Helena was on the warpath.

"I wonder if Blake will regret Handler’s failure to kill him before I’m through?" she mused aloud, sounding quite pleased about the idea. "And then there’s poor, dear Alexis...things aren’t going so well, are they?" A wicked, feline smile curved full lips. "All that bad news from her doctors...." She chuckled again.

René didn’t respond. It would have been pointless.

"Wait a minute," Helena continued as she read some new piece of information. "She’s been making calls from her hospital bed." The good cheer drained instantly out of her voice to be replaced by a sharp-edged, suspicious curiosity. "To her agents in Nathumbé?" she added, her tone becoming puzzled. She thrust the printout at René. "What’s this about?"

He peered at it, a frown drawing his brows together as he noted the names of places he hadn’t visited in more years than he could count. "I’ve no idea," he admitted before he could think better of it."

Full lips pursed tightly while crystal cut eyes blazed. "Find out." Succinct and to the point, the words held the ring of royal command.

"Under the circumstances," he said quietly, his tone low, "I doubt it really matters."

"Everything matters when it comes to Alexis," Helena disagreed sharply as she spun away, her voice dropping as she muttered to herself. "Wily bitch...she’ll come up with something." Pacing away from him, she continued the running commentary. "Can’t trust any of them...have to make sure there are no surprises...."

"Helena," he broke in, his voice firm, but surprisingly soft, then tried again when she shoed no signs of hearing him, his voice sharper. "Helena!"

"No goddamned surprises," she ground out as she pivoted to face him again. Amazingly enough, a beat after the hate-filled words left her mouth, something softened in her expression and he was reminded of the sweet child she’d once been. She held up a hand in a halting motion, suddenly seeming vaguely confused. She blinked, glancing around herself, then back to René. "I don’t thank you nearly often enough," she whispered, the shift in emotion sudden enough that it would have confused anyone who wasn’t used to her abrupt changes in temperament. She turned away, folding her hands together at the small of her back as she peered out a nearby window at the world below. "You’re the closest thing I have left to family now that father’s gone."

"I know," René agreed as he stared at her stiff back. Her father’s death nearly a year before had snapped something inside of her, throwing the delicate balance in her sanity toward the madness. As a result, these quiet, kinder moments were becoming rarer and rarer even as the obsession with avenging her father grew ever more intense. He kept hoping that something would bring her back from the edge, but nothing seemed to help, not counseling or medication or herbal remedies or anything else they'd tried over the years. The only thing that seemed to give her any sense of peace was her plotting against Carrington. "I feel the same...which is why I wish you would give this up...go back home...or back to your work...." He half expected her to explode, but she was quiet, her posture relaxed enough to indicate that she was considering his advice.

"I know you only want what you think is best," she admitted. "But I can’t do it." She shook her head, her voice remaining soft and remarkably sane. "I can’t walk away and let Tom Carrington get away with what he did."

"Tom Carrington’s dead," René reminded her.

She did a slow turn, her head cocking to one side as she peered at him. "Which is why they all have to pay," she said in a voice that grew harder with each syllable as she walked past him toward her rooms. She waved a hand dismissively over her shoulder, indicating that any hope he’d had of talking her out of this course was a foolish one. "Now, I suggest you get moving. You’ve a great deal of work to do today...and do make sure that Alexis’ doctor knows that should he suddenly feel the need to confess to any evils regarding his patient...he’ll be confessing to a great deal more after the authorities...and his wife...receive copies of those lovely photos my detectives acquired...."

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

Sam Dexter couldn’t take his eyes off of his son’s face, still handsome and looking so painfully young to an old man’s eyes, but cold and stiff without the life and animation that had always made his boy seem so very alive. Sam wanted to roar and scream and rage. But most of all, he wanted to get his hands around someone’s throat and make them pay.

If he’d just known who to punish for this obscenity, he would’ve handled things the way they had in the old west—with fists, a gun, or a rope.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. "Civilized society" tended to frown on such behavior, but more importantly, he didn’t know who to blame. Hell, he didn’t really even know what had happened. The police who’d arrived at the ranch with the news hadn’t known a damn thing, and the detective who’d met his plane in Denver had offered precious little more in the way of information. An accident, he’d called it—though there’d been enough hesitation in his manner to indicate that perhaps there were those who disagreed.

And Sam Dexter was one of them, because no way in hell would Dex have just fallen off some balcony. It just wasn’t possible. Dex had fought his way through some of the bloodiest warfare imaginable. He had the skills, the training, and the ability to take care of himself. Sam refused to believe he could just stumble to his death, especially since no one seemed to have a coherent story to tell.

Alexis had been there—the cold-blooded witch who’d snared his son and played with him—as had her rat of a son, but that wasn’t what had had Dex so upset only hours before his death, when he’d called and rambled about the past, their relationship, the things a father wanted for his child, all without explaining why. Somewhere during nearly an hour of talking without really saying anything concrete, he’d let something slip, a name, "Sable," only to hush it up, brush it over, and continue.

And a woman named Sable Colby had been up on that balcony along with his boy.

His hand tightened into a fist. They’d all been there, and one of them was responsible for his boy’s death, and when he found out who, he’d make sure they got what they deserved.

"Mr. Dexter?"

Sam looked up to find one of the young ranch hands he’d brought along on the journey watching him worriedly. His name was Dave Something-or-other, and he was a good kid. He’d made a point of coming along out of worry for his employer.

"What now?" the young man questioned.

Sam turned back to stare down at his son’s slack features. "I’m taking my boy home to bury him," he said very softly. "And then I’m gonna find the sonofabitch that put him in the grave and make sure they pay...."

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

Blake Carrington dozed, his sleep fitful, but with the regularity of the drugged. His doctors might have been impressed by the rate at which he was bouncing back from a potentially fatal injury, but Blake’s waking hours were spent frustrated at his own weakness. He had other worries, things to do, a business to run and a family to protect and care for. Being helpless in a hospital room was definitely not on his list of acceptable alternatives, and he fought it with all his might.

Which was why he woke so quickly when a delicate hand stroked one shoulder. Dark eyes snapped open and he blinked rapidly to throw off the vague blur caused by drugs and injury, quickly bringing the slender figure sitting at his bedside into focus. "Fallon," he rasped, a hint of a hopeful smile curving his mouth. After all the problems between them he could only hope that the latest revelations would allow them to repair the relationship.

He was relieved by the way her expression lit up and a genuine smile was turned his way. "Hi," she whispered and slid her hand down to wrap her fingers around his. "You’re looking good."

"Liar," he croaked, clinging to that slender hand as though it was a lifeline. Seeing her here like this was the best medicine he could think of. "I look like death warmed over."

"No," she disagreed, then flashed a puckish smile. "Fresh cooked and steaming hot at the very least."

"Hopefully that’s not too bad a piece of news," he whispered, some small fear of rejection still in his eyes. He hadn’t seen her since the shooting, and despite assurances from Jeff and others, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was avoiding him.

"Oh, Father," Fallon breathed as she leaned close, velvet dark eyes rimmed in silver tears. "It’s the best news there could be." She swallowed hard, glancing down for a moment as she gathered herself. "And I am so sorry if I ever caused you to think I would feel otherwise."

Blake felt the distance between them melt in an instant. "No," he insisted, wanting to put it behind them. "At least not really," he added at her doubtful expression, tacitly acknowledging the fears that had plagued him for a time, but also that he didn't believe she'd ever truly wished him ill.

Looking away, she swallowed hard and squeezed his hand tightly as she purposely changed subjects. "The doctors say you’re healing much faster than they could possibly have predicted...and that—"

"Fallon," Blake broke in, and reached out, tipping her chin up when she fell silent. Their gazes held for a long time before he finally whispered, "It’s all right."

Tears threatening to spill onto gently rounded cheeks, she swallowed hard, her voice thick with effort when she spoke. "I am so sorry," she apologized raggedly. The fear that he might die thinking she hated him had haunted her since waking in her room, but with a nasty concussion and weak as a baby, she’d only been able to visit for a few minutes at a time, and seemingly never when he was conscious. Unable to face him, she looked down as she continued, "I should have known that my suspicions were ridiculous, that you would never—"

"Fallon," he repeated, his tone just firm enough to bring her head up. "Don’t worry about it," he dismissed the previous several months with a shake of his head. "It doesn’t matter." Nearly losing her had driven home just how important she was to him. He didn’t want to let the distance between them stand.

"But—" she began, but he cut her off again.

"We both made plenty of mistakes." Blake squeezed her hand tightly. "But none of it really matters...none of it. We’re still here...and we’re still family, and I want you to know how proud I am of you...and how grateful I am that you’re all right." He saw her start to draw breath to argue, and he over-rode her. "I don’t think I could have survived if anything had happened to you or Krystina." Krystle was the one who’d always been so good at healing these breaches and putting things back together again. But she wasn’t there to do the job anymore, so maybe it was time he learn how. It struck Blake that the hand bound to his was trembling faintly. "I just want to be a family again," he pleaded, the words difficult and uncertain.

Slender shoulders deflated as Fallon turned a relieved smile his way. "I want that too."

They stayed like that for a long time, hands twined together, both exhausted and battered but grateful for the chance to be together without all the rancor and animosity of the previous months.

Feeling her father finally relax into sleep, Fallon released his hand, but remained where she was, needing the reassurance that her foolishness hadn’t cost him his life. To entertain herself, she glanced around the room, noting the profusion of flowers, cards, and other gifts that hadn’t already been handed out to other patients—there’d been too many things to remain in one room, so the family had opted to spread the good wishes around the hospital. More than a few of the notes and cards had included personal good wishes, a silent reminder that her father had gathered as many friends as enemies during his life. That thought made her smile because it was so easy to forget sometimes when the world was crashing down that there were still friends out there who cared.

It was only when she peered at the rolling bed-tray that she flinched. A half dozen newspapers lay stacked, the unevenness of their folds silent testament to the fact that they’d already been read. Picking up the top one she noted the headlines with a sad look. Bad enough that her family had been so brutally attacked, but at the same time they’d lost a dear friend. She glanced back at her father, wondering if he even knew.

As if responding to that thought, his eyes fluttered open and he frowned slightly as he brought her into focus. "Dex," he said very softly as he saw what she was looking at.

Fallon did a slow turn, sinking back into her chair. "I didn't know if you knew," she admitted.

"The lawyers," he said without further elaboration.

"Ah." Not surprising. Knowing her father, he’d been desperate for news and his legal staff had doubtless obliged the instant he was awake and demanding to see them to discuss how to deal with the after effects of having the world—and especially the government—learn about the treasure buried on his property. No, it wasn’t surprising at all. Looking up, she wondered just how much he knew, and if there were still any secrets left that she should keep.

"What do you think happened?" he asked the question she most wanted to avoid while she was still debating how much to say.

The awkward silence that followed spoke volumes. Finally Fallon shook off the momentary paralysis. "Father," she began carefully, "are you sure you really want to discuss this now? You're supposed to be avoiding stress...and there's nothing you can do anyway." And the last thing she wanted to do when they had finally found a measure of peace with each other was lay out her worst suspicions. After all, no matter what else, Adam was still his son.

"I need to know," he told her. "The paper didn’t say much...and I owe Dex." He hadn’t planned on having this conversation any more than she had, but now with it there in front of them, he couldn’t let it go.

"But I’m not really the one to ask," she demurred, "I wasn’t there...all I know is the gossip."

"But you know all the players," Blake pointed out, then reached out and caught her hand in his own, "and I trust your judgment."

"It hasn’t been so good lately," she reminded him. "And besides, you need to focus on getting better, not the latest scandal in Denver."

"Fallon, please," he said softly, then explained, "I’m a part of this whether I like it or not. According to my lawyers, Adam’s using my shooting as leverage...threatening to sue if the city pursues a case against him." He shook his head, some of his fears showing in his eyes as he added, "I need to know what happened to know what to do next..."

She gnawed on her lower lip, silently digesting what he’d told her, unsurprised to hear her brother was already trying to pull strings. "All right," she exhaled at last, using the brief moment to organize her thoughts. "You saw the newspaper story?" she clarified and he nodded. "Well, what they didn't print is that Adam claims Sable pushed Dex when he rejected her...while Sable and Monica claim there was a fight and Adam lost his temper and pushed Dex into the railing from behind—"

"And your mother?" He wasn’t sure which way Alexis’ story might drive him, only that it was important he know what it was.

"I don’t know," Fallon admitted, then quickly explained in response to his startled look. "I haven’t been allowed to see her. Adam has her medical power of attorney...and he’s barred all visitors." Her voice cracked ever so slightly, reminding him that despite everything, Alexis was her mother and there were genuine—if sometimes very mixed—feelings there. "I don’t even know what her condition is."

Blake squeezed his daughter’s hand, and she held on tightly. "Fallon?" he prompted when she didn’t continue. "I know this is hard for you, and I hate putting you in the middle, but I need to know anything you can tell me."

"I’m not certain I can be objective," she admitted to delay more serious answers. She was so damned angry at her brother for so many things that maybe she was judging him unfairly. Meanwhile, god knew, Sable was capable of going over the line—and of lying about it with impressive skill. Instinct told her it was Adam who was lying, but instinct wasn’t necessarily a good guide when dealing with either her brother or her former mother-in-law.

"Just do your best."

A heavy sigh escaped full lips as she accepted that he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. "Sable has a temper," she admitted, "and she’s more than capable of lying to cover her tracks, but I honestly don’t think Monica would." She felt her father tense. "She’s too straight arrow." She shook her head. "I just don’t think she’d lie about something this serious, even to protect her mother...not to mention that the likelihood of Sable being able to push Dex anywhere seems extraordinarily low."

Blake exhaled heavily, the sharp tightening of bruised and torn chest and abdominal muscles sending runners of pain through his upper body that did little to blunt the emotional pain. "You’re saying you think Adam did it." Amazing that it could still hurt to think his son had committed another evil when he’d already committed so many.

"Sable and Monica both claim that it probably wasn’t intentional...that Adam lost his temper and just shoved Dex without realizing what might happen." It wasn’t exactly a stirring defense, but it was the best she had to offer.

"And now he’s trying to cover it up by making Sable take the blame," Blake snarled. Every time he thought his son couldn’t go any lower, Adam surprised him by digging a little deeper. "Dammit."

"Father," Fallon tried to calm things, reaching out and laying a hand over his as she wished she’d just kept her mouth shut, "now isn’t the time. You need to focus on getting better."

"No," Blake disagreed quietly, "I need to make certain Adam can’t hurt anyone else."

"He’s your son," Fallon pointed out, her voice very soft, but threaded with a note of understanding. If it were L.B. she didn’t know what she’d do.

Blake flinched as though struck. Yes, Adam was his son, but not one to be proud of. "And if you’re right, he’s trying to use my name to hang someone in his place." The Carrington name had suffered enough for his father’s sins, he wouldn’t see it blackened even further for his son’s.

"I might be wrong," Fallon admitted. "I don’t think Monica would lie, but it is her mother we’re talking about...and Sable is capable of some pretty awful behavior...."

"The diver," Blake muttered under his breath. He’d forgiven the woman for that, but it was there as a reminder of just how flexible her morals could be.

"Case in point," Fallon agreed.

A tired sigh escaped Blake’s lips. "But if I let Adam get away with what he’s trying to do," he said when he finally spoke, "that means throwing the woman who saved you and Krystina to the wolves...." And even if Sable was guilty, he wasn’t sure he could that now.

"What are you going to do?" Fallon asked when he didn’t continue.

Blake honestly didn’t know. Much as he loathed Adam's behavior, he wasn’t sure he could stomach handing his son over to the police, but at the same time turning on a friend who’d literally risked her own life for his family was unacceptable. "I have to find a way to protect them both," he said at last.

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

Alexis endured test upon test, none of them making any sense to someone not trained in medicine, all of them terrifying to someone whose legs refused to respond to touch, pinpricks, or mental commands to move. She lost track of the hours, then the days, her mind caught in a haze of fear and hatred as her life spun out of control.

Ultimately, she faced it all alone. Adam came and went, staying only briefly, his tone perfunctory kissed her on the cheek then hurried on his way under the pretext that he had so much work to do with her in the hospital. Her other children as far as she could tell, were completely and utterly uninterested in her.

So much for filial love. She couldn’t rely on any of them any more than she could rely on anyone else. Only Dex had maintained his loyalty for more than ten minutes, and even he’d eventually slipped up and committed the worst sin imaginable.

And now he was dead for it.

Which meant she was completely alone.

Fine. She’d faced plenty of adversity along before–-faced it alone and defeated it alone.

She swallowed hard, fingers curling into the thin sheet covering the lower half of her body as she clung to her hatred to keep from breaking down completely. As long as she focused on her revenge, none of the rest of it mattered, not the tests, not the lack of feeling in her lower body, and certainly not the stressed looking doctor standing at the foot of her bed with his charts and test results.

"Mrs. Colby," he murmured, clearing his throat in an effort to draw her attention.

Alexis refused to look at him. He had nothing to say that she wanted to hear.

"You have to understand," he continued in spite of her refusal to listen, "there are fractures in the fourth and fifth lumbar vertebrae...and most likely serious damage to your spinal cord."

She wanted to hold her hands over her ears and chant, ‘la-la-la-la,’ until he left, but that would have been admitting weakness and that wouldn't do, so she focused on a point somewhere past his shoulder and tried to ignore the drone of his voice. Unfortunately, despite some phenomenal denial skills, she couldn’t quite block out his words.

"The wisest course of action is to immediately put you in a full body cast...to stabilize your spine and prevent any further damage...then in two to three months we can begin to assess how much function you’ve lost, and prepare a plan for rehabilitation aimed at helping you regain as much use of the affected areas as possible. I realize this must be utterly terrifying, but with modern therapy techniques, we can---"

That brought her out of her self-inflicted haze, and she looked up at him with rage-blackened eyes. "The wisest course of action?" Alexis repeated as though the words were in a foreign language and she didn’t quite comprehend their meaning. "Prevent further damage?"

"Yes, Mrs. Colby," the doctor assured her. "The aim is to preserve as much remaining function as possible."

"Preserve...remaining function...." Alexis shook her head slowly as she struggled to process what he was telling her. "You’re saying this is permanent?" she croaked, her voice so thick and tight she could barely think straight.

"The damage is quite extensive," he confirmed. "But as I said, with therapy—"

It was like there were insects buzzing in her ears and she could barely hear him through the humming. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Strangely enough, the only thing she could really think about was that she’d have to give up any thoughts of going after her cousin and focus on nothing but getting better. No, she couldn’t do that. Revenge was the only thing keeping her going. Without it to cling to, she honestly didn’t know what she would do. Maybe cease to exist. "Get out," she hissed after a beat, refusing to let him see her like this—breaking.

"Mrs. Colby, please—" the doctor began.

She cut him off as she threw a hard look his way, her voice icy, each word spoken in precise, measured tones. "Get. Out."

He seemed uncertain what to do, and stood perfectly still for a long beat.

"Now," Alexis ground out.

Apparently deciding that perhaps now wasn’t the time for this discussion, he backed up a step. "We’ll speak more later," he murmured, "after you’ve rested." Which was clearly code for, ‘After you’ve come to your senses.’

"Go," Alexis growled, vaguely gratified by the way he fled as fast as his feet would carry him. The sense of victory didn’t last long as she found herself alone once again. Slender shoulders slumped as she collapsed into the mattress, the will to fight draining out of her in an instant. Everything had gone so damned wrong and now this. She couldn’t deal with any more.

For the first time in more years than she could count, Alexis curled into herself, hiding her face in one arm like a small child, and sobbed harsh, body wracking tears. Time ceased to exist as she shook and wailed her private agony, hating everyone and everything and longing for some kind of comfort even if she could never ask for it. In time, the shudders died away and she simply lay there, utterly still, too weak to do more than tremble gently.

She never knew how much time passed, only that at some point, a faint shiver slid over her skin, a prickling awareness that she was no longer alone. Tensing, she surreptitiously rubbed at her tears, wanting them gone if she was to face some new threat. She wouldn’t allow anyone to know that she’d had even a moment of weakness. Ever.

"Hello, Mrs. Colby," low, cultured, and faintly accented, the voice washed over her, soothing the animal fears, but also setting her teeth on edge. In her experience, no one who sounded that sympathetic ever had your best interests at heart.

Pushing up on one hand, Alexis did a slow roll toward the door, dark eyes narrowing as she focused on the man seated comfortably in a visitor’s chair. Her own age or perhaps older—it was hard to tell—dark skin, close cropped hair, and unreadable eyes. His suit was perfectly tailored to go with his smoothly cultured accent, and the tack on his tie was topped by what she was comfortably certain was a real diamond. The whole effect said money, and lots of it.

Feeling vaguely threatened, she just stared for a long moment before questioning, "And just who are you?"

He smiled ever so slightly, "Right now, Mrs. Colby," he paused for effect before adding, "I’m your best friend."

Alexis smirked. Like she’d never heard that before, and usually from people who were trying desperately to destroy her or steal from her–-or both. "Really?" she drawled, feeling slightly more comfortable now that she was certain his intentions were less than honorable. Life was simpler when it followed established patterns.

"Really," her mysterious visitor confirmed. "Though I can see you don’t believe me."

"In my experience," Alexis riposted as she steeled herself to show absolutely no weakness, "most people who make claims like that are liars." She didn’t know who the newcomer was, but she had no intention of allowing him to think he might get the best of her.

A thin smile curved his lips. "Quite right in general," he agreed, "but quite wrong in this instance."

Alexis’ cheek twitched, a sign of stress she couldn’t quite hide. "Really, and why would that be?" she demanded, deciding to cut to the chase and not allow him to control the conversation.

Her visitor showed no sign of being the least bit intimidated. "I represent a party who shares certain of your interests—" he began carefully, only to be cut off as Alexis snapped impatiently at him.

"And what interests would those be?"

"Business primarily," he informed her without elaborating, "but my employer also shares your opinion of certain individuals for whom you bear no love."

Dark eyes sharpened. "Meaning?" Alexis ground out.

"Your cousin..." he drawled, a tiny flare of triumph showing in his gaze when Alexis gasped ever so softly and sat up straighter in bed.

"You’re saying you’re some enemy of Sable’s?" she demanded, eager to find out if she had an ally.

His expression remained enigmatic. "I’m saying that were your cousin’s business interests to suffer certain setbacks, it would not be entirely unwelcome to my employer."

Which was entirely too noncommital for Alexis’ tastes. She wanted to hear that this man or his anonymous employer wanted Sable dead, destroyed, and any remains scattered to the four winds. "I’m not in the habit of doing people favors," she growled dismissively. Her intention was wholesale revenge, not minor business games. "So I suggest you—" she began to put him in his place, but he spoke over her, his voice sharp for a brief moment before it softened again.

"I suggest you listen," he cut her off.

Startled by the obdurate note in his voice, Alexis froze.

"Now," he began again, his voice once again low and soothing, "I can understand your suspicions, but I think you’ll find that in addition to any business considerations, we have something very important to offer you." He buffed his nails on his suit coat, the smallest of tells that he wasn’t quite as unflappable as he appeared. "As I understand it your spine is injured...quite severely—"

"A fact which I’m quite aware of," Alexis snarled, furious at the reminder that reality might well interfere with the worst of her intentions.

"What you are not aware of," he continued as though she hadn’t interrupted, "is that my client owns a medical group which has been doing research into spinal injuries similar to yours...and has developed a treatment which could well heal the worst of the spinal damage...and give you back full mobility in your lower body."

Unable to contain her response, Alexis gasped as though struck. Not that she believed him. She wasn’t so foolish as that, but she wasn’t immune to the hope that swept through her in spite of her determination to remain cynical and suspicious.

"Obviously," he continued as though he hadn’t noticed her response, "this is still in the testing phase, but so far there’ve been excellent results...good enough that the researchers have been cleared to begin human trials. The doctor who analyzed your case feels you’re a prime candidate to be back on your feet in a matter of weeks."

It was like some magical answer that she might have fantasized. And probably far too good to be true, she reminded herself to cut short any impulses to offer him anything to give her back her legs. He’d paid for that diamond stickpin somehow, and she was cynical enough to think that taking money from unsuspecting "patients" was a popular scam at any point in history. "All right," she ground out, using her anger at the world and specifically anyone who thought to make a fool of her to resist any urge to soften or trust. "Show me some proof."

He smiled ever so slightly and produced a report from his valise. "I’m afraid I must ask you to keep anything you read about the procedure private. As you can imagine, once we have final FDA approval, it will be worth billions."

Understanding nothing of what she saw, Alexis flipped through the pages. "I want a doctor’s opinion," she hissed, fully expecting him to fight her.

Instead she received a faint smile. "Of course." He passed over another sheet of paper. "Our only request is that he sign a non-disclosure agreement before being allowed to see any of the reports. It’s standard procedure, I assure you."

Alexis looked up, dark eyes narrowing as she tried to ascertain his honesty."Assuming this checks out," which was a long shot, but one she was willing to investigate, "how much do you want?" Her first instinct was to dismiss him as nothing but a snake-oil salesman, and yet there was something in his eyes that made promises she desperately wanted to see fulfilled.

"You misunderstand," he murmured. "My employer doesn’t want your money...in fact, for the moment, my only task is to assist you in getting healthy once again...with as little fuss as possible."

Tipping her head down, Alexis swallowed hard as she braced one hand on her thigh, painfully aware of the lack of sensation. "Why should I trust you?" she hissed.

"You have a limited number of choices," he pointed out with cold practicality.

She tensed, hating the truth of that statement. "I want fuller reports, and then if---" A flick of a smile touched his mouth, while victory gleamed in his eyes. Alexis experienced a bolt of raw terror as she realized he knew he had her.

"I’m sorry," he informed her courteously, "but this is a one-time offer...available during this meeting only. I’m willing to wait while you meet with your doctor, and if you say yes, then I’ll make arrangements for you to be transferred to the finest of clinics this evening...but I won’t be waiting around. If your answer’s no, then you’ll never see me again."

"I need to speak to my doctor," she told him without directly answering.

"Of course, just remember the NDA, if you would." Then he slipped out while she punched the call button and demanded to see her doctor.

The doctor arrived some minutes later, looking harried and uneasy. No surprise there after the way she’d torn into him. Not that Alexis cared, but some cringing weakling would hardly do her any good. She thrust the report at him without preamble and without explanation beyond, "I need to know if this is a valid treatment and a real clinic."

His head down, he flipped through the pages. "The Marston Clinic is one of the premier private hospitals doing research into spinal injuries," he informed her. "I’d heard they were working on something revolutionary...but I had no idea it was anything this groundbreaking."

Alexis felt her heart start to beat again. "So if someone were to be offered a chance at this treatment, it would be wise to consider it?"

"Of course," her doctor said instantly. "Which is not to say there aren’t dangers...as with any treatment, particularly a new one—"

"Get out," Alexis snapped without waiting for further platitudes. "And send the man outside in." She had never been one to sit around a debate.

René returned, that faint, superior smile curving his mouth, and accepted her surrender with only the faintest air of triumph. Then with a faint tip of his head, he informed her that he would arrange for her transfer to the clinic as quickly as possible.

When he was gone, she lay perfectly still, staring silently at the ceiling. She wasn’t so driven that she didn’t wonder if perhaps she’d finally slid over into madness. Handing her health care over to a total stranger who promised the freedom to pursue revenge wasn’t exactly sane even by her standards. Maybe it was time to walk away from all the hate-filled games before anyone else got hurt.

At that thought, the tiniest memory of Dex moaning in agony exploded in her brain, driving a stake through her temples. Teeth gritted and fists tightly clenched, she fought her way through it, and came out the other side knowing what she had to do.

Still trembling faintly, she reached for the phone. If she was going to be gone for a time, she had wheels to set in motion before she left.

Because insanity or not, the faint memory had left her even more determined than ever to make her cousin pay.

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

As he stood in the hallway outside Alexis Colby’s room, René paused long enough to make several calls. Helena’s agents in Nathumbé had tracked down the target of Alexis' calls—a fairly high-ranking official in the finance ministry—and were considerably closer to finding out what she was up to. A small shudder of discomfort worked down his spine as he hung up the phone. Would that it had been any country other than the one of his birth, a place that held nothing but bad memories. Most would have predicted it was shame of his past that made him wince. In reality, it was shame of what he’d become. When he finally hung up, he wondered if he had time to get drunk before accompanying the flight transporting Alexis to the clinic. He had no love for the woman, and strongly suspected she was nearly as mad as his employer. All the same, playing the sick mental games with her was starting to leave a very bad taste in his mouth. A quick glance at his watch denied any possibility of that sort of reprieve. It was for the best, he supposed. Reducing one’s mental facilities while dealing with the insane was a foolish choice at best. He was just turning to leave when he realized Alexis’ doctor was there, watching him with frightened eyes, his skin beaded with sweat.

"I did what you told me," he exhaled.

René nodded. "Indeed...and as a reward, you needn’t worry that I'll send your wife copies of the photos in question."

The doctor straightened his shoulders as he screwed up his courage. "I want the negatives."

René offered the faintest of smiles. He’d come to despise himself and his actions of late, more often than not loathing the things he did in service of his former master’s child. Destroying this man, however, would be pure pleasure. "No," he responded simply, then stepped forward, his voice pitched too low for anyone to overhear, "and if you ever touch another child, you’ll wish it was just your wife who received those photos." Despite any promises, René had every intention of making certain the photos reached the hands of the police—after Alexis was safely transferred to the private hospital where she would be receiving ‘treatment,’ but until then he had no intention of allowing the bastard to think he might get away with anything. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

When no response was forthcoming, he turned on his heel, and hurried out. He still had a plane to catch.

And still no time to get drunk before it left.

As his lawyers reread the documents the Justice Department and Interpol had prepared, checking the legal language one last time before any deals were finalized, Blake flashed a glance at Monica Colby where she stood beside Jeff, offering a small smile of gratitude. True, his attorneys had handled the actual negotiations with the government, but she was the one who’d used her connections and old friendships to facilitate the deal. While everyone else was sleeping, unconscious, or at death’s door, she’d managed to call in enough markers to coerce the government into making a deal.

The terms were remarkably simple. In return for a blanket pardon and an agreement from the government to keep the original source of the collection private, Blake would both allow and aid investigators' efforts to retrieve the collection in any way he could and relinquish all claims. That it meant allowing federal contractors to dig up a sizeable section of his land at will seemed like a minor price to pay to gain his freedom, protect his family's name, and ease his conscience on the matter. The collection had been a weight on his soul and his family’s honor for far too long. He was relieved to be rid of it.

By the time the last of the papers were signed and the formalities observed, he was equally grateful to be rid of everyone. His wounds were aching, a product of cutting back on the pain meds combined with hours of concentrating on the final negotiations. As the last of his lawyers filed out, he gritted his teeth, refusing to collapse into the mattress the way he might have liked. It would have been a show of weakness. Not exactly the image he preferred to convey. "Jeff, Monica," he said before they could follow the others out. "Could I speak to you for a moment?"

"Sure," Jeff said instantly, resting a hand lightly on Monica’s waist as he drew close to his former father-in-law’s hospital bed.

Monica nodded to one of the federal lawyers. "I’ll call you later, Tim."

Her old friend looked up and offered a tired nod. He'd brokered the deal from the government's end and he'd had to pull every last string to make it happen. "Yeah," he murmured, "We’ll have dinner before I leave town." A moment later he slipped out and the door closed in his wake.

"I just wanted to thank you both," Blake murmured when they were finally alone. "According to Jack, he couldn’t have worked out the deal without your help...especially you, Monica." He offered a genuinely grateful smile. "It made all the difference having a contact at Justice that wasn’t completely adversarial." He was well aware that he had powerful enemies who would have preferred to make things as unpleasant as possible.

A pleased smile curved full lips. "I didn't really do anything," she demurred. "I just pointed Tim in the right direction...he's a good guy, and I was sure he’d want to make certain that the situation was handled fairly."

"Well, thank you...and if there’s anything I can ever do for you..." he trailed off for a moment before continuing. "Just ask." He turned a mock-stern look Jeff’s way. "And you, don’t you think it’s time you come back to Denver Carrington? We could always use you." Instinct told him that things were only going to get worse at ColbyCo and while it might be a part of Jeff’s legacy, it wasn’t necessarily a good place to work.

"I’ll think about it," Jeff allowed, then shifted subjects. "Monica and I should probably get out of here...let you get some rest."

Blake nodded appreciatively, then reached out and caught Monica’s hand before she could step away. "And tell your mother to drop by." He ignored the way Jeff stiffened disapprovingly. "Krystina says she’s been out at the house several times...visiting...and I wanted to thank her." He shrugged ever so slightly. "The nurses said she was by, but I was asleep."

"I know she’s very fond of your daughter...and wanted to help," Monica murmured. "But I’ll pass the message along."

"And what message would that be?" a richly accented voice questioned.

"Speak of the devil," Jeff muttered under his breath as he did a half turn and saw his aunt standing in the doorway.

"And the devil shall appear?" Sable muttered wryly to indicate she’d heard his muttered aside. "Really, Jeff, if I didn’t time these things right, I do believe you’d lose all faith in me." So much for any peace between them.

Clamping down on his temper, Jeff turned a tight smile her way without openly acknowledging the sarcasm. "I wasn’t aware you were planning on visiting Blake today."

"Probably because I don’t clear my schedule through you," she replied too sweetly.

Jeff glanced at Blake, molars grinding as he considered several retorts and discarded them all. Getting into a war of words with his aunt was seldom a wise idea. He was still hunting for an appropriate response when Monica gripped his upper arm and tugged firmly.

"Come on, Jeff, you promised me lunch, remember?" she said to intercede before an argument broke out.

Jeff looked like he wanted to argue, but Blake added his voice to Monica’s.

"Go on." He turned a smile Sable’s way. "I’ve been wanting to speak to Sable anyway."

Ignoring Jeff’s stiff resistance, Monica dragged him out, holding up a hand in a silencing motion when he would have started complaining immediately outside Blake’s hospital room—where any conversation would still be easily overheard.

"Well, no doubt whose side you’re on," he complained when they’d finally gone far enough that Monica allowed him to speak.

"I’m not on anyone’s side," Monica disagreed, resenting the implication, especially when she was only slightly more comfortable with the notion of a relationship between her mother and Blake Carrington than he was—though god knew, her motives were wholly different. "I just don’t think that whatever scene you were planning on creating was appropriate."

"You saw that article," Jeff shot back, then swung an arm in the direction of Blake’s room. "God only knows what bullshit story she’s telling Blake even as we speak...hell, she’s not even above using a child, so—"

"Next thing you’ll be accusing her of saving Krystina’s life just to get close to Blake," Monica shot back, her tone outraged. "And even you should realize how ridiculous that is." She took a breath, calming herself a notch. "She could have died...."

Jeff hissed air between clenched teeth. God, he hated any reminder that his aunt might not be the ultimate in evil after all. "That article," he ground out, abruptly switching to the topic that was really eating at him. "If it’s true...."

"It’s a goddamned gossip rag," Monica shot back without letting him in on any details she was privy to. "And if there’s any truth to it, then it’s none of our business anyway...and they really should be talking."

Any brief détentes with his aunt forgotten, Jeff glared at the woman he still thought of as his half sister. "Are you saying you think there’s some truth to that...that she might actually be pregnant with Blake’s child?" he demanded.

"I didn’t say that," Monica insisted, hoping she wasn’t giving anything away. "I just said that it’s none of yours or my business. And moreover," she quickly added, hoping to cool his temper, "if it’s not true—and it probably isn’t—then you’re getting all worked up over nothing."

Jeff didn’t immediately reply, just finally muttered, "It had better not be," as he turned and stalked off, Monica hurrying along in his wake.

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

Blake sighed tiredly as he sank back into the mattress, wishing it was less like cement and more like what he was used to. "Have you two ever considered working out your differences...peacefully?" he asked dryly when he finally spoke.

"I do believe that would be one of the signs of the Apocalypse," Sable replied crisply.

"Still," he said, his tone gently chastising, "don’t you think it’s time? You’re still family."

"I don’t think Jeff feels that way," she reminded him. "And I'm comfortably certain I don't...besides, I don't think we'd know how to communicate without a healthy measure of loathing." She was glad that Blake and Fallon appeared to be making up and getting on with being a family, but that didn’t mean it was the ideal for everyone cursed with a blood tie between them.

Caring for both of them as he did, Blake was tempted to argue, but the flinty look in her eyes warned him off. Maybe the time would come, but apparently this wasn’t it.

It was time, Sable decided, for a subject change. Being pressured to make nice with her nephew was hardly her favorite way of spending her day, and besides Jeff’s most recent reason for the fury directed her way was the last thing she wanted to explain to Blake. "I was out to the house earlier today...and Krystina is doing very well, but she wanted me to tell you how much she misses her daddy."

Blake didn't give a damn that he was being manipulated. Just hearing about his youngest child was a balm to his soul. "Fallon told me how much time you’ve been spending with her...how much it’s helped get her through all of this." His smile was genuine. "I can’t thank you enough...for that and everything else."

She waved his gratitude aside. "I enjoy it," she assured him. "She’s lovely child...and I rather miss being around children. I’d almost forgotten how much I prefer their company to that of most adults."

"Well, according to Fallon, you’ve really helped her bounce back, so thank you...it's very appreciated."

"I promised I'd see she was all right until you could do the job yourself," Sable reminded him as she moved to pull a chair over. "Now tell me how you’re," there was the slightest verbal bobble as she saw the newspaper tossed onto the chair she’d reached for, "how you’re doing," she continued as she tried not to stare in horror. Just what she didn’t want Blake to see. Not in his condition. The headline was a nasty, suggestive piece of work. Sable had no doubt she knew exactly who'd given the story to the rag in question: Alexis, or, more likely, her pet toad, Adam. It reeked of their backstabbing, sleazy style. Dex hadn't been gone much more than a week and already they were savaging him. Sable wished she could be surprised that Alexis could stoop to destroying the good name of a man she’d once claimed to love, but it was frighteningly predictable of her cousin. Thankfully, it didn’t look to have been read. She folded the paper so the headline didn't show as she dragged the chair over.

Blake shifted restlessly on the bed, wincing as he was reminded of his still healing injury. "Felt better," he admitted. "But according to the doctors I'm actually doing very well."

Smiling broadly at that news, Sable tossed the offending tabloid aside, careful to keep it folded so that Blake didn't see the headline. Unfortunately for her, fate had other ideas. The paper flipped open, clearly revealing the headline. She couldn't adjust it without drawing even more attention, so she maneuvered carefully as she took the seat next to his bed, trying to put her body between Blake and the ugly splash of words. She abruptly realized he was staring at her with a raised brow.

"I've already seen it," Blake informed her.

She tried to appear innocent, but the look in his eyes told her wasn't buying it. She sighed softly and wilted under his knowing stare.

"My attorneys," Blake said by way of explanation.

"How helpful," Sable growled.

"Actually, when I requested all of the local papers I didn’t really mean the tabloids," he admitted. "But I’m glad I saw what they’re saying." In his experience, there was no such thing as too much information.

Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Sable managed a limp, apologetic smile. "I’m just sorry you had to be exposed to that sort of thing." She shrugged a little helplessly. "I considered trying to correct it, but I’m afraid that would just add fuel to the fire."

"Relax," Blake soothed. "No one's going to put any stock in rumors put out by a rag like that." He could understand her discomfiture, but he wanted her to understand that he wasn’t so foolish as to buy into that kind of gossip, nor to listen to Jeff’s conspiracy theories that she was the one who’d planted the story for some nefarious reason.

"There’s a problem with that thesis," Sable whispered, her chin down as she reminded herself that she’d committed herself to not lying about this child. She took a deep breath and let it out as her heart started hammering against the inside of her ribcage. God, this whole truth thing was harder than she’d expected, which served as a rather uncomfortable reminder of just how good she’d gotten at lying during her marriage to Jason. "...the rumors are true."

Blake frowned, visibly uncertain how to respond to that comment.

Sable recognized the response for what it was. "Well, obviously not all of it," she corrected quickly. "The part about you and I was definitely over the top...but..." She paused, swallowing hard as she nerved herself up, half expecting the same disapproval she’d gotten from everyone else to that point. "I am pregnant," she said after a beat, the words coming haltingly. She fell silent for a moment, eyes firmly on the floor. "And Dex is the father," she added. When she found the courage to look up, it was to find him watching her carefully. After Monica’s anger and Alexis and Adam’s outright cruelty, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but the only thing she saw in his expression was concern.

The pain and exhaustion of his injuries abruptly forgotten, Blake could only stare for a long moment. Finally, he reached out to curve his fingers around her linked hands where they rested on the edge of the mattress. "Do you want it?" he asked gently.

A watery smile curved full lips as she turned her hand under his and clung tightly. "More than I can say."

Surprised by the surge of relief that slid through his veins, he didn’t reply for a long moment. "Are you all right?" he questioned. "I mean, after what happened," he clarified, "Grimes..." his eyes went to the bruises that still showed faintly, even through an expertly applied layer of concealing makeup. "He hit you." And if those blows, taken in the name of protecting his child had cost her a child she wanted, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

"We’re both all right," she quickly assured Blake, touched that he cared. "I’m a bit battered and bruised, but it’s nothing serious and Junior here," without realizing she did it, she rested her hand lightly on her abdomen, "is still safe and snug."

"Did Dex know?" Blake questioned, then wondered if he should have kept his mouth shut when she paled and looked away. Afraid he’d added to her problems, he started to wave any answers aside. "I’m sorry," he said quickly. "It’s none of my—"

"No," she broke in, "it’s all right. I just need a moment." She was still processing the reality of his death. And the guilt that went with it. She might not have been the one to push her lover, but there was a part of her that would always feel that things might have come out differently if she’d handled the relationship with Dex better.

"I’m not trying to make things harder for you," he told her, "so if this is too difficult to talk about...."

"It’s not that," she whispered, then paused as it occurred to her that perhaps this wasn’t the best subject for a man only a few days out of the ICU. That it would also let her avoid the topic a little longer was even more appealing. "I just can’t help but wonder if perhaps it would be better to discuss this some other time. I don’t want to stress you." And considering that Dex had been his friend, Alexis was his ex wife, and Adam was his son, she didn’t see how opening that particular can of worms could be anything but stressful for the man.

It would have been far easier to take the out she was offering him, but Blake Carrington wasn’t a man who was comfortable with the easy way. "I think wondering what you’re not telling me is likely to be more stressful," he answered honestly.

"All right," Sable whispered, then fell silent for a moment, gnawing on her lip as she struggled with the admission she needed to make if she was going to stick with her policy of no more lies. "Dex knew," she whispered after a long moment, her voice rough with emotion. "That’s why he was at the hotel...." She looked up, blinking away the threat of tears as she confessed, "You see we’d argued.... I was afraid because he was so damned in love with Alexis...and she’d just done everything in her power to hurt Monica...."

Realizing she needed space to say whatever she had to, Blake just waited.

"I was utterly terrified of what might happen if she was allowed anywhere near this child," she said defensively, "...and I didn't think he could stay away from her...." Suddenly feeling sick with shame, Sable didn’t finish.

And then Blake understood. "You threatened to keep him away from his child?" he exhaled.

Unable to look at him, she simply nodded. "He showed up...angry...I tried to stop him...get him out of there...go somewhere and talk...but I was angry as well...and didn’t do a very good job of it." She ran a trembling hand through her hair. "Then he started flinging accusations...."

Blake tensed ever so slightly, reminded of Fallon’s warnings as he found himself wondering if Sable meant to blame what had happened on Dex.

"I lost my temper..." Unaware of his suspicions, she continued, her tone rough and oddly distant as the whole scene replayed in her mind’s eye. "And then Adam and Alexis were hurling insults...about the baby...and everything just spiraled out control...."

Watching her carefully, Blake kept his voice low as he gritted, "What happened then?"

"Adam wouldn’t stop with the insults...Dex hit him, then turned and started yelling at Alexis...and that’s when Adam lunged at him...Dex never even saw him...."

It was the raw horror in her voice that finally convinced him.

"There was nothing I could do," Sable breathed dazedly. "Dex stumbled into Alexis and they fell before any of us could move...."

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

Outside his father’s hospital room, Adam Carrington’s hands curled into tight fists while his eyes blazed with hate. Damn her to hell. The bitch had already managed to destroy his mother, driving her to disappear from town with no more than the briefest of notes to explain her exit, and now she was turning his father against him. "Don’t believe her," he whispered almost inaudibly, the words a silent plea for some measure of faith. That he had done nothing to deserve that faith—had in fact acted in ways almost designed to lose any hope of it—never occurred to him. He was a Carrington and it was owed to him by virtue of that blood. Pressure tightened a band around his chest, making it hard to breathe, resentment for what seemed to him like an unfair lack of acceptance almost enough to make him crazy. It was a kind of test, he realized. If his father really loved him, he’d take his side despite any difficulties between them, despite any past guilts, despite anything. He hadn’t done so against the little whore, Virginia, but then she’d been related to his precious Krystle, so god knew, he’d never do the right thing there. That woman had him so whipped he’d even turn on his own for a woman who was nothing but a slut because she was part of the same blood line.

But Sable was nothing to him. Not like his son.

His goddamned son.

"Tell her to go to hell," he silently pleaded.

He experienced a moment’s hope as his father began. "I can't say I approve of to keep Dex from his child..."

And then the pressure on his chest increased with every word that followed until he thought his heart just might implode from it.

"...but I can understand...after what happened with the way Monica found out about her father...or at least who she thinks...." Blake trailed off and was silent for a moment, unaware of his son hanging on every word just outside the door. "I’m sorry," he said at last. "I shouldn’t have—"

"I would have relented," Sable interrupted, her tone faintly defensive. "I didn’t expect it to mean so much to him. I guess I thought he'd be relieved I wasn't asking anything of him...not furious and determined to have a place in the baby's life. We argued and I dug in my heels, but I don’t think I could have followed through when it meant so much to him." She paused a moment, while Adam clenched his fists and fought the urge to strangle the conniving bitch. How could his father not see that she was manipulating him with every lying word out of her mouth. "Now there’s no chance."

"No," Blake exhaled.

"And it’s her fault," Adam hissed. "Why can’t you see that you old fool?" he demanded of no one in particular.

"You handled it badly," Blake sighed, and once again Adam’s hopes rose, only to be dashed harder than ever. "But nothing excuses the way Adam has manipulated the situation. I'm ashamed he's my son."

"No," the single hissed word was nearly inaudible, but it contained all of the pain and fury of the loudest scream. His eyes suddenly burning with tears, Adam spun away and never heard the rest of it as he fled, the only thought running through his head that he’d make them all pay.

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

"Blake," Sable murmured, startled by the fury in his tone. Sometimes she almost forgot about the ties between them, and his comment reminded her that she’d unthinkingly put him in a horribly unfair position. "I’m sorry," she apologized. "I wasn’t trying to put you in the middle of all this."

"It’s not your doing," he assured her. "It’s Adam’s...."

A frown creased her brow. "I don’t understand."

"He’s trying to use my shooting as leverage...to push the police into blaming you for what happened to Dex."

She looked away, but not before Blake saw the fear in her eyes.

"I’m not going to let him do that," he assured her.

"He’s your son," Sable exhaled tightly. If anyone knew the power of family ties, she did. Had it been Miles, she didn’t know what she’d do.

Reaching out again, Blake covered her hand, curling his fingers around her palm. "And you’re a friend...one I have no intention of throwing to the wolves."

"Blake—"

"Trust me," he coaxed. "I’m not going to let that happen."

"Blake, this isn’t your fight," she murmured, carefully pulling her hand away from his in silent rejection of the offer he was making. Tempting as it was, it was also fraught with far too much danger. Trust could make a personal vulnerable in ways she couldn’t afford, especially now. "And the last thing I want to do is cause you more problems."

Blake caught her hand again, his grip too tight to be denied this time. "You saved my daughter’s life," he reminded her. "That makes it my fight."

For a moment, she looked as though she might cry, then she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "I can't ask you to--" she began, but he cut her off.

"You didn't," he reminded her. He’d felt responsible for making sure Adam didn’t succeed in putting the guilt on her, but the knowledge that she was carrying his friend’s baby only intensified the fierce wave of protectiveness. "I’ll be damned if I’ll let my son harm you or this child."

"Thank you," Sable whispered, more touched than she had any right to be, but also aware that any temptation to read more into would only lead to her own heartbreak. "But really, it’s not necessary...I doubt I’ll eve be staying in town much longer." She’d come to Denver in search of a purpose. Destroying Alexis had seemed like as good a one as any at the time, but now she had a child’s future to worry about. Having that child in the midst of a warzone seemed foolish at best, so she’d already started making plans to start over elsewhere. The latest news about Adam’s efforts only made a fast exit even more imperative.

"What?" Blake exhaled sharply, as though he'd been struck.

"Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere until after you’re out of the hospital," she assured him, thinking he was worried about Krystina.

"Are you saying you intend to leave permanently?" he demanded.

"Yes, but I meant what I said about keeping an eye on Krystina until you can again. I won't—"

"That’s not what I meant," he growled, brushing her answer aside. "Why the hell would you leave now...just when you need your friends and family the most?" Of all the thick-headed plans she could have mentioned, this one seemed the dumbest.

Sable flinched, bristling at his tone. "Alexis," she reminded him. "She’s disappeared for the moment, but she’ll turn up again like the proverbial bad penny...and when she does..." She was silent for a moment while she got her temper back under control. "She doubtless blames me for what happened to Dex." Pointing at the filthy newspaper headline, she ground out. "That article is just the first shot across my bow...and frankly, I don’t want this baby in the middle of the bloodletting that’s likely to follow...."

"Which is why leaving is the worst thing you can do," he argued as he clung to her hand despite any efforts to pull away as though he could stop her from leaving through sheer stubbornness.

"And how do you figure that?" she demanded a little helplessly. "If she can’t find me—"

"She’ll always be able to find you," Blake interrupted, his voice obdurate. "Alexis has the power and the money to track you down anywhere you go...and if she really does blame you for what happened to Dex...then she won’t stop until she has you in her sights. At least here, you have friends to watch your back." He was silent for the tiniest beat as he debated his options, then continued, "And if wants to go after you or this child, she’ll have me to contend with." And that fight had yet to go Alexis’ way for any length of time.

Sable let out a bark of half hysterical laughter and massaged her temple, painfully aware of the truth of everything he was saying. Hell, it had been floating at the back of her mind since she’d decided to leave town. And now the headache she’d been nursing for days was threatening to blossom forth into a total migraine "This isn't your fight," she choked. It was the first time in a long time that anyone had offered to take her side. At any other time, it would have been appealing as hell. At that precise moment, it just complicated everything.

"It is, if it's what will keep you in Denver," he disagreed seriously. She was safer in Denver. She knew the lay of the land, and recent events coupled with his friendship with Dex meant he felt responsible for making certain she and her child were protected from whatever threatened them. That had to be better than trying to hide out in some randomly chosen place.

"Blake," Sable began in an effort to forestall his argument, "it’s not that simple. I—"

"It’s exactly that simple," he disagreed. "This is your home now. You’re safe here. You have friends, Monica...people who will support you. Don’t let Alexis take that away from you."

Kept from fleeing, she sank back down into the chair she’d half risen from and ducked her head, his words making more sense than she wanted to admit. "It’s just that I’m so tired of fighting," she admitted, a tiny part of her breaking inside. The realization that she was carrying a child seemed to change everything, making the ongoing warfare of the previous several years seem hopelessly foolish and forcing her to look at herself in a way that left her not liking what she saw very much. "Children change everything in your life...give you so much to love and protect and fight for...and everything to lose." Her last words were thick with utter terror.

"I know." Blake understood too well. He was still dealing with the sheer horror of being totally helpless when his daughters were in danger. "But running away from Alexis never works. Believe me, I know better than anyone."

Finally looking up, she stared at him for a long moment, torn as to how to answer. Both paths had their temptations. "I do feel like Denver’s become my home," she admitted at last. "There were so many bad memories in Los Angeles...but, Blake, if I stay, it’ll be a fight. Do you really want to put yourself in the middle of that?" He started to reply, but she held up a hand in a halting motion. "Before you answer, consider that this," she slapped the offending newspaper with one hand, "is only the beginning. If you ally yourself with me, she’ll pull out all the stops."

His gaze dropped and he was silent, lost in his own thoughts.

Squelching a tiny surge of disappointment, Sable exhaled a small sigh. Ah well, better to know now that she was completely on her own. Gathering her purse more firmly, she started to slip her hand free of his only to come up short when he still refused to let go.

"Don’t you think you should wait until I’ve answered?" he asked quietly.

A frown creased her brow. "When you didn’t say anything, I just assumed—"

"I was just thinking about what Krystle would say...and how much she appreciated it when you promised to see her charity efforts through...even if...." He trailed off, pain momentarily threatening to swamp him.

"Blake," Sable exhaled sympathetically, but he waved that aside.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "She’d probably get out of that bed and kick my ass if she found out I left you to take on Alexis alone...particularly now."

"But---"

"Tell me you’ll stay," he over-rode her.

Dark gazes clashed, and he could see the temptation to argue, though it was hard to tell how much was simply that she hated being told what to do. Finally, her shoulders sagged.

"For the moment, at least," she promised at last. It was the most she could offer.

He relaxed back into the mattress, suddenly exhausted again, but kept his hand on hers. "Good," he exhaled in a satisfied tone.

"Now you look like maybe you should get some sleep," she pointed out.

Blake nodded. The brief adrenaline rush that came with her news had finally worn off and he felt like he’d been drug behind a Mack truck for several blocks. "Stay for awhile," he requested, his voice already fading.

"As long as you like," she promised.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "I don’t sleep well in here...and it helps sometimes just to listen to someone...covers the hospital sounds."

"What would you like me to talk about?"

"Anything," he murmured, then peered at her blearily, his tone curious. "Were you in love with Dex?" The moment the words were out, he regretted them. "I’m sorry. None of my business."

"No, it’s all right," she sighed. "We were friends...but we weren’t in love. He was very kind at a time that I needed him."

With the adrenaline rush brought on by her news fading, Blake sank deeper into his mattress, his eyes closed as he slid closer to sleep. "Do you know anything about...arrangements?" he murmured after a moment. "I should talk to his father...Sam was a friend once...want him to know how sorry I am."

"I don’t know," she admitted. "I spoke to the police, but they couldn’t tell me anything since I wasn’t family. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll make certain you’re informed."

There was more Blake wanted to say, but he was floating on a combination of exhaustion and painkillers and the words wouldn’t come. The silence was uncomfortable though because it wasn’t real silence. Instead, he could hear hospital sounds that reminded him of things he wanted to forget. "What about the fundraiser for the homeless project?" he asked suddenly. "I know you took over the planning for Krystle. How's that going?" He just wanted her to talk. A human voice helped hide the noise level, and hearing about Krystle's charity always made him feel closer to her. It was something she'd cared about passionately, and it often seemed to him that some small part of her was still entwined with it. Hurting and missing her violently, he just wanted to feel a little closer to her any way he could.

She appeared startled by the question for a moment, then nodded in understanding, seeming to realize he needed the distraction. "It's doing very well...the architects have nearly finished the design for the initial facility and I've carried on with her plans for a gala ball to raise funds..." she offered an encouraging smile. "In fact, you'd better be getting well...it's only a month away, and I expect you to put in an appearance...twist a few arms for a good cause...and I know Krystle would want you to be a part of it," she added firmly.

He nodded ever so slightly, his eyelids growing heavier. "I'll be there," he assured her.

"I'm holding you to that promise," she murmured before continuing to describe the various efforts to get the charity off the ground.

Blake was asleep long before she finished, but she kept talking until he was utterly limp, and after that, she stayed right where she was for a long time.

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

A faint smile twisted Adam's smile upward as he stared down at the woman now sprawled in his bed. Revenge was definitely more pleasant when took such a silky and inviting form. And who would have known Sable Colby's oh-so prim and proper vice president in charge of acquisitions would have had such a kinky streak? He’d known there was a bit of one during their first encounter—God knew, she’d responded to a heavy hand—but he’d had no idea just how far she’d enjoy going, nor how very satisfying it would be to take her there. She'd taken everything he could dish out and begged for more. His eyes touched on the faint bruises discoloring her narrow wrists and his smile broadened a notch. She was his to control.

Strong hands tightened into hard fists.

And he had plenty of uses for her, not just in bed, but in the boardroom as well. If his father wanted to take Sable’s side, fine. And if his mother had so little faith that she’d just disappear without a word, well fine to that too. To hell with all of them. He’d made his own way in the world before becoming a Carrington, and unlike the rest of the hothouse flowers, he was quite capable of doing so again.

His father had chosen his side, which left Adam free to choose his. His own.

Which meant no-holds-barred warfare as far as he was concerned. He was going to take his revenge every way he knew how, and enjoy himself in the doing. A pox on all their houses.

Turning, he padded into the living room, lifting the phone as he cupped his hand over the receiver. The phone reached the fourth ring before it was picked up, and Sable's voice sounded muzzy with sleep as she mumbled. "Sable Colby here."

He'd been thinking of what to say since the overheard words at the hospital, fantasizing about all the things he was going to tell her and the threats he was going to make. He purposely made his voice deeper, unrecognizable and threatening, the words flowed in a melange of hate-laced obscenity until she slammed the phone down.

Adam laughed softly, enjoying the first tiny taste of triumph, certain there would be more to come. After a long moment, he moved back into the bedroom, waking Joanna with quick rough caresses.

She curved her hands to his back, nails digging in to the firm muscles as he moved over her. "Thinking of me?" she drawled.

A cruel smile twisted his mouth upward as he peeled her arms away from his body to pin her wrists to the bed. "Something like that," he murmured without elaborating, then claimed her mouth in a rough kiss. There were no more questions then, just ragged pleas and commands.

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

René Denier blinked against the gloom and he ignored the stench of human misery just like he ignored the entirely too-human desire to bolt from this place and never look back. Helena’s agents had discovered Alexis’ game only a few hours after he’d finished settling her into her new home at the "clinic" where she was safely ensconced for a treatment that had never existed for a condition she didn’t possess....

That lay in the house that Jack built, he thought with some irony.

Ah well, it hardly mattered. With the right mix of drugs, Alexis would never realize she’d been fooled, or if she did, it would only be after it was far too late to matter.

Which wasn’t even remotely important, he reminded himself as he realized he was playing mental games in an effort to ignore where he was: standing in the worst prison his homeland had to offer, waiting for the guards to bring out the prisoner Alexis had wanted arrested so badly that she’d paid off several high ranking ministry officials.

And why, he wondered as he thought back on the file he’d read during the flight over. Some witless fool out to save the world one slum at a time. What the hell could Alexis Colby possibly have against some crusading young idiot working for a clinic in one of the worst slums in all of Africa?

He was still going over what he knew in search of some kind of answer when he heard the heavy tread of booted feet on the packed earth floor. Spinning in place, he schooled his expression into one of perfect neutrality as he tracked the two guards that arrived dragging a shackled figure between them. Even he couldn’t contain a flinch a moment later when one of them slammed a baton into the back of the prisoner's calves, drawing a pained gasp, followed by a heavy thud as she collapsed downward to her knees. Business, he reminded himself brutally, this was business, and that as odious as the task was, the woman in front of him would likely be grateful for the opportunity his presence offered.

By his calculation, she’d been here no more than a week, and likely considerably less, but already her clothes were torn and he could see bruises on slender forearms.

Just business, he reminded himself as he fought any softer emotions. Then even he had a hard time keeping his lunch down as the same baton was braced under her chin and her head forced back as a hard hand knotted in tangled, grimy hair. The gaze that met his was confused and frightened nearly to the point of catatonia. He tried to offer what he hoped was a reassuring look. He needed her thinking and on her feet.

"This the one?" one of the guards asked, cold blooded greed underlying his eagerness. Denier had made a sizable offer for the British doctor, one large enough to tempt the guards into releasing her into his custody while lying to their superiors that she’d died in her cell. "A minister personally ordered her arrest...been workin’ with rebels, they say."

"At Kwazai Clinic," Denier growled, unable to hide his disgust at the obvious lie. Kwazai was one of the only free clinics in the area, and the doctors were notoriously careful in how they negotiated the tenuous political situation in Nathumbé. None of them would be stupid enough to openly aid the rebels.

The soldier shrugged, cuffing the back of the young woman's head with casual brutality. "She was treatin’ rebels...so she gets treated like a rebel," he muttered defensively.

Denier was startled when the young woman's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, hate glittering in the near-black orbs for the briefest second before the emotion was squelched. Not completely cowed then, he thought with some relief. Good, she’d need that courage for what was to come. He leaned down, studying bruised and grimy features and trying to match them to the images he'd seen of Raven Winthrop. Her face was bruised and swollen in places, but he could see the underpinnings of good bone structure. According to his file, she was in her late twenties, though the woman in front of him could have been anywhere from twenty to sixty under the grime and bruises. He reached down and pushed her sleeve up, ignoring the way she tensed. Ragged needlemarks dotted her inner elbow. That explained something of the daze. Doubtless they’d drugged her in the effort to play like they were really interrogating her. Or perhaps the minister had been curious about Alexis’ interest and tried to extract answers from his prisoner—assuming she really was the right woman, something he still wasn’t entirely certain about. There were plenty of lost souls in this place, and perhaps she wasn’t the one he needed. "What's your name?" he asked as gently as he dared in front of his cruel audience.

She didn't answer.

Annoyed and wanting the money Denier had promised, the head guard jerked on the baton under her chin, forcing her head back to a painful angle. "Answer the question," he snarled as he dug a meaty hand into her shoulder so hard Denier half expected to hear the sound of bone cracking.

Denier flashed a glare at the man. "She's of no value if you harm her any further," he warned and the guard backed off. His look was considerably kinder as he tried to catch her unfocused gaze once again. "I can take you away from here," he offered. "Just tell me your name." Dead silence, though he thought he glimpsed temptation in her eyes.

A long moment passed, and then finally a single word slipped past cracked and bleeding lips. "Winthrop." She coughed heavily, leaving him with a sense that she was fighting her own instincts. "Raven...Winthrop," she added after a beat.

Denier didn't question further, simply reached for the promised roll of bills in his pocket....