Franco Kelly opened his eyes.
He was in a cold, drafty room and he was freezing. His chest hurt and it was a struggle to draw breath. He wondered where he was.
His eyesight was fuzzy, but it was gradually adjusting. He saw that he was not alone. A young woman, perhaps twenty, sat a few feet away from him in a stiff wooden chair. She was dressed in black and wore a shoulder holster.
"Good morning, Mr. Kelly."
He tried to turn his head to see where the voice came from. A tall, menacing man with a sharply angled face came to stand behind the young woman's chair. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she did not smile.
"Who are you?" he rasped, and noticed that he was tied down and unable to move.
"My name is Ramón Garcia. You're safe here."
Franco wanted to laugh. "Is that why you've tied me down?"
"Any movement on your part could start the bleeding again, Mr. Kelly," the young woman said as she rose from the chair and efficiently began to examine his wound. "You've been shot in the chest. The bullet narrowly missed your heart. Thanks to an inside doctor and a few pints of stolen blood, we were able to patch you up before anyone was the wiser."
She must be crazy. "What are you talking about?!"
Ramon stood over him and lowered his face until he was eye-to-eye with Franco. "Think, Kelly, think hard. You're wanted by Immigration, but that's the least of your worries. The Moroni family wants you dead and we can't have that."
"Who's this 'we'?" Franco returned, perturbed by the man's inability to make himself clear.
"'We' are the ISA, Mr. Kelly. 'International Surveillance Association', 'Interpol Spy Administration', whatever you want it to stand for. If it weren't for us, you'd be dead right now."
"What do you want from me?"
Ramon and his associate exchanged a long, meaningful look.
"We want to know what you know about a man named Stefano Dimera," she answered.
I've got to get my own place, Eric thought to himself as he rumaged around his grandmother's refrigerator. There were at least six containers of leftover clam chowder, all marked with the date they entered the fridge. What was it that Grandpa always said about chowder? Oh, yes, "Always the tastiest when it's seven days cold." He grabbed the oldest of the covered bowls.
Eric got a bowl from the cabinet and dumped the white, gelatinous mess into it. He couldn't believe he was going to eat it, but for some reason he was craving comfort food. He stirred it a bit, then put the bowl in the microwave and set the timer. He dove back into the fridge, looking for something to augment the ubiquitous meal. His eyebrows snapped together as he noticed the bottles of baby formula. To his knowledge, Will had been weaned a long time ago. He picked one up and turned around, wondering to himself who the bottles were for.
And he saw her. She gasped. His jaw dropped in shock.
"Jamie?" he said softly, not quite believing his eyes.
She was wearing an old bathrobe, her hair in a braid, and she was holding a baby. She almost smiled, then her face fell as she whispered, "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"I've been staying with my grandparents." He sounded dazed.
"So I see." No surprise or censure was in her voice.
"Why are you here?" he asked accusingly. "And who is that?"
"This is my son, Adam," she answered, "I was invited to Sami's wedding, but the plane was delayed and we didn't get in until midnight."
"We?"
"Max and I-"
"Max!"
"We're married, Eric," she said, knowing what his reaction would be.
He closed his eyes and heard the microwave go off. Adam stirred restlessly and fidgeted. Eric opened the microwave and retrieved his midnight snack. He put the bottle down on the counter.
"I believe that's what you're looking for, Mrs. Brady," he sneered as he got himself a spoon and brushed past her.
Jamie watched him go. She wanted to call out to him, to explain, but he was clearly in no mood to listen. She blinked and returned her attention to Adam, who looked as if he was ready to let loose with a mother of a yell at any moment.
My God, what a mess.
The sound of the door opening made Gus go for her gun. She had it in her hand, with her finger on the trigger before the door was halfway opened.
"Craig!" she exclaimed, almost dropping the Glock when she saw who it was.
He jumped and flattened himself against the door. "Gus?!"
They began in unison.
"What-"
"Why-
They stared at each other as he stood in the doorway to his office and she sat up, startled and suddenly very awake.
"You first," she said swiftly, running a hand through her hair. She could feel that it was becoming a bird's nest.
Craig smiled and said, "This is my office. What are you doing here?"
"I was detaining Carrie Brady's psycho dad until he calmed down. He just left." Gus took a deep breath as she put her Glock back into her shoulder holster.
"What happened?" her asked as he went for the small refrigerator where he kept his coffee.
"Roman caught Carrie and Mike making out in the broom closet," Gus said in a deadpan, watching him suspiciously.
He fought against the urge to grin. "Oh, really?"
Gus got out of the chair and sank down onto her haunches next to him. She grabbed the lobe of his ear and squeezed harshly. "I swear, if you have had anything to do with this, I'll really have to hurt you."
Craig grasped her wrist firmly and exerted enough pressure for her to let go. He looked her straight in the eyes and replied, "There's nothing I'd like more than to be Chief of Staff at Salem University Hospital, but I had nothing to do with Mike and Carrie being locked in a broom closet together. That was my wife."
He gently bit the pad of her thumb before letting go of her wrist. Gus backed away, as far as she could get from him. That nasty aching feeling in the pit of her stomach was returning in full force. She had to get out of here, before anything else happened that she would regret.
Craig watched her as she rolled down the sleeves of her black shirt and buttoned the cuffs, glaring at him. She headed for the door, doing up the top buttons on the collar. As her hand touched the knob, she paused and turned to speak to him.
"I never figured Mike for CoS," she said softly, her voice subdued. "He's never been a politician and he's much happier pulling shards of glass from a patient's eye in the ER than giving a speech in front of the Board of Directors at a fundraiser. You seemed more suited to that sort of a life. Why don't you go to another hospital and try your luck?"
His face was unreadable as he stood up. "Have you ever been pushed to compete, Augusta?"
She nodded.
"When I was an undergrad, I fell in love with a wonderful, warm, witty woman who turned my world upside down. I took one look at her and I knew we would be together for the rest of our lives. But she was in love with someone else. He had everything I didn't: money, power, respectability and a name. And when he abandoned her after a few years because she didn't look perfect, I was there to pick up the pieces." He seemed anguished as he continued. "She needs me, but she doesn't really love me. And I know that I don't deserve her. But I've got the guts to get it for her."
"But why target Mike?" she asked hotly. "He's never done anything to you!"
Craig smiled ruefully. "He's the epitome of every woman's dream, and hence, my mortal enemy. Mr. Perfect just oozes charm and women fall all over their feet for him. He's got looks, money, and he's the grandson of Tom Horton. And he's got the staff wrapped around his little finger." His eyes darkened as he raised his hand and ran a finger down the side of her cheek. "But does he have you, Gus? Are you in love with the good doctor?"
She shivered and felt goosebumps breaking out all over her skin. He traced the contour of her lower lip with his thumb. Gus swallowed with difficulty, mesmerized by the raw candor in his eyes.
"I'm afraid of enclosed spaces," she whispered in a shaky voice. "Mike and I worked in the same hospital in Jerusalem. We got trapped in an elevator during an electrical storm. He kept me from losing control."
"Losing control is good sometimes," he said softly. "We should try it."
His hand was branding her with its warmth. She screwed up her courage as she took a deep breath.
"Why are you doing this?" Gus asked, yanking his hand away from her face. "Why do you keep trying to seduce me? I'm not in love with Mike, so making a conquest of me won't solve anything. And what about this wife of yours that you claim to love so much?!"
He caught her wrist effortlessly and twisted it behind her back as he pressed against her. She was sandwiched between him and the door, and she couldn't decide which was more unyielding.
"I don't know!" he snarled, suddenly angry. "I don't know why I want you so badly. Maybe it's pheromones, maybe it's your fire and ice act, maybe I can't resist a challenge. I know that I love Nancy and nothing's ever going to change that, but when I'm with you, all I know is that I want you. And I know that you want me."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I do want you, but not enough to do this to another woman. When she opened them again, she was perfectly calm.
"It's good to want things," she said, gently but implacably, as she detached herself from him. "But you can't have me. I've been in these circumstances before and the results were less than ideal. Go home to your wife, Craig. She needs you more than I do."
He wasn't letting her go that easily. He kissed her, quick and hard. It was an act of possession, full of unslaked lust and another unidentifiable emotion that Gus didn't want to admit was there. But she returned it with enthusiasm before she came to her senses, glad to let go of all of the pent-up emotions she couldn't afford to have.
Craig finally let her go and backed away from her. Her eyes were glazed and her lips were swollen and wet. She turned to open the door.
"Take that to bed with you, Augusta," he said softly, and her hand stilled on the knob as his words coiled around her like a sinuous snake. "And when I see you again, tell me that you didn't dream about me. Tell me that you didn't wonder what it would be like between us."
She didn't dare look at him as she left, slamming the door behind her.
Gus ran all the way to the car. She placed her hands on the hood and leaned over, coughing and breathing hard as she tried to wipe that memory from her mind. He was everywhere, surrounding her. She could still feel the heat of his hand, the taste of his tongue, the hot, smooth rasp of his voice. Damn, the man's scent clung to her clothes!
"Gus?" She felt a hand touch her arm.
She jumped, compressing her scream. She swallowed it whole when she saw who it was. "Rafael! What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I've got a lot to explain. Your car?" he asked, motioning to the car. She nodded. "Give me the keys."
She fished them out of her pocket and he let her in. She slid into the passenger side and rested her head against the cushion. He got in, started the engine and sped out of the empty lot.
"Where to?" he inquired.
"Just drive," she said. "I have this feeling that this is going to take awhile."
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